18+ Satoru x Satoru mdni "a kiss from tomorrow"
CW. Time Travel, Selfcest, Comfort, Kissing, Oral/Blowjob, cum in mouth, canon jjk verse.
Satoru Gojo blinked against the unfamiliar glow of a city skyline that stretched higher and sharper than anything he remembered from the present. One second he had been standing in the ruins of an old mission site the weight of Suguru’s departure still sitting like a stone in his chest and the next the world had folded in on itself infinity twisting until he spilled out here. Into the future. Into a quiet penthouse apartment high above Tokyo where the air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and strawberry mochi.
And there he was.
Himself.
Older. Taller in that way that came from carrying more years, more losses, more everything. Silver hair still impossibly soft but longer now brushing the collar of a simple black shirt. The blindfold was replaced by those same six eyes that glowed with the same limitless power yet held shadows the younger Satoru had never seen in his own reflection. Lines of exhaustion and wisdom etched faintly at the corners. A mouth that had smiled through hell and still somehow curved with that signature lazy arrogance.
The older Satoru leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed watching him with an expression that was equal parts amusement and something heavier. Something like pity wrapped in understanding.
“You look like you just got drop kicked by your own technique,” the older one said, voice low and smooth like aged whiskey, the kind of tone that came from surviving things the younger one could only imagine. “Welcome to tomorrow Satoru. Try not to freak out too hard. I already did that part for both of us.”
The words landed blunt and unfiltered. That was the first shock. The second came minutes later when the older Satoru poured them both glasses of something sweet and cold and started talking about Suguru. Not the Suguru who had walked away from jujutsu society, the one the younger Satoru still ached for in the quiet hours. No. This was the Suguru who had come back twisted by curses and rage. The Suguru who had died. By his hands. By these very hands that now gripped the glass so tightly it nearly cracked.
The younger Satoru felt the color drain from his face. His stomach twisted. “You… I… killed him?”
The older Satoru didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften it. “Yeah. Had to. He left us no choice. That’s the price we pay for being the strongest. Even when it carves out pieces of us we never get back.” He reached over then fingers brushing the younger one’s wrist a touch so familiar it hurt. “You’re already carrying the weight of him leaving. This is just the next layer. You’ll survive it. We always do.”
The bluntness stung but it was honest and it was them. That was Satoru after all. No filter. No mercy even for himself.
In the days that followed the strangeness settled into something almost comfortable. They trained together in the empty dojo downstairs, the older Satoru moving with a grace that spoke of battles the younger one hadn’t fought yet. Their techniques clashed and merged infinity against infinity until the air hummed with raw power and they ended up laughing breathless on the mats. The same laugh. The same bright sharp sound that echoed off the walls like it belonged to only one person stretched across two bodies.
They ate sweets at odd hours, raiding the older Satoru’s fridge stocked with every flavor of mochi and daifuku imaginable. They talked for hours sprawled across the oversized couch about cursed energy about the students they would one day guide about the quiet fears that came with being untouchable. The older Satoru listened in ways the younger one never had before offering advice wrapped in teasing smirks and gentle nudges. “You’re going to be fine kid. You’re me after all. Just with fewer scars and more sugar highs.”
Nights blurred into soft lamplight and shared silences. The younger Satoru found himself leaning into the comfort of it all. This version of himself knew every crack in his soul, every hidden doubt behind the bravado. He didn’t have to pretend. He could just exist. And the older Satoru let him. A hand on the shoulder that lingered. A shared glance across the room that held too long. Smiles that felt like coming home.
It slowly built that tension. Like infinity expanding one careful breath at a time. They were the same person. The same heartbeat. The same endless blue eyes reflecting back at each other. The comfort twisted into something warmer, something electric that hummed under their skin whenever they sat too close.
One night the city lights painted the apartment in soft gold and violet. They had been talking about nothing and everything, the older Satoru’s voice a low rumble as he described a battle the younger one would one day fight. Their knees brushed. Then their hands. The younger Satoru looked up and the older one was already watching him with an intensity that stole the air from the room.
The kiss happened like a tender unfurling. No rush. Just the inevitable pull of two halves of the same soul finally giving in. The younger Satoru leaned first or maybe they moved together lips meeting soft and warm and so achingly familiar. The taste of strawberry and mint, the slight scrape of stubble, the way the older Satoru’s mouth moved like it already knew exactly how to unravel him. It felt right. So right it made his chest ache. These were his own lips, his own breath, his own quiet sigh vibrating against his tongue.
The older Satoru cupped his cheek thumb stroking slow circles as the kiss deepened. Tongues brushed tentative at first then bolder. The younger Satoru’s hands fisted in the front of that black shirt pulling him closer, needing more. Heat pooled low in his belly, his cock twitching to life at the simple press of their bodies. Familiar body. Same height, same strength, same warmth radiating through clothes that suddenly felt too thick.
When they broke apart the older Satoru’s voice was rougher deeper like it had been worn down by years of shouting domain expansions and swallowing grief. “You’re so good, Satoru. So good for me.”
The praise hit like a spark on dry tinder. The younger Satoru’s dick throbbed hard against the confines of his pants, a needy pulse that made his breath hitch. They both wanted this. It was written in the way their eyes locked, in the flush creeping up both their necks in the matching hardness pressing against each other through fabric.
But the younger Satoru felt a surge of something deeper than lust. Eagerness. Devotion. He wanted to worship this older version of himself who had carried the weight of tomorrow on his shoulders. Who had lost Suguru and kept standing. Who still looked at him like he was worth saving.
So he slid down with measured slowness, with need. Dropping to his knees between the older Satoru’s spread thighs right there on the living room floor with the city glittering far below like distant stars. It was a physical thing looking up at himself. A psychological thing too. His own face staring back down at him, silver hair falling messily over one eye, that lazy confident smirk softened by want. His own hands familiar calluses and all resting lightly on his shoulders steadying him.
The older Satoru watched him with those endless eyes dark with hunger. One hand came down gentle, cupping the younger Satoru’s cheek thumb brushing over his lower lip encouraging without pushing. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” the younger one breathed, voice already rough. “Let me. Please.”
Fingers that felt like his own, worked open the older Satoru’s pants. Eagerly his fingers worked. The zipper sounded loud in the quiet room. He freed the cock beneath it thick and hard and flushed at the tip already glistening with pre-cum. It was his own after all. The same shape, the same veiny length, the same flushed pink head that made his mouth water at the sight. He stared for a long moment mesmerized by the intimacy of it.
Then he leaned in. As he looked up blue meeting vibrant blues. He parted his lips and took the head into his mouth. The taste exploded across his tongue, salty sweet warm skin and the faint musk that was unmistakably Satoru. His own cock jerked hard in his pants untouched but leaking now soaking the front of his underwear. He moaned around the length, the vibration pulling a low groan from the older Satoru above him.
“That’s it,” the older voice rumbled deeper, richer than his own… like it had been tempered by time. “Good boy. Just like that.”
The words lit him up from the inside. He took more sliding down the shaft tongue swirling eager and hungry. He savored every inch the weight on his tongue the way it throbbed against the roof of his mouth, the soft skin over steel hardness. He bobbed slow at first, learning the feel of himself from this angle then faster hollowing his cheeks sucking with wet obscene sounds that filled the apartment. His hands braced on strong thighs, fingers digging in as he pushed deeper until his nose brushed silver curls and his throat relaxed to take it all.
The older Satoru’s hand stayed gentle in his hair, not forcing, just guiding. Praise spilled from those familiar lips in that deeper voice. “Fuck—mhn satoru. Look at you h-aah—Taking me so well. So fucking perfect.”
He lost himself in it. The taste, the smell, the wet heat of his own mouth working over his own cock. His own dick ached neglected and dripping but he didn’t care. All that mattered was making this older version of himself feel good. Making him moan, making his eyes flutter half closed. He licked along the underside and swirled around the head, sucking hard on the upstroke. Saliva dripped down his chin but he didn’t wipe it away just kept going moaning louder wilder around the thick length.
It was beautiful. This mirror of pleasure, this self contained infinity of want. The older Satoru’s hips rocked gently meeting his rhythm, the hand in his hair tightening just enough to send sparks down his spine. Their eyes stayed locked whenever he could manage it blue on brilliant blue, a connection that went beyond bodies beyond time.
He savored every second drawing it out slow. Worshipfully licking stripes up the shaft kissing the tip before swallowing him down again. The older Satoru’s breaths came heavier now laced with curses and praises that made the younger one’s cock throb harder. “Good boy… my good boy… gonna make me come if you keep that up.”
He wanted it. Needed it. He doubled down sucking harder, hollowing his cheeks tongue working relentlessly. Moans vibrated up from his chest wild and unrestrained as he lost himself completely in the act. In the taste in the smell in the way his own body responded to pleasuring itself across years.
The older Satoru’s thighs tensed under his palms. A low broken groan escaped him, voice cracking with pleasure. “Satoru—nghh—fuuuck. I’m—”
And the younger one took it all. Every pulse, every drop. Swallowing around him with greedy devotion. Eyes never leaving that electric blue gaze above him. When it was over he pulled off unhurried, licking his lips clean savoring the last traces of his own taste. His own cock still strained untouched in his pants but his face was flushed with satisfaction and something deeper. Something like peace.
The older Satoru looked down at him with a soft wrecked smile, fingers carding gently through silver hair. “C’mere you.”
He pulled the younger Satoru up into his lap, their mouths meeting again in a slow messy kiss that tasted like both of them. The night stretched on around them the city lights twinkling like they approved of this impossible beautiful collision of past and future. Two versions of the same limitless soul tangled together finding comfort and pleasure and something that felt a lot like love in the quiet hours before tomorrow arrived.
© torusbabe 2026.
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