#(gojo)

when your husband is supposed to be the rational one, you don’t expect to find him standing at the foot of the bed with his cock in his hand.

but that’s where satoru ends up. tank top pushed halfway up his ribs, belt hanging from one loop, pants around his knees. his fist works up and down the fat length of his cock in rough strokes, spit and precum smeared down to his balls. he’s staring at you the whole time, at the curve of your hip under the sheets, the flutter of your lashes against your cheek. pregnant. glowing. carrying his baby.

and he’s rutting into his hand like some desperate virgin.

the panties he stole from the laundry basket are bunched in his other hand, pressed to his face. he inhales it, shuddering so hard that the flimsy fabric trembles against his nose.

“baby—” the words rip out of him, pitched high. “smell so good... oh fuck...”

his cock is obscene. flushed dark, veins raised under the skin, the head slick enough to shine in the faint glow of the bedside lamp. precum drips in heavy strings down his balls, thick enough to coat his knuckles. every stroke drags more slick out of him—schlick, schlick, schlick.

he sucks at the fabric like it could feed him, panting between licks, nose buried deep so he could breathe you in while his tongue works. “god, i'd eat you out for days if i just—mnhm!—if i just had the chance...”

his hips snap forward into his own fist, cock smacking his stomach with each thrust. precum splatters onto his tank top, dripping onto the hardwoods.

disgusting. a husband rutting into his fist because he’s too scared to touch his pregnant wife.

but satoru can’t stop. he’s babbling now, words spilling fast and needy. “want it so bad—i’d worship you, i'd never stop—”

he chokes on a sob as his balls tighten up, cock jerking violently in his grip. the sound he makes is straight up humiliating: a high and euphoric whine.

cum spurts out in heavy ropes, painting his stomach, his abs, fist, and the floor. lewd, thick jets that won’t stop, spilling like his body is trying to empty years of frustration at once. it drips down the backs of his fingers, strings across his knuckles, sprays his shirt. he gasps, still pumping through it, cock twitching violently.

“ahh—too much...” more cum leaks out, drooling down his cock, streaking his thighs. his knees buckle and he braces one hand on the nightstand, forehead dropping against the wood with a hollow thud.

when it’s finally over, when the spurts slow to tiny dribbles, he’s still shaking so hard he can barely breathe. his cock still pulses against his stomach, half-hard like it doesn’t know how to stop.

and you’re still asleep, lips parted beautifully while he stands there.

satoru's been at this for at least half an hour by now.

hand gliding up and down his cock, thumb pressing hard against the bulging vein. he imagines it’s your soft, pliant hands instead of his own that are coaxing him towards an orgasm. his mind is hazy, the vision of you blurry as his hips buck lazily into his grasp. the movement of his wrists speed up when he feels himself teetering on the edge, only for him to be pulled back onto solid ground immediately.

he's been at this for at least half an hour and yet, he still can't reach the sweet, sweet relief he was aching for. you're to blame, he thinks. the tight squeeze of your pussy around his cock, enveloping him in a special kind of warmth, has ruined everything else for him. especially the now-slick palms of his own.

even the polaroid he keeps in his wallet isn't enough. not even his favourite — the one where you're on your knees in front of him, mouth stretched around his cock. your eyes are locked onto the camera in his hands, and the faux eye contact makes him stifle a groan. but he still needs more.

he dials your number.

you pick up at the second ring.

"hey, babe, what's up?" your voice is amplified by satoru's phone, pressed up against his ear. he feels his balls tighten.

“please…,” he whimpers through gritted teeth. it’s followed by shallow breaths. then the wet shlicks of his precum being smeared all over his length. it glistens with obscenity, and the shame of getting off to the mere sound of his name uttered in your voice.

“satoru? are you okay? you sound…out of breath.”

though your words were innocent, to him, your voice was no different from porn.

“haah, yes, i-i’m, fffuck, i’m fine—please, say my name again,” his voice cracks, and so does his poorly-maintained facade of composure.

“what—satoru, what’s going on?” your lack of awareness of his dirty actions made him grow heavier in his palms. the strands of his hair were slick with sweat, sticking onto his forehead, head tilted back against the headrest.

“shit, again,” he gasps out, deft fingers tugging at his cock. how you haven't caught on, he's not sure. or maybe you have, and you're just playing dumb. whatever it is, every word makes his breath quicken, his face feel hotter, and his legs tremble more.

“is this a prank?”

“no! please, just keep going. talk to me, anything you want. tell me about your day? pretend as if it’s a—hngh—a life or death situation.” it might as well have been the way he was desperately clawing at any shreds of you.

“umm, okay…? well, i was at the grocery store just now, and there was this lady who was a complete bitch. she cut the queue, and y’know what she said to me? she said she didn’t see me! i mean, hellooo?? she could’ve just—”

“fuck!” a loud groan interrupts your little rant.

spurts of cum spill onto satoru’s hand and lap, all of which, of course, you do not see. his chest heaves with relief, head tipped against the headboard. he lays still for a moment, nothing but shaky breaths leaving his lips. the other end of the line is silent too.

for a moment, he thinks you hung up. left him to ride out the aftershocks of his long-awaited orgasm, fingers still twitching against his cock from the muscle memory.

he’s balls deep in you, and yet of course he’s still spouting stupid bullshit.

“i’m doing good, right baby?” he moans (moreso whimpers), still thrusting in that half-romantic half-what it’s actually supposed to be—a hookup—rhythm. his normally porcelain cheeks are completely flushed, his cool white hair falls in his face, some strands sticking to his forehead glistening in sweat.

“i—what?” you manage to say, still out of breath from how he’s fucking into you with his unfairly big cock. every perfect ridge and vein of it is dragging against your walls as he thrusts in and out of your sopping cunt—though you’ll deny how wet you are because of how large gojo’s ego will be if he knows he actually arouses you.

“say it.” he pouts above you, gripping harder on your shoulders he’s deemed a perfect leverage point in you to help with his strokes. “say i’m doing good… please?” his blue eyes pleading to you like a puppy dog.

“gojo, i’m not fucking doing th—” he shoves all the way back in and stops his thrusts. you moan without even meaning to from the sheer amount of girth being stuffed in you. he juts his lower lip out further, clearly upset by your answer.

“c’mon,” he looks physically pained as he restrains himself from continuing his thrusts. “just say it and i’ll keep fucking you.” he whines out, sounding a lot more weak and less intimidating than he thought he would.

you breathe out. you know he’ll hold on to this for the rest of the foreseeable future but you’re close anyway. you’ll come then kick him out like always and if next time he keeps mentioning it, you’ll just stuff his face with your pussy.

“you’re doing so good, gojo.” you moan out in a shaky voice.

he moans, loudly, near pornographic, and he gets back to thrusting immediately, except he seems more motivated. his strokes are fasting and more like he’s trying to impress you. his sounds are more desperate and huffy than before.

he reaches around your waist to hug you closer and shove his face deep in your neck, right below your ear.

“haaah, fuck, baby—say i’m the best you’ve ever had, please.”

“mm, god, gojo you’re the best i’ll ever fucking have.” he cries out. cries out and actually cries. tears start streaming down his pale face and cupping along your neck and collar bone where he’s found solace. he’s breathing like he’s just run a marathon.

unwantedly but admittedly, you say this next one yourself. it’s almost like you’re starting to… like him. ew.

“such a g’boy for me, satoru.” he nuts. immediately thick cum oozes into your pussy, spilling out from how overstuffed it already is with his girthy, oversized, genetic lottery winning cock. his whole body shakes and shivers while he releases, still trying to thrust so you could finish like the good boy he is.

unfortunately he forgets he’s not god and ends up overstimulating the hell out of himself by the time he gets you to cream by his thumb pressing along your clit.

he brings his head up, covered in sweat as he’s still shaking from the feeling of nutting the hardest he ever has.

“c’mon baby,” he whines, voice all breathy and cocky, his blue eyes sparkling looking greedy. “i’ve been good. spit in my mouth, please?”

you laugh, because this six-foot-whatever menace who can literally warp reality is pouting like a brat because he wants your spit.

“you’re so fucking weird, toru.”

“you are weird,” he corrects instantly, tongue already poking out a little. “now c’mon.... i’m dying here. my dick’s so hard it’s bout to file a complaint.”

you roll your eyes but lean in anyway, gripping his jaw with one hand, thumb pressing into the soft skin just under his bottom lip. he opens wider, eyes half-lidded, that signature gojo smirk twitching at the corners because he knows exactly how nasty this is.

you gather it slow on purpose, letting him watch, then spit directly onto his waiting tongue. thick, warm, right in the center.

the sound he makes is downright criminal. a broken little moan-groan that vibrates straight through his chest and into yours.

“fuck— again,” he gasps, “do it again. spit like you mean it.”

you do it again, messier this time, letting some of it miss and drip down his chin. he doesn’t even wipe it. just lets it slide while his eyes roll back.

“you’re actually getting off on this, huh?” you tease, grinding down slow on the massive bulge straining against the fabric. “big bad strongest and all it takes is a little spit to make you stupid?”

“shut up and degrade me properly,” he whines, but he’s grinning like an idiot, tongue still out. “call me a nasty little slut or sum. i’m literally leaking for you right now.”

you laugh again, i mean you can’t help it. before you do the request, you reach down and shove his sweats just low enough to free him. he’s flushed dark at the tip, already dripping down the shaft.

“open wider, pretty boy.”

he obeys instantly, loving every second of being absolutely humiliated by you.

you spit again, then lean down and lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue while you sink down onto his cock.

satoru’s whole body shudders. he moans into your mouth, hands scrambling on your hips, already babbling.

“more!! fuck— spit on me while you ride me. please baby i’ll do anything. i’ll buy you a country. i’ll cancel infinity for the rest of the night. just keep spitting in my fucking mouth—”

“shush it toru ~~~”

˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓝.𝐄𝐑𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 & 𝓑.𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𓂃 ⭒ are twins you're fucking. . . but you think they're both the same person.

⤿ ꒰ you get caught between the campus' valedictorian and hearthrob, completely unaware that they're actually twins and not just one annoying person :: college au :: smut :: named twin :: m.masturbation :: f.oral :: overstimulation :: dumbification :: marking :: creampie :: panty stealing :: jealousy/possessiveness ꒱

♡ :: part two

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ is the guy you wanna be. gojo satoru is the top of all his classes. pretty boy valedictorian. yeah he's a little awkward and emotionally inept but that big of a brain has to come with some kinda catch no? he's quiet, cold, and observant. the one you don't notice at the back of the class— but ever ready to throw a sharp tongued comment. he's not very expressive about his more popular twin. in fact, he doesn't talk about him at all. silent and seething in his shadow.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ is the guy you wanna be with. gojo satoshi is the campus heartthrob. all smooth talk and bedroom eyes. walking like the world owed him something and grinning like it already gave it to him. yeah, he's a bit of a player. a fuckboy by nature but hey— the girls fawn for a reason, don't they? he'll ditch class for a ride round town. pick up another pretty thing with an engine rev and flip of his visor. he's a lot more vocal about his twin. teasing and belittling whenever he's nearby. but god knows he'll never seek him out willingly. he can't stand the smart talks and sharp eyes.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ knew he wanted you the second he saw you trotting outside campus. he was parked. occupied with his phone. but the second you passed by? he glanced up. and oh. he's never seen a girl so pretty. of course he did what he always did— threw some charming flirt. revved his bike. flipped his visor with a smooth, “haven't seen you around. you new here, pretty girl? need a tour?”

but when you just glared at him? huffed and gripped your bag tighter? something in his heart fluttered. he just had to chase after you.

“bad mood, sweetheart? lemme cheer you up. take you out sometime. get to know you better.” he crooned. absolutely not getting the hint until you spun around and jabbed a manicured nail to his chest.

“do me a favour and take a hike, won't you?”

and that, was the first day satoshi had ever been rejected. and he fucking loved it.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ met you in class the day after. you recognised him, of course. the white hair, those killer blue eyes. seemed he had glasses now. you glowered as you realised the only seat left was next to him. the jerk who couldn't take a hint yesterday. you sat yourself down. took out your books. focused on the lecture. relocating campuses after a semester wasn't the most ideal and you had tons of work to catch up on.

so of course you were even more frustrated when a tap on your shoulder interrupted you mid class.

“hey, do you have a spare pen?”

you snapped your gaze towards him. eyes narrowed. yesterday's irritation bubbling at the seams. “are you dumb or just stupid?”

you watched his eyes widened behind specs before he returned your glare with a hissed, “the fuck's your problem?”

“you are. now for the last time— leave me alone.”

and that's, how you made an enemy. completely, blissfully unaware that the man you were actually mad at was satoru's twin.

but for entire semester, you wouldn't know they were two separate people.