#gojo self insert

he's there. shirt crooked, one sleeve bunched up by his elbow, hair a complete mess like he's been raking his hands through it all night. he's leaning on your doorframe like it's the only thing keeping him vertical.

his eyes blink a little too slowly when they land on you. then he smiles.

"hey," he says, dragging the word out. "see... see, i knew you were awake. you always pretend you're asleep, but you never are."

"gojo," you say flatly. "you're drunk."

"kinda," he mutters, swaying as he tries to stand up straighter. he misses, shoulder bumping the frame. he laughs at himself, breath warm and sweet with alcohol. "floor's movin'. swear t'god it started first."

"you need to go home."

he squints at you like he's focusing really hard. "i am home. well. not—" he waves vaguely behind him, then looks back at you, grin crooked. "jus’ wanted t’see your face. n’ maybe your thighs."

"you're not coming in."

he takes a step forward anyway and almost falls. you grab his arm on instinct, and he immediately takes advantage of it, stumbling into you instead of past you. his arms slide around your waist, loose but heavy, weight settling against you like he belongs there. his forehead drops to your shoulder.

"mm. hi," he murmurs. "you smell nice. didya always smell like that, or is m'brain makin' things up."

"let go," you say, even though you haven't pushed him away yet.

he tightens his hold just a little, chin lifting so he can look at you. his words blur together now, slow and sticky.

"c'monnn," he whines softly. "lemme in. i'll be good. i swear. i'll jus' sit there. maybe breathe. maybe— maybe not even touch. promise. probably."

"that is not convincing."

he smiles, lazy and unfocused. "you always say that. an' you opened the door anyway. kinda feels like you like when i show up like this."

"you're drunk and inappropriate."

"yeah," he agrees easily. "but m'honest. booze does that. makes it real hard not t'say stuff."

his thumbs press into your sides, slow and absent-minded. his voice drops, softer, words slurring together.

"i bet you think about me when you're bored," he murmurs. "late at night. when it's quiet. when you're starin' at your phone hopin' i text first so you don't gotta."

your breath catches.

he feels it and smiles into your shoulder. "see. told ya."

"gojo."

"mm?" he hums, leaning closer, nose brushing your temple. "say it again. like that. sounds real nice when you're annoyed."

"you are not staying."

he laughs quietly, breath warm against your skin. "yeah. okay. sure. jus' five minutes. then i'll go. but if you kick me out now, i'm gonna spend the whole walk home thinkin' about what you'd look like if you didn't."

that does it. the door shuts behind you with a soft click.

and he is absolutely not going to be good.

you don't have to look at him to know he's smiling, that slow, lazy victory of a man who knows he's won before the game has even properly started. his weight shifts against you, becoming less of a lean and more of a deliberate press, pinning you between his body and the solid wood of the door.

"see?" he murmurs, the words a low vibration against your temple. "toldja you'd let me in."

you don't answer. words feel useless, like they've already been used up and all that's left is this. this humming space between his body and yours. his hands, which had been resting loosely on your waist, begin to move. it's a slow, exploratory drag of his thumbs over the fabric of your shirt, tracing the curve of your ribs, a touch that's both proprietary and impossibly gentle for a man this drunk.

"...gojo," you say again, and this time it's not a warning. it's just a name. a surrender.

he makes a soft, pleased sound in his throat, a hum of approval. "yeah. just like that." he pulls back just enough to look at you, and the drunken haze in his eyes hasn't cleared, but it's sharpened with focus. all of it is on you. he lifts one hand, his fingers clumsy as they push a stray strand of hair back from your face. his knuckles graze your cheek, and the touch is so unexpectedly tender it makes your chest ache.

"y'know," he says, his voice dropping to that slurred, confidential whisper that's already undone you once tonight, "how i was thinkin'… on the way here. 'bout your pretty thighs." his eyes drop, tracing the path his hand had just imagined. "was thinkin' 'bout how they'd feel wrapped around me. wasn't even bein' a perv. just… curious."

his honesty is a weapon. you know it. he knows it. but it doesn't make the heat that pools in your stomach any less real. he sees the shift in your eyes, the way your lips part slightly. he sees everything.

"can I?" he asks, and it's the first time he's asked for anything. his hand hovers over the hem of your shirt, his fingers twitching with the effort of not touching. "just wanna feel."

you nod. a short, sharp jerk of your chin.

his hand slides under your shirt, his palm warm and calloused against the bare skin of your stomach. you suck in a breath, and he follows the sound, leaning in to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. it's a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tasting of whiskey and something sweet, something uniquely him.

his other hand joins the first, both of them roaming your back, your sides, mapping out the terrain he's only ever seen in his head. he walks you backward, his movements clumsy but determined, until your legs hit the edge of your sofa. he follows you down, settling his weight over you.

"you smell even better up close," he says, burying his face in the crook of your neck. he inhales deeply, a sound of pure satisfaction. his teeth scrape over your pulse point, and you arch against him, a silent plea for more. he gets the message. his mouth is hot on your skin, a trail of wet, open kisses from your collarbone to your ear.

"fuck gojo," you breathe, your hands tangling in the messy silk of his hair. it's softer than it looks.

"say it again," he demands, his voice muffled by your skin. "wanna hear it when i'm makin' you feel good."

he pulls your shirt up, and you lift your arms to help him, the fabric disappearing into the darkness of your living room. his eyes, when they find yours again, are dark with intent, but still so bright. he dips his head, his tongue tracing the curve of your breast before his lips close around a nipple. the jolt that goes through you is electric, sharp and immediate. he sucks, hard, a wet, obscene sound in the quiet room, and you cry out, your back bowing off the couch.

"fuck," he groans, lifting his head. "knew they'd be perfect." he gives the other one the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, his tongue swirling until you're writhing beneath him, a mess of need and frustration.

he works his way down your body, his mouth never leaving your skin. he kisses your stomach, your hips, the soft skin of your inner thighs. he's on his knees on the floor now, looking up at you from between your legs, his hair a wild halo around his face, his pupils blown wide.

"been thinkin' about this," he says, his voice rough. "right here." he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sleep shorts and pulls them down, slow, deliberate. his eyes never leave yours. he tosses them aside, and then he just looks. For a long moment, he just stares, his gaze so intense it feels like a physical touch.

you curse under your breath, a plea and a warning all at once.

"shh," he says, leaning in. "i got you." and then his mouth is on you, hot and wet and utterly shameless. he licks into you with a desperate, hungry intensity, his tongue finding your clit and circling it with a pressure that makes your vision blur. your hands fly to his hair, holding him to you, and he groans against you, the vibration sending a shockwave straight through your core.

"fuck—" you gasp, your hips bucking against his face. "gojo—"

he just hums, a sound of smug satisfaction, and doubles down. he's messy, sloppy, drooling a little as he eats you out like it's the only thing he's ever wanted to do. his tongue is everywhere, flattening against you, then pointed and probing, dipping inside to taste before returning to circle that sensitive bundle of nerves. the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, a hot, frantic knot of pleasure that's about to snap.

"that's it," he slurs, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin slick and shining. "c'mon. wanna feel it. wanna taste you cumin' on my tongue."

he slides a finger into you, then another, and the stretch is perfect. he curls them just so, finding that spot that makes you see stars, and his mouth returns to your clit, sucking hard. that's all it takes. the world whites out, a muffled scream into your hands as your orgasm crashes through you. your whole body trembles, shaking apart under his hands and mouth, and he doesn't stop, working you through it until you're a whimpering, oversensitive mess.

he finally pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. he looks wrecked. his hair is sticking to his damp forehead, his lips are swollen and red, and his eyes are heavy with a need so potent it makes your breath catch. he stands up, his movements still a little unsteady, and fumbles with the button on his jeans.

"can't," he mutters, his voice hoarse. "can't wait."

he shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough to free himself, and your eyes widen. he's hard, leaking at the tip, and he wraps a hand around his own cock, stroking once, twice. he leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside your head. his other hand guides himself to your entrance, running the head through your wetness.

"look at me," he says, and it's not a request. you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. "wanted this. wanted you. for so long."

he pushes inside in one slow, deep stroke that steals the air from your lungs. he's big, and the stretch burns in the best way. he pauses, buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to yours. his breath is ragged, warm and smelling of you and alcohol.

"fuck baby," he whispers, his voice cracking. "you feel... so much better than i imagined."

you can't speak. you just wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, a silent invitation for more. he takes it. he starts to move, his rhythm uneven at first, still clumsy with drink and desperation. but it doesn't matter. every drag of his cock against your walls is perfect. he's hitting that spot with every thrust, a deep, grinding pressure that builds the pleasure all over again.

"you're so wet," he groans, his words muffled against your neck. "so fuckin' tight. takin' me so good."

his hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. he rubs messy, uncoordinated circles, but it's enough. the stimulation is almost too much, a sharp, bright edge to the deep, rolling pleasure of his thrusts. you're close again, embarrassingly fast.

"i knew it," he pants, his hips snapping faster now, losing all pretense of control. "knew you'd be like this. knew you'd fall apart for me."

"shut up," you gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders.

he laughs, a breathless, broken sound. "make me."

he kisses you then, a messy, dominating kiss that's all teeth and tongue. he swallows your moans as your second orgasm builds, higher and hotter than the first. his thumb presses harder, his thrusts become erratic, and you shatter, clamping down around him as you come with a cry that's half his name, half a sob.

"shit—" he chokes out. "i'm... fuck."

he buries himself deep one last time, his whole body going rigid as he spills into you. you feel the pulse of it, the warmth of him, and he collapses on top of you, his full weight pinning you to the couch. you're both breathing hard, the only sound in the room the frantic beat of your hearts.

for a long moment, you just lie there, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. his face is still buried in your neck, his breathing slowly evening out. you think he might have fallen asleep.

then he shifts, lifting his head just enough to look at you. his eyes are heavy-lidded, the drunkenness softened by something else. something warm. something that looks terrifyingly like contentment.

"hey," he whispers, his voice raw.

"hey," you whisper back.

he smiles, a slow, lazy, genuine thing that doesn't look like it's for anyone but you. "toldya i'd be good."

you can't help it. you laugh. a real, honest-to-god laugh. "you are absolutely not good."

"yeah," he agrees, his smile widening as he drops his head back onto your chest. "but m'honest."

Geto had been Gojo's beta; a right hand man to his close friend, and one of the only beings Gojo could trust with his life. 

Among those people, you had stood proudly. 

You hadn't been aware of this, though. Gojo's characteristic coolness when around you, the tilted smirk and smooth words he'd use purely to fluster you had been ones you'd assumed him to use on many - but this fact would be wrong. From the moment his pretty blue eyes had laid on your warm skin and wide smile, he'd sworn his heart had felt fuller. 

Gojo had found you irresistible for many reasons. Your hard working nature second to the sweet face and laid-back attitude you'd displayed so easily to him; your presence had been his favourite within the office after only a week of knowing you. He'd been head of Gojo Inc, a face you hadn't expected to be a regular part of your working day, yet he'd made time to spend with you each afternoon. A few colleagues had commented on the uncommon interaction between himself and a lowly administrator, though all had met with disciplinary action from Gojo himself. 

Geto had theorised you to be Gojo's fated one, though he'd brushed this off - mates were a kind story told to desperate wolves on the brink of insanity. A last resort to runts, a desperate grab from an alpha to keep their packs sane. And, if a fated being had been true, how could it be that the moon goddess would pair him with a human? No, you were simply his muse; a fresh face and a new toy to play with. Gojo had restraint and had known not to take this further than flushing you in conversation or causing heart to race, a close proximity between he and you within the confides of the elevator - but, what was this smell? 

Ovulation had been a thing you'd noticed, but ignored. Being single and years from settling down, you'd paid little attention to the changes your body made each month - the only difference in routine had been increased use of silicone toy. 

"Are you okay, sir?" 

You'd stopped mid conversation as Gojo's eyes had glossed over, chest rising and falling at noticeable speed. He'd been looking at you, you'd been sure of it - yet, he appeared so hollow. So, for lack of better word, feral. The gaze set upon you had been one you'd never met with before, one that had made your stomach churn in both curiosity and fear. 

"Sir?" A second prompt before the elevator dinged, silver doors pulling apart to reveal the tenth floor and Gojo's stop, yet he hadn't moved an inch. The doors had begun to close as the interest you'd felt had instead stemmed into an uncomfortable feeling, mouth opening to protest the unusual action and to perhaps flee the elevator before the doors had closed completely. For some reason, you'd felt if you'd stayed within that spot, Gojo would have lost control. Over what, you'd been unable to tell. 

The steel had almost closed shut, your exit fading before you, though as if a sign from God, a large hand had met with the thin gap. The doors had parted once more, Geto allowing no hesitation before stepping into the elevator. His arm had grazed you as he'd practically ran in, palm reaching to his friend's slouched shoulder. You'd watched as the glassy blue eyes had widened, panting chest turning back to shallow breath. 

"That was close, Satoru." Getou's voice had been low, concerned gaze fixated over Gojo. As you'd stepped out, doors edging closed to leave two males within the metal contraption, you'd made out the peculiar sentence that had left you questioning both their sanity and your own:

"She's in heat." 

Throughout the day, you'd questioned that phrase. Filing paperwork had felt near impossible as you'd reenacted that scene from the morning, a daunting feeling rising when remembering the look of hunger within his eye, the odd term he'd used - could men sense women's ovulation? 

You'd googled it, thumb shaking over search bar from both embarrassment and fear, a sinking feeling within you as you searched to find if your school system had failed you. Though, after extensive research (five minutes of searching through mildly related articles) you'd come to the conclusion that ovulation had in fact been undetectable by other people.

Though, you'd known he'd been aware of your bodily situation. Even if you couldn't pin down how or why, you'd understood Gojo's look to be that of lust, a predatory gaze only a beast would give their prey. 

Yet, you hadn't felt fear. 

From the moment you'd stepped foot in his office on the date of your induction, you'd felt a warmth and homeliness within Gojo you hadn't found elsewhere. There had been a peculiar aura around him you hadn't felt before, and although some had felt agitated by the authority he'd radiated, you'd wanted nothing more than to push his boundary. To get to the bottom of the burning questions you'd had - even if that had meant playing with fire. 

So, you'd taken a risk. 

A pile of paperwork in hand, you'd stepped foot back in the elevator and pressed finger onto 10 with trepidation ebbing through vein. Your heart had raced with knocking fist over door, though the strain in Gojo's voice when allowing admission had only added to your sureness that he'd been able to sense you. 

You'd clutched the files in your palm, fingers wrapped tightly over plastic binder while you'd closed his office door and taken steps closer to his desk. 

You could feel it, the tension in the air as you'd grown closer. His eyes had watched you through pain as he'd sat straighter in his chair, smile forced.  "Is that the reports?" His voice sounded higher than usual, a strain in throat. 

"Yeah, I've completed them all." You'd placed the pile over the wood of his desk, arms less burdened. Though, now you'd had nothing to squeeze your anxieties into. 

"Uh, Gojo?" His lack of response had been unusual, though after your previous encounter, you'd expected nothing less. The same pained expression had stared back at you, glossy eye and hollow gaze. The more you'd peered into the blue, the more you'd deciphered lust. 

"What did you mean, earlier?" The question had been whispered, though he'd heard you loudly. "In the lift." 

Gojo swallowed. Beneath his desk, his cock had twitched, an uncomfortable tightness within slacks as he'd shifted his hips. Your scent had been divine. He closed his heavy lids to breathe deep once more, a groan stifled in throat as the sweet musk had flowed from your being, calling to him. 

"Sir?" Your voice had grown timid, and when Gojo's eyes had opened once more, he'd found you bending toward him. This had been enough. 

Your concern had irked him enough to place hand roughly to shoulder and push you backward, your behind coming into contact with the smooth wall beyond desk. The startled expression plagued with worry had been a bi-product of his rash action, yet Gojo had only found his lips curving into a smile. You'd been prey, after-all. 

"Stop playing dumb." His words had been whispered against the skin of your neck, a barrage of goose-bumps decorating the skin he'd touched. Suddenly, you'd felt prickled with heat - a burning you were sure had started within your core. 

"What did you mean, Gojo? Can you-" You'd cut yourself off from asking, though when your eyes had met his once more, pupils blown out and teeth sharp, you'd felt inclined to ask what had felt to be a ridiculous question. "Can you tell I'm ovulating?" 

He'd laughed, bitterly. 

"Is that what you call it?" His fingers had grazed your neck, sitting beneath chin to push your face upward. He'd stared into your gaze, basking in your attention. 

"Gojo..." You'd trailed off, the warmth over flesh turning into an unbearable itch. "What is this?" There had been a draw toward him, a magnetism through every inch of your body that had felt insufferable to bare.

"You're a bitch in heat, aren't you?" His lips were much closer to yours, now. There had been a part of you that had told you to run, yet the throb between thigh and need to connect yourself to him had felt much greater than the fear sinking in your stomach. Instead, you'd closed the gap. 

Gojo's mouth was warm - in fact, every part of his pale skin had felt hotter than you'd expected it to be, almost as if he'd suffered a fever. Though as he'd pushed his tongue into your parted lips and pressed his body closer to yours, you'd understood he'd simply been different to the typical human. There had always been something about him, a draw toward him that hadn't felt healthy nor natural, yet his mouth taut to yours had been the only relief you'd felt in the past week. 

The glossy lips trailed to your neck, teeth grazing skin as he'd nipped over thick flesh.  "You're mine." Possessive words had ricocheted from your skin, his hands now gripping over thigh to lift you against him. 

"What is this, Gojo?" Somewhere in your voice had been concern, though your mind had felt lulled when his cock had pressed to your core. You'd wanted him, more than you'd wanted anything in your life. 

"You smell so good." He'd spoken against you before inhaling once more, a sharp breath inward to take your scent into lung. "Intoxicating." Gojo had groaned into you, a squeeze of grasp. "You're in heat - that means you're mine, you know?" His rambles had been paired with ruts against you, the friction of his clothed cock against your body serving as the only thing grounding him within that moment. 

"Humans don't go into heat, not unless they're fated to us." Another rut, this one catching the parting of your lips, tip pressing over your clit. You whined, slick coating underwear thickly as he'd rolled against you. 

"I need you, Gojo." Your request had been a desperate plea, the prickling sensation throughout your body in need of soothing, body clenching. 

"I know, love." 

Gojo's hands had gripped you firmly as he'd carried you to the fur rug in the centre of his office. This hadn't been where he'd wanted to take you, but you'd needed him - and he'd been inclined to soothe your pain, after all.

"So pretty." Whispered against stomach, Gojo's fingers had hooked through your pants to pull them lower, flat palms scaling exposed skin. He'd spread your legs open wide, pressing into inner thigh to keep you parted as his head had grazed across your slick, a lewd whine from your lips as you'd raised yourself toward him, begging for more. 

He'd given you what you'd wanted, pushing himself into you with ease, a groan tumbling from lip when feeling your tightness hug around his length. You'd felt perfect, sucking him in with ease - though the abundance of your own arousal had aided with the tight fit. 

Your sensations had felt heightened beneath him, the draw of his length within you creating a jelly within your head. Though, with his cock buried within you, the heat had faded into a soft lull, a static within brain. 

He'd bottomed out when reaching for the buttons of your shirt, nimble fingers popping plastic through hole until your chest had been exposed. The white bra you'd had beneath had pushed your chest upward, curve of breast accentuated. He'd pressed his hand into your chest, a rough squeeze with a rock of his hips as you'd contorted your face beneath him. 

"Feelin' better?" He'd asked you through the snide grin across his face, cock twitching within your confines as you'd nodded with urgency. "I'll take care of you." Gojo hadn't been sure if the statement had been one he'd used to reassure you or himself, though he'd felt his head throbbing from within you from his protective phrases. He could sense your malleability and trust beneath him, the innate safeness and faith you'd allowed him to have. This had been enough to prove your loyalty, and compatibility. 

He'd manoeuvred his body to allow hand between his abdomen and yours, fingers coming into contact with your slick folds to roll his finger over sensitive bud. You'd arched your back immediately, soft whimpers encouraging the circles he'd kneaded into you, cock bullying deep into your core. 

You'd sworn under your breath, arm brought over face as you'd felt overcome with pleasure, walls stretched against his thickness and mind foggy. With the swipes of his finger, you'd felt a familiar build up within your stomach, back arching above the rug. 

"D'ya know what knotting is?" Gojo took the decency to ask you before it would happen, a flutter in chest as he'd awaited your response. Of course, the human you'd been, you'd shaken your head and allowed confusion to take home over your features. "I get thicker when I come - to keep it all in." 

Your furrowed brow had been all he'd needed to see, a mental note to explain his kind to you extensively once you'd felt satisfied. There had been a long way to go with you, though this wasn't anything Gojo wouldn't be prepared for. His heart had beat with yours, another roll over you as you'd felt stuffed full. 

"Want you to pull out." Your demand had pained you to say, yet you couldn't push logic out completely. You'd still been ovulating, and without protection had been risk enough. Gojo laughed, bending forward to place lips over cheek.  "Not giving you pups yet, love."

You'd whined, the sudden change in proximity feeling wildly more intimate. Gojo had felt this too, the satiation when you'd been closer to him. He kissed over your skin, trailing messily to neck as you'd clenched around him. You were close, he'd felt that through the grip over his length like a vice. 

Your strained moan and head thrown back had spoken as evidence to your undoing, Gojo's cock pushed deep within your aching hole, fingers working magic over swollen clit. He'd grunted in a response to your high, an inhuman snarl erupting from chest - though you'd ignored the animalistic sounds he'd made in favour for your orgasm. If anything, the feral groans had only coaxed pleasure from you, a warmth in stomach at the comforting sounds. 

Only when your high had fizzled out, legs loosening from his waist had Gojo pulled out, curses and groans tumbling from parted lip as he'd pumped his fist over himself. Hot white had spilled over your stomach as you'd watched him through half lidded eyes. 

When Gojo had come down, he'd leaned forward to nuzzle into the small of your neck, sharp breaths in to take your scent in once again. 

"f-fuck." satoru stutters much to his demise, a hand flying to grasp the back of your head and gently coax you to take him deeper. you glance up, nose kissing groin, and satoru's head is tilted back, mouth ajar. his chest rises and falls with a little more vigor, and you can picture his eyes squeezing shut as you hollow your lips, dragging them back upward.

his hips roll up and you gag, though bring yourself to take him into your throat despite the slight discomfort, knowing that each constriction of your throat caused his dick to twitch, hand now heavy on your head as you have all control.

when you pull away, a long string of drool from your lips to his glistening length, satoru thinks he could die right there. no one could touch him, no one could kill him, yet here you were with the world in your hands. satoru thinks if you'd had an ulterior motive to this relationship, one ending in the murder of humanity's strongest, he'd let simply it happen.

there's a build up of saliva in your mouth, thick drool accumulated from taking him into your throat. you think about swallowing it all back, though instead choose open wide, sticking out your tongue to allow the mixture to land directly over his cock. a whimper leaves his chest, eyes widening and spare hand moving to rest over his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt between his fingers. the other palm presses over the back of your head, pressuring you to take him again, and you allow it.

with your hand accompanying your movements over him, satoru can do nothing but groan, a light tightening over his dick when you bring yourself to surface, the gooey mixture of precum and spit massaged right into his dick. it's all a bit sensitive, he thinks - though it's all too good to stop you.

he grows closer and you can tell; he's suddenly meeting you halfway with desperate thrusts, your name on his lips along with squeezes over his shirt, still bundled up in left hand.

he spills, a loud and mouthy moan, head dropping down with eyes clenched shut. you watch as he allows his high to take over and taste his arousal on your tongue.

when he's done, with a shaky breath and pop, you remove yourself from him. in the corner of your eye as you press your hands in his thighs to stand, it's glaringly obvious he's watching your movements. when you're upright, your eyes on the doorway as you begin to rush toward the sink to spit the salty liquid away, satoru places a hand on your shoulder.

you look to him in confusion, but he points to your mouth. while standing, he feels even more intimidating, the height difference leaving you no room to move.