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satorhime · 2 years

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⁺　 ୨୧ . ᕀ SUGARSTREAM ♡ | ˚｡꒰ gojo satoru x female reader ᨀ ꒱ minors do not interact ᨀ w.c 9.2k˓˓ explicit smut, camgirl!reader, fanboy!gojo, virgin killer!gojo, cherry chasing, sex toys, anal play, candy play [ gojo fucks the reader with a lollipop ], virgin kink, corruption, teasing, cum play, age gap [ gojo is 33 + reader is in 20s ], fingering, masturbation, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, dumbification, praise, orgasm control. ˚｡ SUMMARY ᨀ gojo satoru has a big sweet tooth, an insane amount of money to spend on his favorite camgirl and most importantly, a dick that corrupts innocent girls for life.

gojo satoru has a big sweet tooth.

he can always be seen ordering a frappuccino with five pumps of caramel syrup and extra whipped cream at starbucks, showing up to morning training with an entire platter of chocolate dipped berries, or suckling a tootsie pop with obscenely inappropriate noises during important meetings because the components in sugar stimulates his brain, giving the right amount of rush someone like him needs to keep sane.

his credit card is most swiped at sweet shoppes and random souvenir stands that sell his favorite melon sugar cubes, or the zunda and cream kikufuku he likes so much.

because his appetite for the sweeter things in life is insatiable.

that's why it isn't a surprise he developed a craving for you. he's always had a greedy taste for doe-eyed young women and you happened to be exactly his type. saccharine smile, giggly laugh, and a head full of bubblegum. ijichi kiyotaka's sweet little apprentice who skipped through the halls eating strawberry hi-chews for lunch instead of proper meals, wearing tiny little skirts and rootbeer flavored lip gloss just to torment gojo into wanting to lick it onto his tastebuds.

pure and lovely, you've become his favorite sugar rush.

and with the help of pop culture and social media, he can have a sample before he finally buys the product.

RECENT TWEET FROM @xoyoursweetenerxo: i'll be streaming in 10 mins wearing new lingerie! come take a peek at pixelme.jp/sweetener

that's the alert that begins gojo's unraveling, rolling into his notification center. his heart kicks up an irritating notch when he flips his phone over in his hand and reads your username on the screen. he can feel the curious eyes of his three former students on his back as they trail him down the hall, but he has tunnel vision and cotton ears, their incessant chatter echoing in one ear and out the other.

“gojo-sensei, did you hear anything i just said?” megumi snaps, his annoyed tone barely registering.

“i heard a rumor that he finally has a girlfriend now, that's why he's always so distracted,” nobara gossips into yuuji's ear, the two casting a long, knowing glance at their mentor.

“so it's like that?”

“it's like that.”

“what were you saying?” gojo asks distractedly, lifting one side of his blindfold to unlock his phone, bringing up the twitter app. his main account loads first and he spares a single glance to nanami's weekend vacation update, two for tsukumo straddling her motorbike in hokkaido, and none for aoi ranting about takada's dating rumors at the top of his timeline.

he never hears megumi's reply because he's too busy switching to his private account, an empty lurker with a black photo. eager to click your profile.

tonight's stream invitation is pinned at the top, decorated with pink hearts but he ignores that for now. making sure to hold his phone at an angle his nosy ass kids can't peek at, a long pale finger swipes up to bring the scroll down to a spam of grwm selfies you just posted, a ritual before your streams. you're cute as a button in each one, but it's the last one— on hands and knees, ass pointed to the camera—that makes him groan, the sound covered up by an exaggerated sneeze.

“um, gross!” nobara screeches at him, folding her arms and leaning away. “you sounded like a middle aged dad.”

satoru stops his long stride suddenly, masking his irritation by reaching into his pocket for his wallet, flipping the leather open for a spare credit card. he hands it to kugisaki with a pat on her head, grinning when she slaps his hand down and pockets his card without question.

“you know what? mission’s canceled for tonight!” he cheers, already heading in the opposite direction, shooting finger guns. he's eager to get away from his kids and to his office where he can concentrate on your stream. “go out without me and have fun!”

he waves off their confused looks, disappearing in a flash. attention glued to his phone like a teenaged boy. the sorcerer feels his cock twitch to life in his pants the longer he stares at your picture. you're wearing a skater dress that barely covers your plump ass, giving your twitter followers a tease of soft skin and cute stretch marks on the back of your thighs.

he knows that if he wants to see more, like the devastating visual of your slit spread around your favorite dildo, he'll have to join the stream and tip up.

not many people know about your other life. the angel who brings in sponge cake and iced coffee each morning to gojo, who shyly refuses to meet his stare whenever he walks into the room, unable to stand the intensity of his flirtations, is a camgirl with views high enough to land you in the top rated tab. people tipped you good and in return, you let them control your pleasure.

and gojo satoru is your biggest fan.

he hadn't been stalking when he found out. he'd just been passing by one of the staff rooms with the intention of terrorizing ijichi and found you instead, boldly streaming from your phone, whispering i bought my first vibrator! should i try it at work?

those annoying hot girls in your area, click for more! ads weren't needed because gojo had never made an account so fast.

and if he tuned into your grainy stream from his office, cock shamelessly fisted in his hand as he watched you push your panties to the side, phone camera positioned in an upskirt shot of you struggling to fit the small, vibrating toy inside your tight little cunt? mind your business.

he unlocks the door to his office now, shutting himself in before he clicks the streaming link, letting his phone redirect to the site so he can log in.

username: honoredone89 password: hollowedout28

"is the stream stable? hi, welcome! we'll get started soon."

the sound of your airy, girlish voice rings out from his phone as he falls into a leather lounge chair. you're streaming from your room this evening, dressed in frilly and frothy lingerie and a pair of lacy thigh highs, sitting up on your knees on a bed draped in a white gossamer canopy.

rosy led lights wash out the pretty tone of your skin in a soft pink glow, selling your sweet and innocent image. gojo figures that's why you're so popular— you feed right into their desires to turn out girls like you, drawing them in like worker bees to honey.

“how's my apprenticeship? it's going so good, thank you!” you answer a comment from one of your regulars, waving shyly at the viewers pouring into the virtual room.

“this won't be a long stream since i have to wake up early tomorrow, but...” you prattle on, leaning forward to check the viewer count. gojo's attention is drawn to the plump swell of your breasts in your bralette. god, he wants to run his lips all over the lace so bad; tonguing and biting over your nipples through the flimsy fabric until they're bitten raw. “while we wait for more to join, what did you boys do today-”

“ah, shoot. i almost forgot!” you gasp, twisting around to lean out of the canopy; opening the drawer on the nightstand.

as you rummage around, bent over, you accidentally allow your fans to admire the panties you're wearing. crotchless and lacy, the clips of a garter attached to your stockings. the backshot gives him a perfect peek at the shadowed seam of your pussy too, the little scraps of fabric on the front kissing your clit.

but more importantly, he can see the heart-shaped glass plug buried in the dip of your ass.

oh. well, when did you get that?

his tastebuds water, sweet tooth waking up for cravings. a quick decision made that he will stop holding himself back and get a taste of you, that he will be the end to your innocence.

in2feet chatted: this is boring hurry up and get naked

nakedman chatted: location? i'd fuck your ass so good kitten

it was obviously unintentional because your look of ditzy confusion is too cute when you turn around with the matching dildo, shaped like a sailor moon wand. but it ends up being the perfect way to begin your stream— tips roll in without prompting, chat pinging with comments.

“hehe, what are you guys- o-oh..” your question ends in a small sigh that makes his cock throb in his slacks. the air feels stagnant and warm in his office so he drags his blindfold down, unbuttoning the high collar of his jacket. you settled back on the bed too fast, the glass flare of the plug in your ass shifting, pushing a little deeper, twinging an unfamiliar lurch in your tummy. “t-to be honest, i've never used a plug before so it hurts a bit.”

a young starlet improvising on a mistake, you lift the wand to your lips. pastel pink tongue peeking out to wet the tip as you blink innocently at the cam. "can i put this in the other hole to distract myself from the pain?"

gojo can feel his brain rotting down to the stems.

you settle against the cloudbank of pillows, bringing your laptop a little closer to finish setting up and check the time. “before i start, i want to remind everyone that i'll only take requests from the highest tipper tonight!”

cyberme chatted: whenever you're ready, baby. we're watching!

cyberme and 10 others tipped 20 hearts

tittystan (★ tip) tipped 50 hearts

“you guys are so sweet!” the sound of the tip bell and chat alerts fill the volume of your room, drowning out your voice. lewd requests and thirsty comments begin to chime in, begging for you to remove your bra, show your pussy, play with the plug in your ass.

you have these men wrapped around your little finger, even though their hearts will be cashed out for real coins at the end of the night.

tittystan (★ tip) chatted: play with those pretty tits for us pls

“is this okay?” your impatient thumb rubs over a clothed nipple, shivering at the touch. more tips fumble in and gojo can see you build the confidence you need to push your bralette down, tucking it under the curve of your breasts so they spill right out.

fuck... he can't help but imagine his large digits replacing yours, dragging the calloused pads of his thumbs over your nipples until you cry and his thirsty ass can drink up your tears.

satoru shifts, leaning back in his barcelona chair as he reaches down to press the heel of his palm to the swelling bulge of his cock at the same time you squeeze one of the fleshy globes into your hand, a soft whine whistling past your clenched teeth.

jacker82 (★ tip) tipped 250 hearts and chatted: fuck yourself on the dildo alr!

you nod at the comment, opening your legs a bit only to snap them shut a heartbeat later. “i-i'm sorry, i'm so nervous tonight!” your teeth chew against your bottom lip as encouraging comments ring in your chat, words of praises that urges you to go further.

posessiveness burns green through his veins at the comments from other men, but he knows how to take what he wants and right now, what he wants is your attention only on him.

honoredone89 chatted: don't be nervous. i'm with you.

honoredone89 chatted: go on and open up for me.

gojo doesn't miss the glow of arousal in your eyes as you read his comment, your heart beating faster than it ever has. honoredone89... you missed seeing his comments on your streams. he felt more like a collaborator, unafraid to poke, prod, tease. the way he talks shit at you leaves you soaked and whining each time, wondering who he is; crying into your pillow whenever he'd toss down five hundred to make you cum, then throw down another five to switch up and edge you at the last minute. want me to change my mind, angel? he'd chat out and you could almost taste his smirk.

you would be lying if you said that your little crush on this anonymous person had nothing to do with him reminding you of the white-haired fox you were instantly drawn to at the start of your apprenticeship. honoredone89 could very well be one of those creeps that records cam shows to reupload to shady porn sites or a catfish. after all, his profile picture is the lower half of a (really fucking gorgeous) mirror selfie. but considering that a man like the actual satoru wouldn't return your silly, growing affections, you're fine with cosplaying.

“o-okay, sorry,” you obey him so easily, parting your knees, finally giving your fans a view of your pretty pussy in those crotchless panties. gojo should be ashamed, but he groans at the sight. you sigh as the cool air breezes over feverish skin, cooling the wetness clinging to your folds. it's why your fans love you so much— so wet during streams, no need for lube when your cute little pussy drools out the sweetest nectar no one has had the pleasure of tasting.

“look at you, sweet girl. you got any idea what you do to me?” you've barely shown anything and he feels like losing his fucking mind.

satoru should feel guilty for what he does next, but his conscious is crystal clear. mind blank and too fucking horny to think about propriety, he unbuttons his slacks. fishes his cock out to squeeze at the base, relieving some of the ache. his balls jump desperately as you slide the glass toy between your legs on the screen.

then his phone pings with a notif the moment you press the tip to your clit— a text from megumi dropping down, covering his view of the torturous circles you rub around the swelling nub. a swipe further down and you prod it against your entrance, panting out a low whine that knocks the wind out of gojo's chest, ears ringing.

“p-please let me put it inside!” you cry to the chat, noises so pretty. you'll sound even prettier when you're under him, squirming and pleading for him to fuck you until you live only for the feeling of his cock.

gojo's summer blue eyes scan over the message from megumi, ensuring his kids aren't in danger while he fucks himself off. he chokes off breathy groans so he can hear your moans, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb over the tip of his cock. muscles in his stomach twitching in pleasure as he nudges it inside the slit so clear, watery precum dribbles past his fingers to spill down the long length of his cock.

user20180407 chatted: fuck yourself already i'm so hard!

instead of gojo replying to an annoyed megumi complaining about having to go to a pachinko parlor (yuuji's idea, no doubt) with the others, he taps the tip button before he can stop himself.

honoredone89 (★ tip) tipped 1050 hearts

honoredone89 (★ tip) chatted: just your fingers tonight, sweet girl.

"c-can i put them inside?" is your immediate answer.

honoredone89 (★ tip) chatted: nope, don't think i want you to do that.

the unhappy comments from your other viewers almost gives him more pleasure than the feeling of his palm rubbing out his cock in rough strokes.

“okay, thank you, sir,” you tuck in with a soft smile. he knows you're thanking him for the fat wad of cash in your tip jar, not him snatching away your pleasure, but the sound of the honorific from your lips sends a zip of arousal straight down his spine. the way he fucks into his hand is messy now, dragging his hand up and down his dick. precum coating his fingers white, dripping onto his slacks. “thank you for letting me touch my clit.”

he's your highest tipper and your pleasure is always in the hands of your tip jar. setting the toy aside with the hope he'll let you use it later, you open your legs until your knees touch the sheets, joints in your hips aching. reaching fingers to the opening in your panties. you're so soaked, pretty lace all darkened in spots. you spread your folds, circling your clit with two fingers.

“oooh, o-oh.. it's not enough, please let me-”

“hope y'r this greedy when i feed you my cock, princess, fuck. gonna... give you what you need soon, don't worry,” he promises to the empty air, sweating hard beneath his jacket with his hand tight around his cock. imagining that he's got you right here in his office, fucking up into your pussy as you struggle to bounce on him. on the phone, his speaker rings with your frustrated whines. your thighs tremble as you rub your clit too fast, making it sore.

a few attempt to match his price and tip him out, wanting control over your delicious pleasure; wanting you to use the dildo so they can imagine the little toy is their cocks. but unlike the cheap fucks swarming around your chat, the black metal of his bank card is limitless. there's no one that can stop him from blowing hot cash on an even hotter girl so he does. doubling your tips, tripling it down each time.

the sorcerer has plans that won't be ruined by old men escaping nagging wives and stressful jobs by twisting their dicks to the moans of pretty girls.

at the end of the night, he plans on adding another maraschino cherry to the top of his ice cream sundae.

but that all depends on you.

now when did he close his eyes? on his screen, gojo almost misses it. the prettiest sight.

“c-can i cum, sir?” you simper to your fans, to him. “fuck me. it.. it's right there. please say yes, please please!” circling the pad of your finger under the hood of your clit where you're most sensitive at, you slide a hand up your body to squeeze one of your breasts. a soft gasp pushing out to join the squish of your fingers rubbing through the wet between your thighs.

honoredone89 (★ tip) tipped 2000 hearts!

user20221030 chatted: this rich fuck is so annoying stop hogging!

gojo sounds like a maniac when he tosses his head and howls at the comment, unrestrained laughs choking off into a deep moan when he strokes down and squeezes the base of his cock. fighting off his orgasm for a torturous edge to himself.

honoredone89 (★ tip) chatted: since you can't hold it, go on and show everyone how pretty you are when you cum.

“yu-yes, sir!”

gojo wasn't lying. even the lagging connection to your stream can't dim the beauty you are when you reach your high. it burns a hole into his brain, tearing shivers down his spine as he watches the band snap as soon as you answer his comment. it's real, but you make it pretty, arching off the bed, thrashing, clamping your thighs together as you cum with strained whimpers.

reluctantly, he takes his wet cock and tucks himself away, hissing as the sensitive head presses against the zipper of his slacks.

“did you guys cum too?” you're asking shyly, ready to end your livestream. gojo cleans his hand on his blindfold with a snort at the viewers complimenting your show.

user203020 chatted: u need to block that rich dude. it's unfair. not coming back until u do

cyberme chatted: so hot, kitten. see you next time!

tittystan chatted: don't go babe i didn't get to cum yet :c

sitting up, you wrap your arms around your legs, chin resting atop your knees. your body still trembles with the aftershocks of your little orgasm, but you pull the laptop closer with a blissfully tired smile to answer questions, goodnight wishes, and thank your viewers for their support.

“thank you so much! if you have ideas for my next stream, leave a reply on twitter,” you say distractedly, tapping on your laptop.

gojo's phone buzzes with a notification shortly after and he's not surprised that it's a message sent to his account on the cam site.

xoyoursweetenerxo ♡ : hi >< you were my highest tipper!!! do you have any requests for me?

is what the message reads and gojo wears a big smirk as the cards deal a lucky hand just for him. he cradles his phone in both hands as long fingers fly over the keyboard to reply.

no more time wasted after he's blown away hours, weeks, months on the chase for you.

honoredone89: you know what? i think i do!

honoredone89 is typing . . .

honoredone89: open your door for me.

404 error: this livestream has ended!

somehow, that leads to gojo satoru standing in the middle of your room at jujutsu tech.

you'd barely had time to fix your lingerie and clear the smudges of your lipstick before a familiar rap of knuckles was at your door— the same rhythm gojo knocks against your desk each morning to get your attention.

he looks out of place standing in the frills of your pink wonderland, led lights turning pure white hair the color of blush as he glances around at your bishoujo figurines, sanrio plushies, and special edition manga volumes.

“cute,” he comments with an amused smile and points, your cheeks warming as you follow his line of vision to the sailor moon dildo sitting on your sheets, forgotten. “where's the other one?”

“h-how did you know...”

“still inside you, i take it?”

“h-how!” your reaction is adorable, different now that you're in front of him. fiddling with the ribbons of your robe, unable to watch his gemstone blue eyes darken to a deep pit of arousal when you nod.

with the feeling of a hare caught in a trap, you watch as he crosses the tiny space to stand in front of you. crowding you against the kitchenette with his imposing six foot three stature. though you want to shrink away, there is something about him that beckons you closer like the limitless, making you want to stay close to him and soak up more of his attention.

“ah, um- i bought these for you earlier today!” you blurt out to him in a hurried whisper, scrambling to reach for the decorated jar of lollipops you intended to gift to him tomorrow. “there's cream, melon, cotton candy, there's matcha too because i know you like-”

“you scared of me?” he wonders, but he accepts your distraction, plucking a cherry-flavored lollipop for himself, amused.

“no!”

he's very attractive without his blindfold, snowy peaks of hair sitting wild over his forehead. you watch as he unwraps the treat, tasting it for the first time like he's tasting you, his tongue working around it; swirling and licking it obscenely on purpose. waiting for that shift, the shameful press of your thighs even though you just had an orgasm. falling for it, you shyly avert your gaze and gojo fights down a smirk.

“there's no need to be nervous, you know,” he soothes, hooking a finger under your chin. the deep croon of his voice curls down your spine, bubbling hot desire in your tummy. "i'm right here with you."

“i-i'm not nervous!” you say, wanting to reassure him that he is welcome even though a small voice tells you to run.

after all, haven't you heard the rumors about him?

compliment him in any busy ladies room and you'll summon rumors that gojo satoru picks cherries like a farmer. that gojo satoru fucks girls high in his penthouse, only to drop them low when he ushers them to the elevator hours later. that gojo satoru—

i don't believe it, and your naive schoolgirl crush on him bats those thoughts away.

“obviously a camgirl wouldn't be nervous, silly me,” he nods, tone light and teasing. he tilts his head to the side as he reaches for you, thumb easing your silk robe apart. sensual as he pushes it off your shoulder, a shiver rolling down your spine. “did you mean what you said?”

“what do you mean?”

“in your stream,” he hums, skimming up the curve of your neck. fingernails scraping lightly over your pulse, and his cock aches at the strangled sound you make. “when you begged me to touch you, fuck you. did you mean what you said, sweet girl?”

“the tipper... honoredone89...”

“was me, yes,” he points to himself, smiling. it takes a little while for realization to dawn and he thinks you're too sweet. god, after he finishes breaking in your cunt, he wants to protect you from men like him for the rest of his life. only after, though. “expecting someone uglier?”

where you should feel mortification, you feel sticky and full of attraction for the older man in front of you. how many times did you fuck yourself on two fingers while watching couples on cam, imagining gojo was there and pressing your legs to your chest while he fucked the inexperience right out of you? how many times did you wish that snarky regular on your streams was actually him?

“g-gojo?” you call softly, peeking up at him through thick fans of lashes. twiddling your fingers together in a gesture so fucking cute, it makes his stomach churn. “can i ask you something?“

“hmm? go ahead.”

“how many virgins have you fucked?”

“why? you wanna be my one and only?” he teases, a mocking grin set on his lips. “you're really a virgin... too sweet.”

“i didn't say that! i.. it's the reason i started streaming. to learn more! it’s an experiment because i don't know how to make someone else feel good.” you're babbling, the words rushing out too quickly as you fidget and grip the hem of your robe, looking down to avoid his eyes. “will you teach me?”

“if i teach you, don’t think i’ll go easy on you,” his grin is wicked before he reaches down to ruffle your hair, as if you’re a precious little gem to him. “it’s nothing to be ashamed of, sweetness. it just means i’ll really have to put my back into it!”

putting his back into it means fucking you absolutely dumb, but you don't need to know that yet.

the way he looks at you is an awakening. with a little burst of confidence, you make your own decision; burying your fingers into the collar of his jacket, bringing him down for your first kiss. it's a little awkward with the stick of lollipop in his mouth and your inexperience, teeth and stiff lips until he takes the lead. his lips feel like clouds and you want them everywhere, want to kiss him forever. sink his soft groans into your skin, keep the taste of candy flavored spit on your tongue for the rest of your days as he licks into your mouth, coaxing feelings out of you you've never felt before; kissing you into dizziness.

“please,” you pull away, eyes begging— he only needs to be told once.

he takes it in stride, smirking around the stick of lollipop. he draws his hand down, fingers sliding under your bralette to toy with the doughy skin of your breast, rolling a nipple between two pads until the bud pebbles under his touch.

then his path switches, traveling lower and you know exactly where his hand is going. heart fluttering wildly, you whine and nervously press closer to him, hiding your face against the front of his jacket.

but you weren't stopping him, you didn't want to. curiosity coaxes your desire for gojo satoru out of its shell. the entire reason you started exploring the world of porn and cam shows, frustration and curiosity. most women your age had bloomed and blossomed. they were experienced while you felt left behind. never been taken on a date, never been kissed, never been fucked.

a clean slate for the taking.

“i wonder why you're so pretty, hm? been torturing me for months, sweet thing,” gojo nudges your feet apart, tongue pushing out the lollipop for one last suck, his lips star candy pink. making you want to kiss him again. “want to taste you instead.”

“you mean...”

“don't worry, i'll take good care of you,” he gently plucks your hands from his jacket, lowering his lithe body to the floor in a fluid motion. he props one of your thighs over his shoulder, shamelessly spreading your pussy open for him.

cheeks heated, the sight of gojo staring between your legs with a ravenous glint in his eye is too much. your hands fly over your eyes, but he's not having it; reaching up to snatch them down. “good girls keep their eyes open, don't they? how will you learn?”

he hasn't even touched you and yet, lust buzzes an ache between your hips that is driving you crazy.

“good girls deserve to know what it looks like, what it feels like to have me right here,” he continues and leans in to press a trail of kisses to your inner thigh. nips and marks along the fleshiest parts, chuckling at your quiet yips. he slides a thumb between your folds, splitting them to play with your clit. you feel like falling as he circles between your thighs, a gasp hiccupping at the base of your throat before you choke it off.

“g-gojo-”

he builds the anticipation. getting you used to the motion of something familiar before he opens your pussy for business— the sweetest dessert all for him before the main course. “so what do you think? gonna let me taste how sweet this pussy is, angel?”

“what if you don't like the taste?” you hesitate, hand slipping into the milky clouds of his hair. “i-i heard that happens.”

“trying to keep it all to yourself?” he teases, eyes shining as he crooks a smile at you. he indulges you with another feathery kiss to your thigh, his hand on your hip, caressing the skin lightly. “there's no way i won't like the taste of you. not when i have this-”

before you know it, he presses something warm and sticky to your clit, replacing his finger. when you realize just what it is, you whimper loudly.

“oh, oh god. y-you're supposed to use your fingers-”you point out halfheartedly. gojo drags the sugary ball of the lollipop against your clit in tantalizing swirls, smearing the sticky cherry syrup across your pussy and mixing it with your own juices.

“i'll clean up after myself, sweet thing,” he reassures, nose pressed to the soft curls at your mound, breathing in your heady scent before he tips his head forward to taste you. this is his favorite part- the possessive feeling in his chest once a virgin is on his tongue, knowing he's the first one to look up and see heaven above him. to hear your soft whimpers and feel the unsure tremble of your thighs.

“how does it feel? you like it?” he asks, kissing your clit with a gentle suck that tightens the muscles in your tummy. he licks against you with skill, tongue a warm wetness over your clit. the feeling gojo pulls from you is all new, butterflies between your hipbones as your cunt flutters around emptiness.

“i think i like it, sir. i-it's so-” you whine, the honorific a slip up. ashamed to talk filth to a man you're assigned to bring oversweetened coffee to every morning. it's so easy talking to the men behind your camera. they're blank faces that pay for a performance and to be soaked in the right words. in person, in front of the man who brings you alive, your tongue is tied up in the heat he licks into your throbbing pussy.

“sir, huh?” you can feel his grin spread along your lower lips, his chuckle vibrating against your skin. he stiffens his tongue for a harder lick, quick flits that bathes your clit in bubbly spit, burning pleasure into your nerves that drives you to tears.

gojo's fingers press bruises into your squishy thighs, locking you in his strong hold. he trails the syrupy sphere of the sucker down to your drooling little hole, nudging until he slowly works the candy up into your pussy at the same time he sucks your clit back into his mouth.

you choke out a wet sob, your hands pushing at his shoulders. squirming and trembling, plush walls clamping down around the hard ball of the lollipop with a wince as he fucks it in slow, his eyes focused on the way your walls slurps it inside.

nothing could have prepared you for gojo satoru fucking you with a piece of candy.

“bet your fans would love to see this,” he muses, releasing your puffy clit with a shameful pop, a trail of spit and slick connecting you to the sorcerer's chin. “you can barely handle a piece of candy. look at this cute little pussy struggling to take it.”

he can't hide his arousal when you taste this good, smacking and slurping like his last meal on earth is between your legs. you release a frustrated whine when he removes the candy, but he appeases you with his tongue— dragging the pink muscle down to curl it into your pussy, the squishy feeling of it making you squeak and grip the edge of the counter behind you.

gojo mumbles a deep groan, tastes so fucking sweet, curling his tongue in and out of you languidly, your squeaks tapering off into breathy pants. he's running out of patience, your noises shooting straight to his leaking cock, but he's determined not to rush. he wants to savor your first time. savor the sweet taste of sugar combined with the earthy flavor of you.

he has to make it good so you remember him after you inevitably come to your senses and make him leave before he breaks your heart.

his palm moves up and lands on your breast, squeezing too hard but you whine for the twinge of pain, placing your hands over his larger one. you hold him like a lifeline as he makes good on his promise of cleaning you all up— drinking down every little drop of candy coated slick until you run dry, until the wet slide against your folds is because of his spit.

“i-i'm-” the stretch of his tongue is so good, your eyelashes wet as you chase the sensation. second orgasm on the brink with his skilled mouth licking and suckling over sensitive nerves. you could end it there, cum on his tongue and let him tuck you into bed after, but you've had enough of not knowing what it feels like to be manhandled down onto a bed, kissed slow, and fucked open by his cock.

you want it to be him and no one else.

“you close?” he reels back, lapping at the entrance to your heat, a tease that makes you cry out. blues flit up to look at you, gaze soft and patient even though his desperation to be inside you has him fraying at the seams. when you nod at him, pushing your hips forward, begging, he grins. “didn't you already cum tonight? who taught you to be so greedy, hmm?”

“i-i'm s-”

“you think you can hold it for me? no, i know you can. hold it for me baby. don't cum.”

“n-no, don't! wanna cum, please please- wanna cum so bad!” but he's not hearing it. he pinches your clit meanly until the twinge of pain clouds over your orgasm, laughing lightly as you drive your fist into his shoulder in frustration, a hit that doesn't hurt him one bit.

he pats your mound with a smile but before he stands to his full height, he ghosts his sticky lips over your ankle as he sets your foot to the floor, teeth grazing the anklet you're wearing. a tender kiss that has no business making your heart flutter like that when he's so mean.

“i'll make sure of it, but right now i need you to save it for me, pretty princess. i promise it'll be so much better if you cum around my cock.” the sorcerer whispers his filth to your ear, leaving wet kisses along the shell. is it normal for your knees to be so weak? “ain't that what you wanted earlier? want something to fill your pussy up, don't you?”

you're so shivery that you hold onto gojo like your life depends on it. feeling wet and used between your legs already.

somehow, you know that gojo satoru is above what you're able to handle. he's a grown man with years of fucking under his belt and you're an apprentice parading as a camgirl who just had your first kiss. but really, it hardly matters when you want him in too many ways to care anymore.

“i want it, want it so bad, please!” you chant, prepared to get on your knees and beg for it while this otherworldly attractive man grins down at you. you feel like sobbing when he listens, circling his arms under your thighs to lift you effortlessly. legs cling to his waist as he walks the few paces it takes to reach your bed, splaying you out amongst the pillows.

“then i'll give it to you, sweet thing. but first, i think you'd be more comfortable in a familiar setting, hmm?”

he wants to film your first time.

it's filthy and you should refuse, but it's also exactly what you daydreamed of. all those nights honoredone89 watched your streams, you wished he was actually there. in front of the camera with you, back to his chest while he stretched you wide on three fingers and claimed you as his for all of your viewers to see.

you're too shy to actually let your fans watch you be fucked by someone else, but you let him hit record on your laptop, the pink camera at the edge of your bed recording a private show for your eyes only, but giving you the illusion of a livestream nonetheless. “don't pay attention to the camera until i tell you to, okay? eyes on me.”

after a small nod from you, he makes quick work of his uniform. unbuttoning his jacket to reveal broad planes of smooth ivory skin. shoving his slacks down, no underwear like you expected so his dick springs out, slapping warmth against your thigh.

it's easy to forget you're being filmed when you’re too busy gaping at him undressing. washboard abs taper off into a carved adonis belt dusted with moonlight hair. and with the eyes of a curious virgin, your gaze peeks down to his cock and it makes your tastebuds water. a perfect balance of long and girthy, the smooth tip blushing pretty and pink.

“can i touch it?” your dewy lashes flutter as you reach forward, wanting to know what the weight feels like in your hand. wanting to brush your fingers over the blue veins, maybe even dip your head down to lap up the pearly precum drooling from the head.

“nuh-uh, but you can feel it,” he sucks his teeth in reprimand, catching your hand and brushing an affectionate kiss across your fingertips. “alright, sweetheart. how do you want it?”

“i-i always imagined i'd be on my stomach,” you whisper, wanting to sink into your covers after voicing such a thing. a combination of your favorite fantasy position and wanting to hide your face from the camera.

“as you wish.”

he obliges, gripping your waist and rolling you over for him, front pressed flat into the pillowy mattress. though your hips are caged in by gojo's strong thighs, you wriggle your legs back and forth, cutely tapping his lower back with your toes.

“i-i hear it's better like this.” you mumble into the pillow under your cheek, just to get rid of the silence in the air.

he only laughs at your small talk, kissing your shoulder with care. “oh, sweet girl. i'll show you how much better it is.”

nerves flutter in your tummy at that, but you trust him more than anything— more than the women who warned you not to harbor a crush on him. he straddles your thighs, reaching into the pocket of his discarded slacks.

you hear the crinkling of a foil packet being ripped, all the air whistling from your lungs in a shaky breath as you twist around, embarrassed; catching him about to roll a condom over his cock. “w-wait-”

“cold feet?”

“no,” god, no. “i- please, you don't have to wear one of those.”

“yeah?” gojo snorts with a growing smile, but he shrugs and tosses the protection aside, caution to the wind and no further questions on it. blood rushes to his head quick now, dizzy as he draws your hips up a little until your ass bumps against his stomach. you're so easy to move, so cute and weak, like feathers under him.

his patience was lost long ago, but he's a team player. he gathers the seat of your ass against his palms, a soft peach that jiggles when he squeezes and kneads to the song of your whines, his eyes hypnotized by the jeweled plug. “you've had this in for so long, princess.” he draws a long finger down the line of your ass, tugging at the plug gently to see your hole spread. the remnants of the lube you used makes it an easy slide as he pulls it out. tossing it to the sheets.

he coos when you squirm away from him with a soft cry, hurts satoru, and he fucking loves the sound of his given name on your tongue. his thumb rubs over the puckered entrance to soothe the soreness. it would be so easy to sink his finger in, cock up next, but he'll save that for another night. “sorry, princess, i know. i'm just making room. i don't think you're ready to take both yet.. let me make it up to you.”

gojo keeps your cheeks spread, slotting his cock in the tight space between your plump thighs. he pushes the thick cockhead through your sopping folds. you can feel the milky pearls of precum smearing along your thighs and cunt with his thrusts, a wet slide right against your heat but it's not enough. “p-please-”

“f-fuck, sweetheart. how are you gonna fit me inside you? look at this.”

he's mean for teasing a virgin so much, but he can't help himself. he glances up at the recording laptop; the cam feed showing him your face pressed into the pillows, writhing all over your pretty sheets. fuck, you look so good. he's used to breaking in the starstruck beauties who flock to him, but he plays favorites now— fearing that once he truly has you, you’ll never let go of his heart, his cock.

“i don't- oh god- i don't know, but i want to try, sir,”you breathe out through your whines, the honorific only baiting him into getting your way, a true performer. “p-please let me try!”

“such a good girl, even when your fans aren't watching. if you want it, take it then. put it in for me,” he almost pleads, wanting to see that you want this just as much and you fucking do. too teased out to feel the jitters fluttering in your heart. you reach behind you, hand fumbling to wrap around his girth. skin feverish after hearing his heavy intake of breath— oh, you did that to him. satoru ducks his head to grip your chin and kiss all over your face, heated presses of his lips reserved for a lover. a distraction for you both as you guide his cockhead to nudge at the entrance of your pretty virgin cunt—

your eyes mist over, crystalline tears clinging to your lashes; losing focus after his hips sink forward. hiding your face in the sheets again, you muffle the depraved whimpers you hiccup out as gojo's cock forces your walls to spread open just for him. white heat slicking your body with sweat as you squirm under him on the bed. he's so fucking long, and he chuckles when you slide a hand down to your stomach to make sure you can't feel him there, too. he feeds you his cock slow so you feel every inch of him, bullying a spot to sit right up against your womb.

“t-too big- oh m’ god, it's too big satoru!”

“you cryin' f' me, baby?” oh, he is aching. no room in the little space your pussy gives him. he struggles to breathe, hair sticking to his forehead as he fights for his composure. he wants to treat you tenderly, break you in the right way, but you're a hot brand around his cock, sucking him in so good it drives him wild.

“s-satoru-”

“you feel that? much better than your toys, isn't it?” he kneels, pinning one hand over your back to keep you in place. “you can take it, cutie. just ease up for me a little, i've got you.”

you try to relax, eyes shut and sheets bitten into your mouth. you've never felt anything like it— the intrusion of his cock builds a pressure that none of your toys could've prepared you for. an overwhelmingly tight fit, you feel too full, in over your head. pussy staining his cock with frothy slick as he draws his hips back for an experimental thrust, an emptiness that makes you whine loudly for him to fill you up again.

“talk to me, tell me how it feels, angel.”

“o-oh- i don't... i don't know-” you gasp, leaning up on your elbows, a sensual dip in your back, the way you've seen the girls on the nsfw accounts you follow pose. the webcam films your fucked out expression and you're too cock hungry to care about it now, watching it shamelessly on the screen of your laptop.

“can't talk?” gojo taunts, digging his nails into the skin of your ass as he levels his weight into his hips and fucks forward. heavy, deep snaps that furrows your brow cutely, determined as you try your best to take him like you imagine the experienced women who are used to the oppressive force of his cock do.

“want me to slow down?” he asks softly, a little worried. after all, it wouldn't be the first time his dick knocked someone out. but you shake your head rapidly and he cackles, pairing that insane sound with deeper thrusts, sharp hipbones rutting against the back of your ass as he bottoms out again— too deep.

“wan' see your face, please 'toru, please,” you blubber into the sheets, but his keen hearing picks it up anyway. stopping is the hardest thing ever, but he pulls out; pushes you onto your back with a hiss.

“can't believe you wanna watch me break in this cute little pussy. what changed?” he goads, but he doesn't wait for your answer. “you know what to do.”

shyly, you wriggle down the bed until your hips are flush against his, reaching between the sweaty shadow of your bodies to handle his damp cock again. the stretch is no easier to take the second time, but you know what it feels like. pining for the slight twinge, the hot burn as he spreads sweet fire through your nerves. the weight of his cock fucking your pussy open in slow, teasing thrusts that leaves you whining.

“don't go easy on me-”

satoru listens instantaneously, pounding you roughly as he nips and marks your sweaty skin as his, little love bites along your neck you'll have to cover in the morning. something he never does, but call him attached to you now. “that's all you needed, ain't it? you don't want those sick fucks watching you. just wanted me to make a mess of this pretty pussy.”

“y-yes!” you cry against his shoulder and he buries his nose against the pulse point at your neck, inhaling sweet gulps of sex and perfume. a grunt kicks out of his chest as he leaves you, leaning back on his heels to fuck harder, your fingers flying to his forearms as he grips your waist, tugging you forward onto his cock to meet his thrusts.

you become a victim to his skilled fucking, to the harsh slap of his hips that a virgin has no business taking. thighs trembling up a storm, desperately trying to close as his cockhead drags along your gummy walls on the quick pull out, fucking your nerves to a red glow.

“you're so good for me, best girl. so good. keep these legs nice and spread for me so i can fuck this pussy the way she deserves.”

neither of you pay attention to the blinking red light of your webcam, too lost in the throes of good fucking. satoru can't keep his eyes off of you as you wriggle desperately underneath him. you're a mess; lips swollen and slicked with spit from your lolling tongue, hair splayed out all over your sanrio pillows while you stare up at him through teary, lidded eyes with the most fucked out look of adoration for the man pounding you, he almost feels guilty.

“s'toru.. satoru- w-will i get to cum again? it feels so- but i can't-”

he loses his final thread of sanity at your little pants and whines of his name. “some girls need it right here, d... don't they, sweet girl?” he says, stuttering when your pussy clenches him in on a good stroke. slick squelches out of you, staining your favorite sheets in a gooey puddle. it's how he knows his cock is fucking you at the right angle, brushed up against that precious spot nestled along your walls. your back arches high off the sheets when he hits it, but a big palm at your belly presses you down, refusing to let you run.

“it feels better right here, too,” he tells you, his hand shifting down. drawing sticky shapes of his initials under the hood of your sore, puffy clit— and you've touched yourself enough times to know what the feeling means. the pooling of sweet heat in your belly, the giddy waves of dopamine swirling in your nerves as a man throws you into your peak for the first time. “feel it yet? yeah you do. cum for me like a good fucking girl, make a mess of my cock like it's yours, pretty girl. give it to me.”

you're sobbing for him, clinging to him as if he can protect you from the force of your own orgasm. tears welling up in your big eyes as the knot in your tummy bursts so suddenly and you cum, walls fluttering around satoru's cock so tight it pains him to thrust through it. no thought in your pretty mind except the relentless pressure he fucks out of your body. overstimulation sets in too quick and you push at his stomach frantically as your juices splash onto the sheets, wetting all over his hand and bathing down the white trail of hair on his stomach. “i-it's too much, wait-”

“fucking.. fuck, princess- let me go or ‘m gonna cum inside you.. you're sucking me in so tight. f-fuck!” he is only seconds behind you, remembering at the last minute to draw back on his heels and pull his cock out of your weeping pussy. you're still shaking in the aftermath of the best orgasm you've ever had but he’s pinching your puffy lips between his pointer and thumb. it only takes a few rubs of his cock through your swollen folds before he whines low in his throat, grunting and tossing his head back as he spills thick ropes of opaque cum all over your pretty crotchless panties and ruined pussy.

“o-oh.. there's so much of it-” you marvel and when he opens his eyes again on the come down, hips kicking weakly now, he sees you reaching down to run your fingers through the cum he left between your thighs, pinching his sticky seed between your fingers curiously.

you're going to be the fucking death of him.

“yeah, that happens,” he chuckles with no breath in his lungs, no energy to tease you about it. he is too dignified to collapse on the bed with a softening dick, in need of a long ass nap, so he leans forward and pets the roots of your hair softly. “you need anything? besides a bath and your diary to give me raving reviews, of course.”

“i...” you start, sitting up and reaching for the closest thing that can cover you besides the stained sheets of your bed: gojo's uniform jacket. you drape it around your front, looking away to hide the vulnerability in your eyes. “can you stay until i fall asleep? you can leave after but.. i don't..”

don't be greedy, is what he would usually tell a woman asking him to sleepover after he's snatched her innocence up and fucked her into a limp. but with you, the sinking feeling in his chest, the months of pocketing your hidden smiles and shy flirtations to think about during his darkest hours, tells him only one thing: he wouldn't have left even if you asked him to.

“i'm not going anywhere.”

gojo experiences a first tonight, too. for the first time ever, he doesn't run.

instead, he stays. cleans you up with a warm towel and eases you into clean underwear, though you insist on wearing his jacket as pajamas. he even helps you change your soaked sheets ( with insufferable comments asking if he can keep them. ) you don't know what it means when a man stays after being your first, but your heart feels too warm and a little bit in lo—

“what's that sound?”

you're about to tuck into bed, ready to snuggle in safe and sound with gojo watching over you when his voice speaks up. now that your post-orgasmic haze has cleared a little, you hear it too. the quiet chime of the tip and chat bells ringing wildly from your still open laptop.

the camera at the end of your bed blinking lipstick red from its perch on the tripod.

like.boobs.97 chatted: that bastard is so lucky.

“oh... oh, no!” you squeal, scrambling to shut the laptop down, face burning with mortification. you should have checked, you should have checked. you have to help satoru with his emails in the morning, why did you trust him to click the right button?

you've been streaming to your viewers on the cam site the entire time.

“whoops,” is all gojo says, carefree and flippant as ever as he moves to stretch out across your bed like an oversized unbothered cat, drawing you against his body.

“so, you gonna introduce me as your new boyfriend or what?”

stream viewers: @atsumeii ┊ @bbyatsumu ┊@yuujispinkhair ┊@danibby

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru fic #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru imagines

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hexpea · 2 months

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Ch. 2 - Expected

"It was arranged," Seiko's jaw nearly fell to the floor as you finished explaining the circumstances of your first marriage.

You nodded in confirmation. "Unfortunately," you sighed. "I certainly didn't ask for it. But at this point, it seems like I'm going to need to head back to Tokyo to get Gojo to sign the damn thing...again."

Your partner sat back in their seat in thought, waves of understanding flooding their mind. They felt bad for causing such a fuss about it earlier though it was entirely warranted.

"Y/N?" Their voice was soft, their hand reaching forward to touch yours that you had resting on your knee. "What if we made it a thing? We're due for a vacation. I'll come with and we'll enjoy the sights of Tokyo. The whole divorce thing can be just a small part of the trip, no need to over-worry ourselves. We'll get it taken care of."

You thought about it for a moment, searching your mind for any downsides. A few began to populate in your mind, but Seiko was quick to interrupt. "We're getting married this time. Let's take some time to celebrate ourselves, eh?"

"You just want to go to Tokyo, don't you?" You looked at him slyly, a crooked smile on your face. Seiko had be raving about it for the past few months; you had originally (and hesitantly) been planning to have your honeymoon there.

"I do," they admitted, their smile matching yours but their gaze looking away as if they had been 'caught.' They had rarely left the small town you lived in. Seeing Tokyo in real life sounded like a dream to them.

You took a deep breath and let out a sigh. "Alright," you agreed, "let's make it a thing."

The next thing you knew, you found yourself boarding a bullet train. It was a four and half hour ride to Tokyo from Hokkaido. Unfortunately for you, this meant you had plenty of time to ruminate on your past -- the whole reason for this visit.

The train itself had faded, patterned seats, well worn from years of use. The car was quiet as passengers filed on in order and silently began putting away their luggage. The air itself smelled stale, like any other form of public transport. It was the last place you thought you'd be at that moment.

"Here are our seats," Seiko smiled at you eagerly, tugging along a suitcase.

They stuffed their suitcase in the overhead bin and helped you in getting yours up there as well. With a wordless smile, they offered you the window seat to which you obliged.

"Besides settling into our hotel, what's the first thing you want to do when we get there?" Seiko asked as the two of you now sat in the faded, plush seats of the shinkansen.

You gave them a funny look. Seiko was never one to be overly eager about going anywhere let alone planning activities. "I don't know," you answered as if each word was its own sentence, a funny yet suspicious tone in your voice. "Do you have anything in mind?"

"Nothing in particular," they shrugged, causing you to furrow your brow even further. Why bring it up then?!

You shook your head and ignored your surroundings, opting to put some headphones in and stare out the window as Seiko began scrolling through their phone. Just as expected, with divorce on the brain, your mind went to that place and your heart already...ached.

The divorce was amicable. It was honestly something that had been a long time coming, almost expected, as Gojo found himself alone in his clan. He didn't seem remarkably upset about being the last of his name, his parents now both passed on -- mother preceding father. The lack of emotion had concerned you but you let it go.

Saying that your marriage didn't have love...that would be a lie and you knew it. The two of you had been childhood friends, closer than anyone could get without being family or, well, being in love. Admitting it was a different story.

Things between you two had begun to distance when Geto entered the picture as soon as you reached high school age. That, and Gojo had started taking on missions with Geto as well -- tough missions that you couldn't be a part of. You found yourself linking up with Shoko Ieiri who also mostly stayed behind, being helpful with her reversed cursed technique.

At the time, you were honestly happy about his absence. With adolescence, his personality had developed beyond repair of arrogant confidence to which he didn't hesitate to irritate you with to no end. He honestly irritated everybody one way or another, and took pleasure in it.

But there was unspoken love that grew during your time as husband and wife. The conflict had once pulled on the strings of your heart, telling you everything you needed to know of your feelings toward the Limitless sorcerer even as he asked for the divorce. But those feelings were a distant memory.

It was August, a warm, summer evening five years into your facade of a marriage. You found yourself enjoying the nightly air, the distant sound of fireworks from the summer festival humming through your ears.

You were dressed comfortably, getting ready for bed and having a cup of tea to relax. The stars were remarkably bright that night, twinkling in nearly every direction. It was in that moment you were thankful that the Gojo estate was just outside of Tokyo, no bright buildings to prevent such a beautiful sight.

Satoru had just returned from a mission, still dressed in his jujutsu uniform and dark blindfold covering his eyes. You heard him approach from the opening of the shoji screen behind you. You could hear his footsteps approach behind you as you looked up into the cosmos.

"Hey there," he purred, his voice dripping with a teasing tone as it always had as he joined you on the porch. He couldn't resist making light of the situation, even when his emotions were in a flood of conflict. You knew him well enough to expect his cocky demeanor.

You sat cross-legged while he let his legs dangle off the side, using his hands to prop himself up. He looked up with you as he greeted.

"Hi," you answered, your voice quiet after taking a sip from your tea. "How was the mission?" You asked while trying to maintain your composure in the face of his playful attitude.

"Mission? Oh, piece of cake," he said with a smug grin, leaning in closer to you. "But, you know, I'd much rather be dealing with you, Y/N. You're the real challenge." He winked, emphasizing the double meaning of his words.

There was a moment of awkward silence as he lingered longer than he usually would. He took a deep breath in preparation for his next words.

"Y/N..." you looked over at him, your wide, interested gaze causing him to rethink his decision for a split second. He tried to hide the smile that was growing from seeing your doe-eyed face. He decided he needed to hold firm; he had promised himself he'd stop postponing and tell you. "I think that we should...file for divorce."

There it was, the words you were, honestly, waiting to hear. The conflict brewing in your head made your chest hurt. The marriage was a sham. It was to produce an heir, something the two of you never did, for the Gojo clan who was now a team of one. You had to and did accept the fact that this marriage was holding both of you back.

Your silence was irking Satoru as you continued to sip from your tea. He fidgeted eagerly for your response. It was then that you realized he was waiting for something out of you.

"Okay," you responded calmly, holding back the emotions that were threatening to bust forth. "It's not like we love each other."

Satoru, though cocky and confident on the surface, felt a pang of turmoil deep within. He knew what he felt for you, even if he was hesitant to admit it to himself. The two of you were completely ignorant to one another and beyond saving. This time it was his silence that got you going. You could clearly see he was trying to read your plain expression.

"What? It doesn't have to be that sad," you added, trying to maintain some levity despite the heavy situation.

"What will you do?" Satoru asked you, his future path already decided and very clear.

You thought to yourself for a moment, ignoring the knot that had begun to form in your throat. "Hmm..." you hummed, tilting your head up and away from him to hide your dampened eyes. It was just now settling in that the arrangement was coming to a close. "I wonder what the beach looks like in the snow."

Satoru smiled at you, a mixture of relief and turmoil in his eyes, knowing that he had to let you go. "Ah, Hokkaido," he nodded. "Yeah, it's beautiful."

The two of you sat in continued silence for a few more moments. The booming of the fireworks had long stopped since his arrival. The complete silence a bit jarring from your conversation.

After a while, Satoru leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek -- the only 'affection' the two of you allowed yourselves besides in public when necessary. The only time you had ever been intimate with him outside of the occasional kiss was your wedding night, never once doing it again.

Talk about mixed signals, you thought to yourself.

He came to a stand and you looked up at him with a gentle smile before he departed. "I'll be there, any time you need me. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," you nodded once, voice breaking slightly, causing your cheeks to turn red in the dark.

As Satoru left you alone on the porch, your emotions swirled like a turbulent sea. The tears that had begun as a mixture of sorrow and relief now took on a new dimension. There was a sense of betrayal that began to seep into your heart, though you couldn't quite pinpoint its source. You stared out into the night sky, the stars still shining brightly above. The sound of cicadas filled the air, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees. The beauty of the night was a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

The divorce had been inevitable, and you had known that a long time. Yet, hearing those words from Satoru still stung. It was a reminder of just how far the two of you had drifted apart over the years. As you continued to sit there, sipping your tea and gazing at the stars, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held for you. The prospect of being alone was both daunting and liberating. You had spent so long in a marriage of convenience and now you had the opportunity to rediscover yourself.

Your train pulled into Tokyo station in what felt like the blink of an eye. You were so lost in your thoughts that Seiko had to squeeze your hand to snap you out of your trance.

The bustling station presented a crowd of noise, announcements over the intercom for arrivals and departures, and the feeling of people rushing around you served as a reminder that you were back in the heart of the city where you had grown up.

"Wow," Seiko admired the large station as the two of you guided yourselves off of the train. "Are you ready for this?"

You nodded, your resolve firming up as the two of you began your walk out of the station. The memories of your past with Gojo had left a bitter taste in your mouth, but you were determined to close that chapter of your life for good. The strange sense of betrayal you had felt after that fateful conversation with Gojo had lingered, but it was time to move forward.

As you navigated your way through the station, you couldn't shake the anticipation of seeing your parents again. It had been far too long since you had been home and you knew that your reunion would be emotional. But duty called, and you had brought the divorce papers with you, determined to get Gojo's signature.

The Tokyo streets outside the station were familiar yet different, a testament to the passage of time. Seiko walked beside you, 'oooing' and 'ahhing' at all of the sights. Their presence provided you a bit of stability that grounded you in the present moment. As you hailed a taxi to take you to your hotel, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions -- fear, anticipation, and a newfound determination to finally put an end to the chapter of your life that had been marked by a love that had never fully bloomed.

#gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #gojou satoru x you #satoru gojou x you #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojou x reader #gojou satoru x y/n #satoru gojou x y/n #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojou satoru #satoru gojou

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b4nka1 · 9 months

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overstimulation. gojo satoru x reader

where reader puts satoru in his place!

warnings: fem dom, male sub, whiny gojo, hair pulling, face slapping, oral (f!receiving), face riding, squirting, come eating, tongue fucking, crying, choking, dry milking (iykyk), bondage, overstimulation, handjobs, mentions of pissing if you squint. not proofread.

"that's it. you've pulled the last string." you growled, pulling satoru by his hair harshly into your room. he had been non-stop flirting with the receptionist at the front desk of the hotel where you were out for your vacation.

it was a rare chance for you both, two of the strongest sorcerers get a week off. you both decided on visiting hokkaido, and satoru really tried flirting with the receptionist in front of you.

you slammed the door shut of your hotel room, angrily staring down at the white haired man in front of you.

he looked at you with scared eyes, knowing that he really fucked up. "s-sorry..." he mumbled in a low voice, hoping ot would take just a simple, half-assed sorry to calm you down.

"sorry? bitch, i'm so fucking mad. the fuck makes you think that its okay for you to flirt with the receptionist in front of your fucking fiancée?" you snarled at his face, grabbing his collar harshly.

he whimpered, his limitless cursed technique long gone. "you really need to learn a lesson, don't ya? brat." you scowled, pushing him downwards onto the bed till his head hit the soft pillows.

he looked at you in excitement, yet in fear, anticipating your next move. before he knew it, you pinned his wrists above his head, using your scarf to tie his wrists up.

he gulped hard, looking at you through his sunglasses. you tool them off, grabbing his throat again, "are you really sorry?" you asked, raising an eyebrow angrily.

he licked his lips, so lost in feeling submissive to you. you grunted, sitting on his chest. "are. you. sorry?" you repeated, this time leaning vlpser to hks face.

he swallowed hard and nodded, "s-sorry..." you sighed, "fine. but you do need to learn your lesson." you smirked, taking your time to strip yourself off the summer dress. he gasped visibly, eyeing hungrily at your covered tits and ass.

you grinned maliciously, rubbing your clothed clit against his nose and you moaned. he greedily stuck his tongue out to lick at your clothed cunt, which earned him a tight slap on his face.

he whined, before pulling his tongue away as you continued to humph your clothed clit against his nose. you came to a step before orgasming. satoru eyed greedily at the wet patch on your bikini bottom, licking his lips in anticipation.

"hmm, eat me out." was all you said before stripping quickly off the panties, hovering your bare pussy over his face. "say, mommy please let me have your cunt in my mouth?" you grinned, teasing him.

he blushed, before repeating, "m-mommy...please let me have your cunt in my mouth- ngh! itadakimasu." he moaned as you immediately attached your cunt to his mouth. you whined and blushed when he said "itadakimasu", clearly embarrassed.

he moaned, licking at your clit, going down to your slit and prodding at the entrance with his tongue, panting like a greedy bitch.

he pushed his tongue into your hole, eyes closed as he enjoyed the feeling of hid face slowly being drenched by your slick, happily lapping up at whatever your pussy gave him.

he lapped up at your juices, slurping like he never had a meal before. his lips softly kissed and encircled your clit, sucking on the tiny bean which had you moaning and getting wetter.

he licked his lips before his tongue dived into your cunt again as your clit rubbed against his nose, sending you over the edge.

all it took was a last few kisses to your clit before the walls of your pussy began spasming, "i'm coming...ngh..." you moaned, pulling his hair and humping yourself against his face.

he had his tongue sticking out, using this as an opportunity to lick at your wet folds. your groaned, as your hips came to a halt.

satoru took no time to bring his lips back to your clit, sucking on it and nibbling on it. it sent you over the edge once again, as you squirted all over his face, crushing his head in between your thighs.

he happily lapped up at your fluids, his hair drenched partially in your squirt. "so good..." he whimpered, wanting more.

you sighed, bringing your spasming clit back to his face, and he grinned, kissing your clit millions of times before kitten- licking it, and finally sucking on it, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your veins.

he whined, tugging at his hands for you to take the scarf off. you grinned down at him, "ngh...you eat pussy too good... too bad the receptionist isn't here. she'd be jealous of me...sitting on your face like this..." you moaned when he slurped at your juices again, lapping greedily at your clit.

his tongue kept on abusing the tiny bean, nibbling and sicking and kissing and licking. your clit was super puffy and swollen by now, but you still had it in you to go.

you pulled his hair tightly, as he grunted and sucked your clit into his mouth harshly, letting it go with a pop after a few minutes. it was super swollen now. you whined, bringing a hand down to your clit and rubbing it, feeling the swell.

"sucked it well enough for you to make it swell? kr do you want more?" he grinned, kissing your clit over and over again. it was almost as if he was worshipping your clit in every way possible.

you moaned, "keep eating me out for a special surprise." you grinned. the word "surprise" got his attention before he nodded, sucking on your clit again, giving it all the attention in the world.

---

a few more minutes later, you were panting, hips writhing against his mouth as he kept on abusing your tiny bean which was now super puffy and swollen. you had finally let go off his hands as he spread your pussy lips apart, spitting om your clit. he moaned and watched his spit slide down your slit, landing on his own lips.

he co tinued to eat you out, determined to get one last orgasm ripped off you.

so he sucked and sucked and sucked on your clit, overstimulating you, as you whined, "such a good boy..." you whispered and smiled down at him.

he moaned, cheeks blushing as you praised him. his speed on your clit got even faster as he sent you over the edge for the 4th time already. you moaned, squirting yet again on his face. his hair was entirely drenched in your squirt now. his face had gone red, also drenched from your squirt.

"h-holy shit...you deserve a reward...which is more of a punishment." you grinned, before unbuckling his belt, unzipping his summer shorts and putting your hand into his boxers, pulling his dick out and holy shit.

it was drenched, literally drenched in precum, the tip an angry red color. you whistled, giving the head a lick at the slit and he moaned loudly, his hips buckimg upwards.

you grinned, doing the same over and over again, and satoru being satoru, just came from you doing nothing but lick at his slit a few times.

he panted, as his cock shot thick white ropes of his semen. some of it landed on your face but you didn't mind. you took the tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, ripping another moan out of his chest.

"so sensitive?" you teased, licking his tip, pumping the rest of his cock with your hands. he had a fairly long and thick dick with many veins bulging over it.

all it took was a few more pumps and he was coming again. "tsk. you can't even last long. how pathetic." you scoffed, gathering his cum on your fingers, shoving them into his mouth.

he gagged at the taste of his own sperms in his mouth, blushing furiously as you did so. he whined, dick twitching with every second that passes by. his dick was too sensitive now.

the cool air made him harder than he already was. his dick was twitching, as you massaged his balls with one hand, the other wrapped tightly around the base of his cock while you placed kissing onto the tip.

he seemed to be enjoying it too much, as he again spurted cum from his dick, weaker this time due to the tight hold of your fist in his hands. it slid down his dick, onto your fist. using it as lube, you pumped his dick, which was now shiny and redder, and he whined, "fuck– too much!" he gasped, eyes blown wide when you continuously began to pump him.

within a few minutes he was coming again, draining his balls off semen, as he whined and orgasmed, face flushing red.

"e-enough..." he whimpered as tears rolled down his cheeks, feeling overstimulated. you shook your head, "one last. i know you'll do it." you smiled and encouraged him, pumping his dick, watching as precum drooled from the tip.

he whined loudly, almost screaming as his dick twitched, orgasming again, but nothing came out, except a few trickles of his clear piss. he was totally milked dry.

he cried, chest heaving as you kept on pumping his cock. his cock twitched furiously, his mind going blank as he babbled incoherent words.

he finally screamed again when another empty orgasm hit him, hips bucking high into the air. you pumped his dick the last few times before letting it go, watching it as it still stood hard, twitching a lot.

"that's a good boy...you know to not flirt with the receptionist again, right?" you smiled cunningly, patting his cum-soaked hair. he weakly nodded, eyes hooded as he gasped for air, still panting.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #smut #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut

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mncxbe · 20 days

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Sweet n Low

𝑨𝒌𝒊 𝑯𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡𝒄𝒘: csm spoilers, sad Aki, on and off unestablished relationship, lil bit of smut and silly, slice of life// 2.3k words

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: ok so my city's full of wax cherry trees and they all bloomed this week♡ i was riding a bus when i passed some of the bloomed trees and they looked like they were covered in snow and it gave me this idea for Aki// divider by @benkeibear

𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕: Aki rarely takes days off of work. It’s pointless, a waste of precious time he could spend hunting down devils, but after getting injured into a fight, Makima forces him to go on vacation.

The heavy snow on the streets of Tokyo was long replaced by blossoming trees and vendors selling sakura mochi. Everything is so much lighter during spring- the air, the people, everything except the weight on Aki’s shoulders and the questions weighing on his mind. What’s he supposed to do with a free week? The whole point of this vacation is for him to relax and recover, so staying at home with Power and Denji is out of the question. The only other place he knows is Hokkaido, but he swore he’d never go there safe for the anniversary of his parents’ death.

Truth is, Aki has nowhere to go, and when Aki has nowhere to go, he comes to you.

When you open the door to your apartment, your colleague greets you with a nod “Hey there”

Oh hi, Aki. You move to the side, letting him step inside. As always, Aki takes off his shoes and sits down at the kitchen table, looking around the apartment while you make him coffee- medium grind, slow drip with no milk and a pinch of sugar. You notice he’s quieter than usual, his expression darker as he stares at something outside the kitchen window. During the few years you’ve known each other you learnt that Aki has the bad habit of getting lost in his own thoughts when things got tough– his mind is both a refuge and a prison, but today it seems to be the latter. Placing the steaming cup of coffee next to him you squeeze behind his chair, wrapping your arms around his neck. I see you were discharged. You feel any better?

“A little bit…” he muses “Look, I was wondering if I could crash at your place this week. Makima made me take a week off after my injury” You smile, nuzzling your chin in the crook of his neck. He always smells so good despite smoking, like a fresh summer breeze. I’d let you stay but I’m going back to my hometown this week so… “No, no it’s okay I get it. Forget I asked” Aki and you are close, but not close enough to let him stay at your place by himself. Still, you can’t shake off the feeling that you have to do something for him. You could come with me you suggest and he tenses up, shaking his head “I couldn’t possibly it’s your vacation. I don’t want to intrude” Nonsense you giggle, slowly running your hands up the sides of his face and into his hair to undo his topknot. The protests that fall from his lips are quickly silenced when you trace soft kisses on his neck and jaw, working your way up to the shell of his ear.

Come on, Aki, it’ll be fun. You and me in my little hometown for a whole week you whisper, rolling his stiff muscles under your palms, easing the tension in his shoulders. We could go on walks all day. I’ll show you around, it’s a pretty village, quite quiet too, perfect for you to relax. Your hands slide lowers down his chest and abdomen, finding purchase on his thighs. Your body’s practically flush against his back and Aki’s breath catches in his throat when you kiss his cheek again I can help you relax–

“Ok, alright, I’ll come with you” he cuts you off, his thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist, one of the few signs of affection he showed you. You straighten your back at his compliance and ruffle his hair, earning a soft frown from the man Wonderful, we’re leaving tonight.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡

You reach your hometown by morning, just before sunrise, and you rent a room at a local inn. “Why don’t you just stay with your family?” he asks the moment the door to your room slides shut behind you. He drops his luggage on the floor and reaches for his pack of cigarettes Because I promised you I’d stay with you. You snap your fingers to get his attention and Aki turns to see you pointing at a no smoking inside sign and huffs, mumbling curses under his breath as he returns the pack to his breast pocket. “I really have to go all the way to the front porch to have my damn cigarette?”

Sort of you laugh and it’s like music to his ears. He takes a deep breath in to calm his nerves and looks around the room: it wasn’t much larger than his own bedroom, with a bed in the middle and a table for two in the corner, next to the built-in closet. A fresh breeze seeps inside the room through the open window, carrying a faint flowery scent. It was early morning and people were slowly starting to come out on the streets “So, what’s the plan for today?” Jee, Aki, relax we just got here. We should sleep for a while, we’ve been up all night you say as if you didn’t sleep during the whole trip. “I think I’ll pass. I’m going to take a walk around town” You nod, yawning as you slip out of your clothes and into your pajamas. You sure you don’t want to stay?

Curling up between the sheets with you in his arms sounds awfully tempting, but he needs to be alone at least for a while. “I’m sure. I’ll be back in a few hours though”

And so he leaves the inn and walks down the stone paved street lined with pretty houses, family restaurants and shops with closed windows. From time to time, someone passes by and gives him a friendly good morning but aside from that, the place is silent. There are no cars rushing around, no bustling crowds and no devils massacring innocent civilians, just peace and quiet, as if the whole town was frozen in time. Aki doesn’t understand how a village just hours away from Tokyo could be so serene, but he welcomes the normality of this place, allowing it to settle down over him and soothe his worries.

He finds a bench on the main street and takes a seat, procuring his pack. He cups the flame of his lighter with a hand, sheltering it from the soft breeze as he lights a cigarette and takes a deep breath in, the smoke stinging the back of his throat. Aki drops his head back and closes his eyes, listening to the birds chirping in the distance. Perfect, everything is perfect, he’s certain he made the right decision by joining you on this trip. He’d go back to you in a few hours and you’ll show him around town, maybe he’ll even get to meet your family one of these days and the two of you would have a good time. Maybe he will even allow himself to believe that you are more than occasional fuck buddies.

But then he notices the trees and the sense of peace crumbles. As he looks up at the crowns of flowers above him through half lidded eyes they seem covered in snow and nausea washes over him. How did he not notice them sooner? Fuck his mind for not allowing him to have one peaceful moment before memories of the day his family died rushed in. Suddenly, the picture he conjured up of this corner of paradise, his plans to enjoy the vacation are spoiled, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. He ashes his cigarette and gets up from the bench, retracing his steps back to the inn, away from all the things that remind him of his past. He shuts himself in, desperately trying to ignore his memories and the white trees lining up every street that make him feel like the world is caging in on him.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s in his room until your sleepy voice snaps him back to his senses. Aki, you’re back so soon? you mumble, rubbing your eyes and stretching out an arm, beckoning him to join you in bed. And he does, shrugging off his jacket and slipping under the sheets. Did you have fun on your walk? He mumbles a yes, though you can tell he’s not in the best of spirits, so you simply smile up at him, holding his face in your hands. I’m glad then. Maybe we could go to the hot springs later today. I’m sure you’ll love it. Your touch feels so warm against his skin, your lips so deliciously sweet when you kiss him. Aki hooks an arm around your waist and deepens the kiss, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against one another and your breaths grow shallower as he pulls your pajama shorts to the side.

His actions are urgent, desperate, but you let him kiss you and touch you and fuck you and he does it like you’re his lifeline. Because in moments like this one, when he's plagued by his past, the pain so vivid and intense even years after those unfortunate events, you are the only thing that brings him peace.

So what’s up with you, hm? You seem awfully tense.

The sun sunk low under the line of the horizon a few hours ago, the only source of light coming from the lampposts on the main street, a hue of gold floating dissipating in the dark of the night. Aki’s back is turned to you as he pretends to sleep, his ribcage rising and falling with each breath he takes. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk– he’s been acting strange ever since he returned from his walk and didn’t even join you to the onsen, but you can’t just leave him like this.

Shifting closer to him, you run your hand along the expanse of his arm, feeling his muscles relax under your touch. You’re not going to accomplish anything by ignoring me, you press and he sighs, turning to lay on his back. He looks so pretty in the soft light that seeps through the open window, his jaw tense, lips pressed in a tight line, lashes batting slowly as if to fence off the sleep. When he finally speaks his voice has a distant edge to it. “It’s just the trees. They remind me of the snow in Hokkaido”

And is that a bad thing?

Of course you don’t know, he never told you about his parents and he has doubts that this is the right moment to have this conversation. But your eyes are so imploring as you prop yourself up on your forearm and look down at him, waiting for some sort of clarification.

“You know... my parents and my brother died when I was a kid, killed by the Gun devil. It was winter and everything was snowed in. I was playing outside with my brother but I sent him to grab something from the house and that’s when-” His voice is strained, like he has to force the words out of him and you feel your heart breaking for him. Your gaze drifts to at the tree in front of your room’s window, its white flowers basking in moonlight and somehow you can see it: the soft glow of the petals and the way they slope to the ground when the wind sweeps them off their sepals resembles snowflakes falling.

You fiddle with the collar of Aki’s t-shirt, trying to find the right thing to say. Would he even appreciate your sympathy? You know he’s not the type of guy who likes to be pitied and you fear doing worse, pushing him farther away. I’m sorry to hear you say under your breath, wrapping your arms around his narrow waist and placing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. I didn’t know it’d be like this.

“Don’t apologize, it's not your fault. I’ve got my own issues to deal with, but I want us to have a good time here” His reassurance doesn’t really have the effect he hoped for, he can tell you’re already overthinking. Aki cups your cheek, tilting your head up, making you face him. “I mean it, Y/N. Don’t worry.” His lips brush against yours in a soft kiss, his hand finding its way to your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “Plus they’re just fucking trees. I won’t let them ruin the only actual vacation I had since I joined the Public Safety”

But won’t they bother you if you see them all the time? I mean, hell, they’re everywhere.

"I know they are…” his voice drifts off as he leans closer to you, his deep blue eyes scanning your features as he traces the contour of your face with his fingertips. Your skin is smooth and warm under his touch, a reminder that you’re here. That he’s here. He’s not in the frozen land of Hokkaido, not in his childhood home, but in a little town with cherry trees east of Fukuoka. This is your home, your life, and for a week he’s allowed to be part of it, to forget his worries and leave his past behind. And he’d be damned if he let a couple of plants ruin it for him. So he kisses you again, gently pushing you back down on the mattress as he whispers against your lips “I guess I’ll just have to keep my eye on you whenever we’re outside.”

#‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚#chainsaw man #chainsaw man aki #aki fluff #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa #csm x reader #csm #aki x reader #csm aki

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soccerpunching · 5 months

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I forgot my love for somegoufubu so I'll share something nice about them as adults

I will be calling shirou's system as White Scarf System for this post. While i think alter atsuya already had a name-change at this point, i will continue to call him atsuya until i have decided a name for him

Let's start with love languages: someoka - physical affection and gift giving; gouenji - acts of service and parallel play; shirou - words of affirmation and physical affection

Someoka is obviously less temperamental and more expressive as an adult (seen from how he interacts with kidou) so fight among these three are not common. However, atsuya still has beef with gouenji so someoka often has to go between the two bcs atsuya knows how to get on gouenji's nerves and does it well. Someoka still gets on argument with the others ofc, just not as much as the other white scarf alters do vs gouenji

White scarf system also has more alters now (some of them have notably different love languages from shirou). Some gouenji and/or someoka are dating but that oc posting is for another time.

Gouenji has a weakness for cute things so he gets a lot of cute presents from his partners as he himself buys cute things for them right back

Take turns in cooking but gouenji's predominant acts of service love language makes him cook more for them

Someoka is the go-to partner for technology and pop culture related concerns. Most of the white scarf system are also knowledgeable with that but most of them are not willing to help gouenji

They have two shared houses: one in hokkaido and one in tokyo. They have one shared room and three separate ones on both houses with a total of 3 bedrooms and one master bedroom.

-> they have separate bank accounts but one joint account that they drop the same amount of money on at the end of the month for house repair or decorating expenses

They spend once a week together on very competitive hobbies

Have a wrestling ring in the gym in their house. A lot of manhandling and grabbing (not the sexy way) happens here (ok maybe for sexy reasons sometimes but mostly the competitive fighting ones). (Someoka judo reference)

Have a lot of questionable wolf painting and decorations in the house (dont you dare question it)

I'll add more after my headache disappears. I think i caught something from my vacation

#inazuma eleven #inazuma eleven go #somegoufubu #ie imagined by lore #gouenji shuuya #fubuki shirou #someoka ryuugo #axel blaze #shawn froste #kevin dragonfly

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otaru-nostalgia · 2 years

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pininghermit · 1 year

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Heeey, I'd like to make an ask if you don't mind but first I just have to say that I really liked the fic you wrote on alucard, I thought the relationship dynamic was so cute *internal screaming* So I was wondering if you could do a modern au fic with a female monster hunter s/o who's like batman (uses their brains over brawn but definitely knows how to fight) and she works together with alucard on monster hunting missions(if it's possible to make it Genya Arikado version from the aria of sorrow/dawn of sorrow it would be really cool as there's not a lot of content with that but it's fine if not.)

Thanks!

Mr. and Mrs. Tepes (Alucard x Reader)

Pairing: Alucard x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: A slightly rushed "Where are you?" greets you as soon as you plug in your Bluetooth. You hear the clang of metal followed by gurgling growls on the other end. "I am on my way," you press harder on the gas as you speed to the site of conflict.

AN: Hi, thanks for requesting such an interesting ask. I am not familiar with the Genya Arikado version that you mentioned but I tried doing some research to pull up something decent. I hope you like it and please forgive any cannon inaccuracies I'm a noob.

"It's just going to be a bunch of mindless skeletons," he said.

"I can handle it myself, he said,” you grumble as you furiously pull back your hair into a tight braid as you try to locate your crossbow.

You chuck your weapons in your trusted Audi. He better be damn grateful for this. You would have never put your darling Audi8 through this rough treatment, but alas, the situation called for it.

Giving your resort one last parting look, you speed your way through isolated roads. Speed limits and laws jump out of the window at 2 am in the morning.

A slightly rushed "Where are you?" greets you as soon as you plug in your Bluetooth. You hear the clang of metal followed by gurgling growls on the other end. "I am on my way," you press harder on the gas as you speed to the site of conflict.

It had been a no-work vacation that you had somehow convinced Adrian to take. After weeks of pleading, he agreed to spend a week of nothingness except for relaxing spas and soothing hot springs in Hokkaido.

You should have known better. Honestly, you had no idea when he snuck out to 'explore' the land. In his plan to be discreet, your very smart fiancé thought it wise to venture into an unknown territory without appropriate weapons or ammunition.

It had been too late by the time you caught on, and your dampir fiancé replied with cryptic texts that told nothing about his whereabouts. While you were busy freaking out about your missing fiancé, Adrian was out there living his best life, scouting Japanese forests.

Giving up on the cocky bastard, you resorted to destressing through the amazing bath at your disposal. And he did text you about how he did not need help fighting mere annoyances.

Next thing you know, just as you undress to hop into water that is just the right temperature, Adrian hits you with a "Need backup" text with the coordinates of his location.

Now here you are, very much away from your therapeutic bath and herbal tea. Parking your baby outside the forest parameters, you double-check your Bluetooth. "Take cover, I'll be there soon," you speak into the mic as you huff with the weight of weapons on your back.

In a matter of seconds, you transform yourself into a killing machine loaded with weapons of every kind at your disposal. Pulling Adrian's location on your watch, you start your trek through the forest or, to better phrase it, through the trees.

While Adrian fought head-on, you preferred to catch your opponents off guard. You lingered in shadows, waiting for a chance to strike. Maybe it was a habit from your past as an assassin that never left you.

Long ago, before you met Adrian, you fought for people who bought others' lives with the money they were born into. You sliced throats, spiked drinks, sniped unsuspecting targets, fabricated accidents. Adrian wasn't in your life back then. It remains a past you wish to forget, but you don't deserve to forget it, not after all the blood you have on your hands. This is your penance, to remember and live with your dark past.

But now, as you blend into the cover of the trees, your past helps you spot Adrian faster than ever. You find him crouched behind a rock. Great, he actually took cover. It must be pretty serious then. As if on cue, he looks up, and you see relief settle into his features.

From your vantage point, you spot about two merman and around twenty skeletons. Adrian could have dealt with this mix... if only Mr. Smartass had enough weapons on him. You could shoot some from your spot, but first, you need to equip Adrian with some ammunition. So, you soundlessly make your way to join Adrian behind the abnormally large rock.

The first thing you do after reaching him is to look for any possible injuries on him. Adrian, for once, lets you do your job with the patience of a saint, at least for him. After making sure that your fiancé won't bleed to death as you fight, you wordlessly hand him refills and the crossbow.

Neither of you speaks about the atrocious number of daggers in your pack. From the look on Adrian's face, you're pretty sure he's dying to present his reasons for the adventure, but it will have to wait.

Adrian feels all the exhaustion leave his body as his senses focus on your hands tying a bandolier around his waist. Your movements are efficient and quick. You separate the poisoned dagger from the normal ones.

Even in such an unexpected situation, you remain undaunted. You scheme and plan, but you do not cower. That's what Adrian loves about you. You're brave. Brave enough to accept your past, your flaws, and live with them.

It's easy to forget the hideous monsters on the other side of the rock as you both huddle close under the clear skies. The cool night breeze sways a wayward strand that escaped your braid, a sign that you probably rushed on your way here.

"Eeek," Adrian squeaks as you pull him closer by the grip on his collar. He's seriously too old to blush like a schoolgirl, but his cheeks heat up when he realizes how close your face is to his, and his eyes meet yours.

"You better make it up for all this," you whisper next to his ear, and Adrian feels the warmth of your breath against his skin. Barely holding back the shudder that runs through him, Adrian nods silently.

With a satisfied smile on your face, you pull back, only to lean in again and steal a kiss before disappearing into the cover of the trees. Your message is clear as Adrian tightens his grip on the gun in his hand. Reeling from the distraction, Adrian tries to focus on your concealed footsteps and the obnoxiously loud monsters on the other end.

Adrian steps into the clearing where the monsters stand, waiting for him. Hidden in a tree, you provide cover as he approaches the two Merman. It's a well-practiced dance, a complex routine of taking the lead and handing it off to the other when needed.

As he fights the monsters, who seem to follow a repetitive pattern of overused attacks, Adrian reminisces about the first time he met you.

It was a grand hall, and he was disguised as Genya Arikado. It was the birthday celebration of a powerful politician's son. The most prestigious individuals in town had gathered to celebrate the man-child's twenty-seventh birthday.

Genya Arikado had been invited by a colleague who he worked with under his disguise's alias. The party had reached a point where Adrian was trying to discern possible faces and shapes in the botched ceiling paint.

Lost in thought, he was looking up when he bumped into another person, causing them to fall upon the impact. "Oof!" Adrian snapped back to reality and quickly apologized, his eyes landing on you.

Red. He saw red when he saw you. Dressed in the deepest shade of red, you sat there, glaring at him. "Watch where you're going, will you?" you muttered as you stood up, ignoring the hand he offered you. In a flurry of motion, you disappeared, blending into the sea of bored people.

Throughout the rest of the evening, Adrian searched for you or any sign of your red dress, but he failed. It was as if the entire interaction, lasting only a few seconds (though it felt longer to Adrian), had never happened.

Adrian's mind was consumed by thoughts of you and the fleeting encounter. Doubt gnawed at his thoughts. Had he truly imagined you? Had his longing for companionship manifested itself in a vivid yet illusory encounter? He replayed the interaction in his mind over and over, dissecting every detail, desperately trying to grasp onto any evidence that would confirm the existence of that brief connection.

The memory of your delicate fragrance lingered in his senses, adding to his confusion. It was a fragrance unlike any he had encountered before—subtle yet captivating, with floral and citrus undertones that momentarily transported him to a world beyond the confines of the party. The scent became intertwined with the image of you, deepening the mystery surrounding your presence.

As the night wore on, Adrian's frustration grew. He wondered if he had been destined to cross paths with you only for a fleeting moment, forever chasing an apparition that could never be captured. The questions echoed in his mind, haunting him with the possibility that he might never find the answers.

Yet, despite the uncertainty and the absence of tangible evidence, Adrian couldn't shake the feeling that the encounter had been real. The emotions stirred within him, the electricity in the air, and the inexplicable connection he had felt—all pointed to a profound encounter that defied rational explanation.

Later in the chaotic night, when the guests rushed out, Adrian found himself reluctantly leaving the hall. Throughout the night, he had been unable to find you. Even his enhanced senses had failed to spot any sign of your presence. The party ended abruptly when the politician's son had to be carried out on a stretcher due to an allergic reaction to a shellfish starter.

Waiting for the valet to bring his car, Adrian paused as the valet got out to offer him the keys. A familiar fragrance flooded his senses. Standing in front of him was you, dressed in a valet uniform with a seamless disguise. Smiling with a knowing look in your eyes, you handed him the keys and rushed back to work as a guy, seemingly your manager, called out for you.

Back in the present, Adrian tackled the last surviving skeleton, realizing he was almost done. From the corner of his eye, he searched for you, wherever you might have ended up during the fight. Lost in handling the final skeleton and looking for you, he didn't notice another set of footsteps approaching.

He suddenly became aware of the presence of another surviving skeleton running toward him and prepared to dodge the attack. However, it never came. The skeleton crumpled down into dust as you tackled it, jumping out of the literal sky.

Standing in the now quiet clearing, Adrian allowed his shoulders to relax. All the tension from the past hours left his body as he observed you collecting arrows from the ground.

"Make haste, Mr. Tepes. You've got a bath to run once we get back," you said, bundling all your beloved knives into their designated packs.

The slight smirk on your face revealed that Adrian would be running more than one bath. His list of chores had just increased exponentially for the week. Sighing in dismay, Adrian cracked his back as he followed you out of the forest.

#alucard x reader #alucard #castlevania #modern au #assassin reader #adrian tepes #adrian tepes x reader #genya arikado #romance

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halcyonmirage · 1 year

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ON VACATION IN HOKKAIDO AND???

Holy SHIT-

SO CHEAP!? THESE FEEL LIKE TREASURED RELICS- I got the one with the blue X on it! Time to whip out the old DS when I get home-

@kimarisgundam

LOOK AT THISSS AAAAHHH-

#katekyo hitman reborn #reborn #khr

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incognito-danganronpa · 10 months

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DrV3 Birthplace Headcanons part 2!

Hello everyone! Thank you for all the likes and reblogs on my last post! In this post, I'd like to dig up more anscentral roots of drv3 characters.

Gonta Gokuhara - I had completely forgotten that Gonta's family was rich. Sorry, my fault. But since he did like the jungle(more like forest, because the only jungle in Japan is in Okinawa, and there's no repilites/wolves) . I think he lived in the rich forest in the Toyama Prefecture, which is the setting of the absolutely beautiful japanese movie Wolf Children, Yuki and Ame. If anyone hasn't watched it, I highly recommend it. It is just so heartfelt. I think Gonta could have been born in an affluent neighborhood in Tokyo(probably not Karuizawa, though, because of his plotline and all that) and they were in Toyama for a vacation when he got lost.

Maki Harukawa - This is sort of a shot in the dark, but I'm going to say way up north, like Hokkaido. It's the largest prefecure in Japan, but by no means the most populated. Most of it is either cow pastures or potato and corn farms. With its low population, it might be very ideal for a assasin training facility. A headcanon I have is that Maki was thrown into freezing lakes as part of her training---something that's definitely in Hokkaido. I have no concrete proof, but nowhere else really fits.

Ryoma Hoshi - The former High School refrences say Fukuoka, which is one of the top ten populated cities in Japan. There are also yakuza groups active in Fukuoka, mainly the Kudo-kai and Fukuhaku-kai. So plently of people who might go after him. The only ties to tennis I can find in Fukuoka is the Fukuoka International Women's Cup, which has nothing to do with him, but is pretty interesting netherless.

Angie Yonaga - DRV3 loves to make Angie's past so weird and fictional(like, Polynesian Island! How divine!) However, she's got to be at least part Japanese with her last name. My guess is Okinawa, the small tropical island area of Japan known for pineapples and sugar cane. Sort of fits, but again, canon is so weird I have basically nothing to support this.

#drv3 #ndrv3 #danganronpa v3 killing harmony #danganronpa v3 #danganronpa #maki harukawa #gonta gokuhara #ryoma hoshi #angie yonaga

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embossross · 2 years

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From His Mind to Yours

Chapter 1 >> Chapter 2 >> Chapter 3

✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content

✣ Chapter CW: graphic torture (not of reader); murder (not of reader); very very bad therapeutic practice

✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; sex (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, torture (not of y/n), murder, discussions of suicide, trauma and abuse, and many more that I don't know yet

✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.

✣ Word Count: ~5k

Any day now, the rainy season will end, bringing a brief respite before the humidity of summer becomes unbearable. You often think about moving to a land with a more temperate climate. A country near the equator, where you could invest in a single wardrobe that works year-round, rather than switching out the contents of your closet five times a year to accommodate the seasons.

Raindrops break through the protective barrier of your hooded cloak. When you lick your lips, you taste cold and wet.

The trip from your apartment to your office is a long one, three-quarters of an hour by train plus a nine-minute walk from the station. Plenty of time for the elements to drench and shake you. Snow in the winters proves especially brutal. Waiting at your office is a change of clothes, cosmetics, and hair product. You construct your work attire like a suit of armor. A blank slate of dry-cleaned perfection distracts from your age and makes patients respect you.

Most patients anyway.

On the train, you scan an article about the winner of last year’s Nenmatsu Jumbo. Through the lens of your phone, you read how the lucky fortunate pledges half his fortune to a shrine in Hokkaido and will spend the rest on sending his four children to private schools, lavish vacations, and a plot of farmland. The winner says he has no intentions of retirement just yet.

700 million yen. A transformative amount of money. You have run the numbers, and with about half that much saved, you would be set for life. No need to worry about disability, disaster, or devils sweeping away your years of hard work. With 350 million yen, you would finally be safe. Happy even.

Hanma Shuji is your winning lottery ticket.

The price you charge for his treatment is obscene; more importantly, if you’re successful, it will unlock a new revenue stream with the Tokyo Manji gang. Their organization must be rife with degenerates, neurotics, and depressives, all with blood money to burn. Ten years of catering to the criminal class, and you may well reach your savings goals. When you think about it at night, you fall asleep with a smile.

Your happy dreams assume, of course, that Hanma doesn’t sabotage you at the get, which is not looking promising.

He’s late.

At the office, you change out of your rain-soaked clothes, blow dry your hair, and read your case notes three times over. Your eyes stray repeatedly to the time on your phone as Hanma’s lateness makes the move from possibility to definitive reality. Arriving a few minutes late seems like Hanma’s style, and arriving fifteen minutes late as a power play might be his m.o. as well, but half an hour? He doesn’t plan to show, and you know it.

You walk to the empty reception room. There are a couple other patients on your case load right now, but you are scheduling their therapy around Hanma’s, clearing entire days just to focus on your golden goose. You even gave your receptionist the day off to ensure his privacy. An hour-long train ride here and an hour back would be for nothing if Hanma ghosts you.

Frustrated, you hover over his name in your contacts. Calling and begging him to participate in his own treatment will cede all authority you have.

While your office is disturbingly minimalist – designed to keep your most distracted patients engaged – the reception room is livened slightly by large windows that overlook central Tokyo. The rain beats against the pane thunderously, but you can still see the activity on the street below. It’s an office district, so mostly fellow professionals leaving for meetings or a working lunch. The street is more active than typical as the Samurai Blue are playing a match at the stadium, and your office block is a well-known detour to the venue. You can make out the blue jerseys as lucky fans stream toward the game and unlucky fans look for a bar to catch the match on TV.

It sparks an idea, and you press Hanma’s name before fully processing it.

“Hello, who is this?” Hanma greets, voice twisted with mockery.

He knows exactly who is calling and why. Your number is already saved in his phone. You ignore the flame it alights in your gut. Hanma likes to play games, and you can oblige that.

“The Samurai Blue are playing right now. Are you near a TV?”

“Hello to you, too. Hide has been resurrected from the dead and is giving an impromptu concert at Tokyo Tower. Are you near a radio?” Hanma says, mirroring your bizarre introduction.

“That’s funny. You’re funny,” you say, momentarily surprised into laughing before you remember you are angry with this man.

“Mmhmm,” Hanma hums. It’s a filler noise. He’s waiting for the inevitable chastisement, to see you plead for his cooperation. He will be disappointed.

“I’m not going to waste your time asking why you are late for our session or if you’re coming in. if you were a typical client, I frankly wouldn’t care. I’d bill you for the session anyway and treat myself to pork belly on your dime. But Kisaki-san has impressed the importance of working with you upon me, so I want to keep this appointment. Rather than beg for you to have mercy and come in –”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing you try,” Hanma interrupts.

A spark of memory from your last session. Standing at full height, he was mountainous, easily one of the tallest men you have ever encountered. His wide-legged stance, so much space between to settle at his feet, legs lolled out because spaces weren’t designed to contain a man of his stature. The hint of tenting, possible erection. Predator’s eyes.

You ignore him.

“How about a wager?” Silence. You think that’s a good sign, so you bully on. “If the Samurai Blue score within the next minute and a half, we keep our session today. If not, I start looking for flights out of town for when Kisaki-san sends someone knocking on my door.”

“Kind of funny to imagine it might very well be me that he sends in that eventuality, huh?” Hanma says, though it’s not funny at all. “Fine. You’ve caught my interest. Ninety seconds. They score, we meet, and you can try your psychobabble on me.”

“Perfect.”

There’s a flatscreen to entertain waiting clients, mounted above a gurgling water tank. The remote is missing, so you manually press the power button and scroll until you find the match. On the line is silence as you assume Hanma also finds the right channel.

“Starting now?” Hanma asks.

“Time it.”

You watch as the match unfolds. The Samurai Blue are already down one, and their opponent, red jerseys, have possession of the ball. Blue streaks of activity as the national team tries to defend and retrieve.

You don’t have any special affinity towards football, but only the most stubborn could avoid watching the World Cup or Olympic matches, when the radios blared the action from the open door of every convenience store or market stall. In university, most of your fellow students were men, and you would join them semi-regularly at the student bars to watch a promising match; you would call it “making an appearance.” Your boyfriend keeps up with the international leagues, catching the scores on his phone and commenting on coaching decisions without ever bothering to actually turn on a match.

This wager is a shot in the dark from a gun that may not even be loaded. You have no insider insight to guarantee Japan scores, and probability is against you.

That’s why when the center forward retrieves the ball, barreling past the center circle, your heart rises in your chest. The impossibility of it, this quick drive down the length of the field, from winger to striker and now nearing the goalpost, is a pure shot of adrenaline.

What are the odds? Are they as impossible as winning the Nenmatsu Jumbo, a New Year’s miracle?

The goalie lines up to block, and you will the striker’s attack to land. Millions may be watching, singularly concentrated on this very play, but in this moment, you are on the field. Your will is all that matters.

When the ball connects with the net, Hanma roars on the other side of the phone. He doesn’t groan in disappointment; he’s celebrating the goal. Like you, the adrenaline has drugged him. You stare at the players taking their victory lap in disbelief. Your own celebration a quiet closing of your eyes, a silent prayer.

“How’d you do it, doc?” Hanma whistles into the phone. “Did you bribe the goalie in advance?”

“Pure luck,” you say, a little breathless at how true the words are. You have never been lucky, and it stuns you. You have to will yourself back to professional reserve. “You wouldn’t have been interested enough to take me up on a wager if the odds weren’t completely stacked against me. That’s what makes it exciting.”

While the Tokyo Manji gang runs underground casinos and Mahjong parlors across the city, no one reported Hanma as a gambler. Under the right circumstances, you speculate he would thrive on gambling. The moment of tension, when both the loss and the win feel equally possible, is an adrenaline high, and the kind of thing to electrify a bored misanthrope. You did not plan to test this hunch on Hanma so early, hoping to save it for future sessions, but you are happy to see your suspicions proved accurate.

“Smart, and a coin toss wouldn’t have worked because you couldn’t trust me to be honest about the results, and I wouldn’t trust you in return. You know, you’re pretty manipulative. Are you sure you’re not a sociopath?” Hanma says. It’s the first compliment he’s spared you, followed immediately by an attack.

“If manipulating someone occasionally was all it took to meet the diagnostic requirements, everyone would qualify,” you disagree.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking. Yeah, you say all these things about me being a risk-taker, unempathetic, manipulative, whatever, but am I really all that different than anyone else? In my experience, people are plenty self-serving when anything half important is on the line?” Hanma says.

Sampling bias, you think. Hanma’s line of work exposes him to society’s desperates, the people drowning beneath the weight of their previous mistakes and dying to breathe again.

“That’s a good topic of discussion for when you come in. I’d wondered what you thought about my assessment last week, especially now that you’ve had some time to process.”

“Oh, I’m not coming in,” Hanma says. You hear the slam of a car door and the beep of a lock. Now, the sound through the phone is distorted as Hanma walks through the rain to wherever he’s going that isn’t your office.

“Hanma-san, we had a deal…”

“I know that, and I won’t reneg. You can have your 90-minutes, but I never said I’d come to your office. You can come to me. I’m down by the Port. I’ll text you the address.”

“My office is in Ueno. That’s…over an hour away by train,” you say, knowing as you say it that your logistical concerns will be met with indifference.

“And I have a meeting that can’t be missed. I know, I know, self-care, put yourself first, but I think I might be a workaholic, doc. Work, work, work. They don’t even give me holidays off!” Hanma jokes.

Even as you negotiate with Hanma, you know it’s futile and start preparing to brave the elements once again. You zipper your wet clothes into a plastic bag and hang them in your closet. Your receptionist will take them for dry-cleaning when she stops by to lock up for the night. Your raincoat hasn’t dried off from before and wets your clean clothes as you pull it on again.

“If I come to Koto-ku, will you still be there?” you challenge, imagining making the trek only for Hanma to move onto some other distraction.

“You have my word. I think it’ll be good for you to see me in action,” Hanma says.

You choose not to think about what that might mean.

“If I take the train out to Telecom Center, you need to pick me up. I’m not walking down to the port in this rain, and I doubt you want a random taxi dropping me off at your important meeting,” you say.

Reasserting some boundaries, not allowing Hanma to control the terms. It’s part of your role as therapist, but it feels seedy with him. Maybe because these power plays are standard for his job. Normally your clients are less aware of how you subtly maneuver them.

“I’ll send someone to pick you up,” Hanma concedes.

“We have a deal.”

“I love hearing you say that,” Hanma moans, and then a beep as he unceremoniously hangs up.

As the rain beats down upon your head once again on your walk to the station, you half hope a tsunami strikes the city and carries Hanma Shuji out to sea. But only half.

- - - True to his word, a yakuza decked out with a neck tattoo and everything picks you up from the station and delivers you to a warehouse by the harbor. The grey sea is frothing and angry. Here, the wind is twice as strong, tangling your hair and tripping your feet.

You enter the warehouse, off-kilter and a little afraid.

In the movies, these criminal warehouses are always empty, perfect for a drawn-out battle, but this one is in active use. Rows, stocked with packages, stretch up to the ceiling. A line of cranes sit powered off by the entrance. A couple yakuza stand off to the side, smoking and playing dice.

Your guide leads you past them to a row cleared from merchandise. Amid the narrow row are two folding chairs, in one sits Hanma, and in the other sits a man who is handcuffed and chained at ankle and wrist to his seat.

You swallow.

The bound stranger is in his thirties. He wears a satin button-up, probably a fellow yakuza or at least someone who works in the entertainment district. Freshly shaven, which means he hasn’t been hostage for longer than half a day. The man sports a black eye, but no other obvious signs of struggle.

“You made it, doc!” Hanma calls out. In contrast to his prisoner, he’s the picture of casual comfort. He sits backwards in his chair, chin propped against the backrest with plenty of room for his gargantuan legs to stretch out.

“Thanks for sending someone to pick me up,” you say primly, deciding not to rise to the bait and comment on the other man. You glance around and realize your guide has disappeared in the few seconds it took you to get your bearings. Apparently, this is Hanma’s show alone.

“I want you to meet Fujimori Hisao,” Hanma says, gesturing at the bound man. “I’m afraid I can only give you half my attention here. You can ask me your questions, but I need to ask Hisao-kun some questions of my own.”

“And if I don’t like your answers, can I do whatever you do to Fujimori-san to you, too?” you ask.

“Funny! I keep forgetting that you can be funny when you want to be,” Hanma giggles. “I promise to be completely honest in all my answers. I need to set a good example for Hisao here. Don’t want to have him thinking he can pick and choose when to answer me. Honesty is the best policy and all.”

Hanma likes to hear himself talk. Sometime during his monologue, Fujimori starts to silently weep. With his hands restrained, there is nothing to catch the tears until they streak past his chin and collect in the column of his throat.

The scene is unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. Sometimes you hear about violence in the past tense in a clinical setting, but never before your own eyes. Criminal acts are hypotheticals to you, who has never even noticed a shoplifter in action. Your boyfriend always tells you that you’re naïve in the ways of the world. Innocence must cling to your skin, despite your best efforts to conceal it, because Hanma smells it on you, too.

The surprise reveal, the casual greeting, all of this is an act, a performance to frighten you. He wants to see you break.

You decide to get comfortable, shrugging off your coat. There is no third chair, so you lean against the shelves. You situate yourself close to Hanma. The other man is in your periphery, but you can ignore him with effort.

“May I begin, Hanma-san?”

He grunts.

“We could have scheduled for later this evening when your…appointment wrapped up. Why did you want me to see this?”

“You’re gonna cure my boredom, right? I thought you should see one of the last things that still gets me hot and going,” Hanma says.

“You’ve thought about what we discussed last session. Do you have any thoughts or questions?”

“I told Inui that I was officially a sociopath, and he said everyone already knew. Go figure,” Hanma sneers, and the other man goes deathly silent at hearing his captor self-describe as a ‘sociopath.’ “I stand by what I said on the phone though. I don’t see what’s all that different about me from your average guy. Take Fujimori-san here, he betrayed his friends, giving information on Toman to the HKJ – that’s a triad we’re in business with – and for what? Money!”

“NO! I didn’t. I swear! Hanma-san, I swear I would never –”

The way Hanma bursts from his seat is violent, knocking his chair to the ground with a clang. The way his fist connects with Fujimori’s chin is something worse than violent. Fujimori’s neck snaps back, so hard, you fear it broken, before his head falls limply forward. Frantic denials turn to drawn out moans of pain.

“Don’t lie to me!” Hanma hisses.

Your heart thunders in your chest, as if the threat is directed at you. Rather than return to his seat, Hanma prowls around Fujimori’s limp body. A victory lap or another intimidation tactic.

“People can be self-serving, especially where money is concerned. That’s not enough for a clinical diagnosis,” you say as calmly as possible. “To be diagnosed with ASPD, you need to meet additional criteria. For example, right now, I’m having a physiological reaction to seeing you punch that man. I feel for his pain and wish it would stop. A sociopath wouldn’t have that kind of empathy for someone else’s suffering.”

Hanma drops large hands onto Fujimori’s shoulders, massaging them and getting into the beaten man’s face. “You hear that Hisao-kun? She feels for your pain! It’s true that I don’t, but you should just confess and tell me who your contacts in the HKJ are, so that I don’t have to hurt you anymore.”

Before Fujimori can answer and earn Hanma’s wrath again, you forge onward, “I’d love to know more about how you feel about other people, too. Have you ever felt something you would describe as love? Does spending time with your favorite people make you happy? And while we’re at it, why are your favorite people your favorites? What makes them special.”

“You’re asking too many questions at once, doc. Rookie interrogation mistake!” Hanma chastises.

“That’s because I’m not seriously asking those questions yet. We’ll save them for another day. But I wanted to answer your question about what makes sociopaths different than the general populace, and the answer probably lies in how you’d respond to those questions,” you say. “Here is a direct question for you. In as much detail as possible, since we last met, when were you most bored?”

Hanma seriously considers the question, “Last Thursday was collection day, where all the men who report into me, bring their cash for the week. I just have to sit there, watch people count bills, and threaten to split a few heads if they come up short. No one was short this week, so I just sat there until four, then dropped the cash off with Koko. I called Kisaki, but he didn’t need me for anything. So, I decided to try one of our new nudie bars, where the girls are all pros. Nothing worse than seeing the show and finding out they’re all amateurs that can’t deliver, right? Well, I get there, have a few drinks, and as I’m looking around, I realize, I’ve already fucked every girl in the place. A real drag, right?”

You note Hanma’s verbal tick, the tacking on of ‘right’ at the end of his sentences. Is it to make you complicit in whatever vile things he says or a bid for validation? The former seems more likely.

“You never sleep with the same woman twice?” you ask.

“Where’s the fun in that, am I right?” Hanma says, giving a comradely clap to his prisoner’s arm. “Anyway, that was probably the moment, when I realized there wasn’t a girl in the place to interest me and nothing better to do with my night.”

Like you hypothesized on day one. He craves novelty.

“This is a hard question for most people to answer, but please give it a try. What does your boredom feel like in the moment? Can you find the words to describe it?”

Once again, Hanma takes the question seriously, allowing a long pause to collect his thoughts. You find it impossible to watch him as he ponders because to look at him requires you to look past Fujimori. He has regained some of his wits, mouth shaping around silent pleas for you to save him. You, this strange woman who doesn’t appear interested in torturing him, appear like a guardian angel, but there is nothing you can do. You lack the leverage with Hanma, and you would find a bullet in your skull before you finished dialing the police.

There is a sheen of sweat about Fujimori’s lip that strikes you as especially pitiful, and you look away.

“Cold,” Hanma says, at last. “It feels like that one night in winter, the coldest night of the year, when your bones freeze from the inside. Rationally, you know it’s only a few hours until the sun comes back, but instinctually, some part of you thinks, ‘this is it.’ That all you’ll ever know again is the bone deep cold and the dark.”

A phantasm of cold slices through your gut. You didn’t expect such evocative words. A high school dropout with abysmal marks to show for his public education, you didn’t expect Hanma’s intelligence, but his words move you. They are so uniquely human and familiar to the worst days of your own life.

Softening against your better judgement, you continue your line of questioning, “When I’m cold, I usually grab a jacket, an extra blanket, warm up by the kotatsu. My instinct is to do something to get warm. On Thursday, when you realized there were no girls to seduce, what did you do to warm yourself?”

“This is damn poetic what we have going here,” Hanma laughs, breaking a bit of the spell his words cast upon you. “Let me see…Thursday, I took a bump, and then decided to wander around the city. See if I stumbled on something more interesting.”

“Did the change of scenery help, or were you still bored while you walked around?”

“Still bored. I’ve been walking these streets since I was eleven,” Hanma says.

“And did you interact with any people during this walk?”

“Some juvenile delinquent bumped into me. Literally. Landed on his ass. Then, he wanted to pick a flight like it was my fault. I had to shut him down,” Hanma says and then scoffs when a fissure of concern ripples across your face. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t kill the poor kid. I just flashed a gun, so he understood I was the real deal, and suddenly it was ‘a thousand sorries, sir.’ J.D.s in my day weren’t so quick to back down, but anyway. I ended up at my tattoo parlor. My artist was working on someone else, but she kicked him out when I came in. had her do a color touch up on one of my tattoos.”

“Do you have many tattoos?” you ask, thinking Hanma would fit the profile for a tattoo addiction.

“Not by yakuza standards. Wanna see it?”

Hanma undoes the lower button of his dress shirt, rolling the material up above his abdomen. You can’t see clearly around Fujimori’s shaking frame, so Hanma releases his victim and walks closer to show you. In this suit, Hanma appears deceptively lean, but he’s filled out beneath his clothes. Clear lines cut across a chest and abdomen of defined ridges and dips. Your tongue wets your lips.

A dragon winds around his side, roaring face toward the front and tail trailing to his back. The green ink is fresh and vibrant with an undercurrent of red as the skin is still inflamed from the touch up. The work on the scales looks intricate and must have taken dozens of hours to complete. It is the only tattoo you can see on his chest.

“Pretty,” you admit. “Dragons are associated with the Tokyo Manji gang, right? Do you feel pride in being a lieutenant? Many gangs operate almost as families with people willing to commit unspeakable crimes against outsiders because they’re so invested in protecting the sense of belonging they feel with their in-group.”

“I know what you mean, and it’s what guys like Hisao here should be willing to die to protect. But, for me, not really. I feel pride in how far we’ve come. I’ve been with Kisaki since the early days, and I was part of making all this happen. And, I have a…fondness for some of the top guys, but we don’t feel like a family. I followed Kisaki all those years ago because he promised me a more interesting path than what I could picture for myself, and that’s why I’m still here,” Hanma says.

Something electric is lighting you up from your intestines. The immediate transparency that Hanma offers is not typical of clients. You sense nothing but honesty from his words. There’s a speed to your back and forth, testing your ability to think of the next question and draw connections. The mental strain plus your muted fear on behalf of Fujimoto makes you feel hyper-present, more present than you have felt in weeks as you commute between work, home, and dates with your boyfriend. You don’t want the session to end.

“You don’t feel any loyalty? But you must have had so many opportunities to betray them over the years, and you never took them,” you point out.

“The opportunity never felt worth it,” Hanma shrugs. “But speaking of loyalty! Hisao-kun, I think we’ve neglected you too long.”

Two-pronged annoyance shoots through you. Are you more upset at the promise of pain coming Fujimori’s way or how easily Hanma drops your conversation? The magnetic aura that made you feel as if it were only the two of you in the world must have been one-sided.

“Hisao, I did my research before collecting you. Unmarried, no kids that you know of, parents in good health. No loan sharks breathing down your neck or out of control gambling addiction. So, tell me, what made the money worth betraying your family? Risking your own neck for a couple million yen. If there was some big reason, maybe I could understand it, but without one…you’re hurting my feelings,” Hanma teases.

He keeps his hands tucked in his pockets, almost like sheathing a sword or holstering a gun, but you know he will be quick on the draw. Fujimori suspects as much as well, eyes darting between Hanma’s face and pocketed hands. The purple silk of his dress shirt is stained almost black with sweat at the pits.

“I swear I didn’t do it, Hanma-san. I swear!”

There is no immediate retaliation. Instead, Hanma drops to his knees in front of his captive. You stare in awe at the submissive position. Even on his knees, Hanma’s impressive height puts him at eye-level with Fujimori, who senses nothing good from this change in posture. Unconsciously, Fujimori strains against his bonds. Your fingers flex and twist as if you too were bound.

“We’re both Toman, Fujimori, and that makes us brothers in a way. We both promised we wouldn’t lie, and an oath to a brother is not something to break casually. Do not look me in the eyes and lie to me,” Hanma says lowly. He leans forward so their foreheads are touching, spectacled eyes drilled into Fujimori’s own. You can’t see their faces, just the white column of Hanma’s arched neck. “Now, tell me who was your liaison from HKJ?”

“I didn’t do i–”

Lightning fast, Hanma’s hand darts forward. The attack is soundless. Rather than a blow of force, Hanma plunges a finger straight into Fujimori’s eye. The choice is so startling that Fujimori gasps rather than screams, and then reality catches up to him and he starts to bellow.

“I can’t stand when people look me in the eye and lie,” Hanma sneers.

He stands up to his full height and wipes his hand against his pants. Eyeball juices. His pants are wet with eyeball juices.

The screaming stops. Wait, no, you see Fujimori’s mouth still open in a wail. Above it, blood stains his cheek, and above that…No, the screaming continues but you aren’t processing the sound. You are in shock and dissociating from the stimuli around you as a method of self-defense. Looking at Fujimori’s battered face is impossible, so you look at his legs instead. Panic has set in, and the man is using all of his weight to thrust up against his bonds, arcing the legs of the chair into the air and back down. It’s futile; the chains holding him are too strong.

Eventually, you look to Hanma and realize he’s been observing you the entire time. There is a smile on his face, too obvious to be anything but performative. Like when he threatened to masturbate in your office, he is looking to unsettle you. This time he has succeeded.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Hanma asks.

Even under the traumatic circumstances, there is a fierce streak within you that refuses to back down. Hanma is watching you with a sympathetic expression as fake as the blonde streaks in his hair. You don’t want to reward his bad behavior, or worse, provoke more of it.

“What did Fujimori-san do?” your voice shakes through the question.

“We’re negotiating a deal with the HKJ, big opportunity for us to expand our slice of the Meth trade. If we can secure entry through Hong Kong and replace our current suppliers, we’ll cut our costs by 5% and mark up our prices by 10%, free money. It’s a good deal for everyone involved, but that doesn’t stop greed from setting in. everyone wants to walk away with the sweetest deal. That’s why we think the HKJ will try to infiltrate Toman, plant a few moles. If they can cause a problem for us – say an unexpected police raid or losing our current supplier – they can then swoop in, play the heroes in clean up, and then demand the better cut. In general, we keep a close watch on our subordinates’ bank accounts to make sure everything is on the up and up, and an offshore account wired Hisao-kun ¥5,000,000. Payment for services rendered, perhaps?”

The last question he directs to Fujimori, who sits paralyzed in fear. Denials could lead to another outburst of violence but staying silent doesn’t bode well either. Against your better judgment, you catch a glimpse of his eye. It isn’t dislodged from the attack, but the eyeball is swollen with blood, thick like the juices of a passionfruit.

You shake your head in disbelief, like the gesture might change things.

“That’s it? One suspicious deposit in his bank account is all you have to go on? All you have to justify…this?” you gesture helplessly at Fujimori.

“Uh huh.”

“But that could be anything! Maybe a relative died and willed him some money! ¥5,000,000 is a lot, but it’s not a yakuza-only level of money!”

You know that the Tokyo Manji gang tops police wanted lists not just for their role in organized crime but their penchant for violence. It’s rare to see a yakuza gang in the news for murder these days with so many yakuza fighting to keep their government-granted legitimacy, but Toman bucks the trend. Of the top lieutenants, Hanma is the guard dog, biting any hand that would near the leaders. If Kisaki directs the madness, Hanma executes it with extreme prejudice. You know that.

But you always imagined the violence unleashed against those who had “earned it.” The triviality of Hanma’s evidence, enough to condemn a man, shocks you more than his aggression.

Hanma flings himself back into his chair and says, “Hisao-kun, did someone die and will you the money? Mind I’ll have someone verify before we leave her, and if you’re lying to me, I’ll gouge the other eye out completely and make you eat it.”

“No! No one died!” Fujimori swears quickly.

“Welp, there goes that theory. Got any others, Doc?” Hanma waits for you to answer, but you shake your head. “No? See the truth is it doesn’t matter. Hisao-kun is hiding something, or he would have explained where the money came from already. Maybe he’s not in league with the HKJ. Maybe he’s taken a bribe and not given us our cut. Maybe he’s skimming off the top. Or maybe, he’s our little rat. Regardless, he doesn’t get to keep secrets from his masters, and so here we are.”

It makes sense in a cruel way. Maintaining a criminal enterprise requires absolute silence. You sign your secrets away at the doors. The way the movies depict it, you would have thought gangs were all about freedom and rebellion against society’s rules, but really you just trade for a whole new set of restrictions and far more dire consequences. Gangs are about money. And, if someone would try to steal hundreds of millions of yen from you…you might find yourself capable of gouging into a man’s eye, too.

The way the human brain can rationalize in moments of trauma is truly remarkable.

“You said this got you hot earlier? Are you aroused by this?” you ask, slipping back into therapy-mode.

“Nah, I mean hot as in the opposite of what we were talking about earlier, with the cold boredom. Now, if your skirt rides up any further, that might get my dick up,” Hanma leers.

Startled, you find that your skirt has risen up your thighs, so the dark band at the top of your stockings peeks through. You quickly pet it down into place, and Hanma play scowls at you.

“May I sit down?” you ask meekly.

“Sure, princess,” Hanma says, standing to offer you the seat he was occupying. “But we won’t be here much longer.”

You take it gratefully. Not until you’re seated, do you realize your legs are trembling.

Hanma returns to questioning Fujimori. You watch the back of Hanma’s head as he works, tuning out the particulars. You don’t like knowing so many details about a major upcoming yakuza alliance. It could make you a target. Even without carefully listening, you realize Fujimori has confessed and is starting to share whatever intel he can, like offerings to a malevolent god that demands human sacrifice.

Your stomach growls. Your eyelids lower. In the aftermath of a trauma, your body doesn’t know what is wrong and is cycling through possibilities to fix the problem.

There is plastic-wrapped melon pan in your bag, stashed away from a visit to the convenience store earlier that day. Would Hanma mind if you have a snack?

You are about to risk it when a pop rattles your ear drums. Ears ringing, you take several moments to process Hanma turning around and tucking away a gun. Behind him, blocked from sight by Hanma’s height, Fujimori has been shot. Somehow, you know it was aimed to kill.

Hanma approaches you, continuing to block out the dead man. He grips the chair you’re seated on and spins it around, so that you’re facing away from the body. The gesture of kindness pierces through your shock. You can’t thank him though, gaping like a fish at his blank expression. A smattering of blood and a chunk of something you won’t consider have landed on his clavicle, just above his heart.

“I’m going to take a shower and then take you out to dinner. You can sit near the entrance and wait for me. My men will be outside. Nine rows to the right and twelve up to reach the exit, okay?” Hanma intones slowly, making sure you process the directions through your shock.

You nod.

Hanma walks off in the direction of Fuji– no, in the direction of the body that was Fujimori. You ought to run. Flee the scene. While he’s in the shower, you could race out of the warehouse altogether, trick his men into letting you through, and then what? It’s a two mile walk to the station, and Hanma has a car. Unless he likes a lingering shower, he will catch you. Plus, he knows where you work. You promised him a degree of professionalism, a hardened mob-therapist who could roll with the darker sides of the job. He expects you to do just that.

But dinner?

Part of you understands. The back-and-forth before he lost interest in you had been intoxicating, and you still want to return to that. Like an abuse victim, who reminisces about the early days of love bombing and will ignore the abuse that just occurred. For a few minutes there, Hanma’s attention felt like magic.

Slowly, you limp toward the exit, following Hanma’s instructions. Plenty of time to think about whether you run screaming out the door once you’re there.

Reaching the exit, you stare at the unlocked doors that represent your chance at freedom from the day’s monstrosities. From your interviews with Kisaki and other members of the Tokyo Manji gang, you know Hanma has no history of violence towards women that fell outside the basics of his job. He doesn’t rough up the working girls or ape the girlfriends of his enemies. There is no reason to expect you are the exception. He wants to scare you, yes, but if you don’t give him cause, he won’t kill you.

You can’t forget the money on the line. The life-changing, Nenmatsu Jumbo-level miracle money to which Hanma holds the key. It is your dream, and you have come too far to abandon it now.

So, you lean against the concrete block wall and wait. You have a dinner to attend.

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