satoru gojo absolutely adores it when you wear nothing but his button-down shirts around the house. there's something about seeing you in his clothes, the fabric hanging loosely on your smaller frame, that makes his heart skip a beat.

he especially loves it when you wear his white dress shirts, the ones he usually wears under his jacket when teaching. the crisp, white fabric contrasts beautifully with your skin, and the way the shirt skims your thighs is enough to drive him crazy.

sometimes, when you're lounging on the couch reading a book or watching tv, satoru can't resist sneaking up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. he'll bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

"have i told you how good you look in my shirt?" he'll say, his lips brushing against your skin. "what a shame that i have to take it off you."

you'll turn in his arms, your hands sliding up his chest and around his neck. "oh really?" you'll tease. "and what if i don't want to take it off?"

satoru will grin, his hands already working on the buttons of the shirt. "then i guess i'll just have to find a way to persuade you."

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

rich boy roommate satoru who’s the sole heir of the gojo conglomerate, a silver-spooned prince with eyes like shattered sapphires and a grin that cuts deeper than any blade, born into a world where desire is a currency he spends without thought, yet starved for something real beneath the polished veneer of his charmed life. his penthouse is a glass cathedral overlooking tokyo, where he throws lavish parties to drown out the silence of his own heart, but it’s the glimpse of you—singing in a smoky bar, fake diamonds glinting in your ears, rented dress clinging to your curves—that snags his attention like a hook in his throat. he books you that night, not for your body, but for the way your sharp tongue slices through his bullshit, offering you a room in his apartment by dawn because he can’t stand the thought of you slipping back into the grime of your world.

rich boy roommate satoru who you meet under the dim glow of a bar’s stage lights, your voice a sultry thread weaving through the crowd, fake earrings catching the flicker of neon as you belt out lyrics about heartbreak you’ve never let yourself feel. he’s lounging in a vip booth, all long limbs and careless charisma, but his gaze locks onto you—not your body, but the defiance in your eyes, the way you hold the mic like it’s a weapon, and when he approaches you after, offering a wad of cash for “just a chat,” you laugh in his face, thinking he’s another rich prick playing games, until his soft, persistent charm and a promise of no strings convinces you to follow him to a quiet diner where he listens, really listens, to your stories of scraping by. by morning, he’s dangling keys to a spare apartment in his building, calling it a favor, but the hunger in his stare when you accept betrays the lie—he’s already weaving a web to keep you close.

gojo x reader || fem pov, mdni

warnings; overstim kinda, female genitalia described, use of ‘pretty girl’ like twice

authors note; hiya!! this is my first post on tumblr! <3 feel free to follow to be moots or send me requests via inbox! also sorry in advance if this is ass i haven’t written in a while

ik it’s super talked about but…gojo would be the perfect munch. like who better than the strongest to rearrange your guts and then eat you out like a man starved afterwards!

he loves it so much too, cherishing the way you squirm and moan under him, he wishes he could take pictures with his eyes so bad. “mmh…’toru! s’too muchh!!..”

you whimper out into the collection of pillows and plushies at the top of your shared bed, ass peaking straight in the air with gojo gripping it like a vice. he squeezes harshly as he laps at your folds, your juices of arousal covering his chin, mouth, and cheeks.

“cmonn i know you got one more left for me pretty girl..”

his voice vibrated against your ass as he barely moved to stop, circling his tongue around your clit again right after he spoke. your body nearly goes limp at the feeling, back arching in order for his face to be impossibly closer.

as you grab a pillow to shove your face in, gojo pulls you by your hips with one hand and starts putting his index finger inside you with the other, his mouth never leaving your clit. you gasp at the entrance of his finger inside you, already hitting the gummy spot that makes your head spin extra.

“fuckk ‘toru…..i can’t…” you don’t even finish your sentence, too lost in all of the pleasure he’s giving you. you feel his smug ass smile against you as he brings you over the edge, the knot in your stomach releasing.

of course, gojo doesn’t stop immediately, bringing his plunging finger to a slower rhythm before pulling it out completely, his mouth finally moving from your clit to give your slit a kiss. as he pulls away and admires your trembling form he gives your ass another squeeze.

“god look at you…” he mumbles to himself as he watches you turn around to face him, your body flopped to the side, eyes teary and face flushed from pleasure.

“hi ‘toru…” you say tiredly, arms weakly reaching out for him.

he lays down next to you on the bed and pulls your warm body in his arms. “hi pretty girl..”

lowkey part 2 to this because i can't help myself

'hey...nanami...i need to talk to you about something, it's pretty serious' gojo states, walking into nanami's office without knocking. A sullen expression is on his face as he sits on his desk, ignoring the neat files of paper near him. Satoru swallows, his adam's apple bobbing up and down.

'your crush is taken.'

Nanami looks at him with a puzzled expression, implying for him to elaborate.

'i saw her with an engagement ring this morning...i'm sorry man..I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I felt like I should tell you before you fall to your knees and crash and burn and-'

'it's okay.' Nanami interrupts not looking away from his papers.

'really? You're okay with another man just stealing her away?'

'It's not really stealing if she said yes.'

'But the principle! You liked her first!'

'As long as she's happy.'

'Wow.' Gojo's mouth shapes an 'o'. 'You really are the bigger man...I'm really proud Nanami.' he says, delivering a light punch to his shoulder.

then when Gojo goes back to his desk he finds a wedding invite with your name on it and....nanami kento?

you both can hear gojo's scream from each of your offices. Gojo barges in five minutes later, finding you in nanami's office with him, slamming the door open.

'HOW LONG?'

you and nanami struggle to find the words.

'HOW LONG?' Gojo repeats, tufts of white hair falling over his face.

'Three years.' you state.

Gojo falls to the ground on his knees in defeat. 'And...I didn't know about it?...nanami how could you?...we were best friends.'

'hardly' he deadpans.

(gojo ignores him for a solid 3 business days before asking what type of food and cake will be at the wedding)

can i say something outrageous

getting the most loyal and honest man to cheat on his partner with you…

a man who is very much seen as husband material, who is open and pure, who has never once THOUGHT about taking a second glance at someone else, and yet you somehow managed to tug on his strings with your greedy little hands; managed to get him to sloppily and lazily pound away in the dark as if he’s savouring every moment of having you underneath him.

he’s holding onto you and breathlessly saying your name. gritting his teeth because your pussy is so good that it’s making it hard for him to think straight and pull out. all while he hides his face into the side of your neck because he’s too fucking ashamed to even look you in the eyes.

and the most entertaining part is that he can’t hide it at all because he truly isn’t a person who’d do anything of this sort - until you came along, that is.

so he can’t help but keep glancing at you if you’re somewhere out in public together, and he’s sweating and growing hot in the face whenever you allow eye contact to happen, and he’s either too quiet or talks way too much, and he’s trying so, so hard to keep his dick in check because whenever he remembers how it felt to be between your legs, it starts to throb in his pants and his thoughts get all heated.

seeing his resolve crumble right in front of your eyes is priceless. he tells you “never again” but he still shows up on your doorstep at one in the morning when you text him, and mounts you on the couch like a proper, sleazy hookup.

just can’t say no to you | nanami kento

based off a tiktok i saw a long time ago 😭 i just can’t find it

warm bath as the dim lights cast a soft glow across the bathroom, wrapping everything in a calm stillness.

the door creaked open without warning. you cracked an eye open at the sound of something dragging across the floor. a chair. nanami stood there, a laptop in one hand, the other pulling the chair toward him. his robe hung loosely off his shoulders, hair messy, nothing like his usual clean-cut self.

but this was familiar. this was him wanting to be close.

“nana— before you sit, can you grab me that razor?”

he glanced at the cardboard box, opened it, found the razor, and handed it to you without a word. your fingers brushed when you took it.

“here.”

“flights are cheaper today,” he said, settling into the chair, laptop balanced on his legs. “tokyo to barcelona. business class. three hundred off if we book now.”

you hummed, dragging the razor gently across your leg.

“what about their hotels? i want the one with the big windows. more sunlight.”

he shook his head, eyes still on the screen.

“that was the one in lisbon.”

“right,” you murmured, rinsing the blade in the bowl beside you before continuing the same slow motion.

the room fell into a rhythm — the soft clicks of nanami’s keyboard, occasional splashes of water, nothing else.

“we could do both,” he said after a while. “a week in lisbon, a couple days in barcelona.”

he looked up, but your eyes stayed on the razor.

“sounds good to me.” you shrugged lightly. and just like that, he leaned back, fingers moving again. he was booking the flights.

pairing - popular! satoru gojo x fem! loser! reader

sypnosis - you have a passion for art but you're losing inspiration till you start drawing the pretty boy in your class !

reader is very awkward and makes a mildly stupid decision but it's okay, she's our girl nonetheless !!! not proofread !!!! i'm far too lazy

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being so artistic in such a drab place can be excruciating when taken into deep consideration.

honestly, could you have ever possibly gone to a more dreadful building? to call school boring is a major understatement in your eyes. seven continuous and seemingly never ending hours of the same bland off-white and beige walls surrounding you, almost making you feel trapped, like they're slowly closing in on you. the decor is worse, shockingly enough considering the lack of it.

fake plants, brainless posters that no one actually reads past the fifth grade, shelves adorned with drawers filled with typical school supplies, though all but the pencil drawer collects dust.

a few of the teachers seem to notice the distasteful environment and want to flip it just as much as you do, though you wholeheartedly believe they'd be better suited as preschool teachers rather than ones at a highschool.

no seventeen year old boys or girls want to walk into a classroom with tacky rainbows and suns with smiley faces plastered on the walls. the effort is appreciated by you, but you really do wonder whether or not they're conscious of the age group they teach.

the most ‘interesting’ things in this dreary institution are the tvs funded to the core classes, though even those lose points since they're only ever on to play the same three ‘school appropriate’ playlists that have you wishing they didn't implement a headphone ban. you honestly believe you can feel your ears bleeding within the very second they click the play button on the playlist.

even so, you take pride in the fact that you're likely one of, if not the only imaginative person in this school, the only one who can somehow find artistic enthusiasm in a place as depressing as this.

that was until recently.

this entire week, you've been desperately trying to find even a lick of motivation to draw, but alas, nothing.

feeling hopeless, and like you might need to quit art and start selling drugs, you look around the classroom, hoping something or someone will catch your eyes.

it's pitiful, really. imagine being so run dry, so out of original ideas that you would rather look around this miserable hell-hole for help rather than lay in your mind, desperately trying to form an original thought or idea.

almost immediately, you realize what an idiotic idea this is. seriously, how are you to find anything worth drawing in such a monotone environment? even the students line up perfectly with the same boring aesthetics.

it's like they all lack any sense of originality, like they all pick their clothes from the same store- no, the same closet. it's all variations of white, grey, navy blue, black, and off-white tops paired with faded blue jeans or black leggings. doesn't that get boring at some point?

you suppose you aren't in a position to judge, for you are no better. though, at least you have a plausible excuse. you were bullied for years over your niche interests and odd style, you were forced into the mold your society created as to what a highschool girl should be.

you're about to give up when someone catches your eyes.

satoru gojo. of course, he catches everyone's eyes everywhere he goes, and you hate to admit that you know exactly why. piercing blue eyes that remind you of a drop of blue dye falling onto fabric, like if you held a blue orchid between your finger tips then spun it quickly, watching the colors blur together beautifully. fluffy white hair that almost resembles a cloud- no, no that's too soft. maybe closer to snow? yes, snow, gently fallen, heavenly stacked snow. his cheeks had the softest pink tint to them, like a lipgloss smudge on a dress. almost invisible, yet there nonetheless.

he's alluring, you won't deny. he's like if someone drew what an angel would look like and then he crawled out of the page.

would it be weird to draw him? probably. do you anyways? yes.

the first sketch is mediocre. already, you know he's a perfect muse. finally free from art block as you try to draw him perfectly.

you examine the first finished drawing.

the eyes are a shade too dark despite it only being a pencil drawing, his hair is too long and flat, he honestly looks more like a woman rather than the infamous satoru gojo.

‘okay..’ you think to yourself

‘round two.’

you continue this cycle the entire class period. drawing while taking your previous imperfections into account then finding new ones within that art work.

you try not to make it too obvious that you're blatantly staring at him from time to time. you pray he doesn't notice, and for the most part, he doesn't seem to.

weeks pass, and this has become your ritual for every class that you share with him. shove your assignments into a folder to do them later, (though it's pointless since deep down you couldn't care less for the assignment and it more than likely will end up crumpled at the bottom of your bag by the end of the week), you pull out your sketchbook and begin drawing.

you've had a few close-calls and awkward encounters when he would happen to look in your direction and catch you staring, but he didn't seem to care much- or so you thought.

the bell rings, queuing you to shove everything in your bag, not caring what gets destroyed in the process- we are speaking of your school bag after all, something you deemed absolutely worthless years ago.

you approach the door when a strong hand grabs your wrist.

it's not enough to hurt, but enough to hold you back.

you turn to look at the culprit only to be met with those iconic and almost hypnotizing blue eyes. orchids.

“hey, how come i never get to see those drawings? i mean, i am the muse after all, shouldn't i be first to see?” he's smiling.

he's smiling and he knows you've been drawing him and- god, is it hot in here?

one second, you're up-close, staring into those remarkable eyes that you've mastered drawing over the last month, the next, you bolted out of that classroom.

in retrospect, you probably looked stupid considering you had to take a second to remove his hand from your wrist then had to dodge through the endless crowd of students who had also just been released from class, tripping at some point, but the past is the past and you obviously have no control over that.

you spend the next morning trying every excuse in the book to try and stay home. there's no way you can withstand sitting in the same classroom as him after that.

however, much to your displeasure, you find yourself sitting in your seat with your face buried in your arms. maybe he won't know you're there if he can't see your face?

as you drown in your thoughts, dreading ever choosing him of all people as a muse, a sudden voice cuts through your thoughts like a knife.

“running away mid conversation is really impolite.”

you don't bother looking up. that'll just dig you a deeper grave- if that's even possible.

“yoo hoo? (y/n), i'm talking to you!” he speaks in a sing-song voice, almost as if this is a big joke to him.

you almost raise your hand and ask to use the bathroom so you can hide from him in there all week, till- wait- he knows your name?

you look up hesitantly, confusion plastered onto your face like a cream-heavy pie on a shitty prank show.

“you know my name?” you ask hesitantly, your voice coming out significantly softer than you intended. god, you probably sounded so pathetic.

“duh. you're the pretty artist lady. you made that really good eye drawing in like sixth grade, no?”

now you're REALLY confused. he knows your name and has known your name since sixth grade?

“you remember that?” you reply, sounding too excited for your taste.

“of course i remember. you were the talk of the playground after that.” he laughs fondly at the memory and you can't help but let it shoot straight through your heart, making it ache in a way that felt too good, almost wrong. almost.

“can i see the art you made of me?” he tilts his head in a way that, in your mind, resembles that of a dog when told to do something it doesn't understand. cute.

you suppress a giggle at the thought.

you suppose he does deserve to see the art you made, especially considering how uncomfortable it must've felt to feel your eyes all over him as you drew him.

you rummage for the most recent drawings in your bag then hand them to him.

your heart starts to race. what if he hates them? what if he thinks they're awful? what if they're not good enough and he assumes that you think he's ugly? what if-

“i'm in love with you.” he suddenly speaks, staring at the papers in awe.

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(a/n : and then they kissed and married and had 828282892839 babies and grew old together yeah !!! idk people (like four people total...) said they liked my ideas so here's a low quality drabble uhhhhh idk !! PLEASE don't bully me if this is bad, i'm very much a beginner author !!!!!)

if i believe you | chapter one

a bride adorned

clan head!satoru x reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 1k

content: it's your wedding night! no smut, angst

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST!

18+ please <3

your wedding had been beautiful.

ornate silks, golden light, the scent of incense. satoru had taken it all in stride, hands loose at his sides like he had nothing to prove. and when he turned to you, the weight of the gojo clan on both your shoulders, he only smiled as he took your hands.

he had squeezed your fingers once as the vows were spoken, just enough to get you to meet his gaze. and before you knew it, it was done.

and now, you wait.

the room is silent, save for the faint crackle of candlelight. shadows flicker against papered walls, stretching long and soft over the sheets where you sit, waiting.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ GIVING ROOMMATE TOJI A HONEY PACKET TO MAKE HIM HARD

You’re digging through the kitchen drawer for a pen but instead, you find a single, slightly crumpled honey packet— one of those ones from a diner Toji probably pocketed without even thinking.

That’s when the memory hits you: someone once told you honey boosts testosterone. Supposedly gets the blood flowing or something like that. You don’t know if it’s true but suddenly, you’re struck with the image of Toji randomly getting hard for no reason— looking all confused and irritated and the idea of teasing and laughing at him for being a confused old man is too good to pass up.

You find him at the kitchen table, slouched in one of the chairs with a pile of mail in front of him. He’s fresh off work, still in his dusty jeans and oil-stained shirt, arms looking way too good folded up like that. His hair’s a little messy with his bangs cascading down his forehead and slightly tickling his eyes. He smells like outside yet he still looks like sin.

You casually slide the honey packet across the table like it’s a top-secret document. He glances up. “What’s this?”

“Just try it,” you say softly, feigning innocence as you open the fridge for a drink. “Natural energy booster. Thought it might help after work, y’know?”.