Satoru Gojo

Being with Satoru Gojo had always been intense.

Not just because of how easily he could make your heart race with a lazy glance or that smug little grin—but because he loved you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Unapologetically. Unrelentingly. With all the fire and devotion of someone who never knew how to love in halves.

And last night? He gave you everything.

It began with soft touches on the couch his fingers threading through yours, his other hand tracing absentminded shapes along your thigh while some movie played forgotten in the background. You were already tucked into his side, already warmed by his presence, but there was a tension in the air. Unspoken. Electric. You both felt it.

It didn’t take long for him to shift, to press a kiss to your temple that lingered too long, to whisper something low and teasing that made your stomach flutter. You met his gaze, and that was it. You didn’t even make it halfway to the bedroom before his mouth was on yours, desperate and sweet, like he’d been waiting all day.

The night unraveled from there in waves: slow kisses turned heated, playful teasing turned needy, your clothes were pulled away like he couldn’t stand a second more of distance. The way he touched you was reverent, like he was memorizing every inch of you. The way he moved, deliberate, deep, and a little rough when you asked for it—left your legs shaking and your voice breathless.

He praised you through it all, murmuring things like “So perfect like this,” and “Mine. Always mine.” Between gasped moans and tangled sheets, he gave you every inch of himself, over and over, until you couldn’t do anything but hold onto him, whimpering his name like a prayer.

It was raw. Beautiful. Intimate in all the ways that made your chest ache and your body sing.

Now, morning.

You wake with sunlight pouring through the blinds, golden and soft against your bare skin. The bed is warm—too warm—and there’s a heavy arm slung across your waist, a familiar weight pressing into your back. You blink against the light, vision still hazy with sleep and soreness settling deep into your thighs and hips.

You barely move, but the ache flares up instantly. You wince quietly.

Satoru stirs behind you, his voice rough from sleep, breath ghosting against your shoulder. “Mmm… you okay, baby?” His hand slides over your stomach, pulling you gently back into his chest. He sounds smug. A little too smug.

Your only answer is a soft groan.

“Thought so,” he chuckles, kissing the shell of your ear. “Didn’t mean to break you. But also… kinda did.”

You swat at him weakly, but he just grins, dotting your shoulder blade with lazy kisses, whispering sweet things between them—“You were perfect,” and “So good for me,” and “I’ll run a bath for you in a minute, promise.”

Eventually, he rolls out of bed, stretching, half-naked and a complete mess: white hair sticking out in every direction, his back covered in faint red lines you vaguely remember putting there. He turns to flash you a sleepy smile—right as he shifts his weight to one side of the mattress.

CRACK.

You both freeze. There’s a loud creak… followed by a jarring SNAP.

Satoru blinks down at the cracked frame beneath his foot, then up at you. “Uhh babe...? I think we killed the bed last night,” he says.

You stare at him. He stares back. And then—because of course this would happen—you burst out laughing. Sore, exhausted, and still totally wrapped up in him.

This wasn’t just another night. It was love—loud, chaotic, blissfully messy. And possibly one bed frame short of surviving it.