Marathon Sex

Marathon Sex

Warning: Marathon sex, tons of cumming, tons of orgasms, doggy and mating press, squirting, breeding

Oh god, this was it. You were going to die. You were going to die because he can't stop fucking you.

You don't know what's happening, you couldn't even tell someone your own name if they asked. Your grip on the sheets was starting to get loose, tears flowing down to your cheeks, mouth hanging open with drool pooling on the sheets as you were already fucked out of your mind.

"Come on baby just keep your legs on my shoulders. Can you do that for me?" His breath is hot against your ear. "F-fuck please" he says through a groan. If you weren't so fucked out of your mind you would think that he was actually begging. And you were right. He isn't a whimpering man but here he is, voice cracking from the vice grip your cunt

You are too dumb to reply, only spurting outcries and whines about how good he was fucking you. He snapped his hips so fast that everything seemed like a dream, the bed was shaking immensely with the headboard banging on the wall and you were losing your mind from the friction of his dick against your walls. How long have you been in this mating press? How many times have you cummed? How many times has he cummed in you?

"Wanna fuck you every day," he grunts out, pumping into you, the length and level of his arousal brutal. "fuck fuck fuck," he swears, as he brings a hand to the back of your head and presses your lips onto his. Your so dazed you practically drool into the kiss, letting him entangle his tongue with yours until spit smeared on either side of your lips. He doesn’t slow the movement for a second as he kisses you, giving you full, hard thrusts, your breasts bouncing from the brutality.

Suddenly, it hits you. Like an ignition of fire your brain goes white and you feel yourself ascend to euphoria.

“You gonna cum baby?" he coos into your hear, pressing light kisses on the hollow of your neck. "fuck, cum for me baby, please, cum on me." His hand flew between your bodies to rapidly rub your clit back and forth, hurtling you towards your orgasm. Your pussy tightens so hard around his cock that he nearly has to stop his thrusts. Your mouth grows lax as you feel yourself splitting in two, coming with his cock buried deep inside you. 

“That’s it,” He fucks you through your orgasm, pouring every ounce of his strength into chasing his own high. His thrusts became sloppy, hips stuttering before he stilled his hips flushed against yours, burying himself in your creamy cunny.

“Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!”

His grip tightened significantly, a loud moan of your name slipping from his lips as his own orgasm washed over him, coming so hard he sees white. But he's not done.

Before you could recover, he rolls you onto your back, in doggy, and slips into you. After the first thrust he has to hold still for a second, knowing that if he kept moving, if he gave himself up to the exquisite tightness, the heat, he would burst inside you again. But the moment of rest only lasts for a second. He resumes his brutal pace, pumping himself in and out of you.

You are wetter then ever down there, there is no longer friction only the mind-numbing pleasure of his tip hitting your cervix again and again.

There is no warning when he cums inside you again, you only know when you feel his cum drip down your thigh.

"Feel so good, you feel so good baby."

You're in heaven right now. Your mind has gone to a different space detached from this world. Every time he pushes into you, this tip of his dick rubbed perfectly against the gummy spot in you that made your whole body shake.

“Fuckkkk… I’ll fill you up, make you a mommy, you’d like that wouldn’t you… shit.”

All you can do is dumbly nod as you felt the crescendo of your euphoria building and building. It was so hot, your skin was radiating heat and before you could say anything you were tumbling toward the end faster then you could put a stop to it.

“S’feels weird~” you babble, too fucked dumb to properly pronunciate words.

“Oh yeah? What does it feel like?” He coos, grabbing either side of your hips harder to fuck himself into you from your behind.

“Like m’gonna pee I don’t-hah-” something was pressing down on your stomach and it was overtaking your body; too fast to put a stop to it. You started to shake, abdomen clenching and mouth going into the lock jaw, tongue rolling out as you squirted clear juices everywhere.

“Oh f- good girl" He says through a groan, not stopping for a second as your pussy fluttered and clenched around him.

GOJO, GETO, TOJI, SUKUNA, NANAMI, CHOSO, SANAMI, TENGEN, BOKUTO, KUROO, ATSUMU, OIKAWA, SHIGARAKI, DABI

you can be both an ethereal faerie dream girl and a horrid little dirt gremlin creature. the duality of woman

The Heir - G.S.

Synopsis. No, your clan leader husband won’t stop until he gives you an heir. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, established relationship, he’s cray-cray (for you), bréeding - like a LOT, oral (fem receiving), unprotected, creampíe, marathon, séx, running from it, use of “my wife”, overstim, FÉRAL Satoru, absolutely heinous, mentions of kníves and bIood, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.3k

A/N. Guess what ya girlie is back with clan leader Gojo hehe.

An heir to the Gojo clan - no matter how small, how weak - could eradicate all three of the big clans before even being born. Much like their father. 

You knew that. Satoru knew that. And, unfortunately for him, so did the stuck-up old toad currently sputtering across from him. 

“I am not asking for permission.” Satoru smiles, deathly calm. “Simply that everyone vacates the Estate. After all, what the madam wants, the madam shall get.”

“But- but young master! It’s madness- An heir can tip the scales of power like never before!” The elder lunges frantically over the meeting room table. “I cannot allow- a-and considering the madam’s lowly lineage-”

Schwing!

They say that the infamous young head of the Gojo clan has a katana as hauntingly beautiful as he is - a blade of pure white, with a sapphire hilt. Though, there wasn’t anyone left to tell the tale - and Satoru wasn’t about to let that change anytime soon. 

The long, deceptively delicate sword glints sharply against Satoru’s humorless grin, and those cold, cold eyes. Unblinking - crazed, as he hums, “What did you say about my wife?”

The man in front of him can do nothing but yelp in fear, “I- it could- the scale of ah-”

“No.” The freezing cold blade presses deeper against skin. And Satoru’s tutting, “Try again.”

“Th-the madam!” Pathetic tears stain those expensive tatami mats below, every shred of previous ego wiped away as the elder’s forced to echo his words. “It is no lie that her b-background is…unsuitable-”

Oh this was why Satoru hated these meetings - and for once in his life he’d been the one to summon it instead of being forced to attend. What a joke. If only this elder had agreed to vacate everyone in the Estate like he’d wanted, then none of this would’ve happened. Seriously, how hard was it to get some alone time with you? 

Satoru sighs, blue yukata rustling as he grips the hilt tighter. “Do you know why you’re here, advisor? Why any of you little council of elders are still here?” And he doesn’t wait for an answer - couldn’t care less about it anyway. Plowing on in that same sweet, dangerous tone - as if scolding a stubborn child, “My lovely wife is kind, you see. Too kind. Doesn’t like for me to get my hands dirty.”

He lets his arm retract slightly, as if giving up on the conversation topic at hand. And oh for all his wisdom, the elder should’ve known better than to let the silence lull into one of safety. Should’ve known better than to let out a breath of relief. Relaxing - ever-so-slightly, to be stupid enough to mutter, “S-see young master. I told- you-”

Because this was Gojo Satoru, and he’s chuckling - and that was never a good sign for anyone but you. “She’d make such a perfect mother, don’t you think?”

---

SLAM!

You startle - there was only ever one person that dared to kick open the doors of the Gojo Estate that way, like he was out for blood.

Eyes tearing from your window towards the now-splintered doorway and-

Oh. Oh shit. 

Your voice dies in your throat as the metallic tang of blood hits your nose - followed very shortly by the realization that this was your husband. Towering figure leaning against the frame, gaze frantic - bouncing off everywhere but you, fingers twitching on the stained handle of his katana, looking for all the world like he’d seen a ghost. 

What the fuck happened?

“Satoru?” you breathe. And the sound of your voice his eyes finally snap to you - widening, like he’d finally noticed your figure standing there. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. Stepping forward in concern, “Are you o-”

You’ve barely made it two steps before Satoru’s closing the distance in a split-second, dropping to his knees before you with a harsh thump!

You wince at the sound, but if it hurt then he doesn’t show it. Anything but - in fact, looking more blissed out than you’ve ever seen him as he lets his prized katana clatter to the floor, looping two powerful arms around your waist.

And it’s times like this - when he nuzzles his cheek against your stomach, sighing in contentment - that you forget about those blossoming stains of red on his yukata. None of his, you bet. 

Threading your fingers through his soft hair, you repeat, “Are you okay, Toru?”

And oh. 

Oh, it only takes those words - and your sweet sweet voice - before Satoru’s entire body jolts. Taking a sharp inhale, fingers trembling as they clutch onto the fabric of your yukata. “An heir.” Words strained, ragged. Some deep, visceral part of himself peaking up at you through those hazy, half-lidded eyes, “Would you give me an heir, my wife?”

You weren’t making it out alive. 

You’re gasping - partially because of his words, partially because that’s all it takes for him to yank you down. Sprawling you out like such a slut on the floor. “Wha- an heir?”

It’s not something you expected him to even consider - that sleepy, quiet little pillowtalk from earlier today where you’d mindlessly wondered out loud whether your husband was ready for kids. Hell, Satoru was never a morning person, so you didn’t expect him to even have heard the question let alone this. 

Nosing at your racing pulse, whispering, “An heir. You think I’d ever deny you, pretty?” Like he couldn’t believe it himself - sharp canines nipping at your neck, “My heir.”

It’s like it was the only thing he could say - could even think about right now as his lips burned a path down your jaw, into the valley of your breasts. Muffled, “N’ now we have the Estate all to ourselves, so I can ruin you as much as I hah- want.”

And for the second time today, you’re actually registering that this wasn’t the same yukata your husband had kissed senseless in before the meeting. Or, at least, those patches of red were new.

“Satoru…” You pull his face back.

“No- no no please- Come back-” you squeal when he just drags you across the floor by the hips, pressing you up against that massive bulge, back to sloppily kissing the underside of your jaw. “Was jus’ one I swear- m’sorry about gettin’ the fabric dirty.”

“Satoru.”

“Wasn’t gonna break you where everyone could hear right?” 

And fuck he doesn’t wait to hear a response, no - it’s been far too long, and every little scold from you has all the blood in Satoru’s body rushing to his aching cock. His lips are crashing onto yours, so desperate and needy. 

“Sa-toru!” you manage to squeal through the way he sips at your candied lips. Letting out pained, breathless little grunts like each swipe of his tongue against your mouth was driving him insane. 

“Shhh shhh, m’here m’here.” he pants into your open mouth, hands wandering everywhere. Cupping your ass, your breasts, nudging open your jaw to let him suck so filthily on your tongue. “Fuck- m’here.” He’s licking up the drool pooling at the corner of your mouth already, “N’ m’gonna ruin-” One hand makes its way to palm your clothed cunt, “-her.”

But, alas, no matter how many times Satoru’s done this before - it never gets any easier, or as less heavenly of a sight for him. 

With you all disheveled and splayed out for him, your tits almost spilling out of your yukata with the way his hands have been so greedy. So thoughtless. 

Satoru groans, dipping his head forward to peck messily at your lips. “Mmm- ” Pulling back just enough to mutter, “Gonna let me breed this pretty cunt, hm?” 

It’s all you can do to give him a half-delirious little nod of agreement, lower lip wobbling at just how hungrily he was looking at you. Eyes wide, lips curling into a crazed smile, fingers trembling with anticipation as he deftly works on untying your robe. 

“Is my wife gonna give me a pretty baby?” He gasps out, strangled. “An heir?” He presses a sloppy peck to your glossy lips, strings of spit snapping when he breaks apart to whisper. “One to take out all these dumb fucks?” Again, so dizzyingly. And again. “Oh how I’d love to see their fuckin’ faces.” And again and again and again. Kisses punctuated by that little mantra - “An heir. My heir. I need you to give me a baby, pretty.”

And then your yukata’s being pulled down your shoulders, the expensive fabric ripping down the side with the way he was so ravenous. Goosebumps prickling down your skin as fast as Satoru can get his hands on every inch of you.

“Oh, look at you.” his jaw falls slack, palms kneading at your soft breasts. “Fuck- the mother of my kids.” He rolls his thumb over your hardened nipples, rubbing lazy little circles, “I need to- fuck!” 

Before you know it he’s pinning your arching body down onto the floor. One hand easily pinning down both of yours, the other angling your lips back onto his, a knee wedged between your damp thighs. 

You whine at the feeling of Satoru’s thigh rubbing up against your drenched panties.

But he could barely hear - fuck, you didn’t even know if Satoru was breathing with the way he wraps his pretty pink lips around one of your pert nipples. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, cheeks hollowing as he sucks - harsh.

“Need to fill these up- s’gonna be so sweet. So full.” he’s blabbering into your tits, tongue rolling around your sensitive nipples. Incessant, like he was somehow trying to draw out milk. “I can only hope they hah- share, right?”

You buck your hips up, mewling as your throbbing clit catches on the dips and curves of the muscles on Satoru’s leg. “P-please, Toru. Don’t tease.”

And oh, when has he ever denied you? Hell, Satoru would burn down this entire world and himself if it meant giving his wife anything and everything. Especially the future mother of his kids. 

With a final, playful bite, you watch with glassy eyes at the way he dances his lips down. Slow. Teasing. Eyes locked with you all the while like some sort of predator cornering his prey. 

“And this-” Satoru stops halfway down, pressing a deep, sultry kiss onto your bare stomach, “Oh this. Gonna be so round n’ pretty. Absolutely glowing f’me, right? Fuck!” 

Snapping his head down at the feeling of your grinding your hips so sluttily onto his legs, slick seeping through your panties and onto his skin. 

“Oh.” he sighs, awe-struck. More to himself than you at this point, “You can kill me if you’re not with my heir by the time we’re done, pretty.”

A promise.

And with it went whatever was left of Satoru’s poor sanity - and whatever pathetic chance there was of you making it out of this alive. 

Immediately, Satoru fists your flimsy panties in his grasp. So see-through they were practically useless anyway. Reveling in your panicked little gaze as he pulls - rips them clean off your dripping cunt. 

“Oh god- There we go.” he moans, hooking two arms underneath your legs and pushing up, up, up - all the way until your knees were pressing up against your tits. Your lips wobble when Satoru takes the time to admire your pussy, breaths coming out in feverish little puffs to watch the way you glisten and clench at nothing. Licking his lips - salivating even - at the sight of your slick beading through your puffy folds. He runs a thumb along your sopping wet slit, “Better wish her good luck tonight.”

And, usually, your husband was refined - he teased and toyed with your poor cunt until you were begging to have an ounce of friction. But right now, it’s a wonder he doesn’t get whiplash with how fast he’s pushing his face into your pussy.

“Mm-” Satoru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as his tongue laps at your dripping wet cunt. Tipping his head back, back, back to let your sweet sweet juices slide down his throat. “Fuck that. Even luck won’t save you from me- hah-”

“Toru!” you arch off the cool floor as he cards the tip of his tongue between your puffy folds. From the base of your sloppy entrance, all the way up to your throbbing clit. “Hngh- s’too-”

He was going too fast too soon. 

You whine at the palm pushing your unstable hips flat onto the ground, holding you still while Satoru licks all over as he pleases. “Now now, how are ya gonna ngh- fuck so sweet- handle later if ya can’t even handle this, pretty?”

Sucking on your clit in such a messy, open-mouthed kiss. “Fuck. Shouldn’t have told me about an heir.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Harsh - rolling his tongue against the sensitive nub in a way he knows will have you crying out so prettily. “Fuuuck you shouldn’t h- oh- Ohhh, look at you, my wife.”, breathing in deep, ragged gasps of air only to go deeper. “Fuck- just look at you. You’re so wet I could fuck you just like this.”

As if to prove his point, he’s urgently bullying the tip of his tongue between your plushy walls. And it was true - so pathetically true. You take him in so easily. 

Somehow, you manage to crack an eye open to spy downwards - only to be met with Satoru’s eyes already on yours. Hazy, curtained by his messy hair, swollen lips curving up to flash you such a devilish grin as he squeezes his tongue past that feeble, first ring of resistance. In and out in and out in and-

“Ohh. Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight.” His jaw grinds deeper, nose flush against your clit. “Ya like that idea? Like the thought of me p-painting ah- slutty pussy white already?”

Your embarrassed little whine isn’t enough of an answer for your husband. No, he’s pressing his fingers - all glossy and covered with a sheen of your slick - onto your pulsing clit. Just barely grazing in a way that has you crying out. 

Making out with your cunt so sloppily, “Tha’s more like it.” Heavy eyes boring into yours - goading, even, for you to give more of a reaction. “Fuck- use those words, pretty. Scream.” Satoru’s fucking into your sloppy hole the way he’s been dreaming to do with his rock-hard cock. “After all, we h-have the Estate all to ourselves, right?”

Faster. Sloppier. 

Pushing and pulling his tongue in a way that has you sobbing, “Yes! Please- wan’- ngh” Thighs squeezing around Satoru’s fervent head, “W-wan you to jus’ breed me, Toru-”

Oh.

Fuck, you might’ve just signed your will away at this point. 

Because in a split-second, you’re cumming. 

Shit, were you glad that there was no one in the house. Sobbing out a broken whine of his name, fingers white-knuckled on Satoru’s hair while you gush all over his pretty face. Just dragging your sloppy cunt all over his mouth - using him through your high. 

And he’s more than happy to be dragged and angled all you please. Greedily lapping up your syrupy sweet juices, just dipping his tongue into your hole to feel the way you clench around him. 

But it’s not long before Satoru’s pulling away. Swallowing a disappointed whine, you gape up at the absolutely feral man looming above you. 

Lips plump and glossy, your juices dripping all the way down his chin, his jaw. Teeth bared, a pretty pink blush dusting over those cheeks - and you have half the mind to wonder how high the kill count actually is. Whether you’d be on it, too. 

“Heh, kill count?” Satoru grins, teeth grazing so dangerously over your racing pulse. Shit, did you say that out loud? “Funny, real funny.” And with that, he’s thumbing apart your swollen folds, biting his lips at the sight of your quivering hole. “Wonder if our- hah- kid’s gonna have your-” Without warning, he spits. Once. Twice. Gliding the pads of his fingers along the thick globs of spit on your cunt, “-humor?”

And oh how ironic it was for Satoru to be groaning out sweet little spiels of what your kids might look like, when his fingers were anything but. 

Stretching out your gummy entrance, having the audacity to laugh - laugh - at how desperately your pussy was trying to milk his fingers. 

“Y-you’re so mean-”

“And yer killin’ me- ohhh you’re gonna be the death of me.” he mutters - strained. Depraved. Hastily pushing apart his yukata. He hisses, “Fuck-”

You can’t help but gasp at the sinful sight before you - Satoru’s blush reaches down his sculpted chest, down, down, down all the way to his painfully hard cock. Curved against his abs, already so angry and soaked with precum. Giving you a pretty little peak of those veins glistening against the dim lighting. 

Before you even know what’s happening, he’s circling his fat, weepy head around your sloppy hole. Slow, lazy patterns to tease your cunt. “Can only pray m’not dead before I see ngh- fuck- my heir.”

It’s like something breaks. And Satoru’s remembering that no, this isn’t just any child - it’s the next Gojo. That grip on the base of his swollen cock tightening when he slips past your pussy lips. 

“Oh! Toru- f-fuck wait s’too big-” you keen, nails digging into where his yukata was sliding off his milky, sculpted shoulders. Hard enough to break skin. “It’s ah-”

“No.” he spits into your sagging mouth. “No no no no- wait fuck- ngh squeezing so fucking- tight.” Hips pushing in quick, shallow little thrusts to squeeze more of his achy head inside. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck hold on. Need this. Need this so bad- please!”

And you can’t do anything but arch into his touch, scrambling up onto your elbows to- shit, that was a bad idea. 

Because one look at the sight of your poor cunt, all bulging and stretched out on Satoru’s massive cock was enough to have you running away. 

You’d barely made a movement to escape, feet flattening on the floor to buck your hips because shit it was too much. And it was a useless effort, anyway, because Satoru’s dragging you back so easily, pulling your limp body deeper down his swollen cock. 

“Need this. Need this need this so bad, pretty.” he groans, barely even halfway in yet. Still pushing, still relentless. “Need to breed this cunt so bad.”

Some tiny, useless part of Satoru’s rationality knows that he should slow down - maybe give you a second to relax. To maybe even breathe. But he was out of control now, hips stuttering and wrenching forwards like he couldn’t stop. 

So he’s simply gripping onto your shaky thighs harder, sure to leave neat little indents of his nails to admire tomorrow - or, whenever he gets back his sanity, that is. 

Satoru hisses at the way you’re so pliant below him. Limp, letting him rest your legs on his muscled shoulders. “Think I needa manhandle ya more often, pretty.” Pressing down, down - all the way until you were folded in half beneath him in such a mean mating press. “Can’t- can’t stop-”

The change in angle makes you scream out Satoru’s name - and it makes him bottom out. Finally. 

Fuck, you weren’t making it out alive.

“Oh.” he grunts at the feeling of his heavy balls smacking against your ass, his fat, leaky tip kissing against your cervix. God, if Satoru was any less of a man he thinks he could’ve cum just from the feeling of you trying to suck him up already. 

“Oh- oh my god-” you gasp when he presses down about halfway down your stomach, Pressing down for that bulge, hard. “You’re in s-so deep ngh- S’like you’re pushing into my ngh- lungs.”

Fuck, if you talked any more with that pretty mouth then Satoru was bound to pass out. Blindly, he’s feeling for your pouty mouth, kissing and nibbling at your wobbling lips like a subconscious apology. For what was to come, that is.

Because Satoru Gojo spares no apologies when he starts moving - finally. Finally fucking you the way he’s been dreaming of all throughout that droning meeting. 

And he says so - a little over fifteen times, in fact, while he splits you apart on his cock. 

“-n’ when I was negotiating those ngh- c-clan deals. N’ when I was at that meeting-” he gasps, shoving your legs so far apart it burned. “S’all I could hah- think of. Everything - don’t give a fuck if I got a contract wrong.”

Each word was punctuated by a rough, harsh ram of his cock, stretching out your gummy walls so far apart like he wanted to make his mark there. Pushing - even when he could feel his aching tip nudging at your cervix.

So merciless - violent even - with the way he’s slamming back into you. Molding your plushy walls to every ridge and curve of his massive cock. It was impossible to even form coherent sentences with his harsh pace. 

A large hand flattens beside your head as Satoru’s thrusts get deeper. More purposeful. You almost sob at the sheer pressure when he dances his fingers down to rub quick, methodical little circles on your clit. “Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. “M-more.”

But it wasn’t enough.

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. And shit at that very moment you almost understood why even the most hardened of clan leaders feared to even look at Gojo Satoru wrong. Because he was giving you a sopping, fucked-out smile, eyes widened, voice trembling, “You want more?”

And of course this was the strongest. Of course, he was ruthless. 

Of course, it takes him exactly two seconds to pull out of your heavenly cunt and flip you onto your stomach. One hand coming under you to angle your hips up until you were on all fours - like some ragdoll. The other feverish, distracting on your clit while he bullies his achingly hard cock past your sopping entrance once more. 

“Fuck!” your voice is hoarse when you scream. Teeth gritting because fuck the stretch was too sinful and Satoru’s hips were too harsh. Too hellbent on fucking into you like he’d lost control. “O-oh please, Toru-”

He doesn’t waste time easing you into it this time, picking up where he left off with that maddening cadence. And you were glad he had an arm on your hips because your knees were weakening with each thrust, slowly sliding down the floor before-

“Aw, my poor girl.” you hear Satoru coo from above you. Muscled chest rubbing up against your back, “S’alright. M’gonna take care of it. You jus’ hafta take it- jus’ take it like the good lil’ wife you are.” his body bows into yours, strands of white sticking to his forehead. “N’ I’ll take fuck fuck fuck- care of everything.” So sloppy with his rhythm, pushing you further and further up the floor with each movement - only to reel you right back so easily. “I’ll wash ‘em and hah- clothe ‘em n’ t-teach ‘em to take over this godforsaken society. To protect their momma.”

“T-Toru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic. “I’m…”

“Hm?”

He didn’t even have to ask - he could feel the way you were squeezing so hard around him, like you were trying to suck the fucking soul out of him. The way the only thing you could get out was his name. 

His perfect wife. 

Sobbing out, “Close! So close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

He was losing his fucking mind. 

Biting down so hard at the crook of your neck to keep himself from cumming before you, he moans deliciously, “Then cum. Fucking cum. Please- wan’ you to cum on my cock.” Wrists aching with how desperate he was moving, “Cum- yeah yeah yeah fucking- cum- Cum for your husband.”

Oh, if heaven was real then whatever was left of that part of Satoru that could still form coherent thoughts knew that this was it. 

Watching you fall apart like such a slut all over his cock. Not even realizing it at first - just that your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, swollen lips falling slack, letting out such a pretty cry of his name that he can’t help but cum, too. 

You don’t know who’s more far gone - you, with your head spinning, a lewd little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time Satoru fucks you through your high. 

Or him, gushing out in thick, hot ropes of cum that overspill from your snug cunt. 

“So muchhh.” you whine, heavy head being held up by your husband. “S’too much.”

And he knew what you were talking about - because Satoru was cumming and cumming and cumming so hard it was like he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. Because he was mesmerized by that creamy trail of white drooling down your folds, forming an obscene ring at those tufts of white at his base. 

“Too much?” Satoru hisses. “Too much?”

You can only give a barely-lucid nod, whimpering when he doesn’t ease up. Not one bit, in fact, Satoru was only abandoning the hand playing with your ravaged clit to press down on your abdomen. Hard. 

“There we hah- go. Better now?” The hand supporting your head forced you to look down below, at the sticky mess of white covering your cunt. Slobbering all over Satoru’s cock - even down to his thighs. “Now we got fuck- more space.”

You don’t even realize you’re scrambling away until Satoru gasps, panicked, “No no no- we’re not done, pretty. Fuckkk we’re far from done.” Fingers tightening around your neck to pull you deeper down his cock, holding you in place. Just dragging you along his length. “Gotta make sure it takes. Why else d’you think no one in the Estate will be back until tomorrow?”

He doesn’t wait for a response - not that you could give one, anyway, with how you were being fucked dumb on his cock again. 

A strong, powerful leg hooks around yours, pushing you down with his body weight. “So that we ngh- h-have enough time to prepare for my heir.” Weeping head grazing all those sensitive spots so expertly. “T-to plan and and- ruin you and- fuck you feel so good. They’ll be the most powerful- hah- jus’ watch. Those fuckers better w-wait and see.”

So debauched and fucked-out that you don’t even know what he’s running his mouth about now, just heavy, urgent words slurred into your neck while he fucks you just as sloppily. 

“Don’t know?”

Fuck. You said it out loud again. 

And the embarrassing realization has your eyes screwing open, gazing tearily back at an amused Satoru. Well, as amused as he could be when he was just as wrecked as you. 

Kissing your sweaty forehead, hips reeling back all the way until your cunt was missing the stretch - bucking traitorously against the fat mushroom tip grazing your entrance. Making a mess of precum down below.

“S’alright, pretty.” he groans, sandwiching his cock between your puffy folds. “Because you just have to sit there n’ ngh- take- it.”

If you thought that Satoru was broken before then he was absolutely ruined now. 

Because there was no reason or rhythm to his actions now - just mindless, feral movements to milk his cock as much as he physically could on your pussy. Running only on pure need and the thought of you round and so full with his kid. 

“Ah!” you’re startled out of your reverie by something wet. Whirling sluggishly to catch the tears of overstimulation brimming at Satoru’s heavy eyes - shit, you wondered if he even knew what he was doing at this point. “T-Toru…you- ngh- o-okay?”

The only response you get is an unsteady nod. 

“-the best.” he whispers, twitching balls squeezing so painfully with each slap against your ass. Faster. Absolutely soaked with the sinful concoction of your juices and his cum. “We’ll be the best parents- ngh-” And fuck it was so much - too much. Too good. Painful pleasure.

Enough that all it takes is another, sloppy thrust before he’s seeing stars behind his eyes again. Cock twitching wildly inside your cunt as Satoru shoots load after load of cum to paint your pussy white. 

So warm with his cum - him - that Satoru’s body moves before his mind. Pooling the mess down below to nudge back into your cunt. “C’mon, pretty, c-can’t get ngh pregnant if ya don’t oh- cum.”

And it’s so embarrassing how that’’s all it takes for you to reach your high with a strained, barely audible moan. Voice shot, your own orgasm nothing but a few tingles that have your thighs fucking back into Satoru’s. 

“Satoru- Satoru Satoru Satoru.” you mewl, big fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Birds of a feather, they say. 

Hypnotized. Drunk off the feeling.

And, evidently, Satoru was, too. 

“Pretty…” his voice rings in your ear. Tinged with a tone you know didn’t bode well for you - or your poor, overfilled cunt. Bloated and dribbling already. “Are- sure- ngh-” 

And with a jolt, you realize he’s still moving. Still pushing and pulling in languid, slow strokes. Thighs shaking as the fatigue wears on him. 

If anyone saw Satoru like this, they’d have a heart attack. Flushed your favorite shade of pink, the lower half of his body well covered with a sheen of your obscenities. Eyes teary with sensitivity, cock still twitching and so angry as he clears his throat and tries again, “Are we- hah- sure it took?”

“Wh-what-” you gasp, breathing in big, deep inhales. “Yes- yes yes- oh my god it’won’t-”

“It will.” Satoru’s interruption almost comes out as a whine. And he’s more sluggish, dazed when he flips you over onto your back again - not too difficult, with the way you were practically splayed out already. “Th-this pussy is made to take it, right? T-to be bred by me?”

It’s almost like Satoru was begging for confirmation, plugging back in the excess of what was leaking out of your abused pussy. It was spreading in a lewd little pool now, seeping into the non-existent space between you two.

But oh how Satoru loved it. Couldn’t tear his eyes off of it, in fact as he noses at your neck. Barely even thrusting anymore, just raw grinds, “Right? Gotta make sure- ngh- heir. Oh-”

He’s darting his tongue out to lick at the beads of tears streaming down your cheek. The salty taste on his tongue having Satoru’s hips stuttering forwards. Again. And again - alternating, not on purpose - between hitting your cervix and that bruised g-spot. “Gonna give me an heir? Ohhh fuck fuck fuck- lemme breed this cunt?”

You’re using up every bit of energy left in your body to give that slow, shallow nod. Which is all the time it takes for the pool to spread even wider. For Satoru’s fingers to stumble their way back to play with your clit. 

Rolling his thumb over in a harsh, uncalculated pattern - if you could even call it that, just jerky, obscene movements to get you off. 

And it works. Hell, the two of you are barely in the state of mind to even feel it. But he’s finally cumming again, and so are you. 

“Ngh- Fuck-”

With a loud, pained cry Satoru tightens his grip on your body like a vice. Raw, sensitive, overusing his cock until it felt so empty. Until you felt so bloated it was like you could explode - or maybe that was your own orgasm. “Toru- c-cumming.”

You’re not sure, anymore. And you don’t know if either of you could bring yourselves to care at this moment, not when your eyelids grow heavy. Vision tinging with black in the corners, and the only thing you could see was your husbands face - sweaty, eyes almost closed, kiss-bitten lips moving in a soundless whisper.  “-the best- momma.”

A/N. CLAN LEADER GOJO SAVE MEE. Oh yeah the “can’t get pregnant without the momma cumming” bit was based on this old tale I’d heard where people used to gen believe that. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

◞   KNOW IT ALL.

꒰ satoru is the most powerful god alive, crowned the zeus and destined king of the gods, but since you’ve known him, he’s always needed your help with something. ꒱

ᴍᴅɴɪ. 7.1k. f!reader. no curses, mythology au. fluff. angst. humor. smut. fwb. mirror sex, semi-guided. breeding kink is a lil obvious. light body worship. sukuna’s an evil perv ꒰ touches reader noncon but not detailed ꒱ zeus!satoru x metis!reader. reader is a nymph; satoru shapeshifts. nsfw. reposted.

one.

although too young to remember, you meet satoru, divinely named the zeus, the destined king of the gods, when you’re one year old.

you were a curious toddling thing back then, babbling endlessly and driven only by your given instincts and the culture of the oceanids. you understood shorelines as past times and jagged rocks in which the sea roared in all its brutality beneath them as sacred places to gather. you only remember the tender eyes of ieiri the amalthea upon waking. you only remember the scent of salt, speckles of pale blue, and the distinct songs of sirens that rang in the early air like glorious hymns. you remember how sister nymphs swayed like ocean’s surface to the tune of bloodlust-laden temptation and you recall the swell of your heart mimicking the impact of a crashing wave.

you don’t remember the day the rhea came with a song of her own, a melodic plea for assistance from your mother, the thetys, your father, the oceanus, and your caretaker, the amalthea. you were too busy basking in the novelty of the world around you to take notice of the goddess pushing the chubby body of a snowy-haired boy into your mother’s arms with a chorus of gratitude that followed. you don’t remember ‘hide him. please hide him. he’s the only hope we have of stopping the kronos. you can’t ever let him be seen.’ you don’t remember meeting him, but every memory you have subsequently is imbued with glimpses of his presence.

ten.

you’ve always been a child who warranted wonder from those around you. too mentally forward to maintain a similar pace as the nymphs you were supposed to learn alongside and too juvenile to ascend with the nymphs you were just as capable of in conceptual dexterity but not physical, there was always a disconnect between yourself and the others. the only counter they can find for the smartest is the strongest. and now, before you stands the boy that’s been quietly lingering behind closing doorways; that’s where you catch glimpses of him. the first thing you notice is blue, a powerful and electric shade of blue you’ve never seen. in his irises, storms swirl above an ever-azure sea; when you stare too long, you swear you hear the crackle of thunder in them. you swear you see a flash of lightning. a snowy mountain rests on top of his head, a disarray of feathery locks that refuse to adhere to reality. the longer you stare, the more you watch the hairs on his head rise to attention. “you want him to be taught by…this child?” you hear his mother ask and your gaze abandons him instantly. “they are the same in nearly every way aside power.” your mother, ever assured of you, rests her hand atop your head. “she is no child of ordinary bearing. bestowed on her is the burden of knowledge itself, an everlasting and eternal curiosity that seeds, sows, and bears the fruit of omniscience.” there’s pride laced in her voice as she speaks. “she is the divine metis and fruition of knowledge.” as your mother speaks, you see the rhea’s brows raise. “if the zeus is the strongest, then the metis must be the brightest.” “another precocious child,” the rhea’s voice is a dazzled murmur. “of course, if the gods themselves have chosen her mind then only she can be tasked with expanding the understanding of the destined king of gods.” you offer an affirmative hum, your small voice poised, “a natural conclusion.” “i suspect you won’t be needing guidance?” the thetys looks you over with a trusting smile. “you will help satoru?” you nod once, a declaration of your commitment. “i will help him, of course. i won’t allow him to become empty-headed and simple-minded like the kronos.” “i don’t need anyone’s help. i’m not just the strongest. i’m the smartest, too. i’ll win against the kronos and i’ll teach myself!” satoru’s arms fold over his chest as he finally speaks, feigning dauntlessness. you snort. “and yet you are here because you could not count your rations of bread.” “i can count!” the zeus protests, defiantly stomping his foot. “i’m the destined king of gods! you can’t talk to me like this.” “you are the metis; let your wisdom show in your benevolence.” your mother sings her constant reminder. “address the learning with grace.” you roll your eyes. “he insists he’s not of the learning. his ignorance must be the source of his bliss.” “anything that won’t involve you is bliss.” satoru grumbles. “satoru,” the rhea smiles softly down at the small boy. “be kind. a future king of gods must know when to request and accept assistance.” so there you both stand at an impasse with one another, the persistence pushed from the hands of your mothers onto your fates. you stare at him, and for a moment, you see a flicker of his future in his eyes, your future with him. this is a pristine kind of foresight you’re still cultivating, but you understand right then that your life will likely be spent by his side, for one reason or another.

twenty.

time passes and you teach satoru an abundance of things; at least, you try your damndest to. most of the time you spend with him is spent in gentle bickering back and forth about the uselessness of your knowledge or the dangers of his recklessness. a copious amount of time is spent trying to determine the best way to shift his boyish divinity into that of a god worthy of those in which he rules. in quiet, tender corners that you both carve out and burrow into to hide with one another, an alarming amount of time is spent exploring the depths of intimacy. your lips fumble over the other’s, shallow breathing entangled as you swallow down shared desperation; your hands assess the warmth of each other’s flesh between needy sighs and little murmurs. you teach satoru about the history of the gods, about the blessings bestowed on their breaths and fingertips. he, in turn, shows you what it means to be worshipped devoutly, to have your waist kissed and held, treated with the same sacred implications as an altar where he kneels and explodes with gratitude, where he seeks forgiveness and accepts the consequences of his fragilities. he only touches the surface of all that you know and share, but he knows your body with a sickening level of familiarity, knows exactly what angles to use to make you a flustered, whimpering mess. it’s not corruption, but he exhumes your weaknesses, lotus-eating your body and leaving it teeming with a foreign kind of decadence you spend ages chasing as greedily as he does. of all the languages, satoru is most fluent in pleasure and desire. “gods, look at you.” he breathes hotly. his greedy lips press a kiss against the shell of your ear as his arm’s grasp around your hips tightens. “what would everyone say if they saw you like this, huh?” your hazy eyes peer ahead into the watery reflection before you, taking in the sight of yourself and satoru standing behind you as you bend over the rough surface of a wet rock for support. your bare bodies glisten, illuminated with hues of blue from the iridescent glow bouncing off of the cove’s mystical waters. your eyes squeeze shut tight as you hear your own reflection release a wanton moan. he’s not corrupting you, but he’s skilled at convincing you to use sacred tools meant to teach him about his prophecy to instead gift you both with an unorthodox kind of pleasure. this time it’s the cove of the oceanids and the sacred waters that reflect to you the unfurling of your desires. he says he needs your help to grant him the most desirous result. satoru muses that prurient intent could be reflected and act as more so a guide. he reasons if you let him take you in front of this makeshift mirror, it’ll show him exactly what to do to reach the pinnacle of pleasure for you both. and you know that everything he does is merely a tactic, but despite your overwhelming clarity of his intent, you have your own, personal curiosities to satiate, which only he seems willing to do with little question and surprising execution. “open your eyes, pretty.” he murmurs. “look at what i’m about to do to you.” and you do, god you do. you watch his reflection holding his erect cock in one hand, a palm clutching the fat of your ass in the other. he looks down at his length and spits right onto the head, groaning as he strokes himself, spreading the slick of his salvia over the tip and lulling his head back momentarily. “there we go, pretty.” his reflection sighs. “spread your legs for me a little.” next, you observe your reflection obeying his gentle command, arousal filling your gut where you stand and leaving you clenching around nothing when satoru pumps himself slowly before lining up his thick girth with your entrance. you both watch his reflection slip inside yours with ease.

“fuck,” satoru sighs from behind you, only a moment passing before you feel a familiar clutch of your ass in his palm and hear the soft sound of him spitting down onto his cock. “you heard me, nymph. spread your legs.” you can hear it much more clearly now, the slick sound of his gluttonous hands gripping and sliding along his cock, wet from his spit and fucking into his own grasp with shaky breaths following. “s-satoru,” your reflection whimpers as satoru’s arm reaches and his hand wraps around the width of your neck. the veins on the back of his hand swell against his skin while his grip tightens and your mouth parts in response. it only takes a moment before you follow his instructions, your legs parting and allowing him access. it’s not until you both witness him abandon the grip on your neck in exchange for cupping your breast in his hand, fondling and squeezing while his other hand maintains a tight grip on your hip to keep him steady while he grinds his cock into you slowly. “look how pretty you are.” he murmurs, sinking into you with a whine. “you look so perfect taking me. so perfect.” your eyes flutter shut, his movement languid at first before he whimpers and his hips jerk, thrusting into you quickly, matching the speed he watches his own reflection fall into. his breathy moans fill your ears accompanied by your own gentle sounds when you finally feel the strength of his warm palm press against the shape of your neck, lithe fingers wrapping around and squeezing until you feel a slight restriction of air. pressure starts to fill your head and arousal pools inside your gut, forcing a high-pitched moan and plea to erupt from your lips. “yes, oooh gods.” your breathing is shallow, your hand rising to clasp his forearm. “s-satoru, fuck!” his groan is filled with an insatiable kind of need. “that’s right, pretty. you love getting fucked and filled don’t you? don’t you?” his hand leaves your neck, just as the reflection predicts and occupies itself with your chest. you wish that you felt more shame, but all you feel is the need to push him further pulsing through you. clinging to the aching sensation of his cock stretching out your leaking sex, you need him to give you more, to make you take more. how far is he willing to go to sate your curiosity? what is the capacity of pleasure you can withstand? nails digging into his skin, indentions of your own greed, you do your best to nod against his grasp and the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you rhythmically. satoru buries himself deep inside you, teeth nibbling on the lobe of your ear messily becoming wet kisses against your neck. “my girl’s a little know-it-all, yeah? knows everything,” “mmm,” you hear your reflection whimper brokenly, unable to see why. his salacious hands roam and grip and grasp wherever they can find support, wherever he can find an anchor to keep you close to him, to keep all of you like putty in adventurous palms. “knows just how to take my cock, how to milk it dry, how to keep all my cum inside, yeah?” he pants in your ear, his thrusts messy and uncoordinated but relentless. “knows she can’t let any of it leak out. has to let me fuck it all in or i’ll go insane, won’t i? will have to put pretty on her back and stay deep inside forever till it takes. can’t let anyone else have my pretty girl, can i?” your mouth falls open and only more feathery pleas emerge. “please, satoru. please. won’t let it leak out. promise. i promise.” “i know it, pretty. know you won’t. you know i can’t handle even the thought.” he leans in closer to your ear, pressing your body over onto the surface of the rock formation. “pretty girl knows everything, knows she can’t belong to anyone else or i’ll destroy everything, won’t i?”

in the high of his need and the voraciousness of his desire, satoru shamelessly makes you aware of the level of his possessiveness, makes you aware of how he believes you’re by his side because you’re supposed to be, makes it known that nothing will be safe from his wrath if you dare try and make him share you or any of what you reserve just for him, what’s always been just for him. your attention. your praise. the fruits of your labor. your friendship. even the seeds of knowledge you sow. it’s all for him, an indulgence for only the destined king of gods to partake in. in his mind, the god chaos gave you to him. as much as you serve your purpose as his companion and his teacher, he wholeheartedly believes you belong to him and only to him. he gets to have you because you’re his and should he ever pick up on any indication that his possession of you is riddled with falsehoods or ultimately untrue, he might indulge in tastes similar to that of his father to soothe the ache of your betrayal. you try not to think about it too much, try to keep your foresight limited in those moments because deep down, a part of you doesn’t mind belonging to him, but only if you remain blissfully unaware of what he’s willing to do if you don’t. “mmm,” your whimper sounds identical to that of your reflection’s. “i know. i know.”

twenty eight.

“satoru, i advise th—” he cuts you off, spinning around on his heels as his finger juts in front of your face. “don’t! i don’t want to hear anymore advising. not a peep from you.” an exasperated sigh befalls you. “get your finger out of my face before i break it myself.” “why are you even here? how are you even here?” he asks in a grumble, nimble finger receding. “what do you want?”. the older you get, the wiser and more efficient you’re forced to become at the hands of satoru and his recklessness. he doesn’t care that sukuna, his father and the kronos, is actively hunting him down to swallow him whole just as he did the rest of his divine siblings. this is because satoru the zeus is ruled by the principalities of his pleasures. he’s pleased by his own strength, delighted by the endless growth and capacity of his power, thrilled to perpetuate the notion that one day all he seeks and all he stands on will belong to him. all of it is already his and the only barrier between him and the future that he rightfully owns, his birth-given right, is every breath sukuna takes. you understand the kind of equation that constructs him and you’ve always acknowledged it lacks all patience. still, the responsibility of his living falls in your hands. the gods relying on using him as a tool to escape the evil clutches of his father will rain down on you in all mercilessness should the zeus meet his demise before the kronos. “i want you to turn around and come back. not only is the amalthea worried sick about you but it’s too risky for you to be out like this. i know you want to believe otherwise, but you’re not strong enough to defeat your father. you cannot kill him alone and we’ve discussed this numerous times. you don’t listen, and you’re not ready to be the king of gods, satoru.” groaning, his lip curls. “and what do you know?” fear suddenly weaves and slinks down your spine. your eyes dart, taking in the sudden sensation of oncoming presence. satoru pushes past you, his shoulder shoving into yours as he does. you anticipate his brutishness, as per usual, so you don’t wince upon impact you hardly feel. no, you quietly thank your foresight for the padding it helped you determine to place there. “almost everything,” you respond easily, turning to continue following behind him, his inescapable shadow, the only one who knows enough to keep him safe. “even if i were a fool, it would be obvious you’re no king.” he stops then. you see his shoulders rising and falling, his breathing heavy and erratic. his anger oozes from his pores. inwardly, you’re thankful for the consistency of his temperament even after all this time. it occurs to you then that he’s still riddled with all his childishness, still reckless and arrogant, flaunting his unearned certainty like a badge of honor, but he’s changed. where he used to match you in height, he’s someone you raise your chin to address. your lips have become familiar with the flesh between his shoulder blades. his eyes are more piercing; his gaze is sharper and it’s always fixated on you. his personality is the same, but there’s a new kind of urgency he’s crafted out of hubris and pride. he claims king and it’s more of an entitlement than a responsibility; this is a declaration of his strength, not an obligation to those weaker than him. he doesn’t want to be king to save you all from his father; he just wants to show that he’s become the totality of might because he exists and strength is owed to him by proxy of such a phenomena. satoru doesn’t want to become a king; in his eyes, he’s born one and it’s enough. “i am king.” he seethes. “if you can’t see that, you know nothing.” you huff in amusement. “no, you’re a foolish, walking target. if you can’t see that, you’re already dead.” “what are you going o—” as he speaks, you abruptly drop down to the ground to your knees, positioned for prayer or plea but instead wrapping your hand around the fabric of his robes to yank him down with you.

“a snake would suit you best right now.” that’s all you offer and your eyes are proud as you watch his body contort instantly, trading in the appendages of man for the guise of a reptilian. as always, his eyes stay a daunting and glistening blue as the rest of him slowly starts to become long and laden with white scales. when satoru transforms, you extend the length of your arm and his slimy, thick body slithers up the limb with ease. you make a mental note to praise him for his efficiency, for his obedience, should you both walk away from the coming conflict absent of bloodshed. perhaps, he’s learned to read in your eyes when your gentle suggestions are screeching alarms of danger that lies ahead. you feel eyes boring into your back as you mutter, “it’s terribly impolite to stare.” terror fills you and teems in your body. floods your flesh from your head to your toes, the thick feeling of danger a struggle to swallow down before you turn to face the predator you feel dangerously close to becoming prey before. you feel your breathing hitch, doing your damndest to steady yourself and sport only neutrality, but there’s a sudden fogginess in your foresight that makes you unable to see the branches of possible outcomes with sharp clarity. you see him coming, sukuna the kronos, but you can’t see anything past the encounter as you turn to face the man who more closely resembles a monster, the god that meanders through the heavens as a divine beast. his four arms protruding menacingly from his body, the cruel smirk that shapes his blood-covered lips, the glint in all four of his mishapen eyes. “now, now, is that any way to address your king?” up until this moment, you’ve never heard the voice of sukuna, only heard tales about the humor in his tone as he stares ahead with sinister intent. you can’t mistake the playfulness in the murderous look he offers between narrowed eyelids but you don’t react to it either. it’s been said that he smells fear and it’s rancid to him; they say he can taste the putrid flavor of courage’s failure and it leaves him with unshakeable disgust. they say if he sneers your way, make peace with the inevitability of demise. you lift a curious brow. “is this any way to address the embodiment of knowledge when you seek an answer?” a casual counter where you feign such a specific level of pride and absence of concern, you even fool yourself into believing that perhaps escaping the clutches of his mindless displays of evil and assertions of power is possible. the weight of satoru’s scaly form rests across your shoulders and the nape of your neck. your eyes gaze up as satoru takes in the sight of the god before you both, his hissing incessant as sapphire orbs remain sharp and focused. you feel the tail end of his elongated frame wrapping and weaving down your left arm in a protective formation. “ah,” sukuna sighs. “you must be the metis. come. i seek the wisdom of your foresight, child.” as he speaks, two eyes observe you while the others carefully analyze the creature clinging to your flesh. you notice his eyes flicker downward, taking in the cream-colored fabric lying in a heap adjacent to where you now stand and your gaze follows. for a moment, your heart skips a beat. knowing that he will take note of any shift in your demeanor, you gasp. “mother’s robes, what luck.” you groan. “as you can see, i have business to attend to. make your request known and i will provide you with an answer.” sukuna takes one step forward; the ground beneath you shivers. “when the titans spoke to me of the metis, they did not mention the presence of a serpent. what curious eyes. like storms and sea’s rage all at once. a nymph of the oceanids keeping a scaled creature as a companion? heh, i’ve observed every oddity that must exist surely.” you shake your head, objective in all your notions. “you could never begin to fathom the curiosities that exist in both this world and the next, but i can.”

offering nothing more than a fragile sigh, you squat to bundle the fabric in your free hand that satoru is not braided tightly around and dramatically groan as you shake the robes and make quite a show of observing it for tatters or flaws. another step forward. the trees sway at the impact’s jostling; the soil moans in terror as his soles sink deeper. “lies smell quite similarly to fear.” he states, the smirk on his lips deepening has his tongue flicks out to lick the traces of blood from his lips. “the oceanids that protect the shores taste exactly like the lies they dared to utter so shamelessly: pathetic.”

the naiades of night. i felt the anguish of their deaths. it was the signal. it was the threat. it was the alarm of the hunt. graciously, i pray that my siblings find peace in the chaos’ divine oblivion.

you allow grief to flood your heart, a flavor he knows well and prefers. the taste of mourning will likely mask the trace of lies you plan to string along. slowly, you clutch the fabric close. “i thought i felt their danger although i did not hear their cries. i was occupied in search of my oracle.” for a moment, you watch as he watches you with an interesting expression and then he laughs, full and boisterous, clouding the night air with the melody of his moral depravity. “most interesting,” he notes in amusement. “you do not lie after all.”

empty-headed and simple-minded. your greed will be your downfall. unfortunately, he may follow a similar fate.

you glare. “what reason would i have to lie to you? i do not fear you and i knew of your arrival.” a softer step forward, the extent of two right arms towards you. one hand caresses your face in a maniacal effort to drag out the truth through your body’s involuntary response and one hand brushes across your chest, groping and gripping, to which satoru’s hissing increases. you feal the heat of his skin and briefly, you worry that his impulsiveness will push him to return to his flesh in an attempt to go against the man he knows is his murderous father he’s destined to kill.

please remember what i told you. you’re not ready. don’t be rash. trust in me. trust in my ability. trust in the capacity of my mind.

instead of fear, anger boils under your skin. you smack his invasive hand away and your nose points up in disgust. “even with knowing your coming tactics, it doesn’t alleviate the disgust you bring on. ask the questions you have and i will give you the answers you want and send you on your way, but you will not touch me in any way i do not desire or you will leave just as you came, lost and empty-headed.” sukuna takes no offense, only chuckles. “what a spirit the metis harbors.” “first question,” you ignore his quip, fed up with tolerating him. “you wish to know the truth of the serpent. you feel called to it, familiar. it is because it is my oracle. it was gifted to me by the same divinity that blessed me with the knowing. it sees past the confines of this realm. it gives me foresight that extends past my own limits. it is not a companion but a tool, and nothing more. your familiarity and curiosity of its eyes are because i used its sight to see you traversing into this realm and the under before returning.” your lies come as easily as breathing, the fluidity in which you speak over the layer of your disgust that leaves no spaces to perceive the blanket of deception covering every word. two arms lower at his side; two arms fold across his bare chest decorated in the darkened marks of his ill-omens and the odious divinity that crafts his wicked spirit. he asks, “and why were you observing my movements?” the next lie comes just as fluidly. of course it does, as you’ve had even a minuscule amount of time to consider the answers. again, you thank the language of foresight for gifting you with his questions before he ever thought to drag himself to the land of the oceanids to inquire. “it was not you specifically i observed but the realms themselves. i live in a deep, endless state of questioning and discovery. my observations are rooted in the obsession that i have with knowing and the obsession in which knowledge has to be known and understood by me. it seeks my understanding and i seek to understand it. alas, i am a reciprocal nymph.” he seems to find you quite comical as he laughs again. “tell me the rest of the questions on my mind. i must say i am intrigued and entertained by you, dear metis.” “hardly dear to you,” you retort with a twinge of revulsion. “third question, if counting your inquiries of reasoning for observing you, you have been deceived and you wish to know the location of the subject of the prophecy which promises your demise, the zeus. the truth is that i simply will not tell you.” the amusement in his eyes and around his mouth dies in an instant. the worst part of this encounter comes. to you, there’s nothing worse than knowing and anticipating your own harm. a cruel palm wraps around your throat and tightens just as quickly. “you insolent child, you would deny me what i demand?” your throat, tight and unable to receive air adequately, chokes on its alarm but still you spit, “yes,” “do you want to die?” sukuna threatens, all four of his eyes blazing in a wildfire of homicidal fury around his dilated pupils. “it is nothing to me to swallow the life of another one of you useless nymphs.” your eyes are sharp, a soundless glower as you choke in his hold but make no move to fight against his lethal grasp. you wait out the discomfort for the inevitable outcome: he releases you with an enraged grunt, unfazed by your subsequent string of coughs as you struggle to return your breathing. all the while, satoru’s grip is so tight around your arm, it’s beginning to lose all feeling.

still, despite his obvious seething, he listens. he’s patient. he waits. he sits on his hands and keeps all of that percipitateness at bay.

“where is he? i’ll kill everyone on this god-forsaken oceanside.” you stand with your spine straight, sneering as your soft palm rubs across the aching in your neck where his assault occurred, anger spilling out of you as you indulge in your own impulsivity. “and you will leave with nothing but blood on your hands. you will still walk into the future of your demise. i see it in every path my foresight offers me aside one, you emotionally unstable brute.” wrath-laden eyes mirroring back at one another. “stop your games, knowing nymph.” you scoff and your last lie rolls off your tongue with ease. “this is no game. your ultimate desire is to evade death at the hands of your son and the only foresight i gain in which that outcome occurs is the path that i do not speak what i have discovered about the zeus. even if you find him, you will walk into your death.” “so he does live?” sukuna asks after a long moment of irritated silence. “i was indeed deceived by the rhea.” you nod, sending silent apologies to the rhea, but you have always known that alongside the zeus would be you matching his every step and behind him would be a trail of sacrifices made to ensure the death of the kronos. sacrifices to secure the end of a brutal and bloodthirsty era.

i know that madness will replace madness, but i have time to shift the possibilities for satoru. the kronos is beyond saving. his death is necessary for the continuation of the gods and the divinity that constructs.

“fine,” sukuna grits. “no harm will befall you now, nymph. but should i find that you have deceived me, you will suffer a fate much worse than that of the rhea or even the zeus.” an eye roll. “leave this place. and do not make it a point to return.” a final chuckle. “your knowledge shields you now but one day, i’ll have no use for you or all that your mind contains, and when that day comes, i’ll tear you limb from limb with glee.” you say nothing, knowing that your reactive words will only out you for your lies as they stand and put both you and satoru in alignment with a quick and brutal death. when the kronos disappears, all he leaves behind are his monstrous footprints in the soil and the forestry that quivers in fear even in his absence. for a moment, you’re stuck where you stand, considering all that had just occurred and finally, the rapid pace of your heart catches up to your underlying emotions: nearly crippling fear and intense relief at the simple fact that you manage to survive. once again, you feel the warmth on the underside of satoru’s belly as he attempts to return to his flesh. for a moment, your hand reaches and rests on the surface of his sliminess. “don’t.” you tell him. “not until we’re back in the walls of aegean. it’s not safe. we’re vulnerable until we’re within the reach of my mother and father’s protective blessings.” his warmth goes cool again and you take it as a show of his cooperation, his submission to your initial efforts of forcing him back home. the night begins with you following him out in his aimless wandering and it ends with him clinging to the shape of your shoulders as you slowly begin your trek back to safety. when you’re back in your quarters away from all harm, immediately satoru’s tail unravels from your arm and he slinks down to the floor. you carefully hold out the robes he had abandoned for this form and you watch as his head slowly returns, then his neck and shoulders follow, and the long, thickness of his serpent’s form returns to a state of pale flesh and long limbs. before you know it, satoru stands in front of you, his body towering over you in height. when his eyes look down to observe you, you tilt your head up to match his curious gaze. he makes no move to grab his robes from you, only stares at you, steely blues teeming with nothing shy of concern. his brows bunch in worry, perhaps even remorse. “y/n,” the tenor of his voice a warm murmur. “are you okay?” a nod. “i’m alive.” “why didn’t you tell me he was coming?” the inquiry is wrapped in a tender sense of betrayal. “what if he would have killed you? what would i have done then?” you sigh. “you would have died tonight. that’s what you would have done. you behave as though my harshness is a product of my need to control you and exert power over you but it is nothing shy of my greatest efforts to ensure you see this through to the end. in the future, think before you follow your childish impulsions.” he stares for a moment, the remorse becoming lucid and perceivable in his expression. before either of you speaks, his arms wrap around your frame and pull you taut to his torso for a tight embrace. “don’t,” he pleads, burying his face in the juncture of your neck. the desperation doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “don’t scare me like that again.” the quiver in his speech tells you exactly this: satoru was, even briefly, convinced that he was likely to lose you at the hands of the man he was responsible for protecting you from. perhaps he didn’t take the prophecy as much more than a guarantee of his future power, position, and fate before, but now, you can feel in the way he engulfs you that he does acknowledge even a sliver of responsibility there. your arms encircle his waist as he mumbles into your neck. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. please don’t go.”

thirty two.

eventually, satoru resigns himself to believe that you may just know everything. time and time again, you demonstrate with ease that there aren’t many things that can outwit you. very seldom do you approach any scenario without a plan, without a reasonable counter, without an adequate solution. “gods, all of you are useless today. just bring me the metis and get out of my sight.” of course, you hear him before you see him because you always anticipate him before he sends for you. the zeus is a rather dishonorable man through and through, but he’s the pinnacle of predictable if nothing else. you watch as the fledgling oceanids scurry out in a hurry, relief befalling them all as they leave the zeus’ chambers to seek you out only to find you waiting outside, a calm and knowing expression on your face, as usual. one would think being the best friend and right hand of the most powerful god in all of the heavens would ensure your life’s simplicity, but alas, it is instead, the greatest point of your stress. it’s the center of all the chaos you know and touch. and lately, his erratic emotions and short temper have done nothing but send everyone into a panic. you’re aware it is because the time has come to eliminate his father and yet, many components that were detailed in the prophecy are still missing. “satoru,” you call gently. when he turns to look at you, you watch the irritation in his eyes simmer down and contort into soft relief. “just why are you making the young oceanids fear for their lives?” he huffs, eyes rolling as he approaches you. “they’re useless. they don’t know anything at all. it’s far too exhausting asking them questions.” when he closes the distance between you both, his hands rest on your shoulders and the look he gives you spells out all his fondness for you. still, even to this day, he looks at you and sees only what belongs to him, perhaps the only thing worthy of his protection. “pretty,” he murmurs, tugging on the two intricate braids that fall around your face. “where have you been? i haven’t seen you in days. i need your help.” you sigh. “of course you do, and i knew that you did, obviously.” “obviously,” he mutters. “and so again i ask, where have you been? this isn’t a good time for you to go missing on me, you know.” a huff of a laugh. “i was off doing your dirty work. you’re welcome.” “i’ll thank you when you have the answers i need to kill my father.” he grumbles, an arm sliding gently around your waist. “if i know my metis, you’ve come bearing good news.” you hum thoughtfully. “i’ve come bearing necessities and strong advising.” as you speak, from under your the cloak that covers your shoulders, you retrieve a small velveteen pouch, a deep periwinkle tied in shining, golden rope and you dangle it in front of his face, to which he uses his free hand to take hold of it. a slow smile spreads across his face. “this is the potion?” he confirms and you nod. “you went to retrieve it for me?” there’s a tone of delight as he speaks and draws you in closer. you knew he would be pleased and seeing your efforts grant you the result you desire, the oncoming avalanche of his praise falling over you, makes you shimmer with pride. you traversed between realms just to obtain this potion for him, a dangerous venture that was intended to force sukuna to throw up the bodies of his divine siblings to which zeus could then work with them to destroy him. “i assume this is the necessity.” he murmurs, leaning down to place a tender kiss on your lips. “now, on to your advising. try not to bore me to death.” your eyes narrow. “or perhaps i should take my potion back and let you walk into death. at least i would be rid of you.” “pretty girl knows nearly everything and yet still doesn’t know there’s no getting rid of me. pity,”

adoration glimmers brilliantly in your eyes. a small smile dancing on your lips as your palm rests flat against his chest. he looks over the potion carefully, a musing look on his face. you wonder if he’s worried, if he’s afraid, if he feels confident in what he’s going to do. “ah, my advising,” you recall softly. “be sure to retrieve your siblings first. you’ll need them by your side to destroy him. you cannot kill him alone. if you try, all our life’s endeavors will have been for nought. you will die. i will die. the oceanids will all die along with your recklessness.” and for once, zeus doesn’t offer you a snide remark or self-concerned quip to assure you of his own strength. instead, he takes a deep breath and says exactly what you hope. “i…don’t think that i can go through with this alone. after considering it, even having this, i don’t think i’d live long enough to convince him to take it. he won’t reason with me. the moment he sees me, he’ll try to kill me.” a knowing smile. “and just what do you suggest?” “i know all my life i’ve relied on you. i’m thankful, but i need you now more than ever. you’re the only one i can think of that would live long enough to get close to him and would be able to convince him to drink this.” the words are identical to that of your foresight and you sing a silent hymn of gratitude for all your steps that it’s guided thus far. you nod. “for once, you’re right. i’m proud you came to this conclusion without coercion. perhaps you are ready to be king now.” “i resent my awareness that you saw this long before it occurred, but alas, tell me what’s next, my wise and precious metis.” the words that leave your lips have been spoken before, but this time, there’s pride coupled with a somber understanding that after today, your efforts will shift straight from creating a suitable king into shaping him up into a suitable man. after today, your endeavors are no longer to save all of divinity and the cosmos alike but to simply save yourself. from him and what your devotion to him will lead you to. a glimpse of you suffering the same fate you’re off to rescue his siblings from flashes in your mind’s eye. your smile is sullen but a smile nonetheless. regardless of what you know, you must persist. regardless of the madman you know he’ll become in a state of paranoia, a gentle reflection of his late father no doubt, you must carry on. this is the burden of knowing. “a snake would suit you best right now.”

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 ! — 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

THIS STORY CONTAINS DARK CONTENT.

➺ PAIRING: choi seungcheol x female reader

➺ GENRE: stepdad au, smut

➺ SUMMARY: a story that follows a stepdad who always spoils his bratty stepdaughter.

PART ONE › PRETTY LITTLE FREAK !

⤷ in which you take what you want from your stepdad. he doesn’t try to stop you.

PART TWO › NASTY LITTLE FREAK !

⤷ the one where you find out how big of a freak your stepdad really is. you’re really into it.

PART THREE › POSSESSIVE LITTLE FREAK !

⤷ you and your stepdad play a messy game of jealousy where you end up as the winner.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

Madam Gojo - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru, the strongest clan leader in all of Japan - and the most dangerous, too. You, rejected by the elders, and totally not his future bride, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, arranged marriage, Satoru is a little (very) INSANE and down bad, the elders are awful, oral (fem receiving), use of “madam”, unprotected, créampie, kníves, overstím, féral Satoru, heinous things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. I need clan leader Gojo SO bad you guys don’t understand.

They say that the head of the Gojo clan is the one person who could burn down this entire world and get away with it, too. 

The youngest of all the clan leaders - and the most infamous - a man who keeps his friends close, and his enemies even closer. Enough so that you’ve heard whispers of his cruelty at every nook and cranny of those stuffy social functions your family has dragged you to. And it was more than enough to paint a picture of such terrifying power.

Of a sharp blade and an even sharper mouth. Of an angelic figure that left no evidence, nor anyone to tell the tale - only the final, hauntingly beautiful image of cloudy white hair, and electric blue eyes.

Eyes that were currently locked with yours, and didn’t seem like they’d stop any time soon. Dangerous. Magnetic. Twinkling with such odd amusement from across the long tatami room. 

Gojo Satoru, the head of the Gojo clan - your future husband.

“Tch, the Kamo girl’s family had a much better reputation than this one.”

Ah, right. How could you forget?

You shift awkwardly on the mat, managing to rip your eyes over to the line of elders behind Gojo, whispering just loud enough that you’d hear - and, of course, remember once more that no, the marriage proposal hasn’t been approved just yet.

And considering those disapproving glares you’d been so warmly welcomed with, it seemed that they were well and fully intent on keeping it that way.

“I can assure you,” you fight to keep the polite smile plastered on your face, painful and slowly cracking with each passing second being interrogated. “My family is well-respected in the community.” Eyes snapping over to a silent Gojo, skin burning at his intensity. “Very well respected.”

“Come now. We’re just saying.” Another voice speaks up, strained and tinged with a venomous tone you knew didn’t bode well. “Your lineage isn’t exactly illustrious, is it?”

The emphasis on “illustrious” isn’t lost on you, and it’s so fucking dramatic than you think you could almost laugh. Apparently, a few of the elders think so, too - because they’re positively seething at the sight.

Muttering an icy, “Something funny, dear?”

“Nothing at all.” you bite back any insults, sifting around the contents of your untouched dinner - the last thing on your mind right now when it seemed like you were the main scrutiny tonight. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Such attitude!” That offended croak is met with murmured agreements and nods from the end of the room, “The madam of the Gojo household must be demure- I told the young master we should go with the Kamo girl.”

God, why did you agree to this again? Something about strengthening your family ties? You felt sorry for the poor soul who’d end up marrying Gojo, because no matter how much beauty or power he held, it certainly wouldn’t make up for this. 

Scoffing, the words falling from your lips faster than you could register them. “Then why didn’t he?”

And this little question somehow seemed to have struck a nerve - multiple, in fact, as you watch in morbid fascination as the elders visibly bristle. 

“B-because-” one sends a hasty glance at their stone-faced clan leader, flushing at his still-unwavering gaze on you. “You- It doesn’t matter. Someone like you isn’t suited to marry-”

“Right, because this clan is that great.”

You freeze. The elders freeze. It seems like everyone in the world freezes except for Gojo - who only raises his brow. Letting your words hang in the air like a foul stench, studying just how awfully you’re digging your grave deeper in this hellish marriage meeting.

Eventually, the elder closest to Gojo’s right mutters a painfully saccharine sweet, “I knew we shouldn’t have let the riff-raff participate.”

And oh it was like a dam burst open.

“-out of the thousands of girls, for someone like master-”

“The scandal, too- imagine letting the Gojo name fall this far-”

“Isn’t worthy. Can’t let the bloodline be carried by some whor-”

You’re on your feet before you realize it. Whirling at the elders head-on, and if looks could kill then all those old fossils would be six feet under and their graves a dance floor for you already. 

Fists clenched, you spit, “If he’s so wonderful then you all can marry this oh-so-great bastard yourself-”

Oh. You’ve done it now.

You were fucked. You were so very, very fucked. 

You don’t even bother to meet Gojo’s stare, instead wondering whether you’d be able to outrun the strongest clan leader alive. Sure, you could take those old toads but-

“Sit.”

Your heart leaps at the voice, the first time you’re hearing it since entering this room - deep, almost-melodic, and for a second you don’t even recognize who it came from. Not until Gojo’s flashing you a mirthful grin, blue yukata shifting as he moves to sit cross-legged, “Sit.”

Oh, God, you didn’t know of any torture methods one could do while sitting - but you didn’t doubt that Gojo was an expert in all of them. 

And as your knees buckle, sinking ever-so-slowly to sit back down on the floor, Gojo tilts his head in confusion. Brows scrunching together as he gestures downwards.

“On your…lap?” You question, as if the answer wasn’t glaringly obvious. 

The only response you get is a careless nod, Gojo spreading his knees further as if to prove his point. No care or concern as he plows on, “If you’d like, of course.”

It’s a silent staredown - you, and him - and the elders watching jaw-dropped, of course. None of you have ever known the young master to let anyone get this close - let alone give them a decision on, well, anything.

. 

A weighty beat passes. One. Two. 

He wins.

And you find yourself walking unsteadily towards Gojo’s imposing figure, all eyes on you as you plop down unceremoniously in his waiting lap. Warm - and it catches you off guard. Gaze flickering over his broad shoulder to look at the aghast faces behind you. Tension crackling in the air as they wonder the same thing as you at this very moment - just what type of torture method is this? 

“Interesting…I need this one.” You blink up in confusion, heart racing and oh- shit, when did he get so close? But Gojo’s chest only rumbles with laughter. Circling his long fingers around your waist, pulling you flush against his sculpted chest, “As the new madam of the Gojo household.”

What? 

The elders behind let out stifled gasps, as bewildered as you were. And you swear you saw one faint, though, you don’t get to take a close look, because Gojo’s gently grabbing your chin, tilting your head up at his pretty face. 

“Wan’ me to kill them?”

“Kill- why?” you sputter - both from his idea and the heat of his proximity. 

“Why not?” He looks at you through his long lashes, so deceivingly innocent that it makes your head spin. Tone so light, as if he was talking about something trivial like the weather. “An early wedding gift, maybe?” And he sounded like he was joking - you wished he was joking. But you knew better. 

So you swallow thickly, “N-no…thank you.”

At this, Gojo’s eyes twinkle. “Yeah, real interesting.” he coos, voice so uncharacteristically playful. And his lips are so close - too close. Running a thumb along your bottom lip, “Gorgeous, too. Tell me, pretty, what do you think of ruling over this trash?”

And you could feel every eye on you as you mull over the question. Weighty. Scrutinizing - except for Gojo who seemed like he was hanging onto your every word. 

Hell, might as well give ‘em a few heart attacks right?

Words that never come - because your body moves before your mind. And you’ve got one hand gripping his expensive Yukata, the other scrambling for his broad shoulders. Softening the blow as you crash your lips onto his.

Soft - it’s the first thing you register. Followed very shortly by the taste of those cheap lollipops from those local convenience stores you loved - strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because the kiss is over as soon as it happens.

Gojo’s pulling away with a strange light in his eyes, lips flushed a pretty pink, yukata dangling off his shoulder already. You have to train your eyes away from the milky skin, and over to the elders. Yeah, one really had fainted - three, now, actually. 

And only one of them is brave enough to pipe up a rapid, “You- how dare you dirty-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. In a split second, there’s a long dagger pulled out from his yukata, embedded deep into the tatami mat - not even an inch away from the elder who’d opened his mouth. 

“Out.” 

It’s so abrupt that for a second, you think Gojo’s talking to you, voice soft, and so so eerie. It sends shivers down your spine as you raise your eyes to look at his glare at the frozen crowd behind him.

Eyes wide, aura menacing - a grin gracing his features, absolutely nothing like the one he’d sent you - it was something so dangerous and cold. The temperature in the room dropping about ten degrees as he mutters, “I won’t say it twice.”

And immediately, it’s chaos. Each one stumbling over the other to run out the sliding doors first, none of them daring to look you in the eyes now. 

“O-of course, master.” the leader, seemingly, chokes out. One foot out the room already, “I’ll um- check that the servants are doing their work-”

“No. You all will stand outside.” Gojo murmurs, not even bothering to look at them. Instead, cupping your face closer towards his, “And close the door.”

That door could not have been shut faster, ringing in the tense silence. And suddenly you’re too-aware of the audience outside. Too-aware of being left alone with…your future husband? And the way he was looking down at you with something so dark in his eyes.

“So…” he runs his nose down your neck, breathing in your scent. “If you don’t want me to kill those bastards…what else must I gift you, my wife?” 

“Like what?” You gulp, back arching involuntarily into him. 

Gojo laughs at the reaction, teeth ghosting over your racing pulse. “An estate?” Dancing ever-so-slowly, up your jaw, “All the cars you could want?” He blows gently in your ear, chuckling as you yelp in surprise. “Maybe jewelry?” Kissing the tips of your ears, “You’d look gorgeous in blue. And the Zenin clan has the perfect necklaces I can…convince them to send over.” He pulls away, taking you in entirely, “Or maybe-” Lips now ghosting yours. “-something else?”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

You don’t know who leans in first, just that Gojo’s lips were so sweet on yours. So addictive. Palms cradling your face so softly, while his lips were anything but. 

“Open your mouth, pretty.” he pants into your lips. “Kiss your husband properly, now.”

Shit, you barely even realize the way you’re listening to every single word he says. Jaw falling slack to let him lick at the seam of your lips. Such a messy clash of teeth and spit and him - so hot and starved. Like he couldn’t get enough with the way he hastily moves to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. 

“Satoru-” you gasp, and he nips lightly at your bottom lip once you immediately shut yourself up because shit, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Calling the clan leader Gojo by his first name? Hell, you’ll see the gates of heaven before you see an altar. 

But Gojo himself seems to think the complete opposite. “Don’t get all shy now.” he pries away the hand covering your mouth. “Call me ‘Toru’.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, trying to will yourself to say this little nickname.

Too slow, apparently. Because his hands are suddenly everywhere - on your breasts, your hips, giving your ass a slow squeeze. “T-Toru-” you squeal. 

Gojo’s mouth drops into a soft oh! Immediately surging forward as if to claim your lips again - stopping mere millimeters from your lips with a pained grunt. Like it killed him to stay away. 

“See? Jus’ like that.” he angles your head just right, before spitting, once. Twice. Right into your pretty mouth. “N’ now you’re mine.”

And fuck if Gojo wasn’t going to prove it.

He’s laying you down on the mat, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Mine to wed. Mine to carry my legacy.” Thumb running over your hardened nipples as he urgently unbuckles your bra, throwing it behind god-knows-where. “Mine to-” Biting down, ever-so-lightly on your nipple, “-worship.” Hands dipping lower, and lower - just barely teasing the hem of your drenched panties. “Mine to ruin.”

You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - maybe from those words, which you’re sure he said loud enough for the elders outside to hear.

Maybe from the way he’s sliding a finger underneath your panties, sliding it up and down your puffy folds. Making you arch into him like such a slut as he pools your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips, popping them into his mouth with a low groan. 

“Oh. Fuck. Oh, fuck-” Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Not wasting a second before ripping off your flimsy panties, tucking them away into the waistband of his yukata. “Sweeter than I imagined.”

“S-so filthy-” you mewl, as he spreads your shaky thighs. Lips wobbling pathetically at how he’s admiring your glistening cunt. “Toru, no one’s ever…”

At this, his eyes are back on yours now. Half-lidded, pupil’s blown - and you don’t think you’ve ever even heard of the leader of the Gojo clan being so out of it, let alone see it first-hand. His voice strained as he breathes out a barely audible, “Shit- really? So then…” He’s moving to lick lewd little circles on your inner thigh, “...your husband’s gotta make this memorable, right?”

Gojo doesn’t give the time to even think about answering - he doesn’t trust that he has the fucking sanity to wait that long. Because you’re so pretty splayed out like this for him. Your moans too sweet. Your cunt too tempting. Too his. 

So, really, you can’t blame him when he’s plunging nose-deep into your quivering pussy, licking one, long stripe right up your swollen folds. And fuck the cute lil’ whines escaping your lips are so addictive that Gojo just can’t help but do it again. And again. And again and-

“O-oh my god, ngh- feels too good-” you card your fingers through his soft locks - something that would usually result in a lost hand or two. But for you - anything, for you. “More, Toru.”

Shit, if Gojo thought he’d lost his sanity before then he definitely wasn’t ready for this. 

“So needy.” he’s chuckling into your glistening folds. One hand throwing your legs over his shoulders, the other thumbing over your needy clit. “So perfect. Can’t believe no one’s ever hah- eaten out this pretty cunt before.”

Immediately, he’s squeezing his hot tongue past your folds. And it’s all you can do to buck your hips up so sluttily when he licks at your sloppy entrance. Your throbbing clit. Anywhere and everywhere Gojo could reach.

“Hngh- yes yes yes, too good.”

“Yeah? Ya like this?” He moves his fingers down from your already-ravaged clit, circling your sopping wet hole. “Ya like making such a mess on m’tongue?”

“W-wha-” The words get caught in your throat as you whirl down at the sight below you - Gojo. Gojo, with strands of white hair sticking to his forehead, eyes so glassy. Gojo, tongue lapping at your sweet juices, looking like he wanted to devour you with his eyes, as much as his mouth. 

At your reaction, he grins, furrowing his brow in mock-concern, “What’s wrong, pretty? Can’t talk?” Bullying his long fingers past that first feeble ring of resistance, massaging your plushy walls. “N’ you were so hah- feisty earlier. Thought my new mmpf- wife would be mouthy?”

You give his hair a warning tug, whispering, “Sh-shut up-” But it comes out more breathless than you intended. 

Gojo notices, of course he does. Because he’s letting out a whiny, “Sh-shut up.” Wrapping his pretty pink lips around your pulsing clit, “As you wish, madam Gojo.”

You hear a dull thud from outside, but you can’t even think about turning your head to look because Gojo’s drinking you in like a man possessed. Pumping his fingers in and out, expertly hitting that one spot with each and every thrust. Looking nothing like an infamous clan-leader and every bit on cloud nine as he rolls his tongue over your clit. Over and over and-

“P-please ah- oh-” you squirm.

“Move your hips like that. Yeah- jus’ like that, pretty- fuck-” The most powerful man in the country letting himself be angled and pulled as you pleased, grunting each time you drag your pussy all over his mouth. Fingers frenzied on your clit - sloppy. Fast. 

But it still wasn’t enough for Gojo - he thinks it’ll probably never be. But that’s fine - the two of you have until the wedding night to perfect it, right?

So he’s looping a big arm around one leg, pulling your snug cunt impossibly closer, reaching over to toy with your pretty clit. And then he’s nose-deep in your sloppy entrance, preparing you for what was to come - fucking you both on his tongue and his fingers. 

Jaw grinding deeper, stretching you out, thrusting in and out in and out in and-

“Fuck fuck fuck- Toru m’so…”

“Close?” he slurs into your cunt, grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Fingers just digging into your hips, sure to leave pretty little marks for him to admire later - and to give a message to those old toads outside. “Cum f’me. Shit- cum f’me, pretty.”

Gojo realizes it before you when you’re finally cumming - because your gummy walls are squeezing around him so tight that it’s almost difficult fuck you through your high the way he wants. 

You’re shaking. Blood roaring in your ears, vision spotty. Crying out a hoarse, “Fuck fuck fuck- oh my god, Toru-” Barely even realizing the way you’re rocking your hips so hard into his hot mouth. 

And Gojo keeps going. 

Even when you’re blinking your vision back, big fat tears pricking your eyes at the sheer overstimulation. Even when white-hot electricity sparks behind your eyes each flick of his tongue. Still toying with your poor clit, tonguefucking you so messily. 

“Toru, s’too- ngh- much- fuck.” You can barely get the words out, jolting. Wondering how the fuck his mouth wasn’t tired, yet - how his fingers weren’t cramping up, tongue still as greedy as ever. “C-can’t-”

“You can. You will.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Running his mouth now, like he was drunk off your pussy. Words as fast and ragged as his tongue. “C’mon, faster. Harder. Fuck-” you flinch as he spits out little profanities into your messy cunt. “Fuckin use me. Use me like the good lil’ wife you are.”

“Oh- shit.” you whine. Clawing at the mats, Gojo’s hair, his shoulders - just anything to cope with the sheer stimulation as he made out with your pussy like a mad man. “Wait- cum- m’gonna…”

You’re cumming and cumming all over again. So hard, even as you grind your hips deeper into Gojo’s mouth. Riding out your orgasm on his pretty face, so painfully good. 

And only then is he finally pulling away. Absolutely wrecked, eyes miles away already, mouth glistening with your slick. Going all the way down his jawline, and onto the tatami mat in a deafening drip! drip! drip!

“Oh.” he runs his tongue along his wet lips. “Who made you cum like this?” 

A smile slowly splits across his face as you manage out a little, “Y-you, Toru…”

“That’s fuckin’ right. Me.” Hypnotized by the heavenly sight of you all fucked-out and twitching with the aftershock. Marveling down at his hand - glossy, and covered with your slick, “N’ m’gonna love you.”

And, well, a good husband always shares, right?

Because Gojo’s shoving his fingers past your kiss-bitten lips, pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way he knew would have your eyes watering, gagging around him so prettily. Eyes widening at the feeling of something so hard and hot between your legs. 

“C’mon, lil’ madam. Lick them clean f’me, will you?”

You’re gasping, “Mmpf- Toru-” Eyes flitting between a smug Gojo and the hand currently untying his robe. So teasing with the way he’s giving you just a flash of those boxers before oh-

Shit. 

You thought that he’d be big - it was expected, in fact. But this was fucking ridiculous. 

All sculpted curves and dips of his body, faint scars painting his milky skin - stories he’d tell you about later, you think. A fucking masterpiece. All the way down, down, down to where his throbbing cock was leaking all over those tufts of white at his toned pelvis.

Rock-hard, and so so angry. Prominent veins running along the side, flushed a shade of pretty pink that glistened with precum in the dim lighting. So intimidatingly long that it already had you worrying for your poor cervix, and thick enough that it had your thighs pressing mindlessly together. 

Something that Gojo obviously didn’t appreciate.

“Now now.” he tuts, pulling back his fingers to spread apart your thighs with ease. So far apart that it burned. “I need these legs open, pretty. I like the view, y’see.”

And he made it quite obvious, too. Spreading your swollen folds so shamefully apart with his thumb - wet with your split. All the blood rushing to his cock at the way you flinch in embarrassment, at the feeling of being so used. Cute. 

“Shhh, relax.” Gojo hums. Spreading the spit and slick lazily along your cunt with his fat head, purposely letting it smear all over your thighs. “M’gonna make this feel so good for you.”

And let it be known that Gojo Satoru was a merciless man - for everyone. 

Except maybe his cute lil’ wife. 

Because, yes, he’s suddenly splitting you apart on his massive cock. Yes, he’s holding your poor hips still, head dropping into the crook of your neck as he sinks in inch by fucking inch. 

But oh God does he have to hold back from fucking your tight cunt exactly the way he wants. The stretch too sinful, your pussy too heavenly. 

Instead he’s kissing away the single tear rolling down your cheek, muttering, “Too big? Aww, f-fuck, pretty. You needa breathe-.” Rich, coming from him considering that Gojo doesn’t know if he was breathing right now. Too caught up in the way he’s rolling your swollen clit between his fingers, gasping into your open mouth, “Trust me. M’gonna make it f-feel hah- good. So fucking good.”

“F-fuck-” Your head is spinning. And you can only give him such delirious little nods as Gojo starts to push in quick, lazy little grinds of his hips just to squeeze inside your gummy walls. Past that first, tight ring of resistance. 

“S’too big-” you squeal, nails raking down his back. “A-are you all the way in- yet?”

“Nope.” he’s popping the p, so unfairly smug. “Not even halfway in.” Drinking in all your cute lil’ sobs as he snakes a hand up to draw an invisible line across your stomach. “But you b-better be prepared, wifey. Because this-” Pressing down, hard. “-is where I’ll be.”

You didn’t know who wanted that to become a reality more - Gojo or you. 

Especially with the way your tight cunt is sucking him up so good, and shit for all Gojo’s reputation, he feels like he could’ve cum right then and there. 

“Shit- so fucking tight. God- you’re gonna make me lose my mind.” words so strained. So dangerous. He kisses down your neck, biting right above your racing pulse. “How do you want it? Like you’re my hah- wife- or my lil’ slut?”

A trick question, you think - as much as you could when you’re this cockdrunk, at least. 

Locking eyes down at the way your cunt was bulging so obscenely around his cock, clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in in in- Unstopping. Relentless. Mewling a little, “L-like I’m your…wife.” 

“Louder.”

“Like I’m your wife.”

Several things happen at once - that faint muttering suddenly increases tenfold, and maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed the few gasps. Gojo, however, does hear. 

It only takes an irritated growl and a split-second flash of metal for a second dagger to be struck deep into the thin wooden panel of the door - unfortunately for whoever just so happened to be on the other side. 

“That’s right. My wife.” And then he’s bottoming out - heavy balls smacking your ass, leaky tip nudging your poor cervix, letting you mark him up all you want as he rocks his hips faster into yours. “And you- ah- you realize they’re beneath you, right?” he’s stroking where he can feel himself bulging inside you. “That my lil’ wife just has to say the word n’ I’ll ngh- take ‘em all out?” 

You can only sob at the pressure, because his words are so soft but he’s fucking you so mean. Sounding like he was losing his sanity with each time your heavenly walls milked him. 

“I’ll kill ‘em- kill ‘em all-” he’s gritting out. “Hell, I’ll take down the r-rest of those clans ah- too if it pleases you.” Fingers getting so erratic on your clit, angling his hips just right to try and find- 

“Hngh- f-fuck, Toru- there-”

That.

So sloppy with the way he’s alternating between hitting that one spot and just abusing your cervix. Bruising - like he wanted to mark you everywhere n’ show it off, too. Biting down your neck, whispering into the skin, “Anything for you, madam.”

Rocking his hips harder, and he couldn’t give less of a fuck about the lewd little pool of slick and split forming on the mat below. Can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted. 

“Feels good?” he’s drinking in your adorable sobs, “S’what you imagined?”

You’re torn between running away and fucking your hips up so bruisingly into his, hells digging into the mat as you push and pull away. “Yes. Feels- ah- ngh-” And for all your mouthiness earlier, you can’t even form coherent sentences right now - something that makes Gojo balls squeeze so painfully.

Something that has him wrapping his arms around your legging, dragging you like some ragdoll back to him. Rocking his hips so bruisingly deeper and deeper as he babbles. 

“Gonna make you c-cum. So hard.” He’s fucking you harder into the mat. Faster. Sloppier. “Gonna ngh- make you my beautiful bride.” Bouncing you on his painfully hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside - to leave marks for everyone in the clan to know. His balls on your ass, your nails down his shoulders, lips on your neck leaving little bites. “Gonna make you mine, pretty. And everyone else s’gonna know.”

And Gojo can tell when you’re close because he’s learned that you have a habit of squeezing him to insanity when you are. 

“Close?” At your delirious nod he’s giving you a blinding grin, “How cute. Why don’t you hah- cum f’me like the good lil’ wife you are, hm?”

Cum for him you do - thighs shaking, body jolting. So hard and violent that you’re covering him in all your sweet sweet juices. 

And he can only watch - awe-struck - as your pretty pussy squirts all over his angry cock glistening, and just drenched with your slick now. Beads of it getting all over his burning abs, trickling down every dip and curve as he uses your quivering pussy harder and harder-

“God, you’re so good f’me. Look how much you came.” Giving a final, harsh thrust. “So perfect f’me.”

So fucking smug as he finally cums as well. Letting out a low, muffled moan into your neck as he fills your poor pussy with rope after rope of seed, painting your walls such a sinful white. All the way until he was sure you were bloated with his cum, until he could feel it dribbling down the side. Looking down to confirm and- ah, sure enough, it was such a heavenly sight - thick globs drenching your clothes below. Spreading in a pool as his hips push deeper and deeper. 

Like it hurt to stop. Like it hurt to even think of tearing his eyes away from you. 

But, alas, this old meeting room could only take so much, and Gojo thinks you’ll enjoy his - your - bedroom much better for round two.

Which is how the elders outside found the door kicked open not too long after. Blinking up in shock at the tall figure of the Gojo clan leader at the frame holding you. Tired and limp in a princess carry, all bundled up your yukata and one of his outer robes. 

And they can only avert their eyes, faces burning at the hazy expression on your face, hair so unsubtly messy, bare legs twitching ever-so-slightly from where they were just peeking out from where the fabric had bunched up. Sinful. Desecrated. And evidently his. 

“Clean that room up.” 

Gojo’s stern command snaps them all out of their reverie. 

But before they could all run to do so, he’s plowing on, unapologetic and low. “Oh, and bow down-” chuckling lightly as they scramble to their knees before him - and your barely-lucid figure. “-to the new madam of the Gojo household.

A/N. On my period I’m gonna cry. 

Plagiarism not authorized.