Latest Posts by meanderingwistera - Page 5

you who saw aesthetic flyers with vibes about 'finding your spiritual path' and offers of 'free tea + crystals'. you who were spiritually burnt out so you went.

you who stayed and vibed at what you thought was a 'spa'. it took a dm on a selfie you posted for you to find out you were actually in geto suguru's cult. and that the tea, and now you, were cursed.

you who geto is now stuck with, because you're too annoying to kill and too useful to release.

you who give motivational speeches to his cursed spirits and his followers and you who decorates the temple with aesthetic mood lighting and affirmation posters ("You can do it! Death to the fool, hell yeah!") you also keep inviting gojo to talk it out, but geto doesn't need to know about that

you who geto thinks are a liability at first, but then you start scaring sorcerers away with your 'feral energy' so he becomes fond of you.

you who unknowingly become his second-in-command. you dont even know his full name, you just call him 'boss babe'

geto who now kills those who think lowly of you, and who always wears the 'friendship' bracelet you made for him which says 'S-U-G-E-Y'

you who ask gojo if he wants to join the cult when he comes to rescue you.

you and geto who now mediate together every morning, you somehow covered in glitter and him somehow covered in blood. you who geto already considers his, you just dont know that yet.

a/n :- first time writing for suguru howd i do?

Thank you Nae! 🥰

Tags- @noodledotzip @getouyuri @mypoptartburnt @m1stm3 & anyone else!

which little plushie are you?

(was tagged here by @massivementalitynut — tysm!!! this was cute 🥹)

🏷️ open tag!

Demon!Sukuna’s horns = handle bars

Sometimes princess is a grown man who committed multiple crimes

Every couple has their own little traditions. The little things that you do for each other on specific occasions. Cute things special for a couple to do together.

You and Suguru have a tradition too- you fuck after every concert. It had been completely unintentional until Suguru had joked about how you both couldn’t keep your hands off each other after concerts.

The high of the crowds, blasting music and sweat had you needy for him and Suguru couldn’t help but want to see you under him after getting all that attention from your adoring fans. So you both had made it an official tradition.

Most of the time you both made it to your hotel room or the car before it happened. But tonight was different, you needed Suguru now and he would never deny you anything.

Pulling him by the collar into an empty room you kiss him like you didn’t need to breathe. His hands roamed your body as he angles you how he wants you. Suguru wastes no time in hiking up your skirt and making out with your dripping cunt.

It felt so good, so right to have him there and so much that you didn’t hear the door open.

Throwing your head back and moaning you see him out of the corner of your eye. A lanky, white haired man was standing in the doorway of the room you two had stumbled into staring at the two of you. His face is a shade of red you have never seen before.

“It looks like we have company- Sugu-”

I am 3,000 words into demon Sukuna- it is almost done!!!

Also someone asked to be tagged in it so if you guys want a tag plz comment here or on the preview here!

Ah Yes. Me. My girlfriend. And her ¥75,000 plushie of myself.

MDNI

Hmmm… Base player!Suguru eating out Singer!Reader after a show only to be interrupted by Fanboy!Satoru… Hmmm…

Historian! Reader x Demon! Sukuna core:

Fluff, so much fluff 💕

The Gojo clan expects a certain air of perfection from it’s head- and his wife.

You are expected to be perfect, look perfect and act perfect. Even if the kimonos are excessive and your head is heavy with the amount of hair accessories you have in it. But you live up to the image as best as you can.

Satoru couldn’t care less about the image he should up hold. He doesn’t do tradition well and takes pride in running the elders into the ground with his antics.

The one time the two of you are on your best behaviour is the grand gathering to celebrate Satoru’s birthday. Every year elders and clan members from all over migrate to the Gojo clan compound in Kyoto to celebrate.

And you are forced into the most intricate kimono you have and the heaviest amount of hair accessories. It is stuffy and your neck hurts like hell by the end of the night.

You jingle like a million bells as you walk back to you and Satoru’s shared room. The relief to get these pins out of your hair will be heavenly. You can already imagine the bath you will take after this, possibly with a book or your husband or both.

Once you are in your room you wave off the attendants who try to help you undress. You can undress yourself and don’t want to see anyone else tonight.

The kimono is the easier part. You take off layer after layer until you are ready to get on comfortable clothes. The first clothes that are in your closet are Satoru’s so you throw them on and walk to the vanity.

You look like a different person in the mirror. A perfect lady, nothing like the person underneath the makeup and clothes. You push away those thoughts for when you aren’t tired as hell. Slowly you remove the biggest piece on the right side of your head.

About half of your hair is loose when you decide to take a break. You lay your head forward onto the vanity, hoping that the rest of these damn things will just fall out. Maybe you should have just let the attendants take them out-

Two hands graze the top of your hair.

You hum as Satoru begins to remove the pieces. His fingers do wonders as you relax more and more back into his chest. You practically melt into him as he removes the final hair piece.

“Better?” He asks with a chuckle you can feel in his chest behind you.

Your hands reach up to angle the his face down to yours. Smiling up at him you lean up to kiss him. His lips meet yours and you feel his matching smile on yours.

“Much better.” You say after the two of you have pulled away.

“Do you want a bath or to lay in the arms of your handsome husband?” Satoru asks you.

“How about both?” You ask with a laugh.

“That can certainly be arranged lovely.”

Heaven is here- if you want it - Preview

Summary - Who knew that picking up that old book from the antique shop would lead to you accidentally summoning a demon? Not you.

Pairing - Demon!Ryomen Sukuna x reader

Content - Fluff, CRACK, smut, Sukuna’s wonderful personality, the curse of all archaeologists and historians to accidentally summon things they shouldn’t

The man now standing in your kitchen is tall, much taller than any regular human. He probably has about a head or two on you if you were standing on your toes. But that isn’t the only thing that is off about him. Two horns are on his head and twist back like a ram’s horns.

His red eyes look around your messy kitchen in confusion. He also looks somewhat disappointed and you can’t blame him. You were a poor college student and couldn’t afford a good apartment unless you sold your soul for it. But as he glares at it you feel a little offended. It may be a shitty kitchen, but it was your shitty kitchen.

Eventually his eyes settle on yours.

“What do you want from me?” His voice seems to boom in your kitchen like he was talking into a microphone.

“Who are you and how did you get into my apartment?” You counter his question with one of your own.

“You summoned me.” He tells you like you were stupid.

“I am pretty sure I didn’t-”

The man -demon? you can’t tell- groans and rubs his temples like you were the one inconveniencing him. After a second of you staring at him, he speaks again.

“Sweet lucifer.” He curses and joins you on the floor. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Labyrinth

Lost in your current like a priceless wine.- Willow, Taylor Swift

Summary - After helping Theseus through the labyrinth under your father’s palace he promises to make you Queen of Athens. Soon after leaving Crete you are left on the beaches of Naxos where a certain God resides.

When Satoru finds you he decides to help you out of boredom and curiosity but that soon turns into something else.

Pairing - Dionysus!Satoru Gojo x reader

Content - Fluff, angst, smut, murder, depression, Gojo being Gojo, miscommunication (sadly), idiots in love, oral fem receiving, Theseus bashing

Word count - 8.3k

A/N - I would fight Theseus in a waffle house parking lot

Deep under the palace of Crete is a large labyrinth made for a beast.

Some say the beast was a creature with three heads, each with large snapping jaws. Others didn’t even want to acknowledge the beast. But there were many rumors about why the beast was there and how the King might have tamed it.

As the Princess of Crete and only child of Minos you know the full horrible story. The Minotaur was your sibling. Your mother’s blood ran through it. So you could not bear to look at the door to the labyrinth when you walked by.

It hurts to know that you are related to the Minotaur but also that you will never know your younger sibling. There is a bond between you two that you will never understand.

One day a boy arrived with a group of Athenians who would be sacrificed to the Minotaur. Something about him was different. He stood taller and his gaze never wavered like the rest. His grin pulled you in like no other.

You don’t know why you did it. Not even to this day do you understand your heart driven decision. But you carefully slipped into the cell where the Athenian boy was, a ball of string clutched in your hands.

His eyes lit up at the sight of you.

You explained the best way to defeat the Minotaur and how to escape the labyrinth. You feel bashful at the handsome boy’s eyes that trace the lines of your face as if admiring fine silk.

“Thank you-” He whispers as he takes the string. “Come find me after and I will take you from this place and make you my Queen.”

A Queen.

So this must be the Prince of Athens, Thesus. You had only heard his name vaguely once or twice. He seems kind, his hands are rough in yours but you don’t mind it.

“I will wait by the boats for you.” You whisper back with a love struck smile.

That night as your father rejoices as the Athenians are slain by your brother you stay in your room.

You wait anxiously for some sign he has done it. In your doubt you run your hands through your hair and down your robes for comfort. As the moon is at its highest point a shout is heard. The palace shakes and yells ring out. He must have gotten out and slain your brother.

You rush to the boats. The waters are gentle as you run to your love. He is sitting in a boat just off shore with his men. His smile is wide and he stands when he sees you. You jump into his arms and he spins you around in delight.

After years of wanting to be in love, love has found you.

Naxos is a beautiful island.

The ships have come to rest here for a while before they sail on to Athens. You sit content on a rock as the sea breeze takes an edge off the summer heat. Theseus is near you, giving commands to his men.

You feel fatigued. Even though the anxiety that has gripped you after you left Crete. What if your Father found you? What if you threw away your life for something worse?

He walks over to you with a soft smile, drawing you out of your mind, “You can rest if you like. I will wake you when we are to leave.”

You smile up at your future husband.

“Thank you.”

You find a comfortable spot on the shore and doze off for a while.

Hours later you wake to see that night has fallen. You sit up slowly and look around for Theseus. But the only sign of humanity is a long put out fire and Its ashes have long since gone out.

Getting up urgently you search the shore for the boats. They are gone. There are no boats on the horizon either.

They are long gone.

He left you.

You cry and run down the beach in hopes he left something for you. Anything, a reason, an apology, even a scrap of his clothes. But the beach is barren of anything besides the campfire.

With tears staining your cheeks you sit in the sand. Drawing up your knees you hug them for some sort of comfort. You train your eyes on the horizon.

Maybe they will come back for you.

Satoru sips leisurely at the wine in his cup. It has a sweet taste to it, which is the best kind in his opinion. Bitter wine is fine but the sweet after taste makes it all worth it.

The sounds of the party happening around him fades away. He takes another sip and feels the buzz in his head grow. Satoru looks around at all these people around him and sighs. He doesn’t really know any of them.

Shoko rarely comes to parties anymore and Suguru is far too besotted with the goddess of spring to come with him to these things. So he is left on his own far more than he would like.

The party to celebrate the upcoming change of seasons is in full swing.

The star of the party, Utahime, is probably off sulking. But the gods celebrate anyway, Satoru included. Autumn is the season of harvest therefore his domain flourishes during this time so if she wants to throw a tantrum it won’t affect his fun.

As he stands in the corner a dryad walks by him with a tray of ambrosia. With a flirtatious grin he reaches for one. The dryad stops to giggle at him and offer him more. Then she moves on quickly after he takes one.

Most of the nymphs on Olympus know how he is. A notorious flirt but nothing more. It wasn’t like he never slept with anyone but they knew it was rare for him to be that intimate with anyone.

The party doesn’t get any better so he leaves early. He debates going home but he isn’t ready to sleep. Satoru feels restless in his skin as he decides to walk the beaches of Naxos.

He walks out of the thicket he had appeared in. As he approaches the beach the trees thin out and finally end. The sound of the ocean enters his ears. Its soft crashes soothe some of the intense boredom he feels.

Satoru's feet hit the sand and he begins to meander down the beach. As he walks something- no someone catches his eye.

The pale beaches of Naxos are a contrast to the torn purple dress of the woman sitting in the sand. Her eyes are on the spot where the horizon kisses the sky. She looks out at the water longingly, like it was a lost loved one.

Satoru approaches carefully hoping to get a better look at this interesting mortal. He doesn’t usually interfere with the boring affairs of mortals like the others but he is rather bored so why not.

She looks back at him as he approaches, her eyes are rimmed with red and the sun shaped blush on her cheeks is smudged from crying.

“What is a beautiful woman like you crying on the beach?” He asks with a curious smile.

The woman looks down then back out at the sea, “My intended left me here.”

He hums in understanding and sits down next to her on the sand. Her reaction is very different from the fights he has seen over lovers in the heavens. Maybe the Gods are a petty bunch but she seems not the least bit angry.

How interesting.

“He doesn’t seem too fun to be around, why did you choose him?” Satoru asks, long legs sprawled out in the sand and leaning back on his palms.

She laughs without mirth.

“I was stupid enough to love him.”

Tears form in the corners of her eyes.

“He promised me that I would be his love and his Queen. And I believed him because I didn’t know any better.”

Satoru feels uncharacteristic rage fill him. To promise someone the world then leave them when you tire of them is cruel. But instead of getting angry he chooses to comfort her.

“I am sorry,” He says, “I may not be one to be tied down but leading someone on like that is horrible.”

She smiles sadly, “I don’t want your pity. I just want to waste away on this beach.”

Satoru clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“We can’t have that! Come home with me?” Satoru offers.

The woman blinks up at him in pure disbelief, her red rimmed eyes wide. Satoru can’t help but laugh at her bewildered expression.

“I don’t even know you?” She squeaks out in protest.

Satoru stands up and holds out a hand to help her up, “Satoru, God of Wine at your service.”

The woman looks hesitant before taking it.

This should entertain him for a while

The large palace built into the rock of one of the mountains on Naxos was beautiful. It was all white stone and blue accents. Satoru leads you through the palace, his voice fills your silence.

You really didn’t know how much one man could talk until you met him. It was very surprising that he didn’t run out of air as he speaks to you about anything that comes to his mind.

It’s not like you care too much. You just want to find a bed to waste away in. He had been strangely insistent on not leaving you alone on the beach so you gave in. If he wanted to do something he would’ve done it already, he was a god after all.

So you just mutely followed him down the halls to wherever he was taking you.

“-oh I forgot to ask your name!” Satoru remembers and turns back to you.

You tell him your name quietly and also that you are from Crete. He nods and grins.

“I haven’t been to Crete in many years, what is it like?” He asks you in an attempt to get you to talk.

“I wouldn’t know,” You admit numbly, “I never left the palace.”

He raises an eyebrow curiously, “Did you have a high status there?”

You don’t answer for a minute, not wanting this man’s pity for your loss of status.

“I will take that as a yes then Princess.” He says cheerfully.

He must have already known or had guessed at it and was testing to see if he was right. You were glad that he didn’t pity you but you couldn’t really fight him on it now since he had let you stay here.

As the two of you walk you can’t help but stare at the beautiful palace. A lot of it had windows or open archways, giving it an airy feel. The water crashes gently below the half-open hallway he is leading you through. You can see the ocean as it extends for miles from here.

Satoru comes to a halt outside of a room with a blueish green colored door. He opens it to reveal a large room with white walls. It is much larger than your room back home and certainly bigger than the small captain’s quarters on the ship.

He walks in and you follow suit.

The bed is big, blue and beautiful. You felt so tired that the rest of the room didn’t matter too much to you. Crawling into it you hear a soft chuckle from Satoru but it doesn’t deter you from closing your eyes.

You just need to sleep for a while.

When Satoru leaves you have already drifted off to sleep. He knows that you are probably tired, mortals get tired very easily so he lets you rest.

As soon as he is a few feet from the door a group of dryads walk up to him. The ring leader is Cleo, a grapevine nymph who has been in his life for many years. Her light green eyes are a light with curiosity.

“Satoru.” Her voice is nonchalant but he knows her game well. He can’t help but grin as she continues, “You never bring anyone home- so who is that?”

The rest of the dryads nod fervently, backing up her question. Cleo’s arms are crossed as she waits for him to answer.

“I stole a princess.” He replies, his grin widening.

“A real princess?” Helena asks with disbelief in her wide eyes.

“She is very real!” Satoru laughs, “And I would like you to take care of whatever she needs.”

Cleo looks unimpressed but huffs good naturedly in agreement. The other dryads twitter in agreement and interest as he walks off. Before he leaves he throws a look over his shoulder to see them looking in on you.

You will be in good hands.

When you wake up next there is a distant conversation coming from inside your room. You make no move to get up or to open your eyes. The voices are too low to really hear them so you just roll over and hope sleep finds you again.

This bed is more comfortable then anything you have ever been on in your life. It was like sleeping on a cloud.

The soft ocean sounds pull you back into sleep.

Satoru doesn’t have a set “job” like a lot of other gods. His job was really just wine. Not that he complained about the freedom he had. Suguru was tied down to the underworld and Shoko had her coven he would never wish to be tied down in that way.

So he mostly just went wherever he was needed or to check in on his followers. Sometimes he is gone for hours and other times it is days.

This time he was gone for two days. A few worshippers need his help and he mostly just annoyed Shoko after that. But his mind kept drifting back to you and how you were doing.

You had been so weak and tired when he found you so he hopes that you have had your rest. He was also very interested in you in general. Satoru had been without something interesting for so long that you could take up all his attention if he wanted.

Satoru walks down the hall to your room. You hadn’t been up and around in the halls so he assumed that you would be there. As he approaches the dryads turn to him all of them have worried expressions on their faces.

“She hasn’t gotten up or eaten for two days!” Helena exclaims, her voice on the verge of panic.

“We haven’t been able to coax her out of there, poor dear.” Daphne says with a look of worry on her face.

“You need to try to talk to her.” Cleo tells him, a sternness to her expression that makes him barge into your room.

He finds you where he left you two days ago. You are curled around yourself and the pillow you have in a vice grip. The torn dress you had on two days ago hasn’t been changed and he assumes that you haven’t even gotten out of that bed this entire time.

Satoru walks over and shakes your shoulder. It is light but he tries to shake you from sleep. You open one eye slightly and he brightens considerably.

“I have come to make sure you get up and eat.” Satoru says cheerfully in hopes that it infects you.

“Leave me alone.” You grumble and close the eye you had opened.

He can’t help but pout slightly at your refusal. Satoru doesn’t understand what to do now, he turns back to Cleo who motions with her hands for him to try again. With a roll of his eyes he turns back to you.

“You need to eat so you don’t die. Humans need food and water to survive, why you are refusing it is beyond me.” Satoru says with his arms crossed.

Silently you open your eyes and sit up. Your eyes have dark circles under them as you stare at him unwaveringly. It is almost as if your gaze can see through him in a way not people have.

“I am not a pet you can play with when you want.” You tell him, a rage burning in your eyes.

It is the first emotion besides sadness that he has seen from you.

“I don’t know why you helped me but you can go feel better about yourself now and leave me here.”

Satoru blinks down at you, his surprise plain on his face. He never thought about your feelings in this. All he had thought about was how interesting you were and about his own boredom. He feels a twinge of guilt in his chest as he looks down at you.

“I am sorry for not taking your feelings into this.” He says to you. “I would genuinely like to be your friend and help you.”

You debate it. Satoru watches the split second emotions that cross your face as you think. He hopes that he can get through to you, it makes something ache in his chest to see you wilt like this.

“Sure, we can be friends.” You say and he smiles wide.

His smile drops as you lay back down and hold the pillow back to your chest. With a huff he tries to think of a way to coax you back out of your shell. An idea comes to his mind and he is quick to act on it.

“Well-” He hooks his arms under your back and knees to lift you up. “-as your friend I am making you eat to take care of yourself!”

You struggle in his grip as he turns to where the dryads have been watching the whole thing. They look horrified as he basically drags you out of bed kicking and screaming.

“Put me down!” You yell at him and hit his shoulder.

“Nope!” Satoru refuses.

You continue to struggle until about halfway to the dining room. After that you sit in his arms with a sour look on your face.

Once in the dining room he sets you down gently in a chair. You cross your arms and don't look at him like a child. He wonders if this is what it is like to deal with him when he is in one of his moods. Daphne sets down a bowl of oranges in front of you.

You just stare at them, unmoving. She quickly exits the room but gives you a sad glance as she leaves. You are a sad sight, all sunken and exhausted like this. All because of that stupid prince, he should pay him a visit sometime.

Satoru takes one of the oranges and peels it. He had never cared for oranges, they were so hard to eat. Their skin makes it hard to peel them open. Grapes were much easier to eat but maybe he is biased.

Still he gets little pieces of the rine under his nails for you. You watch him quizzically as he splits the sections in half to make it easier for you to eat. He slides them over to you with an expectant look.

Your eyes soften slightly around the corners as you pick up one of the sections. He watches with a grin as you eat.

Satoru may not know what it is like to be completely helpless or unable to get out of bed but he can be careful and patient. As a god he has time and patience in abundance so he will let you take the time you need.

After that first day Satoru eats with you to make sure you actually eat. You feel very much like a petulant child when he forces you to eat and take care of yourself. Even if you recognize that you need help, your deep set pride makes you want to hide your weaknesses from him.

You know being this broken after a fleeting infatuation is stupid but you feel so worthless. That’s why Thesus left you on Naxos right? You had served your purpose and no longer mattered.

So why should you even try to get up again?

But Satoru doesn’t let you not get up. He pushes you and lets you take your time to regain yourself. For being a god he is gentle with you when you need it. He no longer tramples over your feelings, he helps you to feel them.

After two weeks at the palace it starts to feel like a home to you. The little balcony outside your room has two couches and a table for when you want to sit next to the sea. You have begun to move things to your liking in the room Satoru gave you.

Helena was a big help to you when you were rearranging things.

When Satoru was out she was with you. Her bubbly personality made her extremely likeable. You couldn’t help but smile at her when she rambled about her sisters.

As much as you enjoy the company of the dryads you have begun to enjoy Satoru’s company. It was annoying at first but when he leaves you begin to miss the shape of his smile or that gleam in his eyes that tells you that he is up to something again.

Satoru frequently walks with you around the palace and down to the beach. He has many stories about the rest of the gods. You ask him many questions about them and he is more than happy to tell you. He also asks you about your life back on Crete.

“It was lonely.” You admit softly, looking out at the sea. “I never really talked to anyone, my father was protective and never let anyone but my suitors around me.”

“You had suitors?” Satoru ask you with interest.

“Many!” You remark, “I have heard so many stories of “great feats” done in order to win my hand over the years.”

Satoru laughs a bit and you continue,

“One man had been fifteen years older then me at the time, he had just lost his wife. And his bright idea to make me accept his proposal was to tell me that he had a daughter around my age.”

Your stomach twists a bit as you tell him about it. You had meant for it to be a funny story but it now is all coming to the surface of your mind. The man had been rejected quickly but his very presence made you feel anxious.

“Other than the suitors it was fine, a little lonely.” You shut down the conversation quickly.

It is quiet for a while before Satoru speaks again.

“I hope that here is better than Crete.” He says, his blue eyes search your expression for any form of discomfort.

“Much better.” You agree with the first genuine smile you have had in weeks.

It feels good to smile again.

For the past two weeks Satoru has been more content than in the past few years. You are slowly opening up to his gentle prying. It was almost mesmerising to watch you get closer with the dryads or even delve into his library which he hasn’t used for years.

His favorite moments are when you are reading. Your eyes flit across the page with fervent curiosity and he can’t get enough of that life that is slowly coming back into your eyes.

It’s a peaceful day, you are sitting down on one of the couches Satoru had brought onto the balcony. The wind brushes past your face and ruffles your hair. He lays down on the opposite couch and stares at you.

Lowering the book in your hands you look over at him with one brow raised. Satoru can’t help but grin as he gets your attention.

“Continue!” He chirps and pulls your legs into his lap. “I’m not even here.”

“You are going to get bored of this soon.” You tell him with an unimpressed look.

“I haven't been bored in two weeks, I don’t think I will start now.” Satoru says back, waving off your concern.

“If you say so.”

You go back to reading your book and Satoru can see you being pulled back into its pages. He watches a small crease form in between your eyebrows. Satoru almost wants to smooth it out with his thumb.

“So-” You look up from your book as he stares at you intently, “I wanted to know if you wanted to go to a party with me?”

“A party?” You ask.

He hums in answer and taps your knee, “I’m supposed to attend- but if you don’t want to go I don’t feel like it.”

You huff, “You shouldn’t not show up if you need to.”

“But you won’t be there! How am I supposed to be there if you’re here, completely unbothered and alone?” He groans and flops back against the couch dramatically.

“You are perfectly capable but if it is as bad as you say I will tag along.” You relent with a smile.

Satoru’s smile turns blinding as you go back to reading, a pleased look on your face.

Looking at yourself in the mirror you are convinced you are a different person. The e kohl under your eyes makes the color more prominent. Your lips are lined in a deeper shade of red than before and the blush on your cheeks is lighter. 

“Do you like it?” Daphne asks with a smile, her hands helping to pin up your hair.

“I look so different.” You remark with awe.

She giggles at your disbelief and pins the last section of your hair up, “Perfect.”

“Thank you.” You tell her and get up from your seat.

“Lord Satoru will love it.” Daphne says and takes both of your hands in hers. You must look confused because she laughs and guides you to the door, “He has a penchant for beautiful things and you more than fit that description.”

It makes your stomach do a little flip at the thought of Satoru finding you beautiful. You had never even considered he might, you hadn't felt beautiful since Crete. 

Satoru had always seemed so emotionally distant and only close enough to meet your needs. Sure, you have seen his happiness or his flippant nature but nothing besides that. Now you want to know more about him as a person.

Maybe this evening you might.

As you exit the door with Daphne, Satoru is waiting. He looks almost the same except his robes are a more vibrant purple color and the crown of grape vines in his white hair. It was the most dressed up you had ever seen him, besides the night he found you. Hearing you coming, his blue eyes rise up to meet yours.

Satoru’s eyes blink a few times before he makes his way over. He seems to compose himself and his regular grin spreads on his face as he meets you halfway. Daphne leaves the two of you alone with a knowing grin. She rushes off, most likely to tell all the other dryads about this.

“You look good.” He tells you and offers you his arm.

You take it and try your best not to flush red under his gaze, “Thank you, you do as well.”

If he notices your cheeks being a shade brighter than before, he doesn’t say anything. You are thankful that he doesn’t tease you for it. 

“Let’s go Princess.” He says with a wink and the two of you are gone in a flash.

You had only heard stories about the hall of the gods. Its large white marble walls reached up into the soft clouds above the mountain. But this was somehow grander than what you had imagined.

People- no, gods crowd its halls and walk past the two of you. You get a few looks, mostly confusion and some look interested. Satoru keeps you by his side as he walks in, his grip is grounding to you as the two of you navigate around all the gods.

Nymphs of all kinds walk around with trays of food and drink. You accidentally brush past one and apologize but she was already whisked away by the crowd.

“It’s so crowded!” You exclaim to Satoru.

“It’s a lot the first time but eventually you get the hang of it.” He says and guides you to a far wall where the crowds are more scarce.

Once you are along the wall you feel like you can breathe again. Satoru’s eyes search your face as you try to calm down your racing heart. He holds your hand as you breathe.

“Do you need some air?” He asks you, a crease in his eyebrows.

“Just a minute but I can find a balcony-” You wave off his concern, “You do what you need to do and enjoy.”

Satoru looks like he wants to say something more but just nods and lets go of your hand. You mourn the loss of contact but walk out the archway to find a place to get some air.

The gardens here are extensive and seem to go on forever. You can see almost every type of flower and tree here. All of them are frozen in their prime, their leaves and flowers in full bloom. 

You pass by a small garden with a large fountain. Water lillies cover most of its surface and the water spilling from it has the same calming effect as the ocean. 

Walking into the garden you don’t notice the woman sitting on the edge of the fountain. She stares at you with a gleam of intrigue, her eyes looking you over. Her deep purple dress is so long that it drapes on the ground.

“Hello.” She says cheerfully and pats the spot beside her, “I haven’t seen many humans on Olympus, let me have a good look at you.”

You oblige her gentle pull and sit down next to her. She looks you over with an appreciative hum, pleased with what she sees. A few pieces of blonde hair fall from her intricate hairstyle and into her face.

She is the most beautiful woman you have ever seen and it amplifies every insecurity you ever had about yourself. You don’t think you should be here, next to Satoru when he could have someone more suited to him then you. 

Sensing your distress the woman takes your hand in hers, lightly brushing a thumb over your knuckles.

“What is bothering you dear?” She asks sweetly.

“I don’t think I belong here.” You admit to her and look down.

“I thought the same way for a while.” She tells you. “When I first came here there was a big fuss made about it. I was fought over like a prize that everyone wanted. I eventually found someone who helped me feel like I belonged. You will find that too.”

You think back to Satoru and how he had held your hand to try to soothe your anxiety, his eyes searching your face in concern. His gentle coaxing and prodding to get you out of your shell. With Satoru you have never felt more at home. 

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks.

You are in love with Satoru. 

All the feelings you tried to deny bubble up to the surface. You want to stay with him and have him pry you open gently. You want him to help you through the bad days and the crying. You want him.

Standing up the woman grins, a dimple forming in her right cheek.

“It looks like you have found that person.”

After that push you practically run back to the hall to talk to Satoru. You need to tell him how you feel, even if it ruins what you have you need to get it out. 

You push through the crowd of people to try to find him. Most of the people get out of your way but you do bump into a few of them. All you give them is a rushed apology and continue trying to find him.

When you finally find him he is against the same wall that you were at before you left for the garden. 

“Satoru-!” 

Your voice cuts off as you see him give a crooked grin to a pretty water nymph. She trails a hand up his chest and your heart shatters on the marble floor below you. In your brain you know he isn’t yours, he never promised you anything but your heart screams that it’s been betrayed again. 

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as the nymph whispers something into his ear. He throws his head back with a laugh at something she says.

You don’t belong here, that woman was wrong. 

You want to go home.

Satoru can’t find you. 

He has checked almost everywhere. His heart beat picks up as he frantically walks around the gardens. He looks in one final place, a small garden. 

Much to his dismay he only find Yuki, sitting on the edge of a fountain. She has a sour expression to her face as he approaches her. His brow scrunches in confusion as she raises a perfect eyebrow.

“Have you seen the woman I was here with?” He asks her, a hint of panic in his voice.

“She wanted to go back so I took her back to your palace Satoru.” She says, her eyes all too knowing.

“Why didn’t she come to me?” Satoru asks her.

“You should ask her, she will have an answer for you.” Yuki deflects.With a huff he walks away from her, she was of no help to him now. 

One step Satoru is on Olympus, the next he is in the hall where your room is. You should be here if not he will check the library. He feels dread seep into his chest.

When he approaches your door Cleo is outside, her posture rigid. She looks over at his approach, her face cold. Her lips are pressed into a hard line and her arms cross over her chest. 

“What happened to her?” He asks.

Cleo doesn’t say anything for a moment before opening her mouth to speak, “I should be asking you that.”

Satoru looks confused, “I don’t know what happened.”

She gives him an almost pitying expression.

“My Lady doesn’t wish to see you at this moment, please come back in the morning.” Cleo says and slips back into the room.

He can see you for a split second through the door, you are surrounded by the dryads, each of them comforting you. You look down at the ground, as broken as the day he found you. 

Satoru’s heart breaks as the door shuts him out. He needs to know who hurt you, who did this to you, so he can make them pay for this grievance sin. His mind goes back to Theseus, maybe now was the time to pay him a visit. 

He must have hurt you again somehow.

Satoru appears on a cliff overlooking all of Athens. A king, graying at the edges paces at the edge of it. His hands are clasped behind his back so hard his knuckles are white. The king’s eyes are trained on the ocean, much like you were that day two weeks ago. 

Then on the horizon a ship comes into view. A large black sail on its oak mast. Satoru sees the relief on the king’s face as the ship sails in. 

Satoru may not have the scariest domain but one thing that many people forget is that he is also the god of madness. He may be peaceful most of the time but he has his moments of cruelty, this is one of them.

Getting into the old king’s mind is easy. He slips in and changes his perception of the sails. The black sail doesn’t mean Theseus is fine, it means that he is dead. His son is dead. The king wails at his son's death, he tears at his hair and teaters too close to the cliff's edge. 

Satoru watches him fall, no remorse in his icy blue eyes. 

You are a ghost of your former self. 

Depression has its hands on you again as you try to continue on. It wraps around you to pull you down into bed. Your head is only quiet when you sleep, when you are awake it whispers that no one will ever want you. You feel foolish for ever wanting a god, for ever wanting him. 

Satoru had told you that he wasn’t one to be tied down and your heart had skipped right past that. Gods are forces of nature, fickle and beautiful but never yours to keep. It is like trying to catch the wind with your hands, all you have is air.

The dryads have been over protective of you, Cleo especially, who shoos Satoru away from you multiple times a day. She is stern with him when he attempts to talk to you, her voice carrying a hint of cold anger.

And thanks to them you didn’t fully slip back into the depressive state you were in before. You can still stand and move but going outside the safety of your room is too much sometimes. Satoru will stare at you from afar and you feel his eyes digging into your back as you pass him.

So you stay in your room hoping to weather the storm that is your broken heart.

Satoru can’t stand this anymore.

He hasn’t fully seen you for days and it is eating away at the edges of his sanity. His mind calls out to remember the curve of your smile and the light in your eyes. He is constantly thinking of you and can’t sleep. 

At first he thought it was Theseus somehow but then you stopped speaking eto him. Now he is so close yet so far from you, his fingers just out of reach of your skin.

It is maddening.

The underworld is as cold as he remembers as he storms into the throne room of the dead. Suguru sits on his throne with the Goddess of spring on his lap and her hands gently comb through his hair. 

“Suguru.” Satoru tries to sound like his normal self but it falls short.

“What brings you here, Satoru?” Suguru says with an air of intrigue.

“I need- help.” Satoru gets out but it hurts him to say it. He has never been good at asking for help from anyone.

The Goddess of Spring presses a kiss to Suguru’s cheek then leaves to give them privacy. He is thankful to only have Suguru here to witness his humiliation. If Shoko was here she would most likely be laughing by now. Once they are alone Suguru walks over to him with an expectant eyebrow raised.

“What do you need help with?” Suguru asks him.

“I have wronged someone and I don’t know how.” Satoru admits, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“When did this happen?” Suguru questions and crosses his arms.

“Five days ago, I brought her to a party on Olympus and then she was upset with me.” Satoru explains, his voice fraying at the edges.

Suguru hums in thought. Satoru waits for his opinion with bated breath, he needs to know how to fix this.

“Is this the woman you found on the beach?” Suguru asks further.

“Yes, she has been living in my palace for almost three weeks.” He exclaims with exasperation.

Suguru sighs deeply, a hand at his temple, “You brought a woman home, helped her and even flirted with her for over two weeks. Now she won’t talk to you. What happened at the party to spur this on?”

Satoru thinks back to the party, his mind goes through every moment. He tries to find something that might have happened to make you upset. 

His mind catches on a moment where a water Nymph propositioned him, did you see that? He had laughed and turned her down because of you. Satoru had barely been able to keep his eyes or hand off of you that night. But if you saw that interaction at the right time it would have looked a certain way.

“Do you have your answer?” Suguru chuckles at him.

Satoru doesn’t even acknowledge it as he leaves with a quick goodbye. Suguru doesn’t look surprised as Satoru stalks off to fix his mess and get back on your good side.

The night of the sixth day since you had your heart shattered again Cleo comes into your room. She has a slightly worried expression to her face and her lips are pulled into a straight line. You look up to see her walking over to you.

“My lady-” She hesitates, it’s the first time you heard that in her voice. “Satoru would like to see you and apologize.”

You look at the door then back at her. She gives you a nod, letting you know that he is outside the door for you. With a sigh you throw on a robe over your night dress and head for the door.

Cleo gives your shoulder a squeeze as you pass. You smile back at her in thanks as you continue to the door. Before opening the door you take a deep breath then open it. 

Satoru is on the other side. Dark circles have made themselves at home under his bright irises. You feel conflicted by his appearance and his actions. 

“I have something to show you.” He says barely above a whisper.

Nodding slowly you let him take your hand and lead you out to the balcony you love. The moon is bright in the night sky and casts shadows on Satoru’s handsome face. He looks almost nervous as he comes to a halt right before the rail. 

“I know you are angry and hurt but I want you to listen to me-” He starts, “-in the beginning of you staying here I was mostly curious about you. I wanted to know everything about you to satiate my own boredom. But it soon spiraled into something else. An emotion I couldn’t control.”

He takes the hand he is holding to put it against his heart, “I thought that my heart was incapable of being this devoted to anyone but it beats for you- and no one else.”

Tears prick the corner of your eyes. You want that to be true so badly it hurts. You want that type of love and you want him. But your mind brings up the image of that nymph, other worldly beautiful and probably more deserving of him then you.

“What about-?” 

“The nymph propositioned me yes, but I laughed off her request because I had you. My eyes could never leave you even if I wanted to. I could barely keep my hands off of you that night.” He explains and uses his other hand to wipe a tear that spilled over.

Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest. Every single emotion you have felt since coming here swirls in your chest as you look up at him. But your hand on his heart, feeling its beat under your fingers helps to soothe the fears and sadness you have felt. 

“I also wanted to show you something more than words.” Satoru says with a soft smile.

Pulling back he pulls out a circlet of pure gold. 

You recognize it as yours from when you first came here. It was one of the last things you had from Crete. You had conflicted feelings about what it represented for you. It was as much a reminder of home as a chain. The crown chained you to your past self and to the cage like walls of the palace on Crete.

“I hope that this will make you remember how my heart longs for you.” He tells you and holds the circlet up to the night sky.

One second it is in his hands, the next it is replaced by a semicircle of six bright stars in the sky. They shine down brilliantly on the two of you. You look at it in awe. 

Satoru watches your reaction with anxiety. His hand cups your cheek as you look at the sky he has changed for you. He has changed the sky to show you his feelings and you can’t help but to respond with your own.

Turning back to him you lean up to kiss him. He is stunned for a second, his lips parted as you kiss them. Then he kisses you back with more intensity then you have ever felt. His lips are soft and taste of wine and sunshine. An arm snakes behind your back to hold you close. 

When Satoru pulls back from you, his blue eyes shine brighter than the millions of stars above you. He looks down at you as if you were the one who set those stars into the sky. You could melt right then and there into his touch.

“Do you want to come back to my room?” Satoru asks you.

Very much aware of the implications you blush bright red, “Yes.”

He takes you by the hand again and guides you to his room.

Satoru is enraptured by the image of you under him. 

Your body slots against him as if it was made to be there. He can’t get enough of the soft moans he can coax out of you when he touches you in certain places. This is so different from his previous experiences. 

Before it had been more for his pleasure. Sure he made sure that his partners reached climax but it was more about him. Now he couldn’t care less about his pleasure when you whine so sweetly under his fingers. 

Your hand tangled in his hair as his presses gentle kisses trailing down your neck. He stops to suck and bite a spot on your collar bone which makes you arch up into him.

“So sensitive Princess.” He teases you.

Usually you would meet his teasing with a glare but you seem too needy to care right now. He smiles against your skin and continues down to your chest. His eyes darken as he sees your nipples through the flimsy nightdress you have on. Satoru carefully unravels the dress to drink in all of you.

“What are you waiting for-?” You ask breathlessly and his lips pull into a smirk.

“You are so demanding this evening.” He chides and runs a hand up your inner thigh. 

Satoru hums in satisfaction as you shiver under his touch. His fingers reach your cunt and your breath catches. You are more pliant after he gets his fingers in you. Your demands slowly give way to moans and whimpers. 

You are mesmerising in your pleasure. He can’t get enough of it, watching you arch and claw at him as the pleasure consumes you entirely. His cock strains against his clothes, he feels like he could cum just by watching you come undone by his fingers.

Satoru’s kisses get closer to your core. He presses an almost chaste kiss to your inner thigh. His eyes on yours as they go half lidded. He shifts himself down between your thighs for better access. 

When he gets the first taste of you on his tongue he is sure that he is addicted. You taste so sweet, sweeter than any wine or cake he has ever tasted. He worships at the altar between your legs like a man dying. Satoru is sure he could stay like this for hours. He would love to watch you cum on his tongue over and over and over again.

In that moment a selfish part of him is glad Theseus left you here. Now you were his alone and he can only thank that boy’s foolishness for leaving you to him. But then he remembers how heart broken you were. He would never have you be that way again even if he got you out of it.

You grind down on his face, chasing your high and Satoru groans as you use him. Your pretty thighs close around his head as you get closer. He’s almost there without you even touching him, practically rutting into the bed as you reach your high. 

Satoru watches with awe as you cum. Your body shakes with ecstasy as he continues through your orgasm. He climbs back up so he can slide his cock in between your plush thighs. You must be sensitive there because you whine as he thrusts between them. 

“Just a little longer- hah- then you can rest-” Satoru grits out. 

You reach for his hand and he interlaces your fingers with his. As he does you smile up at him, it’s a little tired and fucked out but so beautiful. He wants to remember this look on your face forever, hopefully you will let him. Satoru cums, painting your thighs and lower torso.

Careful not to hurt you he lays down beside you and you cuddle up to his chest. Your breathing has evened out as you wrap your arms around him, holding him even closer. He lays his head on top of yours. As the two of you lay there Satoru realizes he may never be bored again if you are by his side like this. 

“I love you.” He whispers into your hair.

You sigh in contentment, “I love you too ‘toru.”

Satoru has never been more content in his life than with you in his arms, you are more than enough for him for the rest of his days.

Thank you for the tag Nae 💕

Tags: @noodledotzip @mypoptartburnt @m1stm3 @getouyuri plus anyone else!

tag game, because im sooo bored. link here! no pressure tags: @jeonwiixard, @mia-can-yap-too, @gumiiiiezzzz, @stxrysnow, @beepbopzlorp, @baepsays, @nanamiskentos, @f4iryfxies, @gojosoups, @cuntyji, @loveyislost, @satoao, @indiewritesxoxo, @carnalcrows, and anyone else <33

I love writing because I will stop to look something up to make sure it is historically accurate then I somehow end up scrolling tumblr for hours

Thank you for tagging me 💕

Books, coffee and Shego sound delightful

Tags: @noodledotzip @getouyuri @m1stm3 & anyone else!

you are going on a blind date that pinterest set up for you, find out who will be the lucky one and how the evening will end 💌

on pinterest search the following topics and post the first pin that will show up in each category

fictional character

date / night date

gift

outfit

dessert

love quote

tags: @catchmeonyourceiling @lovethornes @daystarpoet @beaucereza @chxrrybxmbi @dolcecuore @sororygilmore @auntiejohn @binibby @bvrnesher @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @certaimromance @effortlesslysweet @aezuria @mothswan @lydiasfalling @amrplastique @peanutalergy @xoxorory @xoxoivy13 @laufeysvalentine @minorlyatfault @jjsblueberry and whoever wants to join <3

Did I mean for a Barbie reference in the Gojo one shot I am writing no, but it’s staying in there…

Prints here!

A redraw of something I did exactly a year ago to the day and never really liked so. He got a lil glow up!

He no longer skips leg day. Or really any day. Whew

r/Marriage: am i (24m) overly obsessed with my wife (24f)? — satoru gojo

౨ৎ pairing — oyabun!gojo x secretary!reader

summary — all work and no play makes the fearsome oyabun of the gojo-gumi a tremendously dull boy. since you're a saint, you come into his office with no panties and a mission; to let your puppy play.

word count — 13k

౨ৎ content & warnings — mdni 18+, pwp, mlw, fem!reader, normal modern au, yakuza au, humor, smut, fluff, pet names (baby, sweets, sugar, princess, pretty, wifey, hubby), gojo and reader are married, whipped gojo, gojo is actually insane, dark themes, violence, mentions of murder, p in v, submissive top gojo, sub!gojo, dom!reader, femdom, mommy kink, semi-public sex, pussydrunk gojo, office sex, mild pet play / puppy play, oral (f! receiving), cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking (both receiving), reader uses gojo’s tie like a leash, MEN WHO WHIMPER >>>

author's note — i love yakuza aus and i love sub top wife guy gojo what can i sayyyy. this is my first fic on this account and it's just self indulgent as hell tbh. this is Not necessary to read, but if you want a little more background on this au, you can find info here. more notes at the end! hope u all enjoy 🫶🏽

writing © getouyuri. fanart © maronjapan9art. dividers © thecutestgrotto.

It’s not even 12pm on a Friday, 95 degrees, when the white flag swinging from his person is finally brought to his attention.

“Boss,” Choso says, completely straight-faced as he cleans a gun and stares imploringly at Satoru. Waxing and waning. “There's… something hanging out of your pocket.”

“Oh?” Satoru looks down, snags his fingers into the panties that are peeking out from his slacks, and rubs his thumb over the delicate embroidery in the hem. Interesting. “Oh, sweet.”

A completely normal, well-adjusted member of society would turn into a bumbling, blushing maiden and stuff these goodies away, mortified. Too bad he’s a shameless certified freak, seven days a week.

Like he’s playing cat’s cradle, he pulls at the inner hem and spreads the lingerie open to get a good bird’s eye view down into the panties. Satoru tests the stretch of the material. Turns it this way and that. Examines the gusset for any exciting stains and clicks his tongue when he finds none.

The air of the group at his beck and call sours into something painfully awkward, almost disbelieving. When he clears his throat, all eyes look away from him. Satoru takes the opportunity to crumple the fabric and press his nose into it in order to breathe your scent in.

Delectable. 10/10.

Outside the nearest window is the familiar buzz of typical Tokyo afternoon activity and traffic. Sitting in a loose ‘v’ around him in the ten-seater van they’re packed into are the men he’s tagging along with to swing by the red light district in pursuit of Ryomen’s trail. It’s rare that Satoru himself gets involved in tasks like this that are far below his pay grade, but he’ll take any opportunity he can get to get close to that fuckface and give him hell. He can practically smell his rival’s scent on the breeze.

“Huh,” he finally remarks. Choso is the only one that dares to look at him. “My wife must’ve planted these on me earlier.”

That morning, Satoru regretfully had to pull himself from his comfortable bed and his wife’s soothing warmth, though he promised you (with cuddles and kisses to further convince you and wipe the frown off of your face) that he’d wrap things up quick and meet you at the Gojo-gumi’s main headquarters for lunch. Unfortunately, hours later and worn ragged, he knows now that there was no way he would’ve been able to head over there any earlier than now. He texted you to let you know the change of plans.

Pure fucking chaos was unleashed on Tokyo this morning, all of it carefully orchestrated by Ryomen. One of the Gojo-gumi’s bigger warehouses that they use as storage for black market weapons and drugs was ransacked and then bombed by Tora-gumi shitheads. Many of Satoru’s men that stepped in to try and defend the warehouse’s stock were killed.

At the exact same time there was a shootout in one of the strip clubs— fittingly named Hell’s Paradise— that Satoru owns as one of his many, many business fronts. He and his men arrive on the scene soon after the fact and find the bodies of some of the women that worked there, all of which were personally beneath his unwavering protection that he failed to give them today, alongside some civilians that got caught in the crossfire.

Shoko herself isn’t here, but the traces of smoke linger around her girlfriend— and Satoru’s friend— like a protective ward when he goes to speak with her. Clearly, Shoko was either in the building or cat napping with her not too long ago.

Satoru isn’t labeled as the most terrifying oyabun in Japan for no reason; he handles all of it coldly and clinically to make sure many, many people pay the price for daring to threaten the syndicate, his family, that he’s worked so hard to maintain and provide for. He personally beats the fuck out of and kills the Tora-gumi’s members that were involved in both incidents, and what Satoru doesn’t do with his own bare hands, he sends Choso out like an angel of death to take care of.

While Choso ‘cleans up’, he calls Shoko and sends her out on the prowl to feel out if there’ll be any more planned attacks on the Gojo-gumi.

Fucking Ryomen.

Stepping out into the alleyway behind Hell’s Paradise, he fishes his good luck charm out for the fifth time today and takes another long whiff.

But hey, at least he has a piece of his wife with him wherever he goes, right?

Satoru gets a ride back to the Gojo-gumi headquarters. There’s a bathroom attached to the room with a shower that he had installed years back, so he strips off his bloodied clothes, showers and changes into a fresh suit, meanders back into his office, and tosses himself into his chair.

“God, what a pain,” he whines to himself.

If Satoru could pawn this monstrosity of a paperwork pile sitting in front of him off to one of his secretaries (like you, for example), he so would. Alas, things of this caliber are delegated to the boss man, and the boss man only.

His blue eyes linger on the skyline outside of the window. The Gojo-gumi headquarters is located in the heart of Tokyo and it’s not exactly a secret; hell, even the police know where this place is and what goes on behind its closed doors. Unlike his various business fronts, this establishment is strictly a hub that his syndicate directly operates out of. Organizing all their criminal operations, managing businesses, holding meetings, it all goes down here.

Years ago, it was rare that Satoru could be found sitting here. He used to just swing by the main room, get shit done, not spare his office a glance, and leave. Now, though, he has extra incentive to frequent his office. You’re here every day of the week.

The room feels filled to the brim with your presence despite you being conspicuously absent. The dark wooden surface of his desk is topped with a framed picture of you and him at their wedding, and next to it are various trinkets that you’ve bought with him in mind. His sweetheart.

Satoru lounges back in his plush leather chair (because he likes that it makes him look like royalty, thank you very much), man-spreading with a faint pout. The beginnings of a migraine buzzes right behind his eyes the longer he stares at the work calling his name.

There’s that deal he needs to finalize with Suguru that’ll leave them with a 20% increase in profits by the end of Q1. The Gojo-gumi's gonna be swimming in cash, and the Sutoraifu-gumi will have a steady supply of the goods their members need. Lord knows Suguru and his men need it after the whole Kenjaku debacle that went down a while back. Satoru’ll get to those papers soon and send them off with Suguru’s biker girl whenever she swings by again to hang out with you.

Then he has to look at the letter from the chief of police, which, yawn, that’s the least of his concerns. The detective— Kusa-something, whatever, he always forgets his name— must’ve tattled on him again for his, ah, unsavory way of handling business. That damn rookie Kusachi has a nasty habit of getting in his way and trying to take him on. Satoru could just try to pay the chief off again… and maybe he could visit Kusada’s home, set him straight. And by set him straight, he means chatting to Kusabuse’s family and telling him that their man’s extracurricular activities are gonna get him killed. His family can handle it from there.

And then—

A soft knock at his door pulls him out of his reverie. “I’m busyyy, Kento, Ijichi!” he calls just in case they’re here to hound him, fingers adorned in rings absently adjusting his tie.

It opens to reveal Kento’s unimpressed stare. He glances over Satoru’s unorganized desk, important documents scattered all over and clearly not finished. ‘Organized chaos’ he calls it. You tell him that it’s just shit on a platter.

“… cat’s outta the bag, I guess,” Satoru says glumly, his pout unbefitting of an oyabun further deepening.

Apparently, by the little entourage that Kento has with him, his second-in-command isn’t here to scold him, though. Because you, his gorgeous wife, enters his office next with Ijichi shuffling in behind you, who closes the door behind the group of three.

Satoru perks up like a meerkat and leans forward, fingers dropping away from his tie to instead interlace as he regards everyone, you in particular harboring most of his attention, with a cheery grin that’s at odds with his reputation. Though he’s the epitome of lax playfulness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his gaze as he looks them all over. You have a folder tucked beneath one arm and you look bored.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," Satoru drawls, his tone as smooth as silk. "My three favorite people, alllll in one room. It’s a little too early to be throwing me a surprise birthday party, isn’t it? My birthday isn’t for another few months,” he jests.

Ijichi not so subtly checks the date on his phone even though he knows damn well it’s April, not December. On the other hand, Kento’s eyes flatten slightly. One of his hands goes to his hip while the other massages at the bridge of his nose as if he’s already getting a headache; as he usually does in the oyabun’s presence. “Now isn’t the time for jokes, Satoru,” Kento inserts, dour as ever.

Your poker face twitches.

A blown raspberry echoes in his office. “You always say that, Kento. Would it kill you to pull that stick out of your ass and smell the roses? Experience joy and whimsy?” Satoru dramatically intones. His hand splays across his chest. “You wound me.”

Kento doesn’t even bother to entertain him. Back straight and thumb practically digging into his skin, he rattles off his report; the Gojo-gumi were able to intercept Ryomen’s ploy to undercut the Gojo-gumi’s control over the heroin trade. When he finishes, he promptly turns and makes like Scooby Doo, not wanting to be there a second longer. Ijichi hurriedly scurries at his heels.

The door clicks shut behind them and he puffs out a breath of relief at his wakagashira’s and saiko-kommon’s departure, sitting back in his chair with a gentle creak of the leather beneath him. Satoru kicks his leg up over the other, the side of his calf resting on his knee, and looks you up and down. “And then there were two. Fancy seeing you here, wifey,” he drawls.

“You say that as if we don’t work in the same building,” you snort. Then you soften, closely examining him. “You okay? Your texts worried me earlier, so I texted Choso and his partner to get more details. I heard things got pretty hectic earlier.”

He smiles at you, feeling all warm and fuzzy. Satoru doesn’t get how couples just faze out of the honeymoon stage. Years later and you still have him wanting to kick his feet whenever he’s in your presence. “Things are peachy, pinky swear. I’ve got it covered, sugar. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” he assures you. He crosses his fingers over his heart.

You eye him for a moment longer, but whatever you spy on his face makes you relax. Thwacking the folder against the wooden surface before scattering it among the pile, you then round Satoru’s desk and plant yourself in front of him. He inhales unsubtly, catching a whiff of your perfume that makes him go a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, and your lips twitch as you take your throne on the lip of his desk.

Everyone here at headquarters is required to follow a certain dress code. Satoru outshines them all, of course, fitted in finely tailored slacks and dress shirts with either a crisp light blue waistcoat thrown atop it or an ironed suit jacket. And as one of the many secretaries flitting around the building keeping the well-oiled Gojo-gumi machine chugging, it’s important for you to look just as professional. Especially since you’re his wife.

Which is why you look like an infuriatingly sexy librarian, decked out in a tight black pencil skirt that hugs your hips, a blouse with the top two buttons undone and the collar pressed open to flaunt the designer necklace he bought you swinging from your neck, sheer black nylon thigh-highs that he’d kill to feel around his head, and stilettos, cute little charms on the buckles giving your outfit a whisper bit of cheer.

(The thought of you making yourself look extra pretty today just for him has Satoru internally busting on the spot, his blood simmering beneath the fine layer of his skin.)

‘The oyabun’s wife’, his men always dreamily sigh when you walk past them— only to whip around and stare at the wall when he slinks by not even a step behind you, his blue eyes cold and caustic when he glares at them in warning. Gorgeous, breath-taking, a prized jewel— and you’re all his.

“Normally I’d only be here to scold you and make you do your work, hubby,” you hum.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in my near future,” Satoru muses aloud, raising his eyebrows at you in question.

“No. Just a ‘however’.” Instead of being two dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyy’, they’re two smartasses fashioned in the same factory, complete with warnings labels.

“Yeesh. Can I ever be right with you?” He plasters his hand over his heart yet again and gives you a simpering moue.

You roll your eyes, a wordless ‘duh’. Satoru's lips slant upwards into a Cheshire cat smile as you reach forward and loop his tie around your fingers before giving it a tug, coaxing his chair to roll forward on the sleek hardwood floor. He uncrosses his legs and allows himself to be pulled up and out of it, heeled like a dog, stepping forward to stand between your legs after lightly kicking his chair away with a soft clatter.

Looking down at you through long white lashes that flutter like the first snowfall of winter, his gaze is a mix of playfulness and appreciation in its rawest form. Satoru has to admit, this view is far more pleasant than any spreadsheet that he was pretending to give his attention to before you strode in.

Your perch on his desk gives you an air of sophisticated dominance that makes his cock give a very interested twitch in his trousers that he can’t help. Sue him for being horrendously attracted to his wife.

Though he towers over you by a mere head due to the slight height advantage that his desk gives you, there’s no doubt that he yields completely and utterly to you. His brain conjures up an image of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. Glorious and championing above the rest of them; victorious.

‘Woof’, he thinks unintelligently.

“However,” you finally continue, beginning to smile. You keep a hold on his tie and tap his nose with the pointer of your free hand, which he wrinkles at you. “I’ve decided that I’ll spare you the lecture for today.”

Satoru's hands come up to rest on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow circles on the sleek nylon covering them. Your inviting warmth bleeds through the thin fabric. He so badly wants to get on the floor, brush them down, and sink his teeth into your plush skin until your skin pinkens. He settles for giving you a gentle squeeze.

“I thank you, oh great and benevolent goddess of the yakuza underworld,” he proclaims, delighting in the fondly exasperated groan that rumbles low in your throat. “I gotta say, I'm grateful for the reprieve, sweets. Though I suspect your mercy is short-lived," he adds with a chuckle. “So give it up already. Spill.”

Fucking hell. There goes a tiny fraction of the element of surprise that you thought you were holding over him like an anvil in a cartoon.

You silently curse his eerie perceptiveness. And his newfound x-ray vision, apparently, since he leans back a fraction to take you in again, his focus lingering on your skirt. But hey, the ball’s still very much in your court, and you’re playing to win.

Not letting it faze you, you heft your legs up, his hands shifting with you, and drape them around Satoru’s waist. His desk creaks beneath you at the distribution of weight. “Yeah, yeah. What I mean to say is that your husbandly duties are calling to you, not your obligations as oyabun.”

Satoru’s blue eyes search yours and he tilts his head, adorably puppy-like in a manner that suggests he’s more innocent than his ruthless reputation paints him to be. Though he’s the epitome of laxness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his expectancy that’d make lesser men quiver and confess to their every sin.

You stare right back at him. “I don’t have any panties on,” you explain simply.

If Satoru was aroused before, he’s now hornier than a pent-up nun. He hardens so fast that it makes him dizzy. “So you’re on that type of timing, got it,” he notes through his suddenly dry mouth as if his brain chemistry isn’t actively warping with this new information.

He wets his lips. His attention darts to the door. “Ijichi locked it,” you confirm before he can ask his question.

Good. Now he can focus on what matters: no panties. No panties. No panties. Fuck.

"Well, as your husband, it's my duty to attend to your every need and desire. And right now, it seems one of those needs is to have me buried deep inside your pretty kitty,” he coos, voice dripping something sinful. “But wowww, I never thought I’d see my stern ‘business over pleasure’ sweet pie pulling this kind of stunt. Seducing me so shamelessly in my own office, where anyone could walk in and catch us in a compromising position... for shame! What would people say if they knew you were on a mission to tempt your poor, innocent husband into sin?”

You sigh, long-suffering.

Suddenly curious to see if you’re hiding another surprise elsewhere, one hand leaves your knee and drifts up to the undone buttons of your blouse, popping another one open to expose more of your soft skin. Satoru bites his lip as his eyes snag on the lace of your bra. A shame that you’re not bra-less, but he’s fine with seeing you wear half of the set he commissioned for you from a designer in France that you like. He’s more than okay with this, actually.

You make no move to scold him or cover yourself up— you just amusedly stay fixed on him, your eyes gaining that telltale gleam when you’ve got him all tied up in knots. He’s walked into a honeytrap, hasn’t he?

Despite the clear desire emanating from him, there's a tenderness to his touch, a reverence for your body as the hand on your knee skirts up. He slides it higher up your thigh until the hem of your thigh-high gives way to skin, disappearing beneath your tight skirt to ascertain your bold claim. When Satoru’s knuckles graze your bare folds, which are slowly slickening, he whines as if he’s the one being touched. “Fuck, princess... you're actually not wearing anything at all, huh?” He groans softly, half surprised and half not that you were telling the truth.

“Duh,” you exhale. “I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you, though. Did you not see the—“

“The little treat that the panty fairy snuck into my pocket?” Now understanding, Satoru’s grin grows. Reverent… and, well, very perverted. “Sure did. I sniffed them, too.”

Your face contorts as if you don’t know what part to address first before you give up.

“But sometimes thiiis guy.” His eyes pointedly roll upwards in the direction of his forehead, then down at the obvious bulge in his pants. “Likes to take the backseat and let this big guy do all of the thinking. Can you blame me for being a little off my game today?”

“I can, actually. Do better. Even Yuuji gets more work done than you do,” you reply plainly.

Which says a lot. Yuuji’s one of the other secretaries here, though giving him that title feels… a little generous. You and Satoru see him regularly since Choso feels more comfortable going out and doing his job when Yuuji’s safe at headquarters. The teenager comes scampering into the building every day after school and Satoru pays him to do the class work that his teachers send him off with, play on his Nintendo Switch, and sometimes organize the racks of boxed files or make phone calls.

“Heyyy!”

Your cool breaks and you laugh. “You’re just easy to get to. That’s okay, though. It makes things more fun for me,” you tease in a slight singsongy lilt. You turn your head to worry his earlobe between your teeth, nipping then sucking for good measure before releasing it with an audible pop.

Breathing starting to pick up, he drops his face into the crook of your neck and drowns himself in the cocktail of the spritz of that floral perfume you favor and your natural scent. All the while, he blindly traces your slit. Up and down, entrance, clit, entrance, clit.

You cup your husband’s nape as Satoru nuzzles into your neck more urgently, feeling him shiver against you as your palm rasps over the short prickly hairs of his undercut, petting him. Your legs part a bit, skirt inching up as you rut your cunt against Satoru’s exploratory fingers and smear your wetness on him. Still, he doesn’t push in yet.

You’d think he’s teasing you if not for the obvious signs that he’s stalling. Either waiting for your permission or waiting for the best time to ask for it.

How well-trained.

"You make it sound like a bad thing, sugar. Like being under your thumb is a weakness and not a treat," Satoru says abruptly. "I prefer to think of it as... being very, very stupidly in love with my wife. I’m so far gone for you that I’d do anything that you asked of me.”

It’s so easy for him to say such devastating things from the heart without batting an eye; he’s as earnest as a child. It fells you day by day.

His voice is soft despite his low, raspy cadence, brilliant blue eyes bright with his eagerness to serve. At times, it’s almost hard to reconcile this man, the one who’s eating out of the palm of your hand, his nonexistent tail wagging the entire time, with one of the most feared oyabuns in Japan who could probably level half of Tokyo in an hour.

But you’re not forgetting his acts of what he calls ‘devotion’ any time soon. It’s rare that you walk in on him showing the full spread of his true colors, but there’s multiple incidents that stick out like a sore thumb. The one that clings to you like a particularly persistent burr occurred months before you even started dating.

It had been a fairly normal day, all things considered. Most of the men of the Gojo-gumi were preparing to intercept one of Ryomen’s ploys, banding together like sharks after blood in the main common room at headquarters. You remember frowning as you peered at each passing individual that was armed to the nines, searching for their leader so that you could deliver important documents before he could go gallivanting off to get his hands dirty, but Satoru was nowhere to be found.

You went to drop off the manila folder to his office but paused when you heard voices through the cracked door of his office. Sighing, you squatted to slip it under his door and leave, but Satoru’s voice in particular made your blood run cold and your joints lock up before you could lower yourself. “I should cut your balls off and feed them to you, you piece of shit,” he muttered with a scoff.

Apparently, one of his men, Hiro, had been coveting after you. His little work crush was fairly innocent to everyone who caught wind of it, but Satoru? He was the only one who dug into it and discovered Hiro’s… unsavory way of going about privately expressing his affections for you.

Unable to resist, you peeked through the crack right as Satoru unceremoniously tossed Hiro to the floor in front of Nanami and Choso, both of them passively watching. The easy, relaxed posture of Satoru’s lean frame hardened, his broad shoulders squaring as he stared down at the man’s mask of fear. His light blue eyes, typically vibrant and full of mirth, held a cold, calculating glint, like fake flakes fluttering around a snow globe.

You couldn’t watch much of what followed. You turned away when Satoru drew a wickedly sharp dagger from the strap around his thigh and stabbed it straight through the thickness of Hiro’s leg without so much as a warning. His underling’s screams echoed through the room as Satoru slowly, methodically twisted the blade, tearing through flesh and sinew. Blood pooled around the wound and spilled down the sides of his leg, staining the polished floor a deep, sticky red. Numbed to the violence, Nanami bent down at Satoru’s gesture and snatched Hiro’s phone from his pocket as he sobbed and sobbed, decisively crushing it and any evidence it contained beneath his shoe.

“Miss secretaaary, that you?” Satoru’s voice startled you for a second time that day. You forced your attention back to the cracked door, gaze locking onto Satoru’s pleasant, cheery smile that he gave you as if he wasn’t brutally torturing a man that he was planning to soon kill in cold blood. “Oh, good, it is. You can leave those documents on my desk.”

And that was that.

Satoru’s not exactly a good man. He’s done terrible things, will do worse still. This is a man that’s killed for you countless times and would do it again in a heartbeat. But if you asked him to give it up, he’d walk away from the Gojo-gumi and Japan as a whole without a word. He’d start fresh, wash himself of his sins, and build himself anew just for you. Not that you’d ever ask him to do that, but just knowing that you could and that he’d follow through… you’ve never felt so powerful, so needed in your entire life.

Satoru truly loves you.

“You know, I’ve heard that it’s good to air your privates out from time to time. For circulation and all that jazz.” The Satoru of the present interrupts. The tip of his finger curls, swiping up some of your wetness that spills from your entrance. “Clearly, though, you just wanna fuck nasty.”

You snort out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I need you or whatever,” you dismiss him. As if you don’t need this man to nut in you, like, yesterday.

You grab his wrist, guiding him to fully probe at you instead of skirting around the core of you like he has been for the last few minutes. Quick to take you up on the offer, he parts your folds.

Satoru’s pointer finger sinks into you knuckle-deep, hot and fast, and you moan. It takes him a moment to realize why the slide is so easy, and when he does, he whips his head up, suddenly wild and straining at his leash.

“Sweets,” he groans with barely concealed awe. “When did you do this, huh?” He crooks, searching, and you arch when the roughened pad of his trigger finger pets at your walls, so close to where you want him. Tightening around him does nothing to disguise how comfortably loose you are from prepping yourself earlier. Then, a little giggly, a little manic, “Did all those spreadsheets on your desk get you hot and bothered?”

“Mhm, you know I just lo-love payroll,” you hiss when he works another stupidly long finger into you, then a third, his wedding band gleaming on it, and finally massages your g-spot. Your nails flex against his nape. “Had a quick finger blast 1000 session in the staff bathroom.”

“Hot,” he says with feeling. While prying for the sordid details is tempting, there’s more important matters at hand. Like rearranging your guts on his desk to satiate yours and his neediness while you chant ‘good boy good boy good puppy’ before someone inevitably comes knocking to bother him.

Humming a jaunty tune, Satoru pumps his fingers in and out of your cunt, feeling you grow wetter and hotter with each slow lazy thrust. He takes his time, relishing the way your velvety walls flutter around the intrusion of his digits every time he perfectly hits his mark.

Artistically draped atop his desk, you’re beautifully flushed and your eyes are glazed over, lashes fluttering when they threaten to roll back. He can see the fondness etched into your expression, the love, even as you examine him with that imperious tilt to your chin. Your face says what you don’t speak aloud: 'I know I have you wrapped around my little finger, and I'm not afraid to use that to my advantage.’

He’s no art fiend, but he’d go scuba diving in an instant to find the missing head of the Winged Victory of Samothrace and gorilla glue the two parts back together to prove that you’re art in the flesh, a statue of a goddess made with blood, sweat, tears, and passion come to life.

There’s very little space between you. Your breaths intermingle. Pointedly, he glances down at your lips, and you do the same to him.

“C’mere,” he beckons, but you’re already hauling him in with the hand on the back of his neck.

You slot their mouths together with a low, happy noise akin to a purr. He kisses back eagerly, desperately, positively starved for your affection that he’s been yearning for all day. Satoru’s lips part with a shuddery sigh and he pushes his tongue past your pillowy lips to stroke along yours, tasting the sweetness of your mouth; a dash of mocha overridden by those matcha chocolates that he got you hooked on.

You squeeze tighter around his waist, milking a wounded noise from him. Gentle yet firm, you trap his tongue between your teeth, scraping over it and coaxing out the reaction you want. He predictably wedges himself closer and you drag your nylon-clad thigh over the bulge at the crotch of his pants, up and down.

The desk creaks beneath you again as Satoru leans into it and shamelessly dry humps your leg with obvious flexes of his hips. You’re no better, though, rutting into the cup of his palm and squirming in delight every time those delicious callouses of his chafe against your aching clit.

“Feeling good?” He mumbles into you. You nod, tilting your head and realigning your lips, making their kiss that much more heated. His ministrations briefly make your mouth uselessly part against his, too wrapped up in pleasure to function.

Satoru’s the first to break away. He hikes your skirt up, revealing more of your plushy legs clad in those sinful thigh-highs until he finallyyyy lays eyes on the prize. He cups your mound then pulls his palm away, just to watch how thin translucent strings chase after him before snapping and splattering on your inner thighs.

He lifts his hand and looks you dead in the eye, warming some of your gathered wetness between his forefinger and middle before sucking them clean. Ravenous. You know what he wants.

“Can I, y’know, take a proper look at your pussy up close?” Satoru asks, sly but not sly. “I wouldn’t be a good hubby if I didn’t make sure that my girl properly got herself nice and ready for m—“

“Satoru? Get on your knees.”

You have to give it to him, the man moves fast as fuck when given an order. Satoru swiftly drops down, making you worry for his knees that hit the rug hard enough that the wood below it audibly thunks.

And he stares. In an unabashedly perverted manner, at that.

“Let’s see this pretty pussy,” is all he mumbles, chewing his lips and fastening his thumbs into the skin around your folds, tugging you open with a filthy squelch of wet skin peeling away from wet skin. Spreading you wide enough that you prickle with pins and needles— or maybe that’s just because of his unnerving stare.

Your glistening cunt is swollen and enticingly slick with need. The sight of your pussy lips unfurling before him and your clit peeking out from beneath its hood has his mouth watering. Satoru’s cock jumps in his pants like he’s just had a live wire threaded into the slit of his cockhead, desperate to bury inside of you, balls deep.

He looks up at you then. His cerulean eyes gleam with a borderline manic light, wolfish in his intensity. “What next? Want me to heel? Chase my tail? Roll over?” He drawls, cocking his head. He’s more than ready to debase himself in any way you want just to get his back scratched.

You shrug, “I want whatever you want.”

Greed is a sin or whatever, he thinks dimly. But he can't bring himself to care. His fingers dance up and hook under the crook of your right knee, placing it on his shoulder. “Then lemme eat my meal.”

You hate that that makes you shudder. It also makes you wanna shut him up.

“Who are you asking?” You check, cupping your ear. “Try again; you know better, baby.”

The lilt you take on to simultaneously coax and rebuke him only serves to turn him on more, making his poor neglected cock press insistently against his zipper. Satoru knows that look in your eyes. It's the same one you give him when he's been particularly foolish— the ‘bouquet(s) incident’ instantly comes to mind— or when you want something from him. In this case, it's clear that his wife wants him to be good.

His cheeks flush a soft pink, his blue eyes growing hazier with lust, not embarrassment. You’d think that he’d rally against the condescension that coats your words like condensation pearling on a windowpane, but not an inch of his pride bristles beneath your firm hand. Not when he’d strip himself down to the marrow and hand all of himself to you on a silver platter. His pleasure, his pain, his heart and soul… it’s all yours for the taking.

“Mommy,” he moans as if the word itself does more for him than it does for you. And it probably does. “My sexy, gorgeous, take-no-shit-from-anyone, especially her husband, mommy. Can I taste you, please?”

You smile, pleased. Then, finally, because he’s been waiting so patiently, “Go ahead.”

Shit, you don’t gotta tell him twice.

Like a scenthound tracking a trail, Satoru instantly shoves his way between your legs and buries his face in your crotch, gulping down lungfuls of your scent with the desperation of an addict and making you huff out a shaky laugh. The heat radiating from you is staggering.

"You smell like heaven, holy fuck. Good enough to eat. Lucky for you, I’m starving,” he borderline complains. It’s a complete juxtaposition to how he purrs those muffled words into your skin. You shudder at the vibrations.

“That was corny as—“

Satoru was as menacing when it came to pleasuring you as he was as oyabun. There’s no shooting straight and simple with him; he’s reckless, skateboarding on the knife’s edge for the hell of it. He goes from carelessly smothering himself into you, eyes teetering back in their sockets as if drunk with each pass of your slick across his chin, lips, cheeks, to turning his head and dragging messy kisses into the crease between your hip and leg. His saliva and your wetness ooze down your inner thigh, akin to a ripe May mango being carved open and spilt on hot concrete.

But if he’s dangerous, then you’re terrifying.

Pain shears razor-sharp through his scalp. You snag your fingers into his hair, guiding and tethering at the same time, forcing him to stare into the mess they’ve both made of you. He whines, chomping at the bit for it.

“That’s not what I gave you permission to do. Down, boy.” You click your tongue. His teeth click together with how fast he shuts his trap. “I’m beginning to think that you can’t take orders after all. What a shame,” you sigh, the timbre of your voice gentle but your words condescending.

Though he gives you a guilty pout, his cock instantly spurts precum due to the way you’re speaking to him, further soiling his boxers. A teensy part of him wants to act out, harmlessly push against you until you round on him with the intensity of a thousand suns so that you’ll break him over your knee. Playing the part of the petulant brat is fun sometimes. However, his knee-jerk reaction to prove you wrong and take you up on your silent challenge that you’ve presented him with wins out.

Satoru can be a good boy without a doubt.

Sure, he was never the type to care about what other people thought of him, just as long as everyone knows that he’s the reigning king of the yakuza scene. That he’s the richest, the handsomest, everything in that vein.

But the idea of showing you how he could lend his ear to you and listen well, how he was only good for you, that he was only yours to kiss and love and fuck, was enough to drive him borderline crazy.

With his extremely selective hearing and all that corded muscle packed beneath his baby soft skin, you both know damn well that he could steer this situation however he pleased if he wanted to. Yet he goes pliant in your grip, watching, waiting, licking hungrily at his pronounced canines. A predator turned tame as he awaits your order.

It makes you feel drunkenly valorous.

You tilt his head up, angling him so, as if reminding yourself that you’re holding genuine gold and not any of that counterfeit bullshit. His blue eyes are half-mast and dreamy when you peer into them, pupils blown wide. He’s sitting back on his heels with a casual ease, too far away to kiss but not far enough that you can’t smell the intoxicating scent of him, a heady mix of vanilla and cinnamon and sandalwood.

This beautiful, arrogant, infuriating nutcase of a man. Seeing him like this makes your heart do flips. You live for moments like these, when he can let go and just be yours completely. The most feared man in Japan, brought to his knees by the woman he loves.

You tap your chin. “Didn’t your parents teach you that it’s improper to play with your food?”

His retort comes quick. “I think they cared more about making sure I could properly unload, load, and shoot a gun in less than ten seconds. And juggle multiple businesses at once. All of which I excel at, by the way.”

“Smart ass,” you scoff, but the words lack their usual bite. You sound affectionate.

“Mm, but you love my mouth.” Satoru, lecherous, wiggles his eyebrows. You can’t deny that.

“What was it that Suguru told me ages ago?” Satoru wonders aloud, glancing up at the ceiling as if it’ll come to him in a show of divine light. You’re incredibly unimpressed and almost want to shove him face first into you and do all the work yourself, but you wait. “‘Thanks should be given thricefold?’ That’s all I’m doing.”

He replants his face into your inner thigh, wetting the lacy top of your thigh-high with one indulgent lick, then latches onto your plump thigh and sucks and bites with a vengeance. The peachy pink of his shapely lips bleeds forth and mixes with your skin, producing the same color beneath his teeth. Once the hickey is dark enough for his standards and you’re writhing a little, he mumbles a faint ‘thank you’ and switches to your other leg, mauling your skin with obnoxiously loud slurps, leaving a second mark and professing his thanks again.

Then his mouth finally makes contact with your cunt and you’re a goner.

This is the same man that got you a little wet on their first date, you remind yourself. You remember sitting across from him, taking subtle deep breaths as if the very air in your lungs would break every piece of fine china in the five star Michelin restaurant that Satoru dragged you to, and stiffly cutting your wagyu steak.

Satoru knocked back the rest of his non-alcoholic drink like it was a shot, ice clinking against his lips, then sucked the single cherry between them. Grinning a little at you, he chewed into the cherry with crisp snaps of his teeth until only the stem remained. And the show-off kept his mouth open so that you could watch him tie the teeny tiny stem into a neat knot using only his tongue and the support of his teeth.

It’s safe to say that he’s really, really talented with his tongue.

He drags deep, open-mouthed kisses up and down your slit, sloppily making out with your cunt. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and firmly licks into you, and when he moans like a whore into your quivering pussy at the first taste of real, genuine ambrosia, the vibrations take root in your nerves and shake them fiercely. You keen as if you’ve been socked in the stomach, hands digging harder into his fluffy white hair and making him moan again.

“Oh, shit, yesyesyes, good boy,” you pant at the very sudden and very enjoyable onslaught.

From what you’ve learned, the best way to train a puppy is through positive reinforcement, patience, and rewarding good behavior. It works wonders.

Satoru's hand crawls to the underside of your left thigh and he tosses that one over his broad shoulders too, settling in to eat you out with single-minded focus. He feasts on you like a man starved, gathering the wetness that drips from your core, dipping inside your entrance that doesn’t resist him even a little bit to taste you more fully and nuzzling his nose against your clit, spurred on by the praises you keep singing. Three laps and he’s a swimmer. The cocktail of his saliva and your slick coats his chin and pools on the wood beneath your ass.

You dig the points of your stilettos just above his shoulder blades. Using your newfound stirrups and gripping the reins of his hair, you vigorously grind yourself against his face to try and unravel the knot in your stomach. Satoru loves when you get bossy like this, wrangling him so that you can take what you want. It’s so fucking hot.

“That’s what good pussy sounds like,” he groans, muffled by your skin, even though he can barely hear the lewd squelches of your responsive body himself, the wet clicks of his suckling. Your trembling thighs are firmly locked around his head— it wouldn’t be so bad to suffocate here. You squeeze harder, squishing his ears further against his head, as if telling him to shut up and stop quoting Vines of all things while buried in his favorite deep-dish.

He doesn’t stop running his mouth, though. “Tastes so good, f-fuck, bet you feel good too with how soaked you are. Keep moving your hips just like that, mommy, use me— just like that, yeaaah,” is breathed nose-deep into your folds that soaks every word up like a sponge. “Drag that pretty cunt all over me.”

His lips are lovely and warm, diligent in his ministrations. Choppy exhales ghost across your skin and make you flinch. He pulls back a little to lave over your clit, tasting the sweet, salty wetness that coats it, and he sinks into the bliss and into you. He gorges himself on the sweetness of your juices, swallowing it down and letting it trickle down his throat.

Satoru looks up at you, eyes frantic with adoration like he’s pleased to be doing this, just eating you out without any sort of gain for himself. There’s been countless times where Satoru’s pinned you down and munched for hours, languorous in his effort to coax noises and reactions from you. He’s done it in a changing room, during their movie marathons, on his private jet to one of their vacation homes, fresh from beating people black and blue, when you were sleeping in their cozy king-sized bed back at the Gojo estate… the list goes on. Earning gratification via your pleasure is enough for him.

Each stroke through your weeping slit elicits an approving moan or whimper from the beauty perched atop his desk, growing higher in pitch the closer you get to the edge. Your husband sounds just as wrecked, mewling babbled nonsense into you, ferally plunging his tongue in and out of your silken depths that he’d kill to stay swaddled in forever.

You screw yourself down onto him with equal fervor, your body heaving with the force of your pleasure, twisting and writhing and making the desk creak. Perhaps you’re being a bit too punishing with your pace and not letting him up for air, but Satoru takes it all with grace, not a single whimper of protest slipping past your hips that slap against his face.

"Cum for me, angel," he pathetically begs, his thumb seeking out your clit to trace circles against it. His tongue continues its relentless assault, determined to push you over the edge and into blissful oblivion. "Let me feel you. Want my baby to make a mess of me, c’mon.”

When it becomes too much, the fervent sparks licking down the sparkler too fast, you lightly bat his head away. Satoru goes quickly and obediently. Your hips itch to chase him. “Open, puppy,” you bite out.

His mouth falls open, whiny pants drooling down his pretty pink tongue. That’s all it takes to do you in. With his thumb rolling over your swollen rosebud and his eagerness on full display, you let the intensity of your orgasm sweep you away and you keen as you squirt all over his face.

Viscous fluid splashes on his tongue and he moans, looking utterly out of it as he watches you find your release. Slick coats his cheeks, chin, and lips in a glistening sheen and he licks up what he can. Satoru scrambles forward for more of it even as you try to physically hold him at bay with the weak hand fixed in his wavy strands.

“Please!” He basically cries. You’re a sucker for good manners. You’d try harder to keep him away if you actually didn’t want him all over you, so he takes your unspoken permission that comes in the form of a furrowed brow, as if you’re scolding yourself for giving in, and he runs with it.

He practically collapses into you. He seals his mouth back over your gushing pussy, fingers abandoning your clit in favor of clawing at the nylon smoothed over your thighs. Groaning, your shaking legs relax around his head and slip off his shoulders, splayed open for him to lick his plate clean. Satoru does just that, a little clumsy in his haste but no less passionate.

He keeps going until your erratic twitches turn into steady shudders, your nonstop moans quieting down, until his jaw aches from how hungrily he threw himself into the task. He doesn’t even realize that he’s palming himself through his slacks until his hips sway forward and he pulsates in his grip.

Satoru reluctantly draws back as if it physically pains him to not be buried beneath your skin when your high heel lightly kicks at his flank, too overstimulated to allow him to keep going. His gaze drags over you, recommitting every fine detail to memory; trembling lips punctured by teeth marks, your expression dreamy, body curled halfway over him and ripe for the taking. He wants to remember you like this, wants to burn this image into his brain so that he can call it up when the long nights stretch before him and the weight of his duties threaten to crush him.

“You’re so pretty, mommy. My pretty baby,” he whispers.

He meets your eyes that burn into him. He can only imagine what he looks like. Pink from the tips of his ears down to his neck, face messily painted over with your slick, white hair fluffed up and a little frizzy from the sweat at his hairline. A pussydrunk mess.

You almost want to press your high heel to his chest, kick him to the floor, and then ride him until he cries. The lazier half of you wants to sit back and take the reins from below.

“Let’s get those pants of yours off, baby,” you gently coo.

Satoru exhales sharply and fumbles with his belt. The leather strap slips through the buckle with a sharp clink and he tosses it to the floor. His boxers drag along his erection almost painfully as he shoves them and his slacks down to bunch around his shapely thighs.

Flushed and dripping, his cock draws up now that it’s free of the confines and slaps against his abdomen, staining his pristine white button up with the copious amounts of precum that slicks it. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve been convinced that he already blew his load in his pants. You sit up straighter to get a better look, looking as drunk as he feels.

“Please let me fuck you, mommy... I need it so bad. Need to make you feel good,” he pleads, blue eyes nearly rolling up to the light fixtures on the office ceiling as he finally fists his weepy cock. It feels so good that it hurts.

He was never apologetic about his spoiled golden child tendencies when it comes to you, even borderline proud of acting so shameless about it at times.

Still, Satoru needs a certain level of coaxing in order to be truly vulnerable. His obedience has always been fickle— difficult to coax out of him when his head is on straight, his thoughts moving too fast for him to melt like putty beneath you that easy. Pride is a wretched, untamable thing. An unstoppable force and an immovable object.

Yet he’s on his knees begging to get inside of you.

“Get up,” you breathe.

“Huh?” He mumbles stupidly, still fixed on you.

Your laugh is devastatingly fond. “Are we fucking or what?” You shove your pencil skirt up to your midsection.

Satoru gets a little distracted by the sight of your mussed up thigh highs, the tops of them soaked through, the splotchy hickeys dotting both of your legs, and your messy folds. His thumb stutters over his swollen cockhead.

“You don’t wanna leave mommy waiting, do you? Come get your dick wet.”

The second you finish speaking, he’s on you, flying up onto his feet and ignoring the smarting pain in his knees. He reaches past you and wildly sweeps at his desk, sending papers and pens to the floor. In the next instant, his hands are on the backs of your thighs, pushing your legs up and out to get a good look at your bare ass and glistening cunt.

While admiring the view, he risks his precious left hand by letting it come down to deliver a sharp smack to your ass. When you don’t bite his head off, he does it again, because damn, that’s a lot of movement back there. Your asscheek flares red like a warning. He’s of the opinion that you should get ‘Ms. Nasty’ tatted there, but you always shoot down the idea.

Fingers wrench at your hips to haul you forward, making you choke on air. Sweaty palms scramble for purchase on the smooth oak, stretching back behind you and hooking onto the edge of the desk at the last minute before he can send both of you falling to the floor in a heap.

“Gentle,” you scold. The flare of his nostrils gives away his uncharacteristic disappointment with himself, which you think is a little unfair to himself. He really has been so well behaved; one mishap is nothing. Humming soothingly, you pet at his cheek and his tension releases like a deflated balloon.

You shimmy a little, rubbing your velvety warmth all over his cock that he notches at your entrance. "Good boy," you purr, hooking your legs around his waist and crossing your ankles at the small of his back, tying them together with a cute little bow. "Such an obedient little puppy, following mommy's every command.”

Satoru groans, guttural and wet, and surges forward to connect their lips. The tangy taste of your own slick greets you, but you don’t mind, drinking down every pornographic whimper that drips from his mouth.

“Put it in,” you mumble between drawn out kisses. You rub your thumb just behind one of his ears and a pleased hum rumbles through his chest, which rises and falls rapidly as anticipation coils tightly in his gut. You shove his suit jacket off of his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, then loosen Satoru’s tie enough that you can get your fingers on the first button at his collar and work your way down. You leave his shirt hanging from his shoulders but you roll his sleeves up.

Arms that have snapped countless necks flex as Satoru plants his hands on the desk on either side of your hips, caging you in. You drag your hands up and down them, squeezing at the muscle of his biceps beneath his skin, shamelessly feeling up your husband. His cocky smirk is like a brand against your lips.

One, two, three more kisses are exchanged before he pulls back with a wet pop and you can finally peel your eyes open. Lean muscle and pale scarred skin greets you, peeking from behind the curtain of his undone shirt. Not that you can see it from here, but you can practically picture the massive tattoo of a six-eyed, six-winged angel that he has etched into his back. A smattering of fine white hairs races down his navel to the denser patch of hair curling around his cock. God, you wanna rub yourself all over him like a cat in heat— especially on those washboard abs of his.

With a deep breath, he begins pushing in, working just the tip in past the ring of your cunt. Instantly, Satoru stutters over a moan as if near tears.

Your velvety hole drenches Satoru’s cock with your syrupy slick and clamps down mercilessly as if trying to trap him inside. He shudders, a full-body tremor that starts at the top of his head and travels down the length of his body. Satoru has to grit his teeth to keep from emptying his balls right then and there like a teenager getting his first taste of pussy.

He’s genuinely delirious. His head is dizzy, stupid, because his wife is obscenely fucking tight despite everything and so damn warm. “My toes are throwing up gang signs,” Satoru coughs out as they curl in his Italian leather shoes and you bust out laughing. As responsive as ever, your cunt tries to wring his dick like a towel and he chokes.

You’re actually gonna be the death of him. Here he lies, Gojo Satoru, the deadly oyabun of the Gojo-gumi and the pride of the Gojo clan, dead via sex. May he forever rest in peace.

You’re not faring much better, though. Your previous orgasm left you raw and sensitive, so you’re fighting against the urge to run from his cock and the pleasure that crashes over you each time he throbs inside of you. “And I’m sending off Morse code signals,” you breathlessly joke. It’s a miracle that you’re able to manage a coherent sentence.

“Uh huh, I can tell.” Satoru licks his lips, staring down at where he guides another inch into you, then another, making you slap the desk to try and cope with the way he’s spreading you open. You feel full to the brim and he’s not even halfway there. “Your tight little cunt’s telling me that she can’t handle my cock.”

He needs his mouth washed out with soap. You have to hold back another peal of laughter.

Satoru brokenly whimpers, a sound that’s equal parts pleasure and pain, when you yank at his designer silk tie like a leash without warning. The expensive fabric pulls taut against his throat. Your next tug sends him stumbling forward, hips slapping against the plumpness of your ass with a heavy smack that echoes through his spacious office, forcing him to sink into your welcoming heat up to the hilt. The desk creaks, the wood protesting the rough treatment. Both of you moan when his cockhead smushes against your g-spot and your brain momentarily goes blank.

“You sure it’s not the other way around?” You try for a smirk and it wobbles around the edges.

“Hmph.” Satoru manages to pout at you, pursing his lips. He even rolls his eyes. This diva.

Attempting to dig up the dregs of your sanity and cling to it is hard. You’re one wrong step away from losing your cool, the sheer pressure and pleasure of being practically split in two overwhelming you. It's too much, too intense, and yet you can't stop from leaning into it nor stop the excessive amounts of slick pooling around him and dribbling onto the desk in a steady rhythm, spelling out your arousal. All you know is that you want more— more of Satoru and this perfect, mind-numbing ecstasy.

The man of the hour goes willingly as you wrap more of his tie around your fingers and reel him impossibly closer. He drops his weak head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck as he grinds his hips in tight circles that stir up your insides, practically humping your ass like a rutting canine. He only stops when you let loose an unsteady peep.

His breath shakes out of him in short, sharp gusts, lost in the sensation of being buried inside of you. "You feel so fucking good, sugar," Satoru slurs his words a little, nipping at the tendons in your neck that flex when you swallow before soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue. He inhales the lip-smacking scent of your natural scent and your perfume. "So wet and perfect. Can't get enough of this sweet cunt."

He kisses his way down your neck and to your collarbone as you both adjust to being so intimately joined, reveling in how you loll your head back to give him more skin to work with. He spies down your shirt that gapes open a little, showing where your necklace is trapped between your heaving breasts, and gets an idea.

The muscles in his arms bunch up right before Satoru rips at the front of your blouse, figuring he’ll buy you a prettier and more expensive one later. He doesn't care. All he cares about is getting his hands on your tits, plain and simple.

You can only watch in mild horror as buttons pop off and fly everywhere (one nearly takes out his eye), ping ping pinging off the walls and the floor, a shower of scattered stars. One goes skittering beneath his office door. Another bounces so hard off of a tiny lamp across the room that it goes careening off of the side table and the lightbulb smashes into bits on the floor.

Since everything’s already going to shit, he doesn’t bother with finesse when it comes to the front of your now decimated, but blessedly open, shirt. He simply yanks the fabric down your arms until it pools around your elbows.

“What the hell, Satoru!” You scold him. The subtle hitch of your hips and your dilated pupils betray you. “I swear to god, if you don’t learn the art of subtlety and figure out how to stay quiet, I’ll—“

“Relax, my men’ll probably think it was hail or something,” he says flippantly.

Your glare is withering. Shit, he needs to score brownie points all over again.

He nips at the soft upper curves of your breasts, burying his face between them as far as he can with the restriction of your bra holding him back, and innocently blinks up at you, trying to look as sweet as pie. “Wait, I’m sorry for interrupting you. Go on, wrap it up. Tell me how you’d shut me up, yeah? Would it hurt? I wanna know all the dirty deets,” Satoru simpers.

“Hit dogs holler.”

Ooooooh.

“Fuck, fuck, stop right there, I nearly came,” Satoru moans dramatically.

Your low, aggrieved noise turns into a wobbly inhale when he leans down to mouth at the swell of your cleavage, tongue tracing the edge of a cup before he pulls that down too.

Out pops your titty. His dick nearly busts inside of you as if saying hi. He quickly yanks down the other cup to let both of your breasts fully spill free, both of them begging to be worshipped. “There’s my girls,” he croons.

Your nipples quickly harden now that they’re exposed to the cool air chugging through the vents. There’s very few things better than anointing every inch of your pretty tits with kisses and licks and nips, which he does happily. He squishes them together to enthusiastically motorboat them (he misses the way your eye twitches), slaps your left tit to watch it jiggle and spits on the right one, watching the strand of saliva slip down the curve of your body. Satoru chases it down and sucks your nipple into his mouth. Being winded by all this stimulation does nothing to stop you from eagerly arching into him.

“Having fun?” You ask dryly. Teeth roll your nipple around, gently biting into it and eliciting a weak spasm from you. Your vision threatens to cross when that makes your body swallow his cock in further.

He pulls back, breaking the seal of his lips on your breast with a lewd pop. Just to ensure he’s covered all his bases, he openly sniffs your chest. You grimace at him. “Mmmmm. Yup. Can I move now, mommy?”

You nod.

“Good.”

You’re promptly fully laid down atop the desk. Before you can even blink, he’s screwing his shoes into the foothold of the carpet beneath him, gripping at your hips, and he plasters half of the weight of his upper half on you without crushing you.

Hips draw back with the tautness of a bowstring, a deadly instrument of war. The tension is suspended when he slides the thickness of him almost fully out, your folds just barely clinging to the underside of his throbbing cockhead.

He releases it. Driving forward, he hits his mark with military precision and you swear you can feel him up in your throat.

“Satoru,” you gasp, your voice nearly drowned out by the sticky squelch of his body reconnecting with yours. You’re leaking so much that your ass and thighs and his pelvis are finely glazed with slick, a concoction as thickly sweet as the one pasted over pastries.

“Shit.” The curse punches its way up his throat and out of the drooling seam of his mouth. Starting up a filthy grind drags more from his worn lungs. He rocks with the sensual finesse and purpose of someone seasoned in the realm of the red light district, dragging along each crevice of your heavenly warmth.

(Your stern, nonchalant facade nearly crumbled when you asked him if he’d ever been to the red light district back when you first started dating years ago, long before wedding bells rang. At the time, you kind of wanted to throw up even though it would’ve made sense and you would’ve understood. Why get jealous of what came before you? However, Satoru looked at you like you hit your head. “For Gojo-gumi business? Yeah, of course I have. I literally own a few clubs in those parts.”)

Every silky inch of you threatens to be his ruin. You’re pillow soft. Satoru has to screw his eyes shut in a futile attempt to handle it. “God, fuuuuck, baby. M’so drunk on this pretty body of yours, so addicted to you that it’s driving me crazy,” he warbles.

His fingertips dig into the soft pouch of your hips, keeping you in place so that you can release your death grip on the edge of his desk. “There you go, that’s— that’s perfect, right there. That’s a good boy. Mommy’s perfect boy,” you babble right back.

The way you praise him all sweet with your voice tuned to a higher pitch, your blessed hands finally petting over every inch of him that you can touch, slipping under his shirt to dance along the knobs of his spine, nails biting into the inked angel on his back, drawing your fingers back out to brush them along his face— it’s like a switch flips in his brain, reducing him to a needy mess incapable of doing nothing but pleasing you. You have him under lock and key.

The poor desk beneath you feebly creaks and wobbles, openly protesting their coupling. Drawers rattle in their slots from the force of Satoru's increasingly powerful thrusts, banging open in a chaotic cacophony and spilling papers and office supplies onto the floor. With a whine, Satoru changes the pace so that he’s battering his way in and out of your cunt to the rhythm of your pulsations around his cock, like a bass being plucked. Your joint moans grow borderline frantic.

“Open your eyes.” Satoru peels his eyelids apart to look at you as requested. He blinks back the spots lining his vision.

Your beauty is the kind that he’s sure artists would kill to put on paper. Sweat glistens enticingly on your trembling body, making it seem like you’ve been buffed in stardust, your abs fluttering every time his cockhead kisses that spongy spot deep inside you that drives you insane. The commanding pools of your eyes reel him in and it makes him melt.

“My gorgeous fucking wife,” he rasps. “Mine.”

The flat of Satoru’s palm smooths down to your stomach. He presses down right where there’s visible distension from the thickness of his cock embedding itself in you. Your lips fall apart in a lewd ‘o’ as the pressure adds to the hot sparks of pleasure flooding your body. “That’s how deep I am, huh, princess? It's allll in your tummy,” he crows breathlessly, trying to sound cocky but failing. Miserably.

Your nod is borderline frantic. “Keep fucking me just like this,” you insist, eyes rolling back, body jolting. And he obliges.

His face is dusted in a dark pink shade that L’Oréal would kill to make a lipstick out of and Satoru’s sporting a fucked-out, hopelessly giddy grin. Sweat marches down his temples, his snow-white hair falling damp and disheveled over his brow from his exertions. His once crisp button-up hangs off his broad shoulders, the tie swinging from around his pale neck.

Blue eyes hazy and wrecked, lust swims in the yawning voids of his irises as he stares down at where he’s joined with his wife. He watches, enraptured, as your stretched cunt greedily sucks him in, tight walls adhering to him and pumping out slick.

With the way Satoru’s sinking into you with heavy deep strokes, you matching him with frenzied ruts of your own hips, it’s like he’s trying to crawl inside of you and never come out. This intimate closeness is what he craves, needs. Satoru’s long white eyelashes, clumpy and wet, veil his vision with how low lidded his eyes are. He blinks at you between the slits with raw, open affection.

Using his hold on your hips, he yanks you onto his cock over and over and over again. His chin drops to bump against his sternum, groans hissing through the barrier of his teeth as you cry out and squeeze around him. “Sosososo fucking good, swear on everything that you’re perfect. Use me for your pleasure. Juuust like that, pretty, I got you,” Satoru spews like a two-bit whore on the street.

He’s too loud. Any illusion that you may have been quiet enough to have gone undetected to the rest of the building has been long shattered, but schematics, schematics.

Your thumb draws at the plump swell of Satoru’s bottom lip, pushing into the slight natural divot of them. His eyes follow the movement, transfixed, and he opens up without hesitation when you replace your thumb with two fingers.

Satisfied, you sink them into Satoru’s mouth. “Stay quiet and occupy yourself with mommy’s fingers.” He lets out a muffled moan in response as you push them deeper, tongue instinctively curling to try and force them right back out, but he forces himself to relax. He draws his tongue lazily over your fingers, tasting his own saliva mingling with the faint flavor of your lotion.

Creeping over his soft palate, you press at the back of his throat, coolly watching him gag around the invading force for a moment before sliding them back out, back in with a wet noise. Drool escapes the corners of his stretched lips in rivulets and dribbles down his chin and onto your sternum, making him look more like a sloppy, over-excited puppy than the feared yakuza boss he is.

The points of his canines shrieeeek over the gloss of your nails when you stretch your fingers apart in a ‘v’ and nestle them between his teeth. Yet he doesn’t bite down. He holds your fingers there like a soft mouthed retriever, docile and tender.

“My baby likes having any part of mommy in his mouth, yeah?” You manage.

He dutifully nods. You indulge him until your fingers prune, letting him suckle and gag himself on you to his heart’s content. There’s a constant stream of gargled moans and whimpers flowing from him, all of his words running together until it’s just meaningless sound. Only then do you pull them out, allowing more of his saliva to splatter on your sternum and ooze down between your bobbing breasts.

It’s a little hard to secure a hold with your wet fingers, but you manage to snag the edge of his tie and once again use it to dictate the pace of his thrusts, pushing and pulling him around the same way one does with a toy.

By now, any semblance of coherency has all but been forgotten and he’s just rutting into you, mindless, puppy-like; the relief of fixating on you and your pleasure a thrilling change of pace from the constant demands and expectations that come with his position. He may be looming over you as he fucks you like his life depends on it, but he’s under no illusion that he’s the one in control here.

They’re moving in sync, two waves cresting and crashing and ensuring each other’s ruin every time they come together. Teeth chafe against skin, promising, before sinking in. Fingers grapple for proper leverage, smoothly trimmed nails sinking into warm thighs and scalps and sweaty backs. Your ass claps against his thighs so hard that it burns, sopping pussy ravenous in its efforts to envelop him.

“Shit, m’not gonna last long,” you heave. Your legs tighten around his slutty ass waist and cling there for dear life when one of his flexing hands drops away from your hip, hurriedly dipping down between you and frantically rubbing his thumb over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“You’re so close, I can feel it, f-fuck, squeezing me so tight. C’mon. Make a mess of my cock, please cum for me again, mommy. I’m all yours, I’m all yours, I’m all yours,” Satoru deliriously whines.

You see red.

It’s not the kind of red that comes from anger. No, it’s the kind that comes from having your brain cells fry from the sheer mind-numbing euphoria that bursts through your body like a supernova. You’re pretty sure you wail as your slick rushes wetly from your plugged up cunt, but it’s drowned out by the roaring blood swelling in your ears.

You babble a litany of nonsense, half of it praise and half of it mindless chants for more, for less, you don’t know. Satoru more than happily fucks you through your orgasm, thumbing your clit, driving wildly into you and making you mercilessly convulse.

"That's it, angel," he groans, feeling his own release fast approaching. A gooey feeling curls in his stomach, hotly insistent, and his balls draw up. It’s riding him hard.

Bowing further over you, he bodily pries your shaking legs away from his waist and tosses them over his shoulders, folding you in half like a lawn chair and making one sleeve of his shirt slide further down his arm. The new angle allows him to push impossibly deeper and your moan scratches it’s way out of the column of your throat.

"I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna cum, sweets," he grits out through clenched teeth, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. But it's a losing battle, his body trembling and tensing as he teeters on the precipice of ecstasy. Only you, his anchor, ties him down to earth. "Tell me I can... tell me I can cum inside this perfect cunt."

You don’t respond, either too busy drowning in the remnants of your climax or just blatantly ignoring him, and he releases a big shuddery whimper when he realizes his misstep. “Please,” he tries.

Big blue eyes watery and wide, he looks like a ruined angel above you. “I’ll buy you that new phone you wanted, or take you on a trip anywhere in the world. I’ll do anything, say the word and I will. Just— just lemme cum. Please, mommy.” His saliva-slick lips drag down your chest and seal around one of your pearly nipples, suckling gently and trying to appeal further to you.

He sounds so broken, so desperate, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. It almost makes you wonder if you could cum again just from hearing him like this. You know you could make him beg for hours if you wanted to, even demand that he halt completely, but he hasn’t done anything to warrant being on the receiving end of your borderline sadistic streak.

(Though, knowing this 6’3 eager to please masochist on top of you, he’d rock with it.)

“Go ahead, baby,” you tell him. Nails claw at his back, likely shredding along the feathery lines of the tatted angel’s wings, further spurring him on.

“Ffffuck, thank you, thank you, I love you so much,” he chants around your swollen nipple, voice breaking on each word. He pulls his mouth away, spit clinging to his lower lip and connecting him to your tits that sway every time he rocks his twitching hips against yours.

Satoru greedily paws at you, squeezing your pillowy breasts, tracing your curves, pressing into your navel, anything he can get his hands on. He's like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet, determined to sample everything until he’s no longer allowed to.

Your neck strains as you thrash your head and he visibly wavers like a house about to fall. “What, can’t take it anymore?” Satoru pokes fun, but his question is really a ‘you good?’

“Shut up.” ‘I’m fine, I love you, go ahead.’

The perks of a married couple… telepathy.

Satoru drops his head, slams into you a little faster. The drawers continue rattling like teeth in a jar. Despite the euphoria clogging your pores and melting your brain down, you lift your hands, cupping his face, thumbs fanning outwards from the bridge of his nose and gently digging into the warming apples of his cheeks.

He leans into your touch, nuzzling into your palms as your thumbs brush away tears that he didn’t realize were escaping him. In his electric blue eyes that make your nerves sing with just a glance, you can see the depth of his devotion and trust in you, the way he's utterly handing himself over to you in this moment.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper. “Mommy’s perfect puppy.”

His vision goes black and his mouth opens. Then, suddenly, a searing and blinding white explodes across his retinas like a droplet of paint in a cup of water as he lets go.

His cock jerks, painting you over and over again with spurts of his spend. He pulses inside you with each aftershock that rumbles through his very bones, your pussy eagerly wringing around him in turn, milking him and siphoning his soul out via his cock, and forcing him to plug his load in deep.

The whole while, Satoru lets out watery whimpers, peppering your scrunched up face in sloppy uncoordinated puppy kisses and grinding into you. If you squint, you swear you can see a fluffy white tail wagging faster than the beat of a hummingbird’s wings behind him.

As he comes down and his movements peter off, stopping to mould his pelvis to the curve of your ass and leave himself buried in you, he nuzzles his way between your tits. Your perfectly soft, plush, pillowy tits. This is heaven. Needily, he rubs his cheek on the gentle swell of your right boob, drinking you and the smell of sex and sweat in.

Your hand sinks into his white hair, stroking the sweaty strands and trying to comb them into place between gentle scratches at his scalp to pacify him further. He practically purrs. In his wife’s presence, Satoru isn’t the almighty oyabun of the Gojo-gumi. Nuh uh, no sir. He’s completely and utterly your annoying husband that scrambles for your affection as if he’s a broke person on the street chasing pennies— and you always give it to him.

Together, the two of you slowly breathe and bask in the afterglow. Satoru, humming out sweet nothings, you, petting over him and probably tracking the fan above them that spins round and round. Minds blissfully blank.

(‘I need to buy this man a collar,’ you think to yourself. ‘And then peg the absolute dogshit out of him.’)

God, he’s so fortunate to be able to come home to you every damn day. He’s been counting his lucky stars since the day they met. A sudden burst of emotion swells in his chest, warm and golden like the summer sun.

“Love you, pretty,” he sighs dreamily. He catches your hand in his, planting a kiss to the back of it, then to your engagement ring and wedding band.

Your hands refix themselves on his cheeks with a gentle squeeze. “I love you too, baby,” you murmur, drawing him into a hopelessly sappy kiss. He pecks you one, two, three more times, chasing your lips, and you laugh softly.

Satoru jolts when skin cracks against skin in a sudden spank, a vicious throb skyrocketing beneath the skin of his ass. “Hey! Way to ruin the moment!” He complains with the most offended look he can muster. You smile with false serenity.

He’s sure it’ll bruise into a small reminder, one that will surely haunt him for days to come whenever he sits in his uncomfortably firm office chair and feels the bruise pulse beneath the pressure, drawing him back to this moment— Satoru breaking your back on his desk, waiting for you to give him permission to go ahead while he writhes, needy and wanting and begging with his body.

You pull back a little to scrutinize him. “That was for my shirt that you—“ he winces when you jab a finger at him, “destroyed.”

You yelp when he abruptly slots his arms beneath you and hoists you up off of the desk. Satoru drops down into his chair, sending them skidding back a few steps when it gets the wheels rolling, and cordons you off in his lap by squeezing you close, his stupid dick still buried in your guts. You widen your legs to properly straddle him then frown at the sensation of tacky drying cum, slick, and sweat between your bodies.

Behind Satoru, the sun peeks over his head and sets his white hair aglow. Towering buildings go on and on, stretching out before the empire of the Gojo-gumi.

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and lets his touch linger a little before he snuggles you closer. In his arms, you’re utterly at ease. He’s equally at peace— always is, actually, in your presence. You quiet the incessant din of his life and fill it with you; your snark, your gentleness that you only ever show him, your authority that he leans on, your love and your dreams for you and him.

You’re intrinsically part of him now. Nothing can ever change that.

“I’ll buy you a new one, relaaaax. You can wear my shirt on your way out and I’ll just grab one of my spare suits for myself,” Satoru cajoles, puckering his lips and theatrically fluttering his lashes. You grumble something highly censorable. Trying to find a way to hush you up before you can let loose on him, he glances around the room, drinking in the pens, papers, the shattered lamp, random buttons, and half of their clothing littering the ground. A mess that he most definitely will not be cleaning up himself.

Then, once he finds it, he scoots them along a fraction in the chair and taps his foot against a certain paper. You look behind you. “Oh, good, I needed your signature on this. Now I can go forward with my plan,” Satoru says cheerily.

You blink, confused. You don’t hold any executive power in this building, not enough to warrant your signature. Nor have you signed anything of note in the last week, here at headquarters, at home, or otherwise.

Satoru taps his foot against it again. Dotted along the paper are dried splotches of what is most likely your wetness. Your supposed ‘signature.’ Heat rises to your face. “I got us a seventh vacation home!”

“Fucker.”

After he has a giggle fest over it and you quiet him down with more kisses and unserious scoldings, which leads to an overly heated make out session that has you evaluating the pros and cons of another round, a fist pounds on the door. You pause in the middle of mauling your husband’s neck, painting the smooth expanse in hickeys in revenge for the two fat ones throbbing on your thighs, and pinch his side to push him into action.

Satoru rolls his eyes so hard that it’s a wonder they don’t get lodged back in his skull. “Does it look like I’m available? The door’s locked for a reason,” he hollers.

A beat. You hear Kento’s familiar, utterly exhausted sigh. “If you two are done in there.” It’s clear what he’s referring to. Your eyes flare again and Satoru tries for a smile. “Gojo is needed elsewhere. I’ve been made aware that Geto has been blowing up his phone for quite some time now. It’s urgent.”

Then, when neither of you answer, Kento adds, “There’s been an incident in Shibuya.”

Oh hell no.

Satoru’s about to show Shibuya a real incident for interrupting his moment with his wife.

author’s note: he will be collared in a drabble GOD WILLING

thank you all for reading this freaky ass shit, hoping to post more of my 1748282 wips soon :3 reblog and/or comment to let me know ur thoughts because i eat replies UP, they’re all greatly appreciated muuuah 🫶🏽

tags: @stuboo2053 @pvmpkingod @spirit-kat @skz8stay @loyalguma @amane1271 @irishiruuu @m1nrrva @onixsky @q2uq2u @enchantinghonymoon @exc3llentshot @libr4sonsa @kaitospo @n1vi @ieathairs (idk why some tags won’t work… it’s joever)

here are my fav comments from my betas (#smashsecretaryreader2k25movement):

Your first husband died peacefully in his sleep. You had nothing to do with it.

You did want his money but that was another matter!

He was on the verge of death anyway so getting into his pants (and pockets) was extremely easy. You made out like a bandit with most of his fortune. It set you up for life, you were thankfully done with old men and their money.

That was until you saw the detective that sauntered into your house. He was tall, toned and tan. Your mouth practically watered as he talked to you in a sweet tone, like you were truly in mourning for your husband.

“Suguru Geto.” He had introduced himself with a firm handshake.

You had practically melted into the floor.

Apparently your dead husband was in an embezzlement lawsuit before he passed so he came to investigate the house for evidence. You didn’t really care but you played the part of grieving widow all while subtly flirting with him.

He didn’t seem to notice or he didn’t say anything. As he goes through the files you try to think of a way to get him to stay longer. Nothing comes to mind and he leaves you with a small pout on your lips.

Opening up your phone you click on the sugar baby app you frequented before getting married. What’s one more dead old man if you get to see that detective again?

Your first husband died peacefully in his sleep. You had nothing to do with it.

You did want his money but that was another matter!

He was on the verge of death anyway so getting into his pants (and pockets) was extremely easy. You made out like a bandit with most of his fortune. It set you up for life, you were thankfully done with old men and their money.

That was until you saw the detective that sauntered into your house. He was tall, toned and tan. Your mouth practically watered as he talked to you in a sweet tone, like you were truly in mourning for your husband.

“Suguru Geto.” He had introduced himself with a firm handshake.

You had practically melted into the floor.

Apparently your dead husband was in an embezzlement lawsuit before he passed so he came to investigate the house for evidence. You didn’t really care but you played the part of grieving widow all while subtly flirting with him.

He didn’t seem to notice or he didn’t say anything. As he goes through the files you try to think of a way to get him to stay longer. Nothing comes to mind and he leaves you with a small pout on your lips.

Opening up your phone you click on the sugar baby app you frequented before getting married. What’s one more dead old man if you get to see that detective again?

Your first husband died peacefully in his sleep. You had nothing to do with it.

You did want his money but that was another matter!

He was on the verge of death anyway so getting into his pants (and pockets) was extremely easy. You made out like a bandit with most of his fortune. It set you up for life, you were thankfully done with old men and their money.

That was until you saw the detective that sauntered into your house. He was tall, toned and tan. Your mouth practically watered as he talked to you in a sweet tone, like you were truly in mourning for your husband.

“Suguru Geto.” He had introduced himself with a firm handshake.

You had practically melted into the floor.

Apparently your dead husband was in an embezzlement lawsuit before he passed so he came to investigate the house for evidence. You didn’t really care but you played the part of grieving widow all while subtly flirting with him.

He didn’t seem to notice or he didn’t say anything. As he goes through the files you try to think of a way to get him to stay longer. Nothing comes to mind and he leaves you with a small pout on your lips.

Opening up your phone you click on the sugar baby app you frequented before getting married. What’s one more dead old man if you get to see that detective again?

I just reached 50 followers on here, I am sobbing thank you guys 🥹

A COMINT !!

I’m feeling bored and need motivation to write so please ask me questions 🫠

I be wondering why it takes me so long to write and then I write one (1) sentence then spend 40 minutes scrolling aimlessly through tumblr

Behold the great GURBY 🙌

GURBY RETURNS