#dragon!gojo

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who you dreaded every moment of meeting despite your determination. what kind of sick creature took delight in eating the hearts of pretty girls? yet despite the anxiety, you slowly drifted off with the lulling sway of the waves and the water's mist that settled over you like a blanket. only awakening again when . . .

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who . . . who is that? you blink away haze from your heavy eyes. the stiff ache in your joints no more — neither the binds. the bed of lotuses has been replaced by the softest futon and the scent of freshwater had mellowed into gentle sandalwood. incense? you followed the waft and beheld a man whose back faced you as he busied at a table. dressed in a black kimono with a white haori. white, tousled hair with blue. . . antlers? extending to the front of his head. who is this? your eyes rove further down, and it is only then that you catch it. the long, heavy, white-scaled, blue-finned. . . dragon's tail. your eyes widened and your hand fell to your thigh.

Clank!

"Cute."

The tales are true. His eyes were bluer than the sky and ocean combined. Your wrist laid tense in a large hand that encased the entirety of it and then some. You duck down in a pitiful attempt to snatch your blade from the floor — but his tail beat you to it.

His face was . . . is this the dragon? His white hair fell over his face so elegantly. The same face that was surely blessed by the gods. Sharp and smooth in all the right places, with long, white lashes that perfectly framed those stunning blue eyes.

How could something so dreadful be so beautiful?

"Unhand me!" You shouted, as if his grip hurt. No, he held you like a fragile flower. Looked at you as if you were glass, until he grinned and revealed pairs of fangs for canines. A singular brow arched and he tilted his head with a croon.

"No can do pretty. You're gonna go all wushu-warrior on my ass."

"And you're gonna eat me!"

His brows shot up at this. One blink, two, before a deep huff came from his nostrils. Your wrist's dropped in seconds and he easily ducked when you inevitably took another jab at him.

"Hate to break it to you," another dodge. All did was step back. "But you look kinda chewy. Not really my taste."

Your eyes widened. The audacity of this beast to play around with you like a mouse in a lion's den. This time you snatched the lamp from the desk and rushed forward in a fury. Quick. Precise. Like a serpent. "You sick creature! You think I don't know that you eat the hearts of pretty girls!?"

Just close enough. You tried another swing with your free arm. He countered with his forearm. Perfect — he's open. You hurl the flame in a powerful hook. A dragon's weakness is fire, no?

The flame extinguished with a click of his finger. Your wrist's snatched again, this time you're dragged to him. Your other hand befell the same fate. Leaving you still. Wide eyed. Frightened, determined, panting.

Azure glowed in the dim room. He didn't lower his head. Only cut his eyes down to you with a deep frown. Weighed with centuries that reflected a thousand stories in his stare.

Then, he grinned again. Lazily.

"Something like that."

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who . . . actually doesn't eat anybody? once he managed to quell your murder tantrum he sat you down and explained with much exasperation that he doesn't even know the taste of human flesh. he prefers fish. and furthermore: he's not the malicious, greedy creature that the villagers have made him out to be.

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who has been protecting the river valley for centuries. he stops floods and tsunamis, ensures that every harvest season is met with plentiful rain and makes sure fish were swimming in the hundreds so that the villagers never went hungry.

"What about the other sacrifices?" You huffed, hands warmed by the tea he offered you. Youre tempted to throw the ceramic at his unsuspecting figure.

He stood some distance from you, back to fixing whatever he had been prior. "I find them a safe place away from the valley." He doesn't cast you a glance. As if he knew you'd be no harm to him even if you tried.

You squinted, sceptical. "Then where are they?"

Another huff, together with a laugh. He glanced over his shoulder with a dry look. "You really think anyone would want to return to a village that sacrificed them?"

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who promised he would find you a suitable new home. away from all the conspiracy and superstitious villagers. you only had to give him a few weeks and he'd have your new life set up. so you were shown around the mountain top, seeing that instead of some dingy cave or lair, there was actually a beautiful, expansive citadel that stretched across. clouds kissed the mountain ledges, serene streams of water flowed into different canals, the nature was thriving and stunning. truly, the epitome of peace. how could anyone have thought this being was anything but magnificent?

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who you learnt teaches cultivators in ancient magic. these cultivators dispel evil spirits and ensure further peace of the valley. you almost felt sad, he really did have the people's interest at heart and they repaid him by spinning horrid tales of him?

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who you grew closer to during your stay. at first you stayed cooped up in the room he provided you. he brought you breakfast, lunch and dinner, all of which consisted of variations of rice and fish. he had shown you the cold springs not too far off from the citadel where you could bathe. when you grew tired of all the fish, he requested a servant to bring you a fruit platter instead. it really was hard to hate him.

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who you found endearing with the way he acted with his younger students. you watched from your window at he trained them with patience — and some silliness you wouldn't expect from a being as ancient as him. he was a bit of a bastard but, his heart of gold shone above all.

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who you didn't want to leave when the time came. he told you he'd find you some place peaceful. how could anyone want to leave this place?

"You what?"

The scroll in his hands nearly dropped. He pretended like you hadn't noticed. Wide eyes seemed lighter, an almost sky-blue as he stared you down.

Disregarding your manners, you shot your hand forward and fisted on his haori himo. "I said I don't wanna go Gojo — Satoru." You bit your lip. Did his eyes soften? "I want to stay here, with you. I want you to teach me too. Teach me how to protect and live the way you do — that's all I've ever wanted."

The silence was heavy, soft, comfortable. When his hand laid over yours and slowly removed your grasp, you assumed the worst. Denial, rejection.

Instead, you got a grin and an arched brow.

"You sure you're not gonna try to kill me again?"

And this time, you smiled back.

"As long as you don't try to eat my heart."

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who you started eating meals with when you realised that he ate alone. you joked about the amount of fish in his plate and he asked if you'd rather lay your heart on the platter. his grin turned to a surprised smile when you hit his shoulder — and then his eyes lit up. "you know, not many can say they've harmed a dragon before." so you hit him again.

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who started teaching you magic as you asked. slow, steady and - teasing. oh was he a bastard. crooning when you lost control of the flow and landed flat on your ass, but still offered his hand out with that same kind smile that lately has been making your heart flutter. he guided your hands into the sway they should fall into. right behind you, his larger hands dwarfing yours, speaking softly right above you. and when you got it right? you didn't expect his praise to make your face burn.

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who you begged and pleaded with to see his true form. some of the cultivators around the mountain told you about its sheer beauty and magnificence. you'd heard stories about it back at your village. but he'd only chuckle, brush you off and pat your head. "and what if a pretty girl like you suddenly finds it ugly ah? I'll die of shame." you hate his teases, knowing he's only playing on your curiosity.

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who you realised rarely sleeps as he's constantly on high alert for the valley. so you decided to give him company late into the nights, sat on his porch and telling him about whatever village gossip you could remember.

"And then, she stormed into his home with a butcher's knife."

"Was she pretty though?"

You hadn't even realised your head was on his shoulder. You lifted your gaze and stared in mock offence before reaching down to pinch a scale on his tail.

"You don't beat your allegations, Gojo-San."

His shiver when your hand brushed over his tail missed your attention because he snatched your wrist right after and yanked you impossibly closer.

"You're right. Why don't I go ahead and earn my reputation?"

Your eyes widened and he grinned as he leaned over you abruptly. His shadow blocked out the moonlight. Hands suddenly braced on your sides. Knees straddling your waist. But instead of claws, all that came was . . . tickles.

Laughter poured into the night. Sweet, melodic, and he chuckled as you squirmed and pitifully pushed on his shoulders.

"L-Leave - Leave me be!"

"Nah. Tired of that big mouth of yours."

He leaned down further, his grin growing. "But mayybbeee if you cried and apologised . . ." At last his onslaught halted. Frozen, when did he get so close to you?

You were beneath him, loopy smile, face flushed and gasping for air, chest heaving. Eyes glossy, looking like something beautiful and tempting altogether.

Satoru blinked a few times and then parted abruptly. Fixing his haori and clearing his throat with a forced chuckle. "Alright, alright. I'll grant you mercy."

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who you accidentally caught in the cold springs. you were on your merry way to your nightly bath, having gone a little later than usual due to some extra training. and there he was, bathed in the moonlight, his hair draped over his eyes, no clothing to hide his smoother than jade skin. along his shoulders and down some parts of his arms were white, almost silvery scales. His back was turned to you, so you saw the small blue fins running down his spine. He bathed below a waterfall, beauty, grace, something ethereal. you couldn't help but stare — until you heard a soft . . . groan? you stumbled away before anything else.

˖ ࣪✧ dragon gojo satoru .ᐟ who you haven't seen much of after that night. you were nervous. had he spotted you? it's been a few days and every time you try to approach him, he always seems to have something to do and then vanishes. you're beginning to miss him, and his students don't seem to pay it much mind. had you messed up? when the week mark comes around, you decide enough is enough.

"Satoru," you knocked on his shoji door once, waited, and feel anxiety pool thick like the scent of pollen outside. Spring had settled over the mountain.

"Gojo-San. . ." You attempted formality, even if it hurt. You couldn't help yourself, your fingers hook into the opening. "Can we please talk? If this is about the other night I'm so . . ."

You pulled the shoji door open and the sight you were met with wasn't anything like the Satoru you had come to know.

Blue eyes, deeper and murkier than the pits of the ocean. Even more scales all over his neck, shoulders and chest, shaking with every ragged breath — where is his haori?

And his face . . why is it so red?

Why are his pupils slits?

Part of a long overdue art series I've had sitting for well over a year (and meant to finally start in December of '25) - Jujutsu Kaisen characters drawn as dragons, inspired/influenced by music made by Mabisyo.

Shivers pricked your spine. You might have mistook it for the first time you saw him if fear bloomed with it. Fear, how could you? Even with his jaw tight, scales littering him like the white-jade and those slitted eyes cloudier than the mountain's midnight haze, he was still Satoru.

Your body still drew to him. "Are you alright?" Your knees met the futon and he grunted with a shift. You followed, but irritation caught on your legs halted you. Claw marks etched in cotton with glistening sharpness coiled beneath fists as the culprit. Are those longer too?

As a woman raised in a superstitious village who wailed when someone cut their nails at night or flinched when combs broke, you should have known better. But instead of alarm bells, all you heard were wind chimes.

Because this was Satoru. The man who tickled instead of clawed, laughed instead of bit, protected the valley when villagers claimed he had a taste for hearts. Not a monster.

"Sweet girl," he called in a quake. "I'm fine, promise." You've seen enough of his smiles to know when they're fake. "Please, just. . . you need to leave, sweet girl." The name repeated, it eased him more than the cold springs.

"Like hell . . . are you sick? Can dragons even get sick?" He'd fall off the futon if he tried to escape, so you advantageously shifted nearer. With closer inspection you spotted gills in lithe, blue patterns from below his ears to just before his jawbone. Scales shimmered on full display all over his lower neck, collarbone and down his chest. Another glimmer belonged to a pair of tiny, teardrop-shaped. . . pearls? engraved above his navel.

Realisation snapped your venturing gaze back up. Your hand flushed against his forehead to mask your embarrassment. His tensing became your distraction.

"You're burning up . . ."

"No shit, sweetheart."

Iridescent claws displayed as he raised to your hand with a groan. But he didn't dare touch. As if only a graze of your skin would burn him like dark magic. Dark . . .

You quirked, "did you get spelled by miasma?" With the same exuberance of a student that recalled the technique seconds from peril. A dragon's weakness to dark magic rushed to your mind, courtesy of all Satoru had taught you.

Alas, he shook his head with another groan. You slumped your shoulders and pouted. "Please, I'm too old for that. Said that was for younger dragons, remember?"

"Well excuse me, old man."

At least that earned a laugh but your face remained. too concerned with every heave of his chest and stuttered breath, not to mention that his gaze kept running from yours. What, were you fire now? "Tell me what's going on," you urged and carefully traced your fingers along the side of his neck. He flinched. Perhaps your touch was a flame.

"Satoru —"

"Fuck, I'm serious."

Her jerked back. You halted, but not because he denied your touch for once. Low and dreary, the rumbled growl belonged to the night and yet . . . you still drew closer.

Stubborn as always. Like the incense, his gaze wavered, to and fro. Peeking, hiding. From himself or something you couldn't decipher?

Your eyes followed the quick drop of his hand and beat him to it. Prodding up into the fabric of his kimono, a tent awaited. As a village girl spoonfed the importance of chastity, you should have flinched at the sight. But while you knew purity's name, she didn't know yours.

Whose face was brighter? Maybe his with that infuriatingly smooth pale skin and snowy hair that almost left him glowing even in the candlelight. In all your months staying here, not once had red paint his face more vibrant than his stupid grins ever did. Nor did he ever attempt to hide or stutter.

"Are you happy now? Go, I can't have you here."

Can't. Not won't. Not I don't want. You pressed your lips together.

"Could you tell me what's going on?"

"Stubborn girl," even his growl laced with affection. He snapped you a sharp look and huffed heavily. "I'm in heat. Rut. Whatever you humans call it. And right now, you cannot be here."

He always prided himself on teaching you about the mystics hidden in this world, but your curiosity would be the death of him. Only seconds after discovering he was erect, you still had questions. Is that why they sacrificed you? — no, that's mean. Why they sacrificed you and why he couldn't have you in his room right now were the same reason. Not with your image in his mind . . .

"Satoru." Not when you said his name like that. Not when every syllable whispered a sin he wasn't willing to commit.

"Let me help."

You were definitely sacrificed for more than just your pretty face.

You'd think you had stolen his tide jewels with the glare he shot you, but even that was pathetic. If you asked prettily enough he'd pluck them from his flesh and press them into your palm with a kiss to each knuckle.

Satoru realised something frightful in your near-year on the mountaintop. To pry his eyes from a lotus flower such as yourself, or deny her, were impossible feats — and right now? Only his mind rejected the offer. Barely.

"Absolutely not." He sat up, miscalculating how he'd flush up into you as a result. At last he touched you, his large palm knocked clumsily on your shoulder. "Are you crazy? Aren't you a village girl? Haven't they taught you better?"

"Thought me pulling a knife on you back then should have answered that question."

"You're not a human, you're a siren."

"Thought those didn't affect you?" Neither should your hand that brushed on his wrist and your body that swayed closer to him, like tides kissing the shores when his kimono caressed your yukata. Sirens didn't affect him, and yet your voice masked in the song of one did.

Your boldness knew no bounds. Instead of blades aimed for his eyes, your hands trace a tender path down to his chest. Your fiery palms flattened against heated skin, he gasped.

A divine being. One of wisdom, strength, restraint, but you weaved all that away with only your pretty fingers, effortlessly. Fate? Maybe you were destined for him, perhaps as a punishment. For no matter how much his palms itched to touch your smooth skin, you were a lotus flower he swore to view from afar.

"I can't."

"You won't?"

"I can't."

Satoru caught your hand in sync with a breath lodged in his throat. He couldn't stop the other — no, he wouldn't. Not when it caressed his thigh and made him mouth forgiveness prayers to the gods. Wasn't he a god? You touched him like a devotee.

He tried. Tried to will away. Tried to focus on anything but your fingers tracing circles on his inner thigh. Calming him as if he were the inexperienced —

"Aren't you a virgin?" He quivered.

"How polite." You smiled.

If he had manners to begin with he might have apologised. "I'm serious. Don't they send 'village girls of purity' or something like that?" Every second word caught with a heave. You hand weighed as an anchor than a petal. Guilt pooled in his gut, but desire clawed at it.

"You shouldn't - fuck." Restraint drained and his claws shot out for you when your palm stroked over his bulge. He grappled onto dignity last minute and caught the futon in the crossfire. Four more streaks torn into the cotton. Couldn't it be your yukata instead? No —

"This," he gulped. "This is wrong. Not like this."

"And what if it's my decision?"

"Then it's a stupid one." Your lips inched closer, his pressed to your knuckles instead. Your hand shook in his hold but he still held tight. His lifeline. His ruin. "I'm a mythical beast." Not with the way he whimpered. "A creature. . ."

"No." If dragons didn't need air, why did all leave his lungs when you slipped past his kimono? The belt pulled with the last bit of his dignity. Your hand ghosted flesh you knew not of. "You're just Satoru."

He avoided your lips so you kissed his jaw instead. When your soft words tensed all his muscles, you glanced down. Far from human. Divine. Never had you seen a man bare before, but you knew no mere man could compare to this.

Pale, like the rest of him, and tall too - his dick sprung from the confines. While fleshy, the ridges were pronounced. Two in particular, on either side, extended from his base and flowed with the double-curve of his length. Once at the middle and another before his tip. Girthy, with smaller ridges along the underside. The head's thickness matched the rest of him with several other ridges that had you biting on your lip. Slick, pearly beads circled his throbbing tip. One slowly tricked down the underside, emphasising the swell of his cockhead. Whether natural or erect-induced, you're uncertain, but you gulped.

To big. Especially for you. But, ever as ambitious, your fingers traced over the underside's ladder of ridges. Another gasp. His gaze fluctuated between your face overly curious hand.

He tried again, pitifully. "You shouldn't . . ."

You smiled, impishly. "Then stop me."

A challenge. A promise. You'd stop if he made you — but how could he when he felt that his fingers wrapped around his girth barely touched? How could he even dream of trying to keep your chastity when you so willingly proved you never had any of it to begin with?

Inexperienced nowhere in sight. Your stuttered pumping laced with a confidence for his pleasure drove him wild.

The rumble returned in heavy groans and his hold tightened. Every fibre of him failed to keep his cock from twitching in your delicate hand. You had long-since watered down his restraint. Even gentle tides wore-out rocky shores.

No twitches, he throbbed. Not only did he groan - he moaned, unabashed, ashamed, but still desperate for your gaze from beneath his feathery, fluttering lashes.

You broke the stare to admire him. Even when his cock trembled in your hand, it was dainty by comparison. The strokes aimed from the middle to his tip, until you grew fluid and lengthened your pumps. Induced by the sticky mess from his pronounced cockslit.

Satoru's head flicked back. Gods, were you really a virgin? Was he a centuries-old being? He melted into your silken hand like sea foam. Your name a prayer on his lips.

"Sweetheart," he breathed - whined, when you stuttered around his tip. "I'm . . . committing something long since forbidden."

An apology, but not to you. Something greater, sacred, and still — he fell into the sin of your thumb circling on his tip. Bringing pleasure and ruin in a devastating, blissful gift to his body. So pent-up, so untouched. Heats were spent with his own palm and sometimes a pillow, but never the touch of another.

Careful, you might make him addicted — your lips kissed along his slit. He gasped. Scratch that, he already was.

"So sensitive . . ." Susceptible to fire or not, one lit in his gut as you crooned. He pushed his palm behind your head and cupped your neck. Claws a threat, but never a promise. Reverently, they traced your skin in-tune with your tongue swirling sinful circles, smearing his slick.

Your first time be damned. What's with the audacity?

"Who knew you were such a brat." His grip tightened, you had the nerve to laugh. A challenge clung to your lashes when your pretty eyes flashed up. What could he do with the way he throbbed?

"This brat's making you feel soo good though, right Satoru?"

"You— fucckk."

His neck grip paled to your squeeze on his cock. His jaw slacked with every quickened, pressured pump. Every tantalising kiss spelling out his ruin in slick smooches. Pre-cum bubbled, hot, and you swiped it away with your hotter tongue. Burns flooded his veins, and you only fanned the flames. His groans outweighed your slurps, your scent outmatched the incense.

How he wished to shut you up with his tip kissing the back of your throat. See how much you have to say with your lips strained round his girth. No challenges in your eyes, only tears. You'd be the one ruined.

He bucked at the thought. The image danced across his vision but his self control together with his building orgasm cut the music. His base thrummed and you caught the rhythm. Your hand quickened, tongue lapping as if searching for liquid gold. Kitten licks turned to bold strokes, and then - oh devastating you - your mouth clung to his tip's underside in harsh sucks.

Not a groan, not a moan, but a quivered, depraved whimper. White hair tousled over his eyes fluttered to the ceiling. Hips chased in a sloppy cadence. His gut coils, as did his tail. Heavy and tight around your waist, but you ignored the warning.

"Damn - wait I —" Every muscle betrayed him. He should pull you off. Save your dignity. "Waaitt, sweet girl - ah - I'm gonna -" maybe he could manage.

"C'mon toru, please?"

Not with that whine. One last throb burst into heat. His swollen cockslit spilled with thick, creamy ropes streaming iridescence. You watched a swollen bulb rush up to his head, then disappearing as it slowly sank to the base. His body jerked together with his head. Laid open for you as the image of sin with his saviour between his legs. A young village girl, her hand stained in his pearly cum and her tongue so diligently lapping away at his endless mess.

"Shit - sweetheart," another whimper, deeper than his eyes turned into murky pools. Yet it was he who drowned. Flailing so helplessly with your sweet, slithery hand slowing pumps as the lifeline.

He grabbed it. Your wrist dwarfed as he yanked you into a topple over him. Any restraint melts with his orgasm as he braced large hands over the swell of your ass. Slot between your legs and grinding feral bucks, he caught your body in sensual sways.

You gasped and limped into him, fisting on his kimono. Why not his back? Oh the fantasy of you struggling to hold on while he fucked you into the futon. Thighs split, sweet cunt stretched — fuck, would you squeeze him tighter than your hand did? How would you feel struggling to take his cum? Straining around his eggs —

Dignity knocked the thought out the second his claws bit your yukata's hem. Only flimsy fabric kept him from your body he's been dreaming of for months, but now it felt like an iron cloak. Sacred to his filthy hands.

His touched jerked away as if scalded and your hazy eyes raised. Cock still throbbing between your legs. Your slick awaited, calling.

Yet he only stared. Frozen from the depths to which his mind crawled. Two seconds from throwing you into the futon. Teaching you why you should stay away from beasts, and now, he truly felt like a monster. Instead of cum on your palm, it's scarlet, instead of heated pants, it's nerves.

What had he done?

"Satoru?"

Not that voice. It broke him once. He won't fall for it again. Not those hands reaching for his face — not a fool, not this time.

In the blink of the eye, like the turn of the tides, his weight disappears beneath you. Your knees hit the futon and you gasped. Your gaze shot around the room in a frantic search but only blue smoke dissipating into the air caught your attention.

Distant, cold. Birthed from the heat of passion, came anything but in the following week. For the first and second day, Satoru had vanished. Around the third, thank heavens white and blue captured your heart before anxiety did.

You hoped he'd speak with you. Surprisingly, your attempts bore sweet fruit. He held conversation as he always did. Spoke like nothing happened.

But that was the issue. Because something did happen, and he refused to acknowledge it.

At first you took it as embarrassment, but as the days droned on, the distance between you both was as clear as the frost creeping onto citadel's wooden pavilions. Icy, lonesome. Your fate? Would the warmth of that blissful night be your last here at the mountain?

Until he called you into his office and you held hope in your hands like seeds ready to sow a new chapter. A new —

"Don't try to stab me again when I say this," Satoru turned from the wind chime, a familiar scroll in hand. Your eyes widened. His were lost. Even in his attempt to joke.

"But maybe . . . it'd be better if you were away from the mountaintop. Away from me."