You wouldn’t call yourself a video game hater either. Not particuarly. You had dabbled, but had come to realise it was not an activity that you would consider participating in often.
It was clear that there were other things you were more interested in. Tangible things. Pottery classes where you can make coasters. Knitting a sweater that warms you on a winter evening. The weight of your boyfriend's hand finding yours beneath a cheese and wine tasting event. Such things.
This same thing could not be said for your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo.
The windows were cracked open against the summer heat, letting in the distant hubbub of Tokyo traffic come through the filters of living high up in a high-rise building.
And Satoru Gojo was spread across your bed, laying on his stomach. His socked feet swung through the air behind him, far too preoccupied and focused on his console.
Your lives as jujutsu sorcerers were stressful, swallowing up any free time you had, and if your boyfriend felt like looking at pixel versions of you getting together and falling in love. Who were you to judge?
It was his prerogative.
You tried to focus on your paperwork. There were reports spread across your bed. Witness statements. Property damage estimates. Curse sightinga in Shinjuku. Witness statements.
You tried to read.
Trying being the operative word.
The console chirped, and Satoru made a noise of genuine distress.
You did not look up. You traced a line of text with your finger, forcing your eyes to stay fixed.
“Baby,” he finally said, with a grave sense of concentration you could say you had only heard from him on the battlefield.
“Our Miis are fighting again.”
“Maybe pixel-me is tired of your pixel-infidelity,” you spoke up from where you sat cross-legged against the headboard.
A wounded noise escaped him.
"That was one time."
Your eyes remained fixed on the page before you. The paper crackled softly as you adjusted it.
“You flirted with a grocery clerk."
“She sold me good bread.”
“She sold your Mii bread.” You rolled your eyes, though it wasn't lost on you that you were feeling a real annoyance in this matter.
The screen lit his face ghost-blue as he groaned dramatically. “No, no, no— she just said she needs space. What does that mean, baby?”
You turned the page.
"Then give her space."
"But what does it mean?"
“It means,” you said, “even my digital self finds you really annoying.”
He rolled over instantly, strong enough that the mattress dipped beneath his weight. White hair wild and cascading against your blue pillow.
And then, softer he asked. “But she still likes me, right?”
You stared down now over the edges of your paperwork. A man who could stare down curses without blinking. The strongest sorcerer alive looked genuinely troubled by the emotional wellbeing of a digital approximation of yourself. You could laugh in amusement right now.
“I don't know, Satoru,” you said. “She asked for space. Leave the poor girl alone.” And pay attention to me. The thought appeared uninvited, but you weren't the kind of person to say it out loud.
He hummed to himself, unconvinced, turning the console back toward himself. "I don't think she's actually mad."
“You literally just said she asked for space.”
“Yeah, but before that she gave my Mii cold medicine when he got sick.”
"What?" You blinked.
He shoved the screen in your direction.
There, rendered in cheerful little graphics, was a notification.
YOUR SWEETHEART TOOK CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE FEELING DOWN.
A strange irritation unfurled inside you. It was immediate.
Because somewhere between exorcising curses, surviving near-death experiences, Satoru had apparently found a way to miss you inside a video game.
Even when you were sitting right next to him.
You frown, you couldn't believe the feelings you were generating right now.
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Nothing,” you frowned, as you lowered your gaze to the paperwork.
—
He sat upright so abruptly the mattress bounced beneath both of you. The sudden movement had also sent the scattered reports trembling across the blanket.
"Satoru,” you groaned.
"Our Miis had a baby."
You stared at him.
"Wow," you remarked. “Our Miis move fast. It's been twenty minutes."
"We have a son," he announces with almost genuine pride. The way he said it made it sound less like a video game update and more like he had just emerged from an actual delivery room.
You closed your eyes.
"Congratulations."
"No, look."
The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he crawled toward you. Before you could object, he had thrusted the console beneath your nose.
"Here."
A tiny digital child waved enthusiastically from the screen. White hair and bright blue eyes except it was tiny and round-faced.
The thing was a miniature version of him, as though someone had compressed Satoru into a pocket-sized creature and softened away any sharp features he had.
The creature waved again, and for one horrifying second, you thought it was actually kind of cute.
"Oh my god," he whispered. Completely enamoured. "Look at his little face."
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Turn it off already, Satoru." You gestured vaguely toward the paperwork littering the bed. "You've barely touched a single one of your reports."
He looked scandalised almost instantly. "Turn off our son, you say?"
"Our son isn't real."
The digital child chose that exact moment to blow a heart toward the screen. Tiny sparkles exploded around its head. A little chiming sound followed.
You had a heart after all, damn it.
The game had clearly understood emotional manipulation. And unfortunately for you, so did Satoru.
Satoru gasped. One hand flew to his chest. "He loves us."
"He is just code."
"That's an incredibly cruel thing to say about your child."
An amused sigh escaped you despite yourself as you dropped your head back against the headboard. Tired.
The pillow was cool where sunlight hadn't touched it. The cotton smelled faintly of detergent and the expensive shampoo Satoru insisted on using.
Your eyes drifted back toward the screen he held. Your eyes narrowed as the child was still waving.
"Oh my god, Satoru. Did you name him Gojo Junior," you rolled your eyes. "Remind me to never give you reign over our actual child's name."
His smile had gone strangely still, and there was a pause before he spoke up.
"Our actual child, you say." He repeated carefully.
Heat flooded your face instantly. "No, I meant—"
His grin widened. "That we're going to have actual children in the future?"
"No."
"And you have their names picked out already?"
"I said, child," you groaned again at your misstep. "I only meant—”
"I can settle on a single child," he says, and you think, genuinely. "One child is reasonable."
"I wasn't negotiating,” you groaned. “I didn't say anything. Leave me alone.”
"You most definitely did say it."
Your face immediately felt hot. Your boyfriend was now staring at you like you'd just handed him a marriage certificate and big fat ring with it.
"Satoru."
"Yes, sweetheart?" God, he could be so smug.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" His grin widened, his teeth shining as white as his hair.
"You know exactly what."
"I know that my lovely girlfriend accidentally admitted she's planning our future."
"I did not."
He sat up straighter then, suddenly deep in thought. “Huh.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Huh what now?"
"No, I'm just thinking."
"That's never good,” you say.
"Would they have your eyes?"
You blink twice. “Think your family would kill me if they don't have your eyes,” you say genuinely.
He considered this seriously. Then looked at you. "But yours are prettier."
You snorted. "They're plain."
"Prettier."
"They're not."
"They are too."
You frown, trying to look out the unassuming window. "Hopefully our child inherits my common sense."
"Rude,” he says, feeling scandalised yet again.
"It wasn't meant to be."
"It absolutely was."
The tiny digital child chose that exact moment to clap enthusiastically.
As though participating in the discussion. As if agreeing with you.
Your mouth twitched despite yourself.
"There it is,” Satoru said then.
You glanced back at him, softly now. "What now?"
"You’re smiling.” He pointed at your face, almost genuinely, with an almost childish satisfaction.
You think that's the ability Satoru had, to make things so light.
Yesterday, you had watched the blood stain his uniform. You had watched exhaustion strike black beneath his eyes. You had tried to listen to Shoko and the higher ups while you were pretending not to be afraid yourself. Pretending to be grown and brave.
Yet now he sat before you arguing over a digital child.
"You're smiling so much," he said. "You do love our child after all."
You rolled your eyes again, though this time in jest. Your affection barely hidden now.
"Now come play with me," he said, nudging your knee with his foot. His grin softening. "Family bonding is important, you know."
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currently taking a break from studying and all I could think about is aang eating you out because you’re stressed about your upcoming exams,
“Come on baby, just layback for me I’ll take good care of you”
“But I-i can’t I still haven’t solved this equation and-” you cut yourself off with a gasp as he started rubbing you through your shorts “come on baby, please ” he softly pleaded while using his free hand to take the calculator out of your hand and then he suddenly pulled his hand away from your shorts and you looked at him like he was crazy. Then he put both ands on each of your thighs and pulled you to the edge of the bed and you didn’t even try to put up a fight anymore you were too stressed and tired and you needed this so, you just let him do whatever he wanted. Then he pulled your shorts and panties down and kissed the insides of your thighs.
“Just-mm- just put your -hahh-mouth there already” you whined, making sweet sultry sounds and bucking your hips. Then he dove right in and started out gently licking you and sucking on your clit, his nose brushing your bush and inhaling the scent, gosh he loved how you smelled and how you tasted, he couldn’t get enough of it, he loved hearing your mewls of pleasure, knowing he’s the one that makes you sound like that.
“Yes, right there! you’re such a ahhh, go-od boy” you moan while arching into his touch feeling the way his mouth didn’t give up and how one of his hands slithered up and gently rested against your soft tummy, holding you down with his massive hand. Hearing you call him a tood boy tends to motivate him to make you feel better.
Then he started sucking harder, and spelling his name out as soon as your eyes made contact you felt yourself cumming before you could process it. You couldn’t even warn. By now he was licking everything up not caring about the mess between your thighs and on his face, when he felt you twitch from overstimulation he gently kissed up your body till he met your lips making you taste yourself on his tongue. “Feel better?”
“Mm much much better” you replied will dazed by the orgasm he gave you. Then he looked at the state of you, braids everywhere, cheeks warm and your chest still heaving, all he could think about was how perfect you looked in his eyes.
“You’re so perfect.” He breathed out with a wide smile on his face and the look of pure adoration in his yes, looking like he didn’t just stuff his face in your pussy moments ago.
This man was going to be the breath of you.
-I just wish he was reaaaaal😭, also this is my first time writing smut so this may be a bit bad
Your boyfriend looked too good in his black suit, and you couldn’t help but suck him off under the table at his cousin’s wedding ♥️
CW: NSFW. Blowjob, handjob, risk of getting caught.
The wedding party was alive with pop music, clinking glasses, and distant laughter, but your world had narrowed down to the man beside you. Satoru looked sinful in his black suit, long legs stretched under the table, snowy hair glowing under the dim lights. You’d only had two glasses of champagne, enough to make you bold and horny.
You leaned into him, lips brushing his ear. “You’re so fucking hot tonight,” you whispered, letting your hand slide up his thigh under the heavy tablecloth.
Satoru’s breath hitched. “Baby…” he said, a warning wrapped in amusement. “There are people everywhere.”
“I know,” you purred, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “I don’t care.”
Feeling bold, you sucked his sensitive skin gently, then harder, tasting him while your fingers traced the growing bulge in his pants.
He groaned softly, one hand gripping your wrist, but not stopping you. “You’re going to get us caught.”
You smiled against his throat and slowly dragged his zipper down. When you slipped your hand inside, you found him already rock-hard, hot and throbbing in your palm. You wrapped your fingers around his thick length and gave him one slow, teasing stroke.
“Fuck,” Satoru hissed between his teeth. “You’re really doing this right now?”
Instead of answering, you kissed lower, nipping at his collarbone while stroking him steadily under the table. Precum was already beading at the tip, and you stroked it with your thumb just the way he liked.
His breathing grew ragged. “Baby, there’s people—my aunt keeps looking over here—”
“Then stop me,” you challenged, your voice sweet and wicked.
You squeezed him tighter, pumping him faster, your thumb swirling over the sensitive head.
Satoru’s head tipped back slightly, his jaw tight. He looked like he was seconds away from losing control.
You glanced around quickly. It was really dark, and most guests were focused on the dance floor. Heart hammering, you slipped down between his legs under the table, disappearing beneath the long white tablecloth.
“Shit—!” Satoru’s whisper was sharp, but he didn’t pull you back up.
You freed his cock completely, thick and flushed, pulsing under your tongue as you licked a long stripe from base to tip.
You took him into your mouth, sucking gently at first, then deeper, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you could, hollowing your cheeks while your hand worked the rest.
Above you, Satoru was falling apart. His voice was barely audible.
“Fuck, baby… I won’t last…”
You sucked harder, faster, saliva dripping down his shaft as you worked him desperately, the wet, obscene sounds muffled by the music.
“I’m close—shit, I’m so close—”
You took him deeper, eyes watering, determined to finish him. A few seconds later, his cock pulsed hard on your tongue. He came with a choked groan he tried to swallow down, thick ropes of cum spilling into your mouth, a bit trickling down the corner of your lips.
When he finally stopped pulsing, you carefully tucked him back into his pants and zipped him up.
You emerged from under the table a moment later, lips slightly swollen, cheeks flushed. Satoru looked wrecked—cheeks pink, eyes dark, chest still rising and falling fast.
Without missing a beat, you grabbed a napkin from the table and discreetly wiped your mouth, folding it neatly like nothing had happened. Then you leaned in and kissed his jaw sweetly.
“Delicious,” you whispered against his ear. “The best dish of the night.”
Satoru let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh and pulled you against his side, his arm wrapping possessively around your waist.
“You’re actually insane,” he murmured, his voice rough with lingering pleasure. “I can’t believe you just did that. In front of my whole fucking family.”
You smiled innocently, nuzzling into his neck. “It’s your fault for looking too good.”
He laughed and kissed you.
“Ten minutes,” he said on your lips “Then I’m dragging you out of here and fucking you so hard you won’t be be able to walk or think straight for a whole week.”
You bit your lip, thighs pressing together at the thought.
a depraved, pervy boyfriend despite having acquired the pictures in his hold in the least perverted way possible. ones you'd gotten him to take during the act or ones you'd taken yourself.
you'd left with a long kiss pressed to his mouth and these pressed into his hand like it was the most normal way to say bye for the couple days you'd be on your girl's trip. a coy little "I love you, don't miss me too much!" like he won't do exactly that. like you don't know exactly what kind of reaction the polaroids will elicit.
he tries to hide it from himself at first, honestly. he knows you. didn't even have to look at the photos to know what they were, really. the mini photo album he'd bought the same day just to store them lays tucked in a box, box tucked under the bed. but they taunt him, calling his name every night he'd lay in your spot on the bed. snuggled up against your pillow to sleep like you're still here because no, video and voice calls don't cut it.
satoru lasts a grand total of 3 days.
3 days till he's dragging out the box, pretty images splayed all over silken sheets in a disorganized sprawl. you bent over the couch, you on your knees between his thighs with a grin and a messy face. you, you, you—beautiful in every single one and it's devastating. not good for his sanity.
back to the present, the image his eyes are locked on is more than enough to sustain him. to let the memory of the exact situation form and play out like a movie in his mind. 2 weeks ago, negligee the same shade as his eyes, bunched up above your hips. riding him with your palms braced on his chest to lift and drop yourself on his cock. necklace swaying like a pendulum, bouncing against your sternum. the broken, breathless sounds he'd gotten out of you burned into his mind.
he strokes himself slowly, lazily, like drawing it out will make the orgasm stretch twice as long. thumb swiping over his leaky tip, smearing precum all down his shaft. his hips twitch when his wrist twists just right, already painfully close after a few minutes of this. he has your face in his direct view, your voice bouncing around his head. that airy “feels good, 'toru?” from the last time in particular. another glossy droplet leaks from his angry head and wets his knuckles, sweat beading on his forehead.
you'd probably find this funny. possibly endearing. maybe ask him if he misses you that much—which he does. doesn't matter that you'll be home in the next 36 hours. he misses the way you smell, misses the way you feel. how your nails claw at his back and leave it all red when he pushes his cock into the right spot, how warm you are. how your laughter bursts out of you like sunshine. how you smile at him. 3 days and he's going insane. like a dog without it's owner. 3 days only and he's fucking his fist to polaroids of you like...like some sort of lovesick, perverted loser!
which, well, isn't too far off.
"oh...nng—fuck." he whines lowly, breathless, pinching near the sensitive underside of his cockhead in hopes of staving off his rapidly building orgasm—2nd one, mind you, since the first came too quickly. it doesn't help at all.
the next picture his gaze falls to doesn't make it any easier either. it's a little blurry and he knows he'd taken it because you're on top of him again. head tipped back, straps hanging off your shoulders with your bra shoved below your tits. he remembers it so vividly. how wet you'd been, taking every inch perfectly. hands held behind your lower back in his hold, his feet planted on the mattress to pound up into you. how you'd tried to keep from being noisy and failed. how you'd nearly ended him in 4 measly thrusts.
that plan to last a little longer? gone straight to hell with that specific thought. it's that heat at the base of his spine that has him tugging his cock firmer now, frantic. trying to match the feeling of the silken heat of your cunt with just his hand. he never can, but this works fine enough for now. his breath punches out in little pants, abs flexing every time he jerks upward, chasing that dizzying edge of release.
"nng—pleasepleaseplease—" pearly droplets leak past his head and smear down the length of him with every paced stroke, like his cock is crying at the memory. like it misses you just as much as he does.
satoru's need borders on embarrassing at this point. he wants to bury his face in your neck and listen to you speak about everything and nothing at all. wants to let you just sit on his dick for hours just so he can feel your warmth. wants you on his face, cunt slick messy on his tongue till he no longer cares for oxygen—just the taste and familiar smell of you.
he's depraved at this point. wet thwacks loud with the tugs of his hand, toes curling, free hand keeping his favorite snapshot in his line of sight. a sound cracks from deep within him, high and helpless, losing his rhythm only when his abs tense and he's cumming—hard. cock throbbing between his fingers as thick, hot spurts spill over his knuckles, splattering across his toned stomach, over one of the photos he didn't even realize he'd had this close.
for a moment it's all heavy breaths and heat in the room, ivory strands of his bangs plastered to his forehead like he'd ran a triathlon, eyes fluttering. he fumbles for tissue to wipe his stomach and fingers, then the image all tenderly. a pink flush sits high on his cheeks like he's embarrassed about the mess, murmuring a soft sorry. though not entirely ashamed, not really.
then he's curling into your spot to stuff his face in your pillow again, setting aside a bit of time for this before he'd clean himself up. eyes shut like if he keeps them closed tight and stays still enough, it's like you're home already.
just a couple hours left, no big deal.
maybe.
author's note :: 𑣲⋆ post number 5! I was gonna post 𑣲nanami but I liked this one more, so here we are. he might be the next post instead ^^
tag list open! just let me know via inbox or comments 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
likes and reblogs appreciated, thanks for reading!
⚠️ CW: Leon eats the Reader out nasty style. Consensual, but lowkey forced orgasm if you squint…👁️👁️. Apologies if this is cliche and overtly raunchy, the ovulation spirit has possessed me and it demands cheap terrible labour.
Leon knelt tall and unyielding between her trembling thighs: back straight and shoulders squared with raw determination. His strong hands gripped the plush curves of her ass, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh as he hoisted her hips high off the bed. Her upper body stayed anchored against the rumpled sheets, abdomen arched with her lower body suspended in the air, and legs draped helplessly over his shoulders.
She gasped sharply while her hands clutched the sheets in fists until her knuckles turned white.
This exposed and compromising position had her throbbing heat presented to him: raised directly to his mouth like an offering he intended to ruin.
The angle had left her completely open to him - pink folds spread and clit swollen - every intimate detail raised for his devouring gaze and taking.
A soft nervous whimper escaped her. Her body instinctively tensing with lingering hesitation, thighs twitching as if to shield herself from such raw exposure. But he held her firmly open, unapologetic about the compromising way he had her displayed.
“Leon… please, I - ” Her voice trembled with uncertainty.
Then she met his eyes.
Those icy blue eyes.
Burning between her quivering thighs. Locked staring straight onto hers with unfathomable greed.
From his position of absolute power, he looked every inch the famished man who had finally cornered his prey and meant to consume her whole.
There was no mercy in that stare.
No hesitation.
Only raw and devouring hunger that made her stomach clench and her pussy flutter. He was locked in and focused, the intensity of his gaze stripped away every last layer of restraint she had ever clung to.
And, without breaking eye contact - he dove in.
His mouth sealing over her dripping cunt with messy and desperate fervor. His tongue plunged straight into her fluttering heat, thrusting deep and licking with broad filthy strokes that echoed wet and melodies through the room. Sucking greedily on her swollen folds. Lapping up her arousal only to devour her again. His tongue familiarizing her entrance while his lips and chin smeared the slick of her arousal everywhere.
He ate her messily, hungrily, and utmost shamelessly.
Saliva mixed with her juices coated his mouth and dripped in thick glistening strands from his chin.
As he lifted her hips even higher and buried his face deeper, those slick rivulets slid down her quivering abdomen in slow shining paths. The warm viscous mixture traced over her flushed skin as it pools briefly in the dip of her navel before continuing its path flowing sensually between the valley of her heaving breasts. The glistening evidence of their shared desire continued its journey - streaking toward her collarbones and finally reaching the flushed skin of her neck and face - dripping onto her parted lips in tiny obscene drops.
The path was the undeniable proof of their shared desperation: his all-consuming need to claim and consume every drop of her, and the flooding of her body’s helpless response as she unraveled under his relentless hunger.
The sensation of their mingled fluids marking her skin - cooling as it traveled, contrasting with the burning heat between her legs - pushed her deeper into overwhelming pleasure. It had marked her as his. She had never known anything so raw, so filthy, and so liberating. The inhibitions of her upbringings fractured under the onslaught; torn apart as he coaxed her toward the edge with desperate and devouring intensity.
Her back bowed sharply off the bed, her abdomen straining in his grip as desperate cries tore from her throat. “Oh! Leon!”
Her hands clenched, fisting the sheets until the knuckles turned white. Her hips jerking helplessly against his face. She was unable to escape the intensity of those eyes still locked on hers between her trembling thighs.
Leon had unleashed a growl, the vibrations sparking an heightened sensation through her core. He proceeded to suck on her clit harder while his tongue curled and thrust inside her. Adding two thick fingers into established rhythm, they stretch her walls with merciless taunt and precision.
His eyes still fixed on her, never once looking away.
“Come for me.” He rasped with a live thick with lust against her, those icy blue eyes still burning into hers with absolute command.
Her body seized violently. A sharp, keening wail escaped her as the orgasm slammed into and shattering her completely. Her pussy clenched and pulsed around his fingers and tongue.
Like a fountain promising forever youth, she gushes her elixir of life which he drank down eagerly. The glistening trail between her breasts grew wetter as more dripped from his chin - evidence of how thoroughly he had undone her.
Her legs shook violently on his shoulders, and abdomen quivering high in the air as ecstasy tore her apart completely. She was left sobbing, trembling, and utterly fallen apart as she drowned deeper under the enlightenment he had brought to her.
He held her there: suspended and devoured.
However, he never stopped.
He continued to lick her through every pulsing aftershock until she was a nothing but a desperately dripping ruined mess beneath his touch.
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✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
cockwarming with gojo always goes one of two ways and it entirely depends on his mood.
ƒιяѕт ωαу : he really means it, he wants you dripping wet and completely still around his cock. he wants to feel how you get wetter and wetter around him and grow desperate. hips trying to wiggle against him only to go nowhere because he’s holding you incredibly still, refusing to fuck you because he wants to sit and revel in the plush softness of your warm cunt.
you’ll cry a little and beg and he still won’t relent, though your rounded, sparkling eyes make his heart break a little. he’ll kiss you deep and slow, like it makes up for not fucking you. like his tongue filling your mouth and licking against yours soothes the ache of your need for him to fuck you.
gojo will make it worse by talking to you, all soft and sweet, “you feel so hot and gooey around me, pretty,” his voice pitchy, “can feel you twitching around my dick, begging me to fuck you nice and properly.”
and still he won’t fuck you, he’ll somehow lull you to sleep with him still inside. he’ll make up for it in the morning when he fucks you deep and hard. the slide of his cock in and out so smooth, you’re halfway convinced you had cum around him in your dreams.
ѕє¢ση∂ ωαу : it’s a halfhearted offer in the first place, wanting the intimacy and control but not possessing the willpower to follow through. trying his absolute best to hold back but his cock is jerking and throbbing inside your snug walls. veins thumping a loving tune of your name to your pussy.
it’s him that’s all wet eyed and beggy, head thrown back as he whimpers at you. his heart hammering in his chest as he continues to stay perfectly still for you. staying still because this is your revenge for the last time you’d cockwarmed him and he’d practically tortured you with your own need.
truly not long before he’s whining at you, “please, let– hnn– let me move, sweetheart?” shudders wracking through his body, “fuck– i can’t– ohhh, sweetie, you feel too fucking good.”
you’ll finally nod emphatically at him, never able to handle waiting for too long. too weak for him and his fat dick to deny him much. the most sinful moans leave him as he fucks you deliciously, depraved in how he drags his heavy cock through your creamy walls. he’ll thank you through breathless moans and open mouthed kisses and he’ll cum so hard that it’ll drool from your hole back into his lap.
either way, cockwarming with gojo is a real treat…
a/n: saw someone else do this and i loved itt so I thought I would do smth similarrr
summary: A completely normal morning turns into absolute chaos when the Gaang notices bruises on your hips, forcing you and Aang into a painfully embarrassing explanation while the rest of the group reacts in the most dramatic ways possible.
wc: 1.9k
contains: established relationship, romantic fluff, comedy, embarrassment, protective Aang, accidental public exposure, light suggestive themes, Gaang shenanigans loll
The morning had started completely normal.
Well-
Normal for the Gaang.
Which meant Sokka was loudly raiding the kitchen for food while Toph complained about him chewing too loud, Katara was trying to organize everyone, and Appa was snoring somewhere outside loud enough to shake the windows.
You were barely awake yourself.
Still tired.
Still sore.
And completely unaware of the bruises visible along your hips where your shirt had ridden up slightly. Honestly, you hadn’t even thought about them.
Not after last night.
Not after Aang had practically refused to stop making love to you for hours, kissing all over your skin while holding you tightly against him like he could never get enough. A blush threatened your face just thinking about it.
You walked into the kitchen quietly, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Morning,” you mumbled.
Katara smiled softly.
“Morning.”
Sokka looked up from his food immediately.
Then paused. His expression changed instantly. “…Uh.”
You blinked sleepily. “What?”
The kitchen suddenly went weirdly quiet. Even Toph tilted her head slightly. Katara’s eyes widened subtly. Sokka slowly pointed toward your waist. “…Should we be concerned?”
Your stomach dropped immediately.
“What?”
You looked down. And immediately saw them. Dark bruises wrapped around your hips. Finger-shaped. Very obvious finger-shaped.
Oh no.
Your face went hot instantly. “Oh my gosh.”
Katara stood immediately. “Did someone hurt you?”
“No!”
Too fast. Which somehow made it worse. Sokka looked horrified now. “Wait seriously, are those handprints?!”
You immediately tugged your shirt downward in embarrassment. “It’s not what it looks like!”
Toph snorted loudly from the table. “Oh, I can sense exactly what it looks like.”
“TOPH.”
“What? I’m blind, not stupid.”
Katara still looked worried though.
Genuinely worried. And honestly? You understood why. The bruises looked bad. Especially because Aang was incredibly strong now, even outside bending.
Years of training and fighting had changed him physically.
He was taller.
Broad-shouldered.
Muscular in ways he definitely hadn’t been as a teenager.
And sometimes-
Especially when emotional or passionate, he genuinely didn’t realize his own strength. Still, before you could explain properly The kitchen door slid open.
And Aang walked in. Immediately smiling the second he saw you. “There you are.”
His voice was still soft and sleepy. His head tattoos slightly glowing from just finishing morning meditation. He looked comfortable and relaxed. Completely unaware he’d just walked into a disaster. Then he noticed the silence.
And everyone staring at him.
His smile slowly faded.
“…Why is everyone looking at me like that?”
Nobody answered immediately. Sokka looked between you and Aang awkwardly. Katara looked deeply conflicted. Toph looked entertained. And you wanted to disappear into the floor.
Aang frowned slightly. “What happened?”
Then Katara spoke carefully.
“Aang…”
The second he heard her tone, concern crossed his face instantly.
“What? What’s wrong?”
Katara glanced at you briefly before looking back at him. “She has bruises.”
Aang blinked.
“…Okay?”
Sokka nearly choked.
“OKAY?!”
Aang looked even more confused now but then looked at your face. Then your waist where you were still unsuccessfully trying to cover the marks.
He immediately walked toward you, panic and embarrassment all over his face. “Baby, I didn’t hurt you, right?”
The fact he asked so genuinely somehow made your face even hotter.
“No!”
“You’d tell me if I did?”
“Yes, Aang.”
He visibly relaxed slightly.
Then immediately looked horrified again. “…Did I really leave those?”
You covered your face instantly. “Oh my gosh.”
Sokka looked traumatized.
“I’m never eating in this kitchen again.”
Toph was still cackling. Katara pinched the bridge of her nose. “A warning would’ve been nice.”
“We didn’t know they were there!” you defended weakly. Aang still looked guilty somehow. His eyes stayed fixed on the bruises. “…I grabbed you that hard?”
Your face somehow got hotter.
“You were emotional.”
Toph made a choking noise laughing.
“Oh this is GOLD.”
Aang immediately rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to bruise you…”
You softened instantly seeing how upset he suddenly looked. Because despite the embarrassment, Aang genuinely hated the idea of hurting you.
Even accidentally.
You reached for his hand gently.
“Aang.”
His eyes immediately lifted to yours.
“I’m okay.”
“…Promise?”
“Yes.”
He still looked uncertain. “I should’ve been more careful.”
Your chest softened painfully. “Aang, they don’t even hurt.”
Katara finally sighed. “Okay, now that we’ve established nobody is being abused- ”
“THANK YOU,” you muttered.
“- can we please never discuss this again?”
Toph immediately grinned. “Oh no, I’m discussing this for months.”
Aang groaned quietly before stepping closer to you again. Still embarrassed. Still pink-faced. But his hand automatically settled gently on your waist anyway. This time very obviously careful. You looked up at him teasingly. “Scared to touch me now?”
“Yes.”
You laughed softly.
“Aang.”
“I’m serious.”
His thumb brushed lightly against your hip where the bruises sat hidden again beneath your shirt. “I don’t like seeing marks on you from me.”
Your expression softened instantly.
“You know I liked them.”
Aang’s face immediately went red again.
“Baby.”
Toph gagged dramatically.
“Ew.”
Sokka pointed accusingly while backing toward the door.
“See?! This is why I’m leaving!”
Katara was fully covering her face now. “I miss when we were children.”
“We literally fought in a war,” Toph said.
“Somehow this feels worse.”
You started laughing helplessly while Aang buried his face briefly against your shoulder in embarrassment.
“I can’t believe this happened.”
“You walked into it.”
“I hate all of you.”
“No you don’t,” you murmured softly. Aang sighed dramatically before lifting his head again. Then quietly enough just for you- “…Still sorry though.”
Your heart melted instantly, because even now, after years together. After knowing you trusted him completely He still cared so deeply about your comfort and safety. You kissed his cheek softly.
“I know.”
And immediately
Some of the tension left his shoulders again.
Even while Sokka continued loudly announcing from another room that he’d been emotionally scarred for life.
satoru is surprised to see that his new neighbor is young & beautiful, not an old hag.
satoru gojo doesn’t do relationships, is what he says every time a hook up tried staying until the morning. he’d go into a bar in hopes of blowing off some steam after a long day of work, find a pretty face, and ruin it back in his apartment.
his neighbors were sick of his behavior, eventually not being able to handle it anymore leaving moving out as the only option. it was an insanity for the luxury apartment complex to refuse to do anything other than give him warnings time to time. that was because satoru would just pay them to leave him alone.
his loud moans along the sounds of skin on skin were the last thing one needed to hear at three in the morning, so it wasn’t a surprise to see mr. & mrs. iori packing their things not even a month after moving in.
they shot the white haired boy a dirty look as they carried their boxes outside. satoru would only respond with his stupid smirk.
the rumor of a new neighbor settling in next door to him spread quickly. everyone spoke of you so kindly because of how you’ve given each of the families on your floor a plate of sweet treats.
a pout would appear on satoru’s face upon hearing of you. why haven’t you given him anything? you live right next to him for gods sake!
the last time he had a girl over was well over a week ago, his work being more demanding leaving no room for his activities. his body shook with excitement, hands groping the blondes body watching as her nipples hardened under the cold weather. right as he was about to take one into his mouth, the doorbell rang.
satoru groaned in annoyance, pulling back with reluctance. he stood up, re-adjusting his raging boner inside his pants to answer the door. to his surprise, it was you.
“hi,” your soft voice cut through the air. “i’m new here, thought it’d be best to finally introduce myself to my neighbor. wasn’t so sure if anyone lived here since it’s always so quiet!”
oh you poor innocent thing.
but oh my god. you’re no old lady who bakes and sews in her free time. you’re around his age, with a pretty face that practically made his jaw drop in awe as his eyes landed on yours.
satoru could hear his hook up calling for him to come back, making him close the door slightly behind him so you wouldn’t be able to hear her. “yeah, sorry just been so busy. but, i’ve heard about you…” he dragged out the ‘o’
“y/n”
“y/n” he repeated, testing out your name himself. and it felt so right. “i’m satoru, satoru gojo.”
you shook his slightly clammy hand after he offered it to you. “well, satoru, i really hope you enjoy the cookies. have a goodnight.”
“you too..” his eyes trailed after you even as you walked away.
at that moment, he knew he wanted you & for more than just sex. he wanted what was shown in romcoms, when they’d go through fights and then hold hands and kiss under the rain. stuff like that.
but satoru gojo doesn’t do relationships.
he had no clue how they worked, really. the most he could do was touch himself at the thought of you. the way your loving voice would say good morning to him in the hallway or when you’d offer to babysit his nephew, megumi, when he was busy with his job.
you were so perfect.
“ngh fuck!” he whimpered out in the shower. the hot water hitting his bare back enough to make him arch into it. his hand squeezed the base of his cock, watching as his tip exposed itself once the skin was pulled back. the tip that was usually pink had now turned into an angry and desperate red.
“bet your mouth would look so pretty wrapped around me.” he whispered to nobody, throwing his head back as he quickened the speed of his hand. it was cramping from how hard he was going on himself, cumming hard onto the bathroom wall.
any evidence of an orgasm was washed away by the water that was pouring out of the shower head.
“what a waste.” he watched the cum disappear. it’d look much better painted on your back.
when other neighbors warned you of satoru, urging you to get earplugs, you were confused to say the least. “earplugs? what for?”
“he’s always moaning with a new girl every other week day. we’ve tried putting in complaints but the complex won’t do anything of it.”
“really? i haven’t heard anything.” which was a lie, partially. satoru didn’t moan to another girl these days that wasn’t you. every whimper and moan that slipped out of his place, spilled into yours. it was cute really, hearing his needy sounds with your name on his tongue after every interaction he had with you.
it was a huge help for you as well. having difficulty finishing, it became easier with just listening to him. your vibrator would touch just right, hand shaking as you moved the wand up and down.
the sudden silence of satoru’s place spread around the building. the fact that he hasn’t brought a girl over in a few weeks raised suspicion and honestly, worried everyone.
“maybe his company is being harsh again.”
“doubt it, he’d still find a way to have sex. something is seriously wrong.”
so they all kept a close eye on him, observing the way his line of sight lingered on your door every time he would leave or enter his place. satoru has been contemplating on returning the basket you had given him since you first spoke. it’s been sitting on his desk for a while now, collecting dust. surely, you wanted it back.
with the help of his black credit card, he filled the basket up with hundreds of roses, leaving it at your doorstep with a small note inside.
your eyes widened when you reached your door after a long day of work, wondering if you were hallucinating or not. you bent over to grab the basket, reaching inside for the piece of paper.
“feel like we barely speak other than you babysitting for me & the usual ‘hello’s’ & i’d love to take you out some time if that’s alright.”
at the bottom read his initials.
s.g
his heart wouldn’t stop beating in excitement upon your acceptance. but since he was satoru gojo at the end of the day, the boy who swore he doesn’t do relationships — has no idea how relationships operate.
“i think ill have.. the vietnamese coffee.” you smiled up at the barista who jotted down your order on their notepad.
“uh yea ill get that too..” satoru stuttered, trying his best to calm down the pressure he was feeling in his pants. he had no idea you have heard him jerking off to you for the past two weeks and even more so that you were doing the same.
when you spoke, all he could do was nod like a stupid bobble head, memorizing every word you said.
you were both out for a few hours getting to know each other better giving him extra time to figure out which position to have you in by the end of the night.
he knew doggy style would feel the best, but he really wanted to see your face. so, mating press would do it. except, you didn’t go into his apartment after heading back from the cafe. and you didn’t let him into yours.
“alright, good night satoru. thank you again for the date. hope we can go out again?”
he blinked, nodding. “of course. yeah, fuck of course.
with another of your gentle smiles, you leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek before entering your apartment, closing the door behind you with a soft click.
satoru stood there in shock.
you didn’t want to fuck him? were you teasing him? surely you’d open the door again and allow him to come in so he could fuck you until all you knew how to say was his name.
but you didn’t.
you made him wait.
2..3..4 dates went by and the most you’ve done was hold hands as you walked through the mall and kiss each other strictly on the face. his personal favorite was the cheek so he could attempt to move his head to the side, allowing your lips to accidentally graze his.
but whenever he tried this dirty trick, you’d move away just in time. he was growing frustrated. you wouldn’t even kiss him let alone sleep with him!
yes of course he wanted to be yours more than anything but god did he want to feel your body under his.
finally, on the fifth date, you two made it official and the neighbors had a field day with that. for a bit at least.
“did you hear satoru and the cookie girl got together?”
“shut up. don’t tell me that’s the reason we’ve finally been able to sleep peacefully lately.”
“who could’ve seen this-“
“coming! m’cumming!” you whimpered into your bedsheets, tears streaming down your flushed face.
satoru finally had you where he wanted, underneath him sobbing dumbly over his fat cock after finding your toys in your closet. “ha.. so you’ve been playing with these shitty things knowing i needed ya?”
he coo’ed feeling you tighten around him. “fuck. did ya hear me touch myself every night, hm? you got off on that?”
your eyes rolled back once he brought your vibrator to tease your clit all while he kept hitting the spot that had you seeing stars.
“mmm,” he chuckled. “who’s making you feel better huh?”
“y-you! you satoruuu!”
his hand that was placed on the small of your back moved to spank your plush ass, adding onto the already existing hand marks.
“knew i had to have this pretty pussy the second you knocked on my door. i’m mad at you, baby. should’ve knocked on my door for a different reason but hey, least you’re my girl now.”
he moved your head to the side, smashing his lips onto yours in a messy kiss. “go on sweets. cum.” he ordered.
you didn’t need to be told twice.
your sweet juices spilled out over his length, body collapsing completely over the bed. satoru slowed his movements, fucking back your orgasm into you before spilling his seed in you.
“nice and deep.. good girl.”
his thumb shifted to turn off the toy, throwing it somewhere in the room. his cock slipped out of you making you whine.
“oh? you want more? should’ve just said so, love.”
his hands grabbed onto yours waist, flipping you over so now you were both face to face. “let’s try this position now.”
the neighbors might’ve gotten a few weeks of peace, but they now had to deal with satoru fucking the pretty girl that lived on the same floor.
Aang won't tell you this but he thinks that kissing you is as instinctual as breathing. When dawn breaks, the sun climbing past the mountain peaks, the first thing he does when he wakes up is roll over to kiss you. He'll tug you back into his chest if you had shifted through the night, his strong arm wrapping around you like a band effectively trapping your sleep-warm body as close to his as humanly possible. Each morning, without fail, starts with a sweet trail of kisses, beginning at your temple, moving down to your cheek, and skimming along your jawline just before he reaches your neck. His face slots into the junction of it like a puzzle piece, his breath warm and lips tender as he mumbles a drowsy "Good morning."
After his morning meditation under the juniper tree, his smile is sunbeam bright when he meets you at the back doorstep. Slender fingers wrap around the steaming mug of tea you hold out to him, he sighs happily because it's always made just the way he likes, semi-sweet and very fragrant. His free hand curls into the fabric of your lounge tunic, palm like a brand on your hip as he kisses your forehead in thanks.
On the days when there just isn't enough time for him to make breakfast with you, the minute you set his plate down in front of him, he's catching your hand and holding it by the wrist to kiss from the heel of your palm to the tips of your fingers. Aang always holds your gaze when he thanks you for feeding him, needing you to see how grateful he is.
For the days he can afford to linger a little longer, he'll stand behind you, arms at home around your torso and lips pressed to the nape of your neck. Of course, he has to adjust his stance or bend his head to reach, but he doesn't mind, not even when you tell him he'll end up looking like a cooked shrimp if he isn't careful. Sometimes there are playful kisses, the ones he'll demand to give you in exchange for your towel he purposely snatched while you were showering. You let him, always, and once he's had his fill for the moment, he'd grab the towel from you and wrap you in it himself, eyes blazing with a heat hotter than the water you just bathed in. He'll kiss your neck, wet little pecks that stop at your breasts before he lets you go so that you can get ready for the day.
If you're going in the same direction, walking hand in hand, every so often he'll kiss the back of your hand. If you just so happen to be speaking at the time, it disrupts your train of thought. He does do it on purpose, and grins like a pleased puss whenever you hide your flustered face in his bicep. If you're going your separate ways, a 'goodbye' kiss is mandatory and it'll throw off his whole day if he doesn't get one. There was one particular afternoon he rushed out so quickly you were convinced spirits were nipping at the tail end of his glider as he only managed a rushed-out 'love you forever' before he was jetting off into the sky. You were left standing there, arms outstretched, eyes closed and ready for his usual kiss, it never came.
You decide not to think too much about it, lest you start dwelling on the fact that this could be where the inconsistency would start. Yes, you're spoiled to the core when it comes to his clockwork kisses and you have no shame in that whatsoever. Still, the overthinking has made you rather petulant about your kiss or lack thereof, causing you to nearly crush the newly signed scroll while wrapping it back up. Then, the breeze picked up and quick as a blink, a blur of saffron shot through the open window.
Of course, he came back.
"Aang, what-"
"I forgot somethin'." Is all he says before he leans his glider against the wall, then you're being pulled forward and dipped into a sweeping kiss, so long and lingering as if he were trying to take your very breath away.
Your arms wrap around his neck and he sighs into your mouth before pulling away and righting you. Dazed is how he leaves you as he grabs his glider and disappears the way he came, the 'love you forever' sounding like a wind chime as he goes.
Slow languid kisses in the late evening are sacred; after your council meetings end, and if his lectures with the Acolytes don't carry into the late night. The lucky days like these find you perched in his lap, your hands gripping his biceps or around his neck—wherever they can find purchase as his tongue splits the seam of your lips to chase yours, mapping the cavern of your mouth and licking the taste of apple cake out of it.
He'll scoop you up then, taking you to your shared bed, laying you back against the pillows before crawling between your thighs and peppering biting kisses up the apex. When you're fed up with the teasing, he'll apologize with slick and sticky kisses up your wet slit, asking for your forgiveness in between kitten licks to your throbbing clit.
You'll plead for the weight of him against you and he'll work his way back up, kissing the expanse of your body til he's back to your lips. Big hands squeeze your cheeks as he buries himself in your tight heat, heavy cock kissing your spongy sweet spot while you eagerly kiss the taste of your arousal out of his mouth, not stopping until he's whining, claiming he needs air. The absolute weak man that he is doesn't let you go far, he'll kiss the slivers of skin that he thought he missed while you bask in the warm haze of afterglow.
Goodnight kisses are merely a sleepy but no less meaningful chaste little thing to any part of you he can reach in his drowsy state. He'd be half-awake as he tucks you against his side muttering incoherently about one spot he never got to reach.
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SYNOPSIS: Aang visits the Fire Nation after some time off wandering around the remaining Air Temples, and the first one that welcomes him are tiny hands, loud energetic voice, and a familiar pair of eyes that are etched on his head.
CONTENTS: Endearments (Reader being called “Darling”), Aang tossing your kid 🫠
WARNINGS: None. No beta, we die like Gojo
The second that Aang mounts down from Appa on the vast courtyard where a humble residence was waiting for him at the Fire Nation—a courtesy from the Fire Lord, his best friend, Zuko—a strong gush of warm wind flows through him.
And a loud energetic voice too.
“Papa Aang!”
Your daughter races after you to greet Aang with a hug tighter than you could ever give.
“Umi!” Aang was quick to accept the little girl’s embrace, then lifted her up to the air just like how she loves being carried when she was a baby.
The little girl giggled as Aang tosses her high up in the air, and even if Aang will never ever let anything happen to your daughter, you can’t help but shake your head and smile as you walk closer towards them.
“What did I say about air tosses again, Umi?” you remind as the little girl gets settled down on the ground but immediately hides behind her Papa Aang.
Umi fidgets with Aang’s yellow robe as she peeks only her head to be visible to you. “That it’s dangerous and that Papa Aang might be tired or injured…” she murmurs.
Instantly and naturally, Aang lifts up Umi and takes her side, defending the kid. “—and! Papa Aang is not injured! Right, Umi!?” he asks to which your daughter nods frantically too.
Both of them displaying an almost identical puppy-eyes-with-pout combo that your daughter definitely got from Aang.
You could only sigh and fight the grin that was inevitably forming on your lips.
These two together just manages to hook you easily.
“Welcome back, Aang.” It was finally your turn to hug him.
The kid that Zuko introduced you to.
The kid that you grew up with.
The teenager that you explored the world with.
The teenager that helped you escape your responsibilities, even if it was just for a little while.
But mostly, the man that loved you more than he could love himself or anyone.
He melted onto the hug—the way you put your arms on his back, the way you wrapped your arms tightly around him, and the way your daughter was in between the both of you and Aang—it was perfect.
“I missed you…” Aang murmurs so that only you could hear. (Umi is a jealous little girl. Not that she was aware of…)
Before you could say it back, Umi grabs Aang’s face with her tiny hands, forcing him to look at her as she grins widely.
For an epiphany, Umi’s eyes that held the same color as yours was all Aang could see.
Pair of eyes that are identical to the woman he loves.
Aang swears the little girl had your entire soul tucked behind those eyes—warm like your laugh and bright like the gentle look in your eyes whenever you smiled at him.
He was pulled out of the trance when the 4 year old taps her small hands onto Aang’s face again.
“Papa Aang, I need to show you something!” Umi hurriedly wiggles her body so that Aang can lower her down the courtyard.
You took a few steps to stand beside Aang and watched as your daughter snuggles with Appa before standing in front of the two of you.
“She’s not gonna do that thing where she imitates a tigerdillo and cry when she doesn’t let out a successful roar, right?” Aang crosses his arms, making sure to whisper his question.
He remembers clearly when your daughter cried in his arms and complained how Auntie Toph and Aunty Katara both found her cute instead of terrifying.
Yeah… Aang had a hard time shushing her, but he’d do it a million times anyway.
Stifling your laughter as you leaned your head sideways to whisper to him, Aang does the same as well. “No, Aang. Umi will show you something she’s been practicing for weeks.”
Aang smiles at that—to the thought of having Umi look forward to seeing Aang whenever he’s away from them.
And exceeding his expectations, little Umi does a few kicks and throws before finally being able to conjure a small fire from her palm.
“See, Mama? I can firebend very good like you and Papa Aang!” Umi shows a proud crooked smile, something that she definitely learned from Aang.
He was at lost for words. Most benders show the ability to bend their elements by the age of 5. However, little Umi was doing at the age of 4.
But what had Aang more speechless was how Umi seems to have her skills from him and you.
Which was true.
You were an exceptional firebender and… even if Aang is an airbender, he is also the avatar, meaning that he can also firebend—very well at that too.
Aang crouches down immediately once Umi creates another tiny spark from her palm, he corrected her stance, her movements, and even having Momo participate how to move to gain laughter from your daughter.
You made your way to the Olive tree and quietly sat down on the grass.
For several minutes, you watched your daughter look up at Aang with eager anticipation, carefully following every movement he demonstrated—not missing a single step no matter how small it was.
For the practice to remain safe, Aang used airbending as an example instead of fire. Gentle streams of wind curled around his arms as he moved across the courtyard with effortless grace.
Aang had always moved like the wind itself.
Weightless.
Free.
Beautiful in the most unfair way possible.
Even after all these years, watching him bend still leaves you breathless sometimes.
A tiny memory resurfaces before you could stop it—
Being teenagers again.
Watching Aang practice beneath the sunset while you sat beside Appa pretending not to stare too much.
Only for him to catch you every single time anyway.
“You keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna mess up,” he had laughed back then.
And maybe he never realized how impossible that was.
Because Aang never stumbled when he moved.
He danced with the world instead.
Now your daughter was trying to follow those same movements, tiny feet shuffling against the grass while her arms copied his motions with adorable determination.
And for a second—
Umi looked less like a little firebender and more like a miniature reflection of Aang himself.
The way she spun.
The way she leaned into the movement instead of fighting it.
The way laughter escaped her so easily whenever the wind lifted around her.
Aang notices it too.
You can tell by the sudden softness in his expression as he crouches down to correct her stance gently.
“No, no.” Aang laughs quietly. “Relax your shoulders first. Air moves with you.” He teaches how an airbender moves, and pretty soon he’d be teaching her how a waterbender flows, and how an earthbender stands.
For Aang, it didn’t seem like he was teaching Umi to be a great firebender in the future—wanting to teach her the ways of bending the other elements to be a better bender rather seemed like a father-and-daughter bond to him.
Umi nods seriously before trying again.
And this time, the wind actually answers her.
A small gust of controlled ember circles around her ankles, lifting strands of her hair as she gasps in delight.
“That’s amazing, Umi!” he breathes out, genuine wonder coating his voice so easily that the little girl nearly combusts from excitement alone. “Do that again.”
“I can do it bigger!”
“Maybe not too big.” You quickly interfere, already knowing your daughter far too well and for being worried too.
“Yes, Mama…” Umi huffs before trying again anyway. Another stream of fire bursts from her hand—slightly larger this time before it fizzles away.
Aang laughs softly and reaches over to steady her stance by the shoulders. “You’re leaning too much on your left foot.”
“Like this?” Umi shakes a little.
Aang corrects her stance while grinning. “Nope. Now you look like your Uncle Sokka trying to dance.”
Umi gasps loudly while you laugh behind them. “That’s mean, Papa Aang! You sound like Aunty Toph!”
“It’s true, Umi.” You mumble to which your daughter widens her mouth at. In her little head, that was already permission to say that his Uncle Sokka dances funnily the next time he visits the Fire Nation.
But Aang was rather focused on something else.
He grins at the sound of your laughter. Spirits— he missed it.
The sound alone always made every exhausting trip around the world worth returning from.
Umi tries again with dramatic determination, sticking her tongue out slightly in concentration before another spark appears successfully. “There!” Umi cheers. “Did you see that, Mama?! Papa Aang!?” Her head whips between the two of you.
“Yes, Sweetheart. I did.” You admit as Umi goes to you, wanting you to kiss her forehead as a praise for doing so well, to which of course you obliged to before she turns to Aang next.
“I did too!” Aang answers instantly. “That one was perfect!”
“Thank you for teaching me, Papa Aang!” Umi’s familiar eyes squints automatically as she smiles from ear to ear.
And right after his praise, Umi was quick to do everything again while Aang makes his way to sit beside you on the grass under the shade of the Olive tree in his courtyard.
Then quietly, almost too quiet for even himself...
"She has your eyes..." Aang murmurs softly while watching Umi struggle to keep her flame steady.
"When I picked her up from the Royal Academy last month, she was surrounded by dozens of other kids and I still spotted her immediately." he laughs at the memory.
Your head turns toward him, heart skipping as Aang just absentmindedly has you and your daughter in his head. You let out a quiet laugh. "You make it sound easy."
Aang doesn't look away from Umi. "It is." He says softly.
His gaze lingers on Umi for another second before meeting yours.
"I could recognize your eyes anywhere."
The confession was genuine and nothing but the truth, and yet it held a meaning that Aang swore he will never bring up again.
Your lips part slightly, caught somewhere between flustered and speechless.
Aang notices how quiet you’ve gotten. Then, he says your name softly. “How have you been?” He asks, quiet enough that it blended too well with the wind.
“Busy. You know how it is, Aang…” You answer. It was a truncated answer, but it was not a total lie. You were indeed busy with all your duties and with also raising your daughter.
It’s just that if you had said more than that… maybe Aang would see your raw feelings that you fought so hard to keep strictly to yourself.
Aang stays quiet for a moment after your answer. Not because he didn’t know what to say... but because he knew you all too well.
Busy was never just busy with you.
His eyes drift toward your hands resting against the grass beside you before slowly lifting back to your face. “You’ve been sleeping enough at least… right?” he asks softly.
The question almost makes you laugh.
Even after all these years, Aang still worried about the smallest things when it came to you.
“Sometimes...” you answer honestly.
Aang's lips pursed. “That means no.”
“Aang.” You exhaled, tilting your head a little bit with an exhausted smile. You wanted Aang to drop the topic, but it seems like him worrying about you was already etched into his brain.
“What?” he smiles lightly. “Your eyebrows are a little flat and your eyes don't shine brightly enough whenever you lack sleep.” He had rambled on and was embarrassed to say that out loud before he could even stop himself.
Your chest tightens unexpectedly.
Because who else in the world would notice something so small and something that does not make any sense? but for Aang... it does.
The wind shifts around the both of you gently, carrying the faint scent of fire lilies from the gardens nearby while Umi continued trying to make controlled flames several feet away. She ditched her practices and was quick to play tag with Momo while hiding behind Appa.
Aang watches her for a second before speaking again.
“She’s happy here.”
The statement was simple and quiet, nearly blending together with the rustling leaves above the Olive tree and the distant giggles of your daughter along with Appa's grumbles and Momo's chirps.
Yet something about the way Aang said it made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
It didn’t sound like casual observation.
It sounded more like reassurance.
Like he needed to know—needed to hear from you—that the life you built here truly made you happy.
Your gaze softens instinctively as you watched your daughter laugh breathlessly while Momo circled around her head mischievously. The little lemur screeched triumphantly once Umi grew dizzy enough to stumble backward and collapse dramatically against Appa’s side.
Appa huffed fondly in response, large tail lazily flicking while the little girl dissolved into another fit of laughter.
“She is...” you answer softly.
And spirits, she really was.
Umi was happy here in the Fire Nation. Happy, especially in Aang's house. Happy running through the gardens and chasing turtleducks by the ponds and falling asleep in the arms of people who loved her endlessly (bonus points if she falls asleep on Appa while hugging Momo).
Aang hums quietly beside you, the sound thoughtful more than anything.
The late afternoon wind brushes gently past the both of you, carrying warmth from the setting sun as silence settles comfortably underneath the Olive tree, not awkward silence...
It was never awkward with Aang.
Just familiar.
The kind built from years of knowing each other too deeply.
“And you?” After a moment, Aang finally speaks again. His question lands softly.
Carefully.
Too carefully.
Like he was afraid the answer might break something in him if he heard it aloud.
Your breath catches almost immediately.
Not because the question was difficult—
But because it was Aang asking it.
Aang, who always looked at you like your happiness mattered personally to him.
Aang, who crossed entire oceans and nations carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet somehow still remembered the smallest things about you.
The way you rub your wrists when you’re overwhelmed.
The way you stop sleeping properly whenever stress consumes you.
The way your smile changes whenever it’s genuine versus when it’s forced for the sake of others.
You slowly turn toward him fully this time.
Only to realize Aang was already looking at you.
Not the palace behind you.
Not the gardens glowing gold beneath the sunset.
Not even Umi laughing loudly nearby.
Just you.
Gray eyes warm and unbearably soft beneath the fading sunlight.
And spirits… maybe that had always been your greatest weakness when it came to Aang.
The way he looked at you like you were still the first place his heart would search for after every journey.
Like you were something precious enough to return home to. Like he was willing to leave everything behind to spend an eternity here with you and Umi.
The breeze shifts again, gentle enough to move the loose strands of hair near your face. For a brief moment neither of you dare to speak. You only stare at each other while the world around you continues moving quietly in the background.
"I am, Aang." You finally admit.
Your answer hung around the air for a little while. Relief settles into his features so naturally that it almost hurts to look at him. Then Aang smiles—the kind of smile that never belonged to the Avatar, the one who ended the Hundred Year War, the one who held so many responsibilities. The smile simply belonged only to you.
Umi comes down from Appa's tail after treating it like a fluffy slide. An idea flashed her mind so she needed to invite you and Aang to it. "Mama! Can we ride Appa to go to the Royal Academy later? Other kids would love him!"
As quick as it came, the moment between you and Aang swiftly dispersed into the air as your daughter sits between you and Aang. "You have to ask Papa Aang and Appa for that, Sweetheart." You poke Umi's nose tip.
And Aang... he has never refused any of Umi's requests, so this one was no exception. "Of course, Umi." He ruffles her dark hair. "I'm sure Appa would love it too. Won't you, buddy?" They all turn to Appa who shifts his head as if nodding.
At the approval from both of you, Umi's eyes twinkle with success, already standing as she couldn't contain the amount of happiness and ideas flowing through her. "I'll show Appa to my friends and we can play with him after studying! And then, we can slide on his tail! And braid his fur!"
As Umi rambled on, you and Aang look at her softly. Both of you simply listened with matching smiles neither of you noticed forming.
"Then we can go home and visit—"
Umi stops talking and widens her eyes as if remembering something.
"Papa!"
Aang's whole attention automatically shifts as soon as Umi called him.
The word had become far too familiar whenever it came from Umi. Familiar enough that his heart answered before his mind could think twice about it.
Or at least... that was what he thought.
Because the little girl wasn’t looking at Aang anymore.
She was already scrambling onto her feet excitedly, tiny sandals pattering quickly against the grass, then the courtyard stones as she ran past the Olive tree, past Appa... past him.
Umi ran towards the man standing near the courtyard stairs.
And when Aang finally turns fully—
Zuko stood there.
Izumi ran towards Zuko.
Zuko’s tired expression softened the second his daughter collided into his arms. “Whoa!” Zuko exhales with a quiet laugh as he catches her effortlessly. “What happened to greeting Papa properly, Izumi?” He asked.
The greeting Zuko referred to was not one of those strict ones that referred to their royal status. What he referred to was the kisses that Izumi was supposed to give him.
The way Zuko called your daughter as “Izumi” and not her nickname, “Umi” brought Aang to the painful reality he so chose to ignore the moment you and your daughter greeted him.
Because with Zuko being here, everything was back to where it belonged.
Izumi being your child and Zuko’s.
And with you being Zuko’s wife.
That’s what it was, is, and would always be.
Izumi grabs her papa's face, smothering him with kisses—one on the nose, two for each of his cheeks, and one on Zuko's scar, then came her hug for her papa. "We were discussing to take Appa on a ride, Papa!"
"That's a good idea, Princess." Zuko returns the hug and carried Umi to go to you. "The Grand Chamberlain wouldn't like it, so it's a good idea." He whispered to his daughter to which she laughs at.
You were already standing by the moment that Zuko reaches you. He bows to Aang to which Aang mirrors his movement. A smile forming on his face upon seeing one of his best friends again.
“I apologize for arriving late.” Zuko says first, adjusting Izumi comfortably on his arm while his gaze briefly flickers toward you and your daughter. “Seems like my wife and daughter managed to welcome you to the Fire Nation before I could.”
Something twists strangely inside Aang’s chest at the words.
My wife. My daughter.
Simple words.
Yet they settle with devastating ease around the courtyard like truths Aang was only now fully forcing himself to face.
Still, he smiles anyway. Warmly. Easily. Like the Avatar the world loved.
“It’s alright." Aang assures him. “Umi was too excited for us to notice you weren’t here yet.”
Izumi gasps dramatically from Zuko’s arms. “Papa Aang said my firebending was perfect! I'm stronger than Grandpa Iroh now!"
The two men laugh quietly at that before Aang speaks again. “Thanks for making time for this visit, by the way. I actually needed to discuss something with you later regarding the non-bender groups forming across the Earth Kingdom and in here.”
Zuko nods once. “Of course. We’ll talk after dinner.”
Then—
The Fire Lord’s attention shifts entirely the second his eyes land on you properly.
And spirits.
Aang notices the change immediately.
The way Zuko’s expression softens in an instant. How every trace of exhaustion lingering on his face disappears the moment he looks at you. Like whatever burdens he carried from the palace halls no longer mattered once you were in front of him.
“Hey, Darling...” Zuko murmurs softly.
Your entire face brightens so naturally that it nearly steals the air from Aang’s lungs.
Not forced. Not shy. Not hesitant.
Just instinctive warmth that only your husband can give.
Like loving Zuko had long since become second nature to you.
You move closer without even realizing it, one hand immediately brushing against his sleeve. “You’re later than usual today...” you murmur worriedly. “Did something happen?”
Zuko exhales through a tired smile. “Nothing serious. The Grand Chamberlain buried me in council work all morning.” He admits, letting his daughter mirror your movements—Umi was fidgeting around the intricate stitched patterns of his red sleeves.
Your brows pinch together instantly. “Do you want me to say something to him?”
A quiet laugh leaves Zuko’s lips at that. Soft and fond in a way that makes Izumi giggle too. “No, darling...” he says gently. “If you did, I’m pretty sure you’d terrify the entire council along with him.”
The sight settles strangely inside Aang’s chest.
Not painful in a sharp way.
Worse.
Because it was warm and real.
The kind of intimacy built over years of shared mornings, quiet conversations, exhaustion, affection, and love spoken so often it no longer needed to be said aloud.
And spirits… you looked happy.
Not pretending to be.
Not forcing smiles for the sake of the Fire Nation or your royal title.
Genuinely happy.
Aang notices it in the way your eyes soften whenever you look at Zuko. In the way your hand remains lightly against his sleeve like it belonged there. In the ease of your laughter beneath the Olive Tree while your daughter rested safely in her father’s arms.
This was your home.
Your family.
Your happiness.
A small part of Aang—the selfish, terribly human part of him—felt something dangerously close to grief at the realization.
Was it treacherous of him to wish, even for a fleeting second, that your answer earlier had been different?
That perhaps somewhere inside you still longed for him the same way he quietly longed for you?
The thought leaves almost as quickly as it came.
Because Aang could never truly wish unhappiness upon you. Never.
Not when he loved you enough to offer the world itself if it meant seeing you smile like this.
Even if that happiness no longer included him.
Zuko shifts Izumi higher against his arm before finally looking back toward Aang again. “I brought Fire Cracker Buns with me. They’re on the airship by the bay since I figured you’d want them before lunch and dinner later on.” He chuckles.
Aang blinks once before smiling softly. “Thanks, Flameo Hotman.” He called Zuko, making Izumi laugh. He then nods lightly before stepping back toward Appa. “I’ll get Appa and Momo settled first then.”
“Papa Aang!” Izumi suddenly calls out, leaning out of Zuko’s hold dramatically. “Hurry up, okay?”
Aang laughs softly despite himself. “I’ll be fast.”
“You said that last time too!” Izumi’s voice was still loud even if you and Zuko already started to walk down the courtyard’s stairs.
And for one fragile moment beneath the bright sunlight, the scene before Aang feels almost painfully beautiful.
“Hurry up, Aang. Or Izumi will finish all the Fire Cracker Buns.” You reminded him before looking back at your husband who was already looking at you.
Aang answers after seeing the warmth in your eyes.
The same eyes Aang knew he would recognize anywhere.
The same eyes he had once foolishly imagined looking at him forever.
Perhaps that was simply how life worked sometimes.
The world did not always give people the endings they dreamed of when they were younger.
And as Aang watches the three of you standing together beneath the daylight—your hand in Zuko’s, Izumi tucked safely in his arms, warmth softening your familiar eyes—something bittersweet settles quietly inside his chest.
Because the goodness in him was genuinely glad that you were happy here in the Fire Nation. Happy as the woman standing beside its ruler. Happy within the family you built far away from war and uncertainty.
Even if a small, terribly selfish part of him still wondered what it would have felt like if your happiness had once included him too.
But Aang says nothing of it. He only looks at your eyes one last time—the eyes he knows he would recognize anywhere—and quietly accepts that perhaps memories were the only part of you the world would still allow him to keep forever.
A/N: I wanna turn this into a series so BAD, but I know I will take too long to keep up with the updates. 🫠 I don't even know why but this kind of angst makes me write so productively LMFAO I have a kind of same-ish one shot with Gojo on my Wattpad account… 🥀
18+ | aang x f!reader
cw: voyuerism, outsider's perspective
It was a mistake—an accident.
A simple case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
All nations are aware of the Avatar's conduct and how he carries himself when in the public eye. He's seen as a pillar of hope for the world and has rightfully earned the title with how wonderful he is as a person. He's humble and kind while charismatic and approachable. Avatar Aang embodies all of what an Avatar should embody and the world is truly lucky to have him in their lifetime.
But mistakes reveal secrets that are best left under many, many layers.
Isla was supposed to have delivered fresh fruits to the Avatar's quarters as a way to further welcome him to their island. The platter was beautifully arranged and stacked high with an array of fruits that are his favourite and some native to their land. She made sure her clothes weren't rumpled, her hair was in place and her make-up well done because this was the Avatar. To approach him looking anything but put together would be a shame upon her house but also herself. It also didn't hurt that the Avatar was a very handsome young man and he just so happened to be looking for a wife.
It was an opportunity that shouldn't be missed and thus began Isla's journey to deliver the Avatar his gift. She rehearsed what she was to say during her walk towards his quarters, growing flustered in her very own fantasies as the imaginary Aang asked her to spend the rest of the evening with him. Isla was glad that no one was around to hear her giggling away as they'd surely find her to be delusional but they can't blame a woman for indulging in romantic daydreams.
But those romantic daydreams were shattered when loud moans filtered through the Avatar's door, partially muffled by the heavy wood. Loud moans accompanied by the frantic slapping of skin against skin and the filthiest squelches of a drenched cunt being thoroughly fucked. Isla stared at the door, wide-eyed in her shock, as she gripped the fruit platter tightly with her sweat-slick hands.
Surely, that wasn't the Avatar in there.
Surely, she had gotten the wrong room and it was someone else having an very arduous night with their lover.
Surely, it wasn't the Avatar who was—
"Aang!" A wrecked voice cried out his name followed by a string of sobs. "P-please, ah, I'm, ngh, I'm gonna cum—!"
"Again, my love?" Aang's voice flowed out, raspy and panting. "Good girl, sweetheart, this is gonna be your third one, huh? Gonna make a mess for me?"
"Yes, I'm gonna—!" There was a loud squelch chased by a choked hiccup. "Oh."
A deafening splash echoed throughout the corridor with another hitting the tiled floor like water gushing from a tap. There were no other noises but Isla didn't know if that was true as she was already rushing away, fruit platter almost spilling in her haste to flee. All with cheeks flushed, body heated and a damp patch between her thighs.
When asked why she didn't deliver the fruits, all Isla could say is that the Avatar was asleep before dropping the platter to spend a few minutes alone to calm down. Because what she had just witnessed was something life-changing and Isla needed to sort her thoughts out…among other pressing issues.
It had been a mistake.
A wrong place at the wrong time scenario that revealed more than she should have discovered.
But a few things have changed.
Avatar Aang is still a wonderful person and rightfully deserves to be called the pillar of hope. He's still humble and kind while charismatic and approachable. Avatar Aang still embodies all of what an Avatar should embody and the world is still truly lucky to have him in their lifetime.
But behind that innocently handsome face and disarmingly cute smile is a man who really, really knows what he's doing.
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ surpriseeee — this is 3 parts now hehe. satoru is still our lovingly annoying sweetheart here, but this part does have a bit more angst than the last. nothing too wild though… just a whole lot of yearning and our poor reader being very committed to denial. i hope you enjoy! part 3 will be the last one. (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
<<< part 1 - main masterlist - part 3 >>>
part 2
“Ma’am, may I interest you in our menu?” the flight attendant asks, leaning in with a practiced smile.
"Oh—um. Yes... thank you."
The thick, cream-colored menu lands in your hands a second later, and you settle into your seat just as she disappears down the aisle. A seat that is far too comfortable for the current state of your life. But that’s the thing about first class — it makes it very hard to be appropriately miserable, and you are trying to be miserable right now. You are committed to it.
“If you need recommendations… I recommend the wagyu.” Satoru leans in, close enough that his breath feathers warm against the side of your neck. “It’s to die for.”
He grins, blue eyes glinting behind snowy lashes. And unfortunately, the wagyu isn’t the thing currently putting your life at risk. Because a shiver moves through you before you can stop it.
“O-Oh…” your head jerks away, quickly. “Uh-huh… sure.”
Refusing to turn, you keep your eyes stubbornly on the cabin — denying him the satisfaction of seeing what his closeness does to the treacherous, backstabbing organ inside your chest. But you catch him in your periphery — leaning back, entirely unbothered, reaching for his own menu with that pleased little hum that means, of course, he notices.
Ugh.
This is going to be a long-ass ten-hour flight. And first class, as it turns out, is only roomy when you aren’t seated beside the exact person currently making your pulse act deeply unprofessional.
…
Wait. When did you pulse start doing that?!
Miserable, you remind yourself. Yeah. Miserable.
With a sigh, you click your seatbelt into place and flip open the menu, genuinely trying to build a case for why this is the worst decision you’ve ever made. Unfortunately, it is hard to maintain righteous regret when the menu has no prices on it. Not one. Just elegant font, artful descriptions, and ingredients arranged like poetry.
…you’d booked economy.
Economy.
But then he’d upgraded your tickets last minute like that was a normal thing a person did — insisting you fly with him. Like swapping someone’s middle seat for a first-class cocoon with a duvet and a champagne flute was just… hospitality.
“Um… Satoru?” Your brow arches as you take in the absurdly extravagant menu. “How much does this cost, exactly…?” He doesn’t even glance up. “Mm? Oh.” Flipping a page, his hand waves lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”
…
Don’t worry about it?
You are very much worrying about it. Because how the hell does an intern afford this?! You know how much interns make at your company; you’ve worked with HR, signed off on the numbers — and it is categorically not this.
But fine. Whatever. That is, somehow, the least of your problems right now. And your mind was already veering back toward the more immediate catastrophe currently taxiing toward the runway.
Your family.
“Right… well. Anyways, Satoru,” you say, setting the menu down. “We should probably establish the basics before we get to Japan and—”
“—what do you like to eat?”
You blink, lips parting.
“I—sorry…what?”
“I like sweets,” he says, turning toward you. A toothy grin spreads across his face, dimples peeking. “Let’s see… cake, cream buns, mochi…” he muses. “Oh! Especially kikifuku mochi, it’s the best.” He nods solemnly. “Honestly, I think it’s the whipped cream inside that really makes the difference.”
Your brow furrows as you stare at him.
…when did this become a TED talk about sugar? You were trying to discuss a plan, and he is out here curating a dessert menu like the most pressing crisis of the next ten hours is pastry selection.
“Okay…? That’s nice. But we should talk about—”
“Food,” he states, picking up the menu you just set down. He flips it open and angles it back toward you like that is the only sensible conversation available. “C’mon. What do you like? Not what you’ll settle for… what you’ll actually like. Ten hours is a long time, sweetheart.”
Brow knitting, you frown.
He cannot be serious. That is not the priority right now.
“That—that can wait. We need to—”
“—establish the basics, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, like your resistance is personally exhausting him. But then his gaze flicks back, amused. “And I’m just saying food is a basic necessity. Because you skip lunch when you’re busy, forget breakfast when you’re anxious, and then act shocked when you feel like shit three hours later. So, eat.” He places the menu back in your hands. “Preferably something that isn’t stale pretzels, yeah?”
Something hot and startled climbs your neck so fast it’s almost impressive. Your mouth opens, but whatever rebuttal is forming never makes it. Because before you can recover—
“Honestly, I gotta say… the soba is pretty good too, actually.” His face is suddenly just over your shoulder, murmuring close enough that you feel the heat of him against your ear. “If you don’t want the wagyu, that is. Wait—scratch that. Maybe ramen…?” His finger traces a line on the menu, pale lashes lowering, tongue clinking gently. “Mm… never mind. Too much broth and there could be turbulence.”
Your whole body stiffens. Because his closeness does not feel unwelcome. Which is exactly the problem.
…when did he get so comfortable?!
“…stop doing that,” you mutter, pulling back. He looks over, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”
Your lips purse.
“I dunno. Being…” But the word dissolves, and you're reaching for your water, needing something to do with your hands. “So… comfortable. So—” You cut yourself off with a small huff. “Like this.”
His grin is unbearable, lazy and crooked.
“Oh?” he reclines. “Like what, baby?”
You sputter into your water.
“Baby?”
You’re choking on your drink, and Satoru looks entirely too pleased with himself. He's chuckling, leaning over without a second thought, one hand settling warm between your shoulder blades.
“Awwh… what’s this? Don’t be shy now,” he hums, the picture of helpfulness, rubbing slow circles with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to get way cozier than this if I’m playing boyfriend. Just establishing the basics, yeah?”
As you straighten with a glare, you can tell without a doubt he is openly enjoying himself. That grin hasn’t moved a goddamn inch.
…asshole.
Huffing, you settle back into your seat. And it isn’t long before the plane shudders gently away from the gate, inching out onto the runway with that slow, terrible sense of inevitability that only air travel is capable of producing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened… flight attendants, prepare for departure.”
The overhead announcement crackles through the cabin, too polished to be comforting. While beneath you, the whole plane seems to draw tight, a low hum building through the floor, climbing up through your seat.
You exhale, letting your eyes fall shut. Just long enough to pretend you weren’t here. Just long enough to avoid the window, the runway, and the deeply unhelpful fact that your brain liked to save all its worst thoughts for takeoff.
…like how first class wasn’t exactly known for improving your odds. Like how takeoff and landing were statistically the worst parts. Like how the engine sounded different now, probably… maybe, and—
“Hey.”
Satoru’s voice came quieter this time; enough to pull your eyes back open. When you look over, that vibrant blue is already watching you — steady, unhurried, like he has been waiting for you to surface.
“Are you… nervous?”
“What? N-No…” you lie, huffing. His brow arches, sensing your bullshit. “Okay… then why are you doing that with your hands?”
Following his gaze, your fingers had folded into fists without even noticing, in that particular way they always do when you’re trying to physically hold yourself together.
Fuck.
It’s ridiculous, really. You knew flying was statistically safe! Knew it the way you knew balance sheets and quarterly projections and the exact percentage margins that kept departments alive. And yet, takeoff had always felt like the part where logic starts losing altitude.
“Oh…” A small, awkward laugh slips out, just as the engine begins to roar. You smooth your palms over your trembling thighs, shouting over it. “It’s fine! Really! I just… um—I guess I don’t particularly like takeoff, is all!”
His expression softens in a way you weren’t braced for. But before he can answer, the plane surges forward and your eyes squeeze shut. A massive force presses you back into the seat while vibrations climb through the floor and up your spine.
It’s terrible. Completely terrible. But somewhere in the middle of it, a warm hand slides against yours. It takes you a second to register his fingers lacing between your own, and the moment his thumb brushes the back of your hand, you instinctively grip him tighter.
Your eyes stay shut, but you feel the plane lift hard and fast into the sky. And somewhere between the roar of the engines and that awful pull in your stomach, the slow circles his thumb traces against your skin become the only thing your body seems willing to trust.
By the time the pressure eases and the plane finally levels out, your lungs have only just remembered how to work. For a second, neither of you moves until—
“…better?”
His voice brushes the quiet between you. You blink your eyes open.
“Yeah…” you whisper. “Um… thanks.”
He smiles. “Sure.”
That thumb brushes one last time against the back of your hand before finally pulling away, dropping back into his lap with a simple nod like it had been nothing. And the loss of that warmth was immediate enough to sting.
Oh…
He’s… annoyingly good at taking care of you. And worse, your body had recognized it before your brain could file the proper objection — clinging first, thinking later, like comfort was something you could afford to trust.
Maybe the altitude was messing with your head…
Ten hours was a long time.
Long enough to work out the safest parts of the lie. How long you’ve been together. Where you met. Which version of the truth felt neat enough to survive one wedding weekend without collapsing under the weight of follow-up questions.
It was just… not long enough, apparently, for the parts that actually mattered.
“Soooo… question…” Satoru had stretched lazily, turning his glass between two fingers as he glanced over. “What exactly should I expect when we land?”
You kept your attention on the blanket across your lap, flattening a wrinkle. “Probably… jet lag?” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze, fussing with the fabric. “And a long enough drive to regret everything in peace.”
He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” Ice clicked softly as he tipped his glass, shifting toward you. “Not what I meant, though. I meant with your family.”
And when the warmth of his attention settled against the side of your face — you hesitated. Because it was patient in a way that only made it harder to meet. Patient in the way of someone who’s learned that pushing doesn’t work on you. Which you’re unsure is better, or worse. Because waiting means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means he’ll notice when you crack.
“We’ll just… talk about that later,” you huffed, tugging the blanket a little higher before turning toward the window. “I’m tired. Gonna try to sleep.”
Later… yeah. Later.
But by baggage claim, you were running out of runway. You had to do it soon. Get it over with. Preferably somewhere between the airport and your hotel, where you could spit it out quickly and not have to watch his face too closely while you did.
So now, Satoru yawns beside the conveyor belt, tired blue eyes skimming the slow parade of suitcases rounding the carousel. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way that only makes you more tense. You stand there staring at the back of him, fingers hooked tight in the seam of your shirt.
Now.
“Hey… Satoru?” you mumble. “Hm?” His gaze lands on your luggage and he’s already stepping forward to grab it. “Um, well…” You hesitate. “About my family… I—"
“—oh! Look—look! There they are!”
The moment her voice rings through the terminal, everything inside you locks. You turn, and for one wild second, you genuinely wonder if it’s too late to get back on that godforsaken plane.
Satoru hauls your suitcase off the belt.
“What about them?” he asks, turning when you stop short. Then he sees your face. “…sweetheart?” His brows furrow, following your line of sight — and there is your mother, cutting through the crowd with Trish beside her, moving with the kind of delighted urgency you aren’t prepared to see for at least another twelve hours.
No.
No, no, no.
“—oh my god, there he is!” Your mother walks straight past you — past you — and both hands are wrapping around Satoru’s like he’s who she came for. "Oh, he's handsome. Trish, look—"
It’s no surprise, really, that you’re a second thought. You’ve been a second thought since before you could name it. But that isn’t the wound that matters at this particular moment. The bigger problem is that she’s here.
…why the hell is she here?!
You were supposed to have more time—
“—oh my god,” Trish breathes to you. “Damn. girl. He’s, like… stupid handsome.” And Satoru’s grin went smug, drawling. “Oh, please, ladies. Keep the compliments coming. I’m feeling very welcomed~”
Your mother giggles. “Handsome and funny. Oh, he’s a charmer,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully. Though the laugh lands bitter. “God. Why on earth would she keep you from me?! I mean… wow. I was beginning to think she’d die alone.”
The words hit like a slap dressed as a joke.
Satoru blinks, the smile faltering for half a second, head tilting imperceptibly.
…great.
Of fucking course she’d say something like that within the first thirty seconds.
“Mother… what—” your voice wavers, eyes falling shut with a swallow. “Sorry. I just—what are you both doing here?”
She did a tiny double take, like she’d only just remembered you were standing there. “Oh, honey…” A hand waves, scoffing. “Don’t be silly—of course we’re here to pick you up! God. I wouldn’t leave you stranded at the airport,” she snorts.
Oh, right.
So she wouldn’t abandon you at an airport. Just in another country.
…good to know there's a line somewhere.
“Besides, why don’t you both just stay with us instead?” she’s already reaching for Satoru’s hand again, bright with the idea. “We’ve got a guest room ready, and I’d love for the chance to talk to you.”
Your body goes rigid.
Oh no. Fuck no.
Anything but that.
Satoru must have seen it written across your face — that particular shade of panic —because his eyes cut to you for only half a second before he slips his hand free, turning back to your mother with a smile already in place.
“That’s incredibly kind, ma’am,” he says, tugging you into his side with an ease that shouldn’t have felt as steadying as it did. “But we’re staying pretty close to my family’s place, and I should probably swing by tomorrow morning.” He rubs the back of his neck with a theatrical groan. “It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my father, and trust me, I’ll regret it if he finds out I came to Tokyo and didn’t stop by, y’know?”
Apparently, ten hours isn’t long enough for the parts that actually matter, because…
“Oh? Your family’s place?” your mother repeats, brows lifting. “So, are they here in Tokyo too, then?” He nods. “Mm, yeah. Pretty much all the Gojos are—at least on my dad’s side. My mom’s in Kyoto.”
…
Wait.
Did he just say Gojo?
As in—
Your boss’s family?!
No. Absolutely not. Between the jet lag, the shock, and your mother still glowing beside you, your brain simply does not have the bandwidth for this. Your lips part, blinking like that might somehow rearrange what he just said into something less insane.
Nothing comes out.
“Gojo…” your mother repeats, brows knitting. “Why does that sound familiar?” Trish blinks. "Wait—like… Gojo Corporation Gojo?!"
Satoru’s grin widens. “Yep. That’d be us.”
“Ah!” Your mother snaps her fingers. “Gojo Corporation. Yes—of course! Silly me. I thought that name seemed familiar…”
And now, the hurt arrives before the shock finishes landing — ugly and precise and aimed at the exact spot that never heals right. Five years of your work, your career, your life inside that building. But she only knows it because a handsome man says it in a terminal.
You stare. “Mom… you can't be serious?” and the hurt in your own voice catches you off guard. “I’ve… I've literally been working at Gojo Corporation for the last five years.”
Fuck...
Get it together.
Out of the corner of your eye, Satoru watches you. But your mother moves on like you’re invisible.
“Oh Satoru Gojo, you just keep getting better and better.” You feel him hesitating as she tugs eagerly. “Come—come! At least let us drive you both to the hotel, hm? There’s so much I need to hear and—”
“—sorry ma’am, no.”
Satoru’s pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. And you blink while his fingers smooth gently through your hair, tipping your chin up with a long finger.
“Honestly, I’m beat…” His thumb brushes your cheek, gaze searching your face. “…aren’t you, love?”
There’s a hitch in your breath
Oh.
So… you’re not invisible?
As it leaves you in a quiet shudder, for one suspended second, there is nothing but that soft blue of his eyes and the way they’ve gone gentle for you. All you can do is nod — and a single tear slips free before you can stop it.
He tucks you against his chest, hiding your face, and flashes a grin back at your mother.
“Ugh… I appreciate you coming to get us, but we’ve been up for way too long and—” Glancing down at his phone, he lets out a small laugh. “Ah. Perfect timing! Would ya look at that—my driver’s here.” A tug of your hand. “But we’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah? Bye, ladies~”
Your legs are moving on their own, and you don’t even catch the expression on your mother’s face. Can’t. Not when your pulse is still tripping over itself. Not when his hand wraps around yours like letting go isn’t even a question.
The suitcase rolled behind you, with the airport crowd bustling. While those bright eyes flicked back, making sure you were still there every few steps.
“C’mon, pretty girl… we’re almost there,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, okay? Eyes on me, yeah?”
And… you weren’t sure why he lowered his voice. Not when they were already well out of earshot. You only know that… it nearly undoes you all over again.
By the time the limo pulls away from the curb, Satoru had already figured out two things: your mother was awful, and somehow, he’d gotten you out of there only to realize he hadn’t fully brought you back with him.
It’s the furrow in your brow that gets him first… then the wobble in your lip — the one you think you’re hiding, the one you always think you’re hiding. You haven’t said a word since climbing into the backseat. Haven’t looked at him either. Instead, you stay toward the window, watching Tokyo slip by in blurred ribbons of light, glowing against the glass in streaks of neon. A city that has no business being that beautiful when you look that broken.
…shit. Should he crack a joke? No. Maybe not.
But asking if you’re okay feels useless. You obviously aren’t. And worse, saying it out loud feels like the fastest way to make you disappear even further behind that window — to watch you pull the shutters down the way you always do.
“Well, then…” A hand drags through his hair as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “Um… gotta say—your family really believes in making an entrance, huh? Talk about—”
“—I thought your name was Satoru Geto.”
He blinks.
“Huh?”
Your gaze finally pulls from the window, landing on him, and the hurt in it is so carefully contained it almost looks like composure. Almost. Except he’s spent four months learning to read you, and composure doesn’t tremble at the edges like that.
“…Satoru Geto,” you mutter carefully. “That’s the name on your employee record, no?”
Oh...
Right. That.
“…is it?” His gaze slips away, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… um. About that. Geto’s actually my best friend. I just used his last name because the initials matched.” He’s flopping back against the seat with a small shrug, one arm slinging across the top. “Made it easier to sign off on stuff that way. Gotta work smarter, not harder, right?”
And tilting his head, a crooked grin tugs at the corner of his lips.
Yours doesn’t move.
“Right,” you deadpan, turning back toward the window. “So your plan was to just let me keep calling you that.”
You don’t say it like a question.
…is it a question?
Satoru’s brow furrows at the hurt threaded beneath the words. “No… I—” he huffs, hands dropping into his lap. “Obviously I had to hide it while I was working with you, but my legal name was on the boarding pass I gave you, so it’s not like I was actively hiding it, sweetheart.”
You scoff under your breath. “Oh. Cool. So I was just supposed to… what—figure that out on my own?” And suddenly, your voice is doing this awful thing now — losing its clean, controlled shape, slipping into something thinner. Hotter.
He hears it immediately, sighing. “Sorry… but why is this the problem?” he asks, more confused than anything now. “Help me out here. I mean… I thought your mom was what had you upset back there.”
Your eyes roll. “Your name is literally on my paycheck, Gojo. How is that not a problem?”
He stares. Genuinely stares. Because for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with that. To him, his name was just a name. The company was just a company. Status had always felt like something other people got weird about first. Not him.
So, like an idiot, he goes for the joke.
“Well… technically, I think my name is on a lot of paychecks, so—"
“—Jesus Christ, am I a fucking joke to you?”
And the humor drops out of him so fast it almost startles you. Shit. That backfired tremendously. “Whoa—what? No!” He straightens, brow furrowing. “No, no, no. God, no—sweetheart, of course not. Why would you think that?”
You’re looking away before he can see what that does to your face, because you hate how quickly his voice goes from careless to cracked. Hate yourself for making it do that.
Damnit.
You know that wasn’t fair. He had just gotten you out of there. Seen you unraveling in that airport and stepped in without making it worse. Without making you ask. And still — somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, the whole world had shifted under your feet. Him, your mother, that last name. This damn… wedding.
…why does everything feel so hard to sort through right now?
“Just…” You swallow, shifting towards the window, blinking back tears. “Sorry. Don’t talk to me right now.”
His expression softens. “C’mon… no,” he murmurs. “Please… please don’t be like that. I’m sorry you found out this way. I should’ve told you sooner.”
The crack in his voice makes everything unbearable, and outside, Tokyo keeps sliding past in fractured light. So, you look at the window because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than trying to untangle the mess that is your life. Easier than naming what specifically hurts so much.
And easier than asking yourself what, exactly, had been real and what had only ever been off the record.
Clearly, the universe looked at the absolute clusterfuck of this trip and decided it wasn't finished with you yet.
Because apparently, your fake boyfriend had a limo. Your fake boyfriend, who can upgrade your tickets to first class like it’s nothing. Your fake boyfriend who is also, apparently, your boss — and decided to book you at a luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo while somehow neglecting to mention that part too.
Whatever. Either way, you're too tired to care. Or maybe just too tired to forgive him — despite the way the marble floors and soft gold light whisper luxury around you like an apology you didn’t ask for.
All you know, is that by the time the two of you make it upstairs, your silence was beyond awkward and hardened into something heavier. More deliberate. So, the moment the suite door clicks open, you’re beelining to the bedroom.
“Goodnight.”
You mutter it under your breath, shutting yourself into the bathroom before he can answer you. And when you change into your pajamas, you try not to linger in the mirror — because your whole face feels tight from holding yourself together, from trying not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. And as if that weren't enough, the wedding is tomorrow.
…how the fuck are you supposed to get through that too?!
With an exhausted sigh, you push open the bedroom door, reach back to kill the light, and—
“…what are you doing?” you deadpan, stopping cold in the entryway. Because at the foot of the bed, you find Satoru in sweats, crouched on the floor, carefully spreading a blanket across it. He smooths the corner flat and those blue eyes flick up, then drop back down.
“Making myself comfortable?”
…
That explains absolutely nothing.
Your brows pull together. “Okaaay…? Clearly. But—why?” Rolling your eyes, your arms cross. “Don’t tell me you fucked up the reservation. I mean, you’re the one who booked this place. Don’t you have your own suite?”
“Yup. I do.”
He says it so easily it almost irritates you more. You watch him fluff the pillow and set it on the floor like this is perfectly normal behavior for a man who can apparently summon private drivers and spend obscene amounts of money at the drop of a hat.
Your teeth grit. “Great. So go lay in your bed.”
Exhaling through his nose, he lowers himself onto the marble like it’s no different than a mattress. One arm tucks behind his head, the other rests over his stomach, all lazy limbs and impossible calm.
“Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll sleep here. Promised you wouldn’t be alone this trip.”
And the universe, apparently, hadn't taken quite enough from your dignity yet. Because you find yourself genuinely speechless.
For a moment, you just stand there looking at him — at the ridiculous length of him stretched out across the floor, at the fact that he has a whole bed somewhere else and was still choosing this — and at how he somehow managed to make the gesture feel casual enough not to embarrass you and sincere enough that it did anyway.
“…suit yourself,” you grumble, stomping over to your bed.
You yank the covers back and climb in with an irritated sweep, reaching over to find the light. Darkness folds over the room in one soft rush, and for a while, there’s only the low hum of air conditioning and the distant glow of Tokyo bleeding dimly through the curtains. Somewhere beneath it all, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric from the floor, the small settling sound of him getting comfortable.
…
Or trying to.
You lie stiffly on your side, facing away from the edge of the bed that he lays, staring into the dark like you can force your mind to shut up if you just do it hard enough.
Ugh…
Despite how tired you are, sleep feels impossible.
Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pillow and shift to the other side of the bed with an annoyed little huff. And there’s the broad line of his back in the dark. One arm folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over the blanket, like this is all perfectly normal. Like sleeping on the marble floor in a five-star hotel is not objectively unhinged behavior.
“…you’re actually gonna sleep down there?” you mutter into the dark.
“Mm.” His voice comes easy, amused. “You should be sleeping, missy.”
“So should you,” you huff. “In a bed.”
Chuckling, he shifts onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. He hums. “Nahhh,” and an exaggerated exhale breathes out of him, tired. “The floor’s fine. I’m reconnecting with the earth. Re-centering. Some might say it’s very… grounding.”
You can hear that pleased little smirk of his, even in the dark, and it pulls a snort out of you before you can stop it. “…wow, seriously?” Biting back a grin. “You’re so stupid.”
He laughs under his breath. “Yeah… maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. Probably won’t be the last, either. But…” With a tired sigh, he drapes his arm over his face, half-hiding in the dark. “…guess I’d rather be stupid than leave you alone, though.”
The words slip out, and the room goes strangely quiet. Something tender and awful pulling tight in your throat as you stare down at him for a second too long.
…what are you even supposed to do with that? With him?
He’s down there on the floor, keeping a promise you never asked him to make.
Swallowing, your fingers tighten on the blanket. “…hey, Satoru?” That low hum answers, and you hesitate, staring at the dark shape of him on the floor, your heart doing something stupid and uncomfortable against your ribs.
“Come up here,” you blurt.
…
Silence.
“Wait… huh?”
Your eyes squeeze shut.
As if saying it once wasn’t bad enough.
“I-I mean…” you’re shifting onto your back, staring hard at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly feels impossible. “I just… there’s plenty of room, so just—come up.”
…
He’s quiet just long enough to make your face burn hotter. And when he’s pushing himself onto one elbow, even in the dark, you can feel the disbelief radiating off of him like heat.
“Uh… right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I think the jet lag’s getting to me, because there’s no way I heard that right unless you’re fucking with me.”
You cover your face with a groan.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Christ, stop making this harder—” you snap, voice rising. “I’m serious you idiot! Because you’re not making me feel worse tonight by sleeping on the goddamn floor—so hurry and get your ass up here before—”
“—yes ma’am.”
He’s moving before you can rethink the entire thing, despite how your pulse is suddenly loud in your own ears. You scoot over, clutching the blanket to your chest, and the mattress dips beneath his weight — the sheets rustle. His body shifts. And then everything goes still.
…too still.
All you can do is lie there. Stiff. Acutely, helplessly aware of him. But it’s dark — mercifully dark — and thank god for that, because you don’t think you could survive seeing his face right now. Not this close. Not after that. Not with your own invitation still echoing back at you like something you’d like to physically retrieve out of thin air.
“Soooo…” he mumbles, fingers tapping the mattress. “Um… for the record, this is like… significantly nicer than my original arrangement. Way less marble.”
Despite the nerves, his words loosen a laugh from your chest. “…yeah? Well, good,” you mutter, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Because honestly, the level of commitment you were showing that floor was a little concerning.”
He chuckles. “True, true.” And suddenly, you can hear the lazy stretch of a grin in his voice. “Buuuut I mean… I wasn’t about to lose our first fight—not as your boyfriend.”
Your breath catches. “W-Wow…” You huff like that’ll cover it. “You—um… got real comfortable with that word fast,” you mutter, trying for dry and missing by a mile.
A low hum. “I'm a committed man. What can I say?” and his voice is all smug velvet and sleep-rough warmth. “Mmm… I kinda like the sound of it, actually.”
The words land lower than they should. Because that should not sound as good as it does.
“D-Don’t… don’t say it like that,” you stammer.
The mattress dips.
“Mm?” he whispers. “…well, how else should I say it, princess?”
…
Fake.
Fake boyfriend.
The word lands somewhere quiet and ugly under your ribs, and all at once the warmth of the bed feels strange against your skin. Because that's what this is. What it has to be. A role. A weekend. A lie with soft edges and an expiration date. And…
“Just—nevermind…” you mutter, shoving it down, repositioning your pillow. “Laying in a bed with my boss was not really on my bingo card for this trip. Or finding out halfway through it, apparently.”
He scoffs. “I’m not your boss. My dad’s your boss.” A humorless breath leaves you. “Yeah? Well, that is not as comforting a distinction as you think it is, Gojo, when your name is still on my—”
“—Satoru,” he corrects softly.
You blink into the dark.
“Wait. Sorry… what?”
A small huff leaves him, almost annoyed, almost something softer. “It’s just…” he grumbles, shifting against the sheets, “I like it a lot better when you call me Satoru…” And even without seeing him, you can hear it.
Is he… pouting?
The fabric rustles again as he shifts. “Look…” he says after a beat, and the teasing has gone out of his voice now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I didn’t think hearing my last name would make you start acting like I was suddenly somebody else...?”
Your lashes flutter as he scoots closer, and this time, your breath catches. Because a thin line of moonlight slips through the curtains, cutting across the bed just enough to catch him there. The loose fall of white hair over his forehead, the softened line of his mouth, the pale blue of his eyes gone dim and almost silver in the dark.
“And…” His voice lowers, softer now. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked just being Satoru to you..." Those blue eyes dip to your lips, just for a second, before lifting back to yours. His breath hitches.
“Y’know I’m still me… right?” He whispers.
As his breath fans across your face, you feel fingers slipping over yours, careful enough to feel like a question, and your pulse does something wild. Because for one suspended second, he doesn’t look real. He looks like something half-dreamed.
Beautiful.
“Right…” you breathe, the word thin. “I know that, and… I-I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I just… I wasn’t expecting any of this, and then everything at the airport and—and god—and then my mom and—"
The words are tumbling out now, too fast, too loose, and even in the dark you feel laid open by them. Bare in a way that makes you want to snatch every one back. Because there he is, looking at you with that same unbearable patience, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent strokes, his mouth tipped in a smile so soft it almost feels private.
…yours.
And that’s what’s terrifying. He feels like something you could lean into. Like warmth can be simple. Unconditional. Real.
But…
Nothing in your life has ever taught you how to lean into warmth without waiting for the condition beneath it. Without turning it over, looking for the fine print. So, perhaps that’s why, when his thumb brushes over your hand again, you pull away.
And his frown is instant.
“I-I…” Your eyes squeeze shut as you clear your throat. “Sorry.” The word comes out frayed. “I want you to know I appreciate you doing this. Genuinely. But…” You swallow hard around the ache pressing at the base of your throat. “Tomorrow is it.”
The room goes so quiet you can hear the air conditioning hum.
His brow furrows, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Um… what are you saying?” He scoffs, lips pulling into a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like everything—”
“—after this is over,” you blurt, chest rising. “You can just—forget all this happened, okay?” And your voice thins. Blinking back tears, your eyes flick away. “That’s it. You’ll forget about me. You go back to your life. I go back to mine. Just like we agreed and—”
“—I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
Your eyes glance back from the hurt in his voice, and somehow that only makes it worse. Because...
Why?
Why does he have to look at you like that?
You exhale shakily. “I think we both need sleep more than we need this conversation, so…” The blanket is already up at your chin by the time the words leave you. “Let’s… leave it at that. Okay? I’m exhausted," you whisper. "Goodnight, Satoru.”
Shifting away, you roll onto your side before he can say anything else, before he can make this harder than it already is. The bed gives with a quiet creak behind you.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
And you lie there, holding yourself rigid, as if that could undo the part of you that almost turned back.
Still. Despite how tired you are… sleep feels impossible.
a/n. oof. sorry for leaving you on the angst 😭 but this felt like the right place to split it so part 3 can be fully wedding-focused. tysm for reading! i'm blown away by all your support. he's literally so patient and attentive, whaaa. i wanna eat him up 😭
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to fall in love at first sight, much less fall in love. No, Satoru simply loves being single—not that he does anything with that, though. Most of his time is spent hanging out with his friends. Sure, he’s hot—and he knows he is—but he just isn’t interested in dating at the moment. Which is why it’s surprising to his best friend to see Satoru make heart eyes the moment he sees you.
College Student!Gojo who is the type to ignore all of his feelings. No seriously, he might’ve tripped over air and almost ate shit when he was looking at you, but that was only because he was looking at the delicious mochi you had in your hand. Yeah! Yeah, that’s it. Just the mochi, nothing more.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boy that pretends to be nonchalant, telling Geto that he totally didn’t fall in love, that would be soooo not him. Only for him to search you in the crowd of students the next time the two of them walk the halls, neck practically craning to see better—even though he already towers over everyone.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boy that immediately loses that nonchalance the moment you smile at him when you see him staring looking at you. He lets himself fall to his knees, making a loud thud on the linoleum floors. Multiple heads swivel around, chatter dying when they see the white-haired boy kneel on the ground.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to show his emotions like this in the open, but still he does so without a second thought; all of those left the moment you smiled at him. God, he’s pathetic as they come, and he doesn’t even realise it. Words are spilling from his lips like a broken faucet, heart on his sleeve as he asks you out in the middle of the hallway.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to not notice the eyes on him, he’s always attracted stares whether it be because of his hair or eye color, or even height, but right now all he can focus on is those pretty eyes of yours looking at him. They’re all wide while your lips parts slightly, shock evident on your face.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boy to celebrate small wins in a loud way—a very loud way. Today is nothing out of the ordinary, if you ignore everything else, because he whoops so loud when you agree to go on a date with him that even more people stare at him.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to be nervous, why would he be? He’s Satoru Gojo for fucks sake; pretty boy on campus with a 4.0 GPA. So why can’t he decide what to wear for the first date? Fuck, he’s been standing in front of the mirror, holding up clothes in front of his frame, for what seems like ages. His entire room is a mess, clothes strewn everywhere from when he decided they weren’t good enough to wear to the date—not worthy enough to be graced in your presence.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to show up early to functions. Fashionably late, as he says, is something that describes him pretty well—even though he doesn’t go to parties a lot. Nanami had once told him that he didn’t have to be ‘fashionably late’ to group hangouts, but Satoru ignored that comment completely. But here he is, sitting in the coffee shop the two of you had agreed upon twenty minutes before the set time, knee bouncing under the table as he anxiously smooths over his blouse once more—another thing he normally doesn’t do.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to be tongue-tied, but the moment he sees you walking through the door, the little bell announcing your presence, in that cute little outfit of yours, he stutters. Stutters. Gojo Satoru never stutters. God, if Geto was here, he would’ve burst out laughing at the white-haired man already.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boy to fill silences with easy chatter, but today he’s listening more than he is talking. He wants to know everything about you—from what you’ve eaten for breakfast to that weird story about how your straightener died a few days ago. He has his chin in palm, an easy smile on his face as he just takes you in.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to go on second dates, most of the time if he goes on a date it would end in fucking—yet another thing that didn’t happen with you, it just felt… weird if he were to do what he normally does—and never speaking to the girl again. Well, he wouldn’t outright ghost them, but he would tell them he wasn’t interested in going on a second date. Which is why it was surprising to Geto when Gojo told him he got another date in a week with you, this time the zoo.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type to date anyone, as we’ve established already. But here he is, with you, his pretty girlfriend, arm slung around your shoulder as the two of you walk through campus together.
College Student!Gojo who apparently is the type of boyfriend to share headphones with his girlfriend. Not the wireless ones—though he does have those—no, he specifically went to the store to get wired headphones so the two of you could share them. Something about it being more romantic, more intimate like that—having to walk close next to each other lest you want them to fall out of your ear.
College Student!Gojo who apparently is the type of boyfriend that clings to you everywhere. Well, that shouldn’t really come as a surprise, to be completely honest. Everything Gojo does is loud and grand, and that’s exactly how he loves you—loud and grand. Everyone will hear about how amazing his girlfriend is, even if they hadn’t asked him anything about you or the relationship at all.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend that wants to show off to his girlfriend of two weeks, playing basketball with some of his friends while said girlfriend watches him from the bleachers. He’ll throw a wink your way and say ‘This one’s for you, babe’, only to horrendously miss his shot. Like, not even hitting the backboard.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend that hasn’t even fucked you a month into the relationship, always kissing your forehead or the crown of your head when cuddling, but never taking it further than that. Sure, there have been steamy make out sessions where the two of you were more horny than either wanted to admit, but he still hasn’t fucked you. Hell, he hasn’t even put his fingers inside of you yet. The guilty feeling of leaving you hot and bothered evaporates in his mind when his fist wraps around his cock later that same night, thinking about how wet you were. He could practically feel your arousal drip through your flimsy shorts when you were grinding down on him.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend that wants your first time together to be romantic, something about taking you out to a candle-lit dinner on a balcony so it’s just the two of you. Then after he would take you back to his apartment—because of course he also has an apartment, but he stays in the dorms purely because he wants to be closer to his cute girlfriend—where he would have rose petals strewn all over the bed with some candles lit to really set the mood. Cute and intimate basically.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend that loves to surprise you, but this one really surprised you—fucking you full nelson after doing some couples yoga together, heavy balls slapping against your clit as his fingers dug into your legging-clad thighs. He had begged you to try it out with him, an confident smile on his face when he told you he wouldn’t drop you, may the occasion arise. But not even ten minutes into the session, he gets distracted when your tits are practically spilling out of your top, chest so close to his face, he lets out a moan before he practically manhandled you into the position where your back is pressed against his chest, ripping a hole at the crotch of your leggings. He already murmured a small sorry and told you he would buy you new ones before plunging his fingers inside of you.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend to fuck you so good, it has you screaming out his name in pleasure. He fucks you so good, the two of you get noise complaints from other students in the dorms. Those who don’t outright complain to the two of you just throw you nasty looks.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend to beg you to move in with him. ‘No more noise complaints when I don’t even have neighbours, babe,’ he’d oh so sinfully whispered against the shell of your ear when he was balls deep inside of you, pelvis grinding against yours while you clamped a hand around your own mouth, trying to be mindful of the noise level. Not that that mattered though, the headboard was still slamming against the wall with harsh thuds, making your dorm neighbour angrily pound on the wall and tell you two to stop fucking.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend to match everything with you, from matching toothbrushes to mugs and of course pajamas. God, he was so giddy you agreed to move in with him that he went on a spontaneous online shopping spree, trying to get matching everything for the apartment that felt bare a few days ago. His most recent purchase? matching cars. His was white with blue, while yours was white with sage green. ‘So people know we’re together!’ he’d beamed when he showed you.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend to marry his girlfriend after only dating for a year—and still being in college. That all didn’t matter to him, he just wanted to put a pretty ring around your finger as soon as possible; a constant reminder that you’re his.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of husband to take his wife to Maccies on the evening of their wedding day, after the reception had ended, just because she’s hungry. The two of you are still in your wedding attire, scarfing down a happy meal—or six—while people are pointing and whispering. It isn’t every day that you see a newly wed couple—having been wed for a few hours, not even bothering to change into something more comfortable—at the Mac Donald’s after all.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of husband to use his wife as an excuse to why he’s late to class, effectively bragging to people that he married you yesterday. Only for said wife to get to the classroom a few seconds after, sweat beading down your face as you hunch over. It’s only then that you realise that you don’t take this class, and the eyes that are on the two of you are anything but subtle. (No, you two weren’t late because you had sex… well not really. You were only late because someone forgot that they got married on a week-day instead of the weekend, turning off all alarms so he could ‘consummate the wedding’ into the early hours of the morning.)
A/N: I know I said no new content for a while, but I finally finished my assignment so I let myself have this little writing hour.
ᝰ.ᐟ your soft bf!toji is a total meanie in bed ⸝⸝ 18+ mdni
mean bf!toji spends the whole day being a total sweetheart—cooking you dinner, giving you soft kisses on the forehead, and holding your hand in public—only to completely lock the bedroom door, pin your wrists over your head, and look down at you with a dark, heavy stare that tells you the "nice guy" act is officially over for the night.
mean bf!toji is normally so gentle with his hands during the day, using his thumb to softly wipe a stray crumb off your face or tuck your hair behind your ear, but the second he gets you on the bed, those same hands are gripping your jaw tightly, forcing you to tilt your head up so he can admire how pretty you look when you're scared of him.
mean bf!toji loves to pamper you in public, happily carrying all the heavy grocery bags, pulling you to the safe side of the sidewalk, and letting you pick whatever movie you want to watch, all while secretly plotting exactly how he's going to make you cry and beg for mercy later that evening.
mean bf!toji is so hyper-aware of the contrast in his behavior that he uses it to mess with your head; he’ll lean down while you're trembling under him and whisper against your ear, “you like it better when i’m mean to you, don’t you?”
mean bf!toji ignores your whines and protests when he changes positions or pulls you around like a ragdoll. in daily life, he moves carefully around you so he doesn't accidentally hurt you, but in bed, he uses his massive size and weight to completely overwhelm you, letting you feel exactly how helpless you are against him.
mean bf!toji makes you beg for every single thing. even if he knows you're desperate, he will completely stop moving, prop himself up on his elbows, and stare at you with a smug smirk until you verbally ask for exactly what you want.
mean bf!toji loves slapping your pussy with his palm right before going in, loving the sharp, loud crack it makes against your skin and the way it leaves a bright pink mark that contrasts with his tanned hands. he’ll do it just to startle a loud gasp out of you, watching your thighs twitch as he tells you to open up wider.
mean bf!toji likes dragging the heavy, blunt tip of his cock up and down your wet slit, teasing you ruthlessly until you're begging him to just put it in. instead of giving in, he’ll slap his wet tip against your clit over and over, mocking the needy little noises you make and telling you that you haven't earned it yet.
mean bf!toji just laughs when you try to complain that he’s being too rough or too mean. he won't slow down; instead, his chest rumbles against your back as he grips your hips harder, driving into you with even less mercy just to prove that he rules the bed.
mean bf!toji loves leaving you completely ruined and breathless. he likes looking down at the mess he made of you—smudged makeup, tangled hair, and thighs shaking uncontrollably—while he casually rolls off to grab a drink, completely unfazed while you can barely move.
mean bf!toji will pull your hair back with just enough force to make your eyes water, forcing you to look directly at him while he pounds into you. he hates when you try to hide your face in the pillows or close your eyes; he wants to see every single expression of pleasure and overload on your face.
mean bf!toji uses verbal degradation as a tool to keep you completely flustered. he’ll call you a "good little slut," mock how loud you're breathing, or ask you why you're crying over a little bit of fun, his voice deep, raspy, and completely devoid of the warmth he usually speaks to you with.
mean bf!toji will deliberately overstimulate you, rubbing his thumb harshly against your clit while hammering into you, and when you start to sob because it's too much, he’ll just kiss you hard to muffle your screams and keep going right through your orgasm.
mean bf!toji flips the switch right back to being a doting boyfriend the next morning. he’ll kiss your bruised hips, bring you painkillers and breakfast in bed, and pull you into a warm, gentle cuddle—leaving you completely dizzy over how the man who was so beautifully cruel to you a few hours ago is now softly rubbing your back and calling you his baby.
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You’ve worn your boyfriend Sukuna to the bone, so your other boyfriend Toji takes over.
warnings. fem!reader/tojikuna, threesome, multiple orgasms, piv, kissing, creampie, overstim, ovulation, switch!toji if you squint, dom!sukuna. nsfw 18+ mdni.
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The first thing Toji noticed when he stepped through the front door was the heat. A subtle humidity lacing the air like the sweet lingering remnants of perfume. There was your lotion, sweet and familiar, and the smell of fresh sweat, layered with something primal and musky - the smell of sex.
The second thing he noticed was Sukuna, splayed over the couch like he’d just run a marathon. Tank top soaked through and sweatpants riddled with little damp patches, dotted across the fabric like stray petals. Toji’s gaze dipped without bothering to hide the way he was blatantly staring at Sukuna’s chest, at the heaving pecs peeking out from his neckline, eyes tracking the little bead of sweat beginning to trail a hot path down the center.
“What’s your problem?” Came Toji’s eventual greeting as he paused by the door, tearing his eyes away just to sling his gym bag over the hook there before continuing into the room, water bottle clasped in his hand.
Sukuna glared in reply, and if Toji were anyone else he might have actually felt intimidated by the sight. But with the way the other man was panting, pink tufts of hair stuck every which way and slicked with sweat, he didn’t paint a particularly scary image. In fact the only sensation the sight triggered within Toji was a mild amusement, alongside a tiny spark of heat low and betraying in his belly.
“I’ve already had her four times,” Sukuna grunted, “the brats insatiable.”
Toji snorted mid sip of water, eyes leaving the couch to instead peer through the half opened doorway to the bedroom, where he managed to catch only a glimpse of your bare leg through the crack. From the looks of it you were naked - splayed over the sheets, hair probably still a little damp from the shower, skin lacquered with lotion, half washed away with sweat by now.
“What, she ovulating or something?” Toji wondered aloud, lowering the bottle to once again catch Sukuna’s gaze over the metal rim.
The other man crossed his arms unceremoniously across his chest, and Toji watched the tendons jump in the winding muscle of his forearms as he shrugged.
“That or she’s in heat, damn near milked me dry.” He grumbled, brows knitted, working a mean line between them. If you were here you’d reprimand him for such an expression, crawl over the couch and run your thumb between his salmon brows until the lines wore smooth, or until Sukuna grew bored and wrapped a hand around your wrist to flip you onto the cushions instead.
Toji laughed then, the sound rough and graveled like tattered velvet.
“Seriously?” He scoffed, lips spread into a sly grin as he licked stray droplets from them, “had to tap out did ya’ Ryomen?”
Sukuna’s scowl only deepened, soured now with genuine irritation.
“Just be grateful I wore her out for you,” he spat, “and watch your tone, or it’ll be you spread eagle and whining for more cock next, Fushiguro.”
Toji chuckled again as he screwed the lid of his bottle on tight, the motion accented with a metallic ‘squeak!’ before he tossed it toward Sukuna, hard enough that he heard the fleshy impact when the other man’s hand shot out to catch it.
“Yeah yeah,” he mused, moving past the couch to instead push through the bedroom door, which creaked beneath the effort, “drink some fuckin’ water and get outta my way.”
If he were being honest, when he’d left for the gym that morning he’d been hoping for this exact scenario. Toji knew you - or at least your cycle - well enough to know that you’d wake up needy and leaking, and he knew Sukuna well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to resist the sight of you humping his thigh like a dog in heat for very long. So he’d left without a word just as the sun kissed the horizon, and he’d been half hard in his sweats since his second rep just thinking about it.
If the living room was warm, the air within the bedroom was stifling. But it wasn’t the heat or the sticky sweet scent that knocked the air from Toji’s lungs on entry, no. It was the sight of you - limbs splayed over the mattress, hair messed and wild where your head was tucked between the pillows. Your jaw lifted back far enough to expose the long column of your throat, giving Toji a stellar view of the dark sucking marks peppered there, indents of teeth that he was sure would melt into bruises by the evening.
Toji took in the sight indulgently - paused in the doorway, a lone hand already trailing its way down the curve of his stomach, teasing until his fingers curled over the bulge forming there. He squeezed once and shivered, reveling in the immediate relief that sizzled over his body like a splash of ice water.
He could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze piercing into the back of his skull like the promise of a snipers sight. He didn’t indulge the urge to peer over his shoulder and meet that heated gaze, instead he let his hand drop to his side and pressed a knee into the mattress.
You didn’t move, didn’t speak or even open your eyes when he crawled over the sheets, crowding your space like a panther sliding atop its snagged prey.
His hand met the curve of your waist, skin soft and warm beneath his palm, layer of sweat sticking you lightly to him. He trailed one hand downward over the curve of your belly, the other grazed feather-soft over the slopes of your breasts, pausing to pinch gently at either nipple, perked and willing in his hands.
“You’re soaked sweetheart,” he mused when his fingers finally dipped between your thighs, which gave way to him easily, spreading to make room for his forearm to slot between. He moved slowly, palming soft and teasing over your mound and listening to you mumble mindlessly below him.
You whined something unintelligible in reply, voice nothing but a high pitched whimper, crackled like shattered glass.
With a chuckle, he leaned down and craned his head until his ear rested level with your mouth.
“What’s that sweetheart?” He questioned, head tilted to listen.
You swallowed, hard and dry, and licked your lips before you spoke again. Another croaked string of words hit his ear, a touch clearer this time. He realized then that you weren’t mumbling gibberish at all, you were begging.
“More, more, need more, please ‘kuna, please jus’ one more…”
Toji chuckled and lifted his head back to study you again - he found your eyes still closed, brows now knitted into an expression that was decidedly desperate.
“Old Ryo’ couldn’t keep up, huh?” He mused, hands lifted from your body to instead press into the mattress either side of your head, leveraging the weight of him as he slotted himself properly between your thighs.
You offered a gentle huff in reply, eyelids feeling much too heavy to bother opening. Your limbs felt numb, tingling with residual little sizzles of pleasure.
“Don’t worry doll, ‘m here now.”
Toji didn’t waste time working you open or teasing you with the brush of his lips or gentle caresses, no. He simply slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it sideways. His thumb hooked over his waistband, tugged down to let his length spring free and slap hard and raw against you.
The sensation was enough to have his lips parting around a shuddered breath. You felt like heaven - like slick molten silk kissing each bumped ridge as he rutted through your swollen folds. You jolted when he shifted, hard inches rubbing over your clit, still singing with over stimulation.
He grinned and lowered a thumb to pet at your entrance, leaking slick and dribbles of what he was sure was Sukuna’s spend. He traced your rim beneath the head of his cock slowly, smearing the milky little pearls gathered there and wondering just how many loads Sukuna had managed to stuff inside you before he’d finally tapped out. The thought made his breath catch, and sent another sizzle of heat straight to his throbbing cock.
“C’mon, look at me now,” Toji cooed, watching the way any semblance of coherency on your face melted away when he finally pressed down, sinking inside with a single dizzying press of his hips - testament to just how soaked and used you really were.
It was enough to make your eyes roll behind your lids, fluttering with the delicious sting of being stretched open again. Toji treated you with shallow little thrusts. The hair at his base tickling your clit, thick veins pulsing against your rubbed raw walls where Sukuna had pounded you until you cried, until you bruised. And yet despite the pain, the ache - that needling little bud of desire still burned just as hotly as when you’d first awoken that day, stoking the fire in your belly and dribbling lava hot between your aching thighs.
“Oh, oh…” you moaned dumbly, lashes twitching as you finally lifted them and tried to blink away the layer of hazy film that had settled there. Your mind felt fuzzy, vacant. Drunk on the sensation of being stuffed utterly full once again.
“There she is,” Toji soothed.
“‘Ji, it’s you…” came your delayed greeting, nothing more than a breathy whine, “need’t cum, need to cum again, please…”
“Again?” Toji echoed in faux surprise, hips lowing to a torturous roll, “that’s a little greedy of you, don’t you think?”
“Incredibly greedy,” a distant voice interrupted, flat and deep and utterly serious.
Toji tilted his head back just enough to catch sight of Sukuna’s broad form filling the doorway, looking more like the hired security than someone who actually lived there. Toji peered through strands of ink black hair at the big hand that was beginning to dip beneath the waistband of Sukuna’s sweats, palming lazily at the considerable bulge there. Sukuna’s gaze was equally heavy and heated, lowered past the curve of Toji’s spine to track the way your hole was stretching around his thickness.
Toji swallowed, took a final glance at the sight of Sukuna beginning to work his length free from his boxers. His eyes stuck on the exposed slip of tan skin where Sukuna had tugged his shirt upward, the spatter of hair dusted there, before he turned his attention back to you.
“Haven’t even asked how my day was yet, and here you are begging me to make this needy pussy cum,” Toji teased, “and after Ryo’ took such good care of you too.”
“Please,” you cried, shaking your head furiously against the damp pillows crumpled either side of you, “please don’t tease me.”
“Aw I’m sorry sweetheart,” Toji cooed, voice dripping thick with mock concern, “you just need it real bad, huh?”
The delicate shallow thrusts he had been nursing you with suddenly shifted, turned to long pulls smacked back inside hard enough that you felt the tip of him kiss somewhere deep and delicate. Each buck had your legs quivering, and a sharp little shock of pain and pleasure in equal measure sizzling over your skin.
You were lucid enough only to know that he was moving, slow methodical thrusts that felt achingly tender. Each twitch of his worked muscle was purposeful, each motion entirely controlled and aimed to break you apart.
“Shh, just feel it. You feel me, right baby? Nice ‘n deep.” The words were sin incarnate, purred right into your ear.
You were nodding before you could think, slurring a string of unintelligible words alongside breathy cries of his name, strung together like a prayer.
“Deep… deeper…”
The scent of him was intoxicating, dizzying. The sharp sting of fresh sweat and his own familiar woody musk was enough to have you lifting your trembling legs just to hook a heel over his hip and tug him closer.
“Finally knocked all the brains outta you, huh?” Toji teased, “That’s alright, don’t need to think. Just keep squeezin’ this pretty little pussy around me, yeah?”
One of your hands fled the sheets to instead grasp at one of Toji’s bare shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there.
“Kiss me,” you panted, blinking up at him with wide wet eyes, blown black and glossy with need, “oh, hng-… please Toji…”
Toji didn’t bother with a reply, instead he simply dipped his head and captured your lips in a kiss so sudden you barely had the wherewithal to suck in a lungful of air before he was swiping any lingering thoughts away with the hot slide of his tongue.
You melted into the touch, letting the roll of his jaw guide your movements - moaning in surprise when his teeth nipped at your cracked lower lip, your grip on his shoulder tightening when his tongue met yours.
When you finally split apart you were sufficiently softened by the blend of his sweet kisses and the steady rock of his hips, brain humming quietly like the static of a tv set to a dead channel.
“Good?” Toji questioned, head tilting.
You just nodded, struggling to keep you gaze affixed on the inky strands of hair slipping over Toji’s forehead, that was until a sudden blur of colour crept into the edge of your vision.
“Oi, what are you?-…”
You watched, motion a little delayed, as Sukuna’s hand slid across the back of Toji’s neck. Toji’s eyes widened an inch, looking genuinely shocked for just a moment before Sukuna’s grip tightened, firm hand forcing his head upward until they finally met in a rough crashing of lips.
Peering up you simply watched, entranced, at the slide of pink tongue between sticky sweet flutters of your lashes. Eyes caught on the way Toji’s brows lifted and his hips stuttered just a little when Sukuna’s hand tightened into a fist at his nape, strands of silky black hair sticking wayward through his thick fingers.
Toji grunted into the kiss, rougher now - a tumble of teeth and tongue in stark contrast to the slow rhythm of the embrace you had shared. One of Toji’s hands curled over your hip, thumb mindlessly tracing the bone there. The other found Sukuna’s chest, grasping a handful of fabric before he was shoving the other man backwards.
You watched a glittering thread of spit link them for a moment before it split, and you must have clenched at the obscene sight because Toji made a choked sound above you, falling into the sensation a little like he were suddenly made of jelly.
“Fuck sweetheart,” he panted, lips glossed as he dug a fist into the mattress beside your head, “that’s it, just like that.”
His thrusts didn’t slow or soften, but they felt sloppier somehow, and when you blinked upward you realized why. Sukuna had stepped in behind Toji, plump chest pressed to his back, massive hand still curled around his nape, thumb rubbing soothing little shapes there. His head turned inward, lips pressed to the delicate little strip behind Toji’s ear, breathing so close you could see the speckle of goosebumps begin to prickle over Toji’s skin.
“C’mon Fushiguro,” Sukuna purred, quiet enough that you could barely hear the sweet syrupy words, “don’t get soft on me now.”
Dazed, you watched Sukuna raise a spare hand to his lips, thumb pressed against tongue beneath the glint of pearly canines before he reached past Toji’s hips and tucked it between your thighs. You jerked at the sudden contact, the searing heat of his slick thumb, calloused and rough and perfect against your abused clit.
“Bastard…” Toji gritted, breaths coming ragged now, panting between barely masked grunts of pleasure as his head dipped beneath the weight of the palm at his nape. His gaze was glassy, glued to where you were clamping around him, where your slick was painting the dark curls at his belly white.
Sukuna only grinned in reply, and you could hear the lazy glee lacing his tone with his next words, thumb still rolling over your twitching nub as you writhed beneath his touch.
“Go on now,” he rumbled, low and filthy over the shell of Toji’s ear, and you swore you felt Toji twitch in response. “make the pretty girl cum.”
You could feel it, the looming buzz of your orgasm, curling like the crest of a wave, hot and tight in your belly like the slow cinching of a knot.
“Close ‘ji…’m close,” you slurred, “gonna… hn!- ‘m gonna…”
“I’m right here sweetheart,” Toji was groaning now, shivering a little as the hand at his nape tightened once more. His thrusts were wild - wide sloppy pumps driven haphazardly into the slick mess between your thighs. Sukuna’s thumb continued its assault, drawing steady heart shapes over your clit, right above where Toji was busy splitting you open.
“C’mon princess,” Toji pleaded, words accented with a kicking throb that you felt all the way in your gut, “give it to me.”
You let your eyelids fall shut, squeezed tightly against the way your vision was beginning to blur at the edges. Senses dulled, sounds and scents becoming more and more distant with each second of rising pleasure until suddenly the knot snapped, and you were unraveling along with it.
Toji cursed somewhere beyond the numbed blackness of your senses, and alongside it you felt a flood of heat and the familiar twitching pulse of him as he filled you. Firm hands gripped your waist like an anchor, holding you in place as you squirmed against his final stuttered humps, wracked with unending wave after wave of white hot pleasure.
“Shh, that’s it, that’s a good girl…” Toji was cooing into your ear, forehead pressed to the pillow, only hair tickling your cheek.
The words were a salve, a balm smoothed over your mind until all that was left was the honeyed buzz of pleasure.
You sucked in a shaky breath and realized along with it that you were crying, cheeks soaked and salted with fresh tears. You let your limbs fall, limp and exhausted against the sheets. A subtle ache was beginning to settle in your muscles, in your bones, and yet beneath it all you still felt it - that itch deep inside, like an unending, desirous pit.
“More…” you croaked, voice utterly broken despite your pleading.
Toji scoffed somewhere above you - sounding equal parts shocked and proud at your incessant appetite. You heard the distant thump of approaching footfalls, followed by the telltale creak of a knee digging into the mattress before the bed was dipping beneath a considerable weight, and you felt Toji slip out with a slick sucking sound.
“Move Fushiguro, think I just got my second wind.”
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a/n: kinda ahhh drabble while I work on longer fics bc I’m stuck thinking about tojikuna, hope you enjoy anyway <3
toji fushiguro has your body naked in front of the mirror and his warm hands groping your hips. he lets his pinky slide up your puffy, wet slit—just a graze, just over your clit—and he doesn’t let your eyes leave the mirror as he draws back his pinky dripping with your slick.
“go on, princess,” he rasps into your neck. “m’listening.”
but he’s not just listening. your boyfriend is still in his boxers—unfair, really, because you’re clad in nothing & the room is too warm & your thighs are trembling from both the heat and the pressure. he wraps himself around you and slides his hands up to your tits. he gropes your breast once and lets his hands fall away.
your mouth dries. “i can’t.”
but your hips are bucking into him. rolling against his clothed cockhead as your pussy drools from the anticipation. toji laughs, chest warm against your back as he pinches your clit, forcing your hips to stutter & a whine to leave your lips. “y’got a pretty mouth, dollface. wanna hear you use it.”
in the mirror your thighs are still aching, chest heaving, and toji fushiguro has slipped his cock out of his shorts. you’re not sure you heard his waistband snap but his cock is there, flushed and swollen and dripping with precum.
"you see that ?" he murmurs, breath hot against your neck as he pumps himself in his fist all heavy & slow. "see what you do to me, sweetheart? standing there all pretty and wet?”
he lets the soaked head tap against your ass—once, twice—before dragging it lower between your thighs, letting it slip through your slick folds without pushing inside. your pussy flutters at the teasing, & toji watches your chest heave in the mirror through bleary eyes.
"you want this?" he murmurs, cockhead nudging your throbbing folds from behind. "want my cock in this pussy, baby?” he lets his precum smear over the folds. “start talking.”
you swallow, eyes glazed with lust and hips stuttering as you force the courage to speak. “i…i have nice tits.”
“breasts,” toji growls into your neck. “breasts, dollface. say it properly.”
your thighs squeeze. your eyes are teary when you look in the mirror, face flushed, tits heaving. "i have nice breasts."
"mmh," toji slides a palm up your side. he lets his thumb brush against your aching nipple, before twisting and stretching the pebbled peak between his fingers. you arch into him on instinct. "so nice, dollface. and what else? look at this pussy in the mirror, baby. tell me all about it."
his thumb presses into your clit. but then he slides it away.
you moan, loud, slick dripping down your thighs. toji’s cock twitches against your ass, but clearly he’s got the self control of a god.
your lashes are tear rimmed. “i have—i have a pretty pussy!”
“so pretty,” he murmurs, tugging your clit before pressing his thumb against it, rubbing slow circles over the bud. “prettiest pussy i’ve ever fucking seen. so wet and noisy for me. tell me more, sweetheart.”
“my pussy is so tight,” you rasp, breathless and hips twitching as toji rubs his thumb against the sensitive bud. “hnngh—so tight and wet for you, toji.”
"yeah?" he murmurs against your ear. his cock nudges your slick folds, pulsing and throbbing at the entrance. "love this fucking pussy, you know that?"
you can only whimper in response.
"love how puffy it is," he continues, dragging his swollen cockhead up your slit, only to drag it down again. "love how it tries to swallow me. see that, baby? see how it slobbers all over my cock?” he pushes his swollen head in as your cunt flutters around him. “fucking perfect.”
“toji—“ you gasp, “please—“
“please what?” he growls, pushing his hips into you. his thick cock swells between your folds, pulsing and stretching your puffy cunt. “want me to play with this pussy, baby? fuck you so hard your tits bounce in the mirror?”
“mhm—“
“words, sweetheart.”
“want you to fuck me,” you gasp out, hips bucking back to chase his cockhead and push him deeper into your folds. “want you to play with my pussy and fuck me till i’m dripping—“
“fuck,” toji groans, slamming into you, hard. “thaaaat’s my fucking girl. see how easy it is to please me?”
