PENITENCE
• feeling or showing sorrow and regret for having done wrong.
Synopsis: Satoru Gojo’s demise lead him into a heart wrenching dream-like state, where all he can see is you. You and him. Him and you. People he’s lost, people he could have met.
Satoru Gojo x fem!reader, angst, mention of slight gore with Satorus injuries, Silly drabble cause i was bored, not my best work 😝
Satoru’s eyes jolt open to his heart racing, and he swears it never beat this fast before. His body feels like it weighs million and millions of pounds. He plants his hands on the ground, sensing fine grains filtering in through his fingers as he looks down, hands sinking in fine sand.
His head is spinning, his mind feels like a static. It’s like his nerves are just firing off whenever they see fit. He stands up, brushing the sand off his torso as he looks down. His shirt is torn, his stomach is a mess of blood and guts he really doesn’t wish to look at. He looks back at the sand, noticing the indent of his shape, the blood splattered across the silhouette, a menacingly sharp line of blood over his waist is the only indication of his injury.
He should have bled out. He died.
Satoru’s torso feels like it’s going to fall apart—Like some strange force is keeping him in one piece. This is all so surreal, Satoru knows it’s not reality. Its a twisted looking world, so sweet looking it makes him want to shut his eyes and ignore how much he wishes to stay. This is most definitely a dream, or the afterlife, or both. Has he really crossed to the other side to be met with just a this?
He observes the sigh of a pretty beach before him. Golden sand, a nice pink sky, calm oceans, it’s picturesque. Like a painting. He stumbles forward, trying to keep himself steady as each footstep sinks into the sand. He walks normally, not feeling any pain or discomfort. None of those stings in his lower back, not an ache in his muscles, nothing.
He walks, not seeing any difference in his surroundings. He may have zoned out a few steps in, each step so agonizingly boring he may die from that instead of the injury present on his body.
“‘Toru!” Satoru stops abruptly, eyes blown wide as he hears a voice. Your voice. You giggle so sweetly, and he looks around frantically to search for you. Any glimpse of you could make him move forward, anything to prove you’re there. Its empty, and he feels himself die a little. Such a pretty beach turned so ugly and wretched in your absence. Where the hell are you? Why won’t you run to him? He dying, for gods sake!
“Toru! Come back, don’t go yet!” Your voice speaks up, echoing in his brain as he picks up the pace, trying to search for you. Why do you sound so happy? You shouldn’t be, it’s not the right time. Satoru adores your joy, but at the sight of him split in half, you would not be giggling and calling his name. You’d be in shambles, heartbroken.
His eyes catch a glimpse of something, someone in the water. Himself? He watches his own body rise from the waves, his skin tinted pink on his shoulders, in swimming trunks and sunglasses. Sunburnt to a crisp, as usual. “Coming—“ he runs over to the shore, and Satoru stands there stunned.
What can he make of this, he doesn’t know. This other Satoru is him, and he knows it, he feels it. He’s an image in his dream. Satoru never believed himself to be so arrogant as to dream of himself all sexy coming out of the water, thats not what’s going on.
He watched the figment of himself run, and the beach seems endless until everything comes full circle. You’re on the beach towel, in your bathing suit as you chide at the sunburnt Satoru for being careless, pinching his cheek. You push him down, sitting behind him as you gently spread sunscreen on his shoulders.
Satorus breath hitches, knees feeling weak as he watches the sight in front of him. This must be hell, he’s made up his mind. Is his afterlife just him having to watch another version of himself happily in your care? it cuts him to the core.
“Y/n!” He calls out, feeling an unfamiliar throb in his abdomen. He forgets he’s dead, forgets that soon this dream, as beautiful as it is, in a twisted way, shall end. And hell fall into a twisted abyss, a cold dark sea, having failed at his duty. At being the strongest, at protecting people.
He wonders if this is karma, punishing him for his actions. Maybe in another universe, he’s as happy as the sunburnt version of him is. Laughing, smiling, spending time with you. Maybe these are versions of himself, those that didn’t die, those that got to live life to the fullest.
Your lack of a response is noted, and he continues walking, ignoring the sight as he moves forward, trying not to look back. Maybe the universe is cursing him for dying, showing him what he could have had. It feels like hes walking through millions of possibilities, each hurting just as much as the last. He walks through beaches and bedrooms, fields of flowers, wedding halls, family homes.
Another jolt of pain hits him, and he hears your voice again. He was walking trying to ignore everything, trying to power through his he sights and not make himself feel guilty for dying. He looks down, noticing bland grey tiles as your voice hits him again. So painfully beautiful.
“‘Toru, wanna hold her?”
Satoru can’t bear to look, he can’t. Seeing a possibility of that with you, its not possible. He doesn’t want to die like this, he wanted it to be peacful, filled with nothing but positive thoughts. But the ache in his heart is more than enough as he turns his head, screwing his eyes shut as he takes in a shaky breath.
He watches himself hold your baby, tears streaming down his own face as you comfort him best you can. Your daughter holds the dream-Satorus finger, fast asleep, swaddled in a pretty pink blanket. The real Satoru walks forward, staring down at the bundle of joy as another jolt hits him.
He reaches down to try and touch her, maybe get a glimpse of what could have been. Shes cute, red as a tomato, wailing like an ambulance. But she was yours, she’s yours. And he curses himself for not actually being able to experience this, envious of something that isn’t even real. His hand phases through the baby like he’s a ghost, and Satoru recoils at having his hand in your babies face. This isn’t where his place is. This is the vision of father Satoru and his baby, the mother of the little Gojo right beside him. He can’t live in their life, he can’t be the sobbing Satoru with a daughter in his arms.
Satoru steps back, trying to calm his own breathing as he begins walking again, the vision of the hospital room fading. So many versions of you two flash around him, his surroundings changing each time.
He sees more an more, from seeing Geto and Shoko, to you holding little Megumi when his leg broke as careless teenagers. To getting weird stares when you bought him clothes because people thought you were teen parents. All of it makes Satoru coil up in utter despair. He may be the strongest, but he doesn’t want to die!
He forgets how long hes been walking, a jolt of pain hitting him as he stops. A breeze washes over him, and he finds himself in a large field of white roses. The pain is getting to him, and he feels like hes been ripped apart. He has been, but thats besides the point.
He stops, eyes glued to ground. He feels as if he can see his own reflection, the ground almost mirror-like. He can’t begin to count how many lashes and gashes are on his body, the way his entire torso feels like its being held on by a thread.
would he have done things differently if he knew? Would he have joined Suguru? Made sure Haibara didn’t die? Kill Toji before he killed Riko? Destory the ugly stich faced cursed before he set Nanami ablaze?
Would he have married you if he knew he’d die? No, he wouldn’t.
As if the Satoru Gojo would leave you a widow at 27.
Would you look pretty in a wedding dress? Silly question, of course you would.
Suguru would be his best man.
Megumi would bring you your rings.
And he’d cry, he’d cry super ugly, fat tears.
But he can’t, can’t think of what else he’d do after that as he feels his body hit hard ground, feeling his body slide apart like a cartoon. This is the real world, isn’t it? Dreams don’t last forever.
His legs are gone, all he can see is the sky is a flicker of the sky, blurry and dim. Its clear, blue as his eyes. He feels warm, disgustingly at ease. He’s leaving people behind, but at last, he’s resting.
TLOU TWITTER LINKS
Ellie williams
Ellie eating you out
scissoring with ellie
ellie rewarding you for being a good girl
fingering ellie before she goes for patrol
ellie riding your strap
ellie plowing you from the back :D
Abby Anderson
ABBYS STRAP GAMEEE
ABBYS STRAP GAMEEE PT.2
tribbing with abby before she goes for an assignment
dont get mad but, ABBY STRAP GAME PT.3
Abby grinding on youuuu <333
abby eating you out to help you go to sleep
Dina (Woodward?)
dina eating you out aftter patrol
dina using her strap on you
eating dina out :D
giving dina the strap
MILF!dina fingering you
dina fucking you with her strap
Joel Miller
joel treating his good girl <333
joel taking his stress out on you
this is so joel idc
joel making you squirt
joel fucking you before patrol
pre-outbreak!joel :3
Jesse
jesse pounding you
riding jesse after patrol
normal world!jesse fingering you in the car
getting high and getting fucked
edging jesse
jesse treating you
if you’re getting a ‘doesn’t exist’ page, log into Twitter with an account and they should all show up xx ❤️
NSFW CAITVI FANART
warning: 18+ only twitter/tumblr links below. if any of these links are stolen art lmk and i’ll link the original creator! enjoy<3
͙͘͡★ prison scene w/ caitlyn topless
͙͘͡★ vi covered in caitlyn’s hickies
͙͘͡★ janitor caitlyn!! (who is naked) and janitor vi
͙͘͡★ caitlyn tying vi up
͙͘͡★ just vi naked in water
͙͘͡★ caitlyn’s christmas present to vi
͙͘͡★ with the hex-strap?
͙͘͡★ don’t have to guess the color of your underwear
͙͘͡★ dictator cait and pitfighter vi reunion
͙͘͡★ caitlyn making vi squirt
͙͘͡★ this isn’t sexual but their underwear
͙͘͡★ caitlyn’s daydreams
͙͘͡★ vi knuckle-deep in caitlyn
͙͘͡★ getting each other off
͙͘͡★ caitlyn knuckle-deep in vi
͙͘͡★ vi fucking caitlyn against a wall
͙͘͡★ not that sexual, but vampire cait feeding on vi
͙͘͡★ IS THAT THE SIMS LMAO
͙͘͡★ vi is obsessed with caitlyn’s tits
͙͘͡★ they missed each other
͙͘͡★ vi loves her strap & cait loves sucking it off
͙͘͡★ vi drawing caitlyn half-naked
͙͘͡★ making love in bed
͙͘͡★ isn’t officially caitvi but it looks like them
Me at age 13, exhausted at school after staying up all night to read fanfic: I can’t wait until I’m an adult and I can stay up reading without any consequences!
Me, an adult, exhausted at work after staying up all night reading fanfic: Fuck.
when i go in a room and forget what i needed i become a point and click protagonist. [water bottle?] that’s not helpful right now. [socks?] i don’t know what to do with that. [charger?] that’s not helpful right now. [scissors?] i can’t do anything with that. [water bottle?] that’s not helpful right now. [lone paperclip?] that’s not helpful right now. [water bottle?]
safe to say i did bawl my eyes out after s2 ep2.
shigaraki didn't know shit about sex before he met you.
all he even "learned", if you could even call it that, were through doujinshis and hentais that he watched, or those really extreme porn videos. poor boy, was so isolated from the human contact experience and is so deprived of touch that he puts all his frustration in a porn addiction.
so then, enter you in the picture, and shigaraki is so clueless. he's saying how he doesn't need your help, but you knew that he did need it once he tried to insert his finger DRY in you. he didn't even know where the clit was! and once you pointed out, he tried to play it like a joystick.
absolutely not!
so there's now shigaraki, having sex education for the first time of his life with you, who's using your body was example. and he finds out that getting himself off can have multiple ways of doing so. even better, he can get you off in multiple ways.
he tries being a dom when he finally gets the chance to use his cock instead of his tongue and fingers like he's been training the past days with you, but he finds the sensation so overwhelming that he crumbles, he almost cries from how good it feels!
so yeah, you now have a whimpering tomura, who's panting and moaning like a bitch while you ride the life out of him. he does cum embarrassingly fast, but that doesn't even matter, because he's somehow still hard! look at that, is that the most frightening villain of the century? crying as you keep on riding his overstimulated cock? blabbing incoherently and barely being able to say anything besides your name?
he can't even think anymore, all has been reduced to obsessive thoughts. his hands travel your body without knowing where to put them. if you let him hold your tits as you almost break his hips from how hard you're riding? he could cum just from that.
he became submissive so fast with you that it's almost pathetic, but you're just as crazy as he is, so instead, it's endearing.
moonie… moonie wtf im shaking… SHAKING !!!
i can just imagine him on top of you, moving the way he thinks he’s supposed to after rotting his brain with porn and hentai, wondering why you haven’t squirted or gone cross eyed yet. he’d be all force and no technique, going fast while you just lay there wondering if this was really what all that talk was about. it would get to the point where you’d have to flip him over, your legs on either of his as you lower yourself onto his cock and ride him nice and slow. and its like agony and bliss had a baby and punched him in the face. he’d throw his head back, muttering something and clenching his teeth as he fights the urge to hammer his hips up against you. but you’re so warm and tight and it’s like you’re sucking the souls out of him with every lazy roll of your hips. he’d try to reach for you, to take control (if you could even call it that) only to be forced down by your hand pressed against his chest, keeping him in place as you begin to go faster… harder. he’d be so loud too, whining and whimpering and feelimg tears prick at the corners of his eyes because fuck, he didn’t know it could feel this good. not with his hands or his toys he might have spent a small fortune on… no, nothing could compare to the way you were clenching around him and milking him dry. he’d be dazed, his heavy lidded eyes glossed over and cheeks flushed, gray strands of hair sticking to his flushed, sweat glazed face as he pants before he finds you towering over him once more, your fingers spreading your cunt open and hovering over his lips. and it’s like hes gone dumb, the way he immediately opens up for you, his tongue sticking out for you to lower yourself onto and use while his hands fist into the sheets. he knows better than to reach for you. knows better than to act like he’s the one in control and risk having the euphoric feeling of your pussy on his tongue ripped from him.
only you could put tomura in his place like this <3
Guys I’m so funny please laugh
Summary: Interactive SMUT with submissive Miguel! Choose your path! A/N: me when i forgor Art: Andalusia on twt! <<Prev Next>>
-flip him and ride him! take back what's yours! [SELECTED] -let him do the work! turn off your brain!
You wipe the globs of his cum off your lips before using all your strength to flip him over on his back. It was surprisingly easy, Miguel gasping and shivering when you straddle above him. He instinctively bucks his hips up, his cock twitching against your ass. Miguel’s gaze falls to your hips, hands finding purchase in the plushness of it. But you rip his hands off you, lacing your fingers with his and pinning them above his head. Miguel can’t help but moan, biting his lips and cheeks flushing a deep red at being helpless under you. You lift your hips up as you turn your head to look back. Miguel looks with you, watching as you tease him by sliding down only at the tip before slipping back out. Miguel groans, arching his back and thrusting upwards–a squelching sound of his cock penetrating your saliva and precum soaked folds.
Your nails dig into the back of his hand, Miguel groaning and writhing to run from the pain. He looks up at you with hazy eyes, glossy and foggy with desire. He pants softly, hearing his heartbeat in his ears and he licks his lips. Miguel feels you slip off of him, a plea hanging on his tongue.
“Please, please, please, no, no, no, no…” He babbles, his words slurring and voice cracking as he begs. He shakes his head, sweaty strands of brown wavy hair stick to his temple and forehead, a slight bead of sweat resting on his furrowed eyebrows.
Ever so gently, you slip on and off of him—but only his tip. His poor swollen, aching and creaming tip. Miguel slams his head back into the pillow with a frustrated moan. Crossing his wrists together, you use one hand to keep them pinned above his head while your other—now free—hand to place over his abdomen where the patch of his happy trail is.
You can feel his muscles contracting underneath his warm skin, caving in as you slowly tease his tip.
Miguel continues to babble and complain. “Not enough.” He says, swallowing the drool that would’ve escaped his mouth. He begs for more, weakly tugging against your hand that keeps him pinned. His chest heaves up and down, his hips bucking.
Your free hand comes up to pinch his nipple, Miguel crying out, his body shivering.
“Stay still.” You mutter, leaning down to kiss his forehead softly.
“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” He sighs shakily. Miguel hums when he feels your lips on him, his toes curling and uncurling as he tries to focus on not thrusting up into you.
“I’ll be good. I’ll be so good, I promise.” He whispers desperately.
“Mm, you said that before…” You mumble and lift off his tip with a wet shlick.
Miguel purses his lips, arching his head up and veins popping out his neck. He exhales slowly and through his teeth with a hiss.
“I-I know, I know—“ He groans. “But I mean it this time, believe me—“ Miguel watches as you lean down to where your noses are just barely touching. You could feel his soft but jagged breathing.
“Te lo juro, mi amor. Swear on it, just fuck me, please.” He whimpers. “Take me, use me. I just need you.” Tears well up in his eyes, his heart pounds wildly in his chest, body twitching with anticipation.
You uncross his wrists and lace your fingers with his. You bring them down so that he’s resting his hands by each side of his head. Using that, you anchor yourself to sink down on his cock.
He chokes, eyes casting downwards to watch your pussy stretch to accommodate his size. Miguel’s entire body tenses, forcing himself down so as to not shove up inside you. He kind of likes this though—your tight hole taking all of him and sliding down easily.
Still, he pants under his breath, wheezing and feeling the blood rush throughout his body. His hands squeezed yours as he let out a whimper, teary eyes meeting your hazed ones. His pathetic moans rang out while you slowly fucked yourself on his cock, your lips capturing his. Miguel screws his eyes shut, weakly kissing back as your tongue invades his mouth. Miguel quivers underneath you, his cock throbbing and twitching against your walls.
He knows not to speak, the complaint about speed on the tip of his tongue. Miguel whines weakly with each agonizingly slow roll of your hips. He can feel you pulsating and gripping him.
You on the other hand, let go of his lips, watching them plump up ever so slightly from making out. Your mouth trails along his cheek and jawline, the soft feeling making Miguel’s body twitch. He flexes his fingers, breath uneven while you play around with his nerves.
Your mouth reaches down to his collarbone, wrapping around his skin to suck and bite on it. Miguel arches his back with a plea of your name, his cock throbbing and bucking against your walls. Your hands squeeze his, to remind him of who he is–what he’s supposed to do. Miguel turns his head, trying to bury his face in the pillow as best as he can. He knows one look at you–your eyes and how they darken at him, wanting and waiting to devour him and his sweet reactions– and he’ll explode. He feels your hips raise up, your wetness coating his aching and hard cock–beads of precum dribbling out– and he quivers. You tease his leaking tip, fucking yourself on the engorged weeping top while Miguel squeezes your hands tightly enough for his talons to come out and gently pierce your skin. Your lips suck around his nipple, your tongue flicking and swirling around the nub which makes him arch his back with a whine. His hips buck up, forcing his dick to penetrate you again and it prompts you to moan and bite down on his nipple. He cries, feeling an electric shock shoot down to his groin. You keep pinning his hands to the bed while you begin to rut your hips against his, moving between a fast and slow pace that sends his heart racing and complaints falling from his lips. The slow build up is enough to make his balls tighten, blood rush down to his throbbing length. He huffs and he puffs, chest heaving with each breath, sweat dripping down his brown skin and hair slicked to his forehead. Still, he has half a mind to hold his hips while your ass smacks down with each slap. His legs shake and he makes the biggest mistake of looking at how your pussy wraps around him. Your cunt swallows every inch of him, a glimpse of a wet, sticky mess before enveloping him again. His eyes bob up and down as he watches you work to chase your high, his lips parted and cheeks hot to the touch. His vision is cloudy and he lolls his head up to see the pleasure etched on your face. Perfect lips bitten between your teeth right before squeaking or moaning when the blunt head of his tip nudges against your sweet spot. Tits bouncing and he wants nothing more than to bury his face in them–he’s desperate to please you again, to make you cum faster. The image–the want– is too much for him. Miguel cries out with a piercing scream, eyes rolling up to the ceiling as his fangs pierce down into his bottom lip to minimize his sounds of pleasure. His body trembles with each wave of his orgasm, thick spurts of his cum shooting inside your tight walls and then dripping out of it. His cream flows down his length, coating his cock and balls with his own mess.
The feeling makes him quiver along with the soft thrust of you pressing down on him. He gasps for a deep breath as he looks up at you, mouth dropped open and begging for a kiss.
And so you lean down, capturing his lips into a heated kiss. He moans in delight, trying his best to lean up and deepen it. Your lips drag off his to kiss down to his chin and jawline. Your mouth caresses the shell of his ear.
“Can I trust you?” You hum.
Miguel, in his haze, nods. His voice croaks as he speaks. “Yes…yes…”
Your hands leaves his, Miguel unclenching his grip and he relishes in the feeling of your hands running down his chest.
“Don’t touch me.” You whisper and then place your hands firmly on his stomach, lifting your hips and slamming back down.
Miguel chokes on his moans, grabbing onto the pillow underneath his head and digging his nails into the fabric. He screams, chest arching up but he feels you hold most of him down with your hands as you begin bouncing above him.
He shouts curses and whines, rolling his head back all while shamelessly moaning. He writhes behind you, his cock sensitive after just cumming inside you. He whines your name pathetically after each slam of your hips, your warm cunt surrounding him in a wet squelch.
It’s painful but it feels so good, he can’t help but grow aroused once more—the pleasure is dizzying.
You use him just like he said he would, slipping on and off his cock with abandon, grunting and sighing as he fills you over and over. You can feel the stretch of his length as it grows hard again, his tip nudging the same G-spot over again. His leftover cum spills out of you slowly, sticking to your pussy and connecting it to his lap in a heap of white slick. Skin slaps against skin, each thrust sends a wave of ecstasy to your core that makes you clench around him.
Miguel’s legs shakes and he sobs, eyes unfocused while his balls tighten up to cum again.
“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna cum, oh God.” He babbles, screwing his eyes shut and moaning to the heavens.
You press down on his stomach and he instinctively caves in, another wave of pleasure washing over him. “Wait.” You pant, halting your bouncing to grind your clit in him in circles.
Miguel uses it as a breather even though the build up of a climax has faded painfully. His red, sweat stricken face falls onto your body on top of him and he curses himself over not being able to touch you.
He watches numbly as you grind on him, feeling his cock inside you, throbbing and twitching to cover you with his seed again.
Miguel is snapped out of his haze when you pick yourself up again, leaning over him and gripping his shoulders for leverage while you bounce on him.
“No! Wait!” He cries out, thrashing his legs, toes curling and fingers practically tearing his pillow apart.
He can barely hear the slaps of skin echoing throughout the room while you ride him, using him as your little toy. Your hips and legs ache but you feel so close.
The bubble within you pops, your nails scratching his skin and leaving marks while you shake and moan his name. You feel your face heating up as your climax reaches its highest point. Cumming around him and dripping your juices down his length. Your pussy throbs rhythmically, clenching and unclenching around his shaft.
Meanwhile Miguel cums right after you, bringing his hand to his mouth to bite on, his fangs piercing through skin. But his moans are louder, garbling out your name and his entire body shakes. His vision goes white and it’s a slow way down from his orgasm. His cock aches painfully as it shoots another load inside your wet pussy, painting you walls and flooding down into more of a mess between his legs.
Miguel heaves, numb and weak as he blinks lazily. His eyelids are heavy but he feels content. You move his hand from his mouth, jaw slack and two pricked holes around his thumb—a bit of blood on his lower lip.
You smile weakly, shakily pulling yourself off him to which Miguel groans at. His cock flops out of your pussy, glistening with all types of bodily fluids. He whimpers, his tip still leaking some leftover cum.
Your hands gently caress up and down his sides to soothe him. He looks peaceful, even a little tired. Yet, he still reaches out for you, hands trembling until they plant themselves on your waist. His thumbs gently caress your stomach, slowly sliding up to cup your breasts and squeeze them teasingly. A soft smirk is on his face when you squint down at him, Miguel innocently resting his hands at your waist.
Maybe just one more round…but I guess it’s time to sleep…
a/n: i was not fully aware of what i was writing if im being so honest
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