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Taken down a Peg.
***
Satoru Gojo had always been cocky.
Since the day he was born, actually.
Maybe it was time someone took him down a peg.
You’d been saying that for months—half joking, half testing the waters. Gojo always brushed it off with that lazy grin, his infinity of arrogance wrapped in a pair of too-pretty blue eyes. He’d tease, smirk, and vanish before you could think of a comeback.
But tonight was different.
The mission had gone sideways. You’d both made it back to your shared apartment, bruised and sore, tension heavy in the air. Gojo was sprawled across the couch like he owned the place, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, his blindfold discarded beside him. The faintest smudge of dirt streaked across his jaw. It made him look human.
Almost.
“Staring, Y/N?” he teased, tilting his head. “I know I’m a good looking man, but you’re being obvious.”
You crossed your arms. “You really think the world revolves around you, don’t you?”
He chuckled, low and careless. “Why wouldn’t it?”
You stepped closer until your shadow fell over him. For the first time, his smirk faltered—just a flicker, but you saw it. “Maybe it’s time someone reminded you that it doesn’t,” you said softly.
Gojo’s lips parted like he wanted to respond, but nothing came out. You could practically feel the shift in energy between you—the air thickening, his pulse quickening under that cool exterior. For once, the strongest sorcerer was quiet.
You leaned in close , your breath brushing his ear. “Sit still for once, Satoru. Try listening instead of showing off.”
His throat bobbed. “Ha..You’re awfully brave, Y/N.”
“Someone has to be,” you murmured. “Can’t have you floating around thinking you’re untouchable.”
A moment of silence stretched between you—charged, electric. Then, to your surprise, he laughed softly, not the usual smug laugh, but something almost genuine. “You really think you can take me down a peg?”
You smiled sweetly, “Watch me.”
Gojo didn’t move, didn’t use Infinity, didn’t joke. For once, he let himself be still—eyes gleaming, mouth curved in quiet awe. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t surrender. It was trust, thinly veiled under challenge.
And for the first time, you saw him not as the strongest—but as a man who, maybe, wanted someone brave enough to stand toe-to-toe with him.
And he, surprisingly would even allow someone else to be the strongest for a day..
The silence in Gojo’s highrise was almost loud. You could hear the faint hum of the city outside, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the soft creak of the floorboards as he leaned back against the edge of his bed.
He’d invited you in wordlessly after your little standoff in the common room. Maybe “invited” wasn’t the right word — it was more like dared.
Now, here he was, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk replaced by something unreadable.
“You really waltzed me into my own room,” he said, voice lower than usual. “Didn’t think you’d follow through.”
“You should know by now,” you said, stepping closer, “I don’t bluff.”
For a moment, neither of you moved. His eyes — uncovered and piercing — followed every motion of yours like he was memorizing it. You’d seen Gojo in battle before, all arrogance and control, but this was something different. He wasn’t looking through you anymore. He was looking at you.
When you reached him, you stopped just close enough for the air to crackle.
“You always act like you’re untouchable,” you whispered.
His lips quirked. “Maybe I am.”
“Then why,” you said, brushing a stray lock of white hair from his forehead, “aren’t you stopping me?”
Gojo exhaled — soft, shaky. A sound you’d never thought you’d hear from him.
He leaned forward until his forehead nearly touched yours. “Because I want to see what you’ll do.”
That was it — the challenge. The invitation.
For all his bravado, there was something almost desperate behind it. Like he needed someone who wasn’t afraid to push back. To look him in the eye and not flinch.
You smiled, slow and deliberate. “Then sit, Satoru.”
He blinked, Laughing nervously. “What?”
“You heard me.”
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move — his pride visibly warring with curiosity. Then, with a half-smile, he obeyed.
The strongest sorcerer in the world… listening.
He sat down on the bed slowly, a shaky exhale leaving his lips as he pondered what was going through your mind.
You circled around him, fingers ghosting along his shoulders, feeling the tension ripple beneath his skin. “Still think the world revolves around you?” you murmured.
“Maybe not the world,” he said, tilting his head just enough to meet your gaze, “but right now… it definitely revolves around you.”
You couldn’t help it — you laughed softly, that low sound of victory. “Careful, Satoru. You might actually learn something from this.”
He smiled — a real one this time. “Only if you’re the one teaching.”
The room stayed quiet after that, filled with the weight of things unsaid — challenge, trust, maybe even something tender buried deep beneath it all.
For once, Gojo didn’t need to prove he was the strongest.
And for once, you didn’t need to remind him that he wasn’t.
You both already knew.
___
The rain tapped against the penthouse windows like impatient fingers. Gojo watched it streak down the glass, his reflection fractured by each drop.
You stood before him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin. "Take off your pants," you said. Your voice didn't waver.
He raised an eyebrow but obeyed, folding the deep purple fabric slowly. His eyes—unshielded and startlingly blue—fixed on yours. "Bossy tonight, aren't we?"
You didn't smile. Instead, you traced the line of his jaw with your thumb. His breath hitched, just once. "Always talking, and running your mouth..” you murmured. "Try being quiet for five minutes."
A low chuckle escaped him, but it faded when your hand slid to the back of his neck. His pulse hammered against your palm. "Scared?" you asked, softer now.
Gojo's gaze dropped to your mouth. "Terrified," he admitted, the word rough and unfamiliar on his tongue. "Do your worst."
You closed the distance, lips brushing his ear. "Oh, I will." Your free hand tugged at his collar, exposing the column of his throat. He shuddered when your teeth grazed skin and he made haste loosening his top. "But first," you whispered, "you’re going to beg."
His laugh was breathless. "Never. Who the hell do you think I am?"
"Then I’ll wait." You pulled back, watching frustration and want war across his face. The strongest sorcerer trembled—not from weakness, but relief.
*
You kissed him slowly, deliberately, tasting rain and exhaustion on his lips. He groaned, hands gripping your hips like anchors. "Enough of this," you breathed against his mouth. "Show me what surrender feels like."
Gojo’s laugh was ragged. "Thought you’d never ask." He leaned into your touch, eyes darkening as you pushed him onto the silk sheets. His shirt fell open under your fingers, revealing scars beneath smooth skin—proof he wasn’t invincible.
You mapped them with your tongue, feeling him arch. "Still think you’re untouchable?" His answer was a gasp when your teeth closed over his nipple. Infinity stayed down. Control unraveled. And for once, Gojo let someone else hold the reins.
His breath hitched as your fingers trailed lower, tracing the waistband of his boxers. "Beg," you whispered again, watching his knuckles whiten against the sheets. He shook his head, stubborn even now. But when your palm pressed firmly against the growing heat between his legs, a choked sound escaped him—half protest, half plea. "Please." The word cracked open the silence.
You rewarded him by slipping your hand inside, fingers curling around his hardness. He bucked into your touch, eyes wide with disbelief. "Look at you," you murmured, stroking slowly. "So strong… so desperate." His laugh dissolved into a groan as your thumb circled his tip, smearing pre-cum.
Leaning close, you nipped his earlobe. "Tell me what you want." His hips jerked helplessly. "Everything," he rasped, voice stripped raw. "Take everything." You smiled against his skin. "Good." Your free hand slid beneath him, fingers tracing his entrance. He froze—then shuddered, pushing back into the pressure. "Yes."
You took your time, stretching him slowly with slick fingers, watching his knuckles grasp against the sheets. Each gasp was music—each tremor a confession. When you finally withdrew, he whimpered at the loss. "Patience," you murmured, lining yourself up. His blue eyes locked onto yours, wide and trusting. “Now."
You pushed your fingers back in steadily, feeling him yield around you. A choked cry tore from his throat—not pain, but release. "Look at you," you breathed, thrusting deep. "Finally where you belong." He arched, fingers scrabbling at your back, whispering your name like a prayer. Sweat gleamed on his collarbones as you moved, each stroke unraveling him further. His usual smirk dissolved into slack-jawed wonder.
His hands found your wrist, pulling you closer with bruising force. "Harder," he demanded, voice wrecked. You obliged, curling your fingers forward until his breath hitched. "Still think you're the strongest?" His laugh broke into a moan. "Only by you." You kissed him then—deep and claiming—as he trembled beneath you. The city lights blurred outside, rain forgotten.
You slowed deliberately, drawing back until only the tip of your fingers remained inside him. His eyes flew open—wild, questioning. "Don't stop," he pleaded, hips chasing the loss. You pinned his wrists above his head. "I decide when." His throat worked silently as you slid off the bed, taking his blindfold and pinning up his hands tightly, leaving him spread and wanting on rumpled silk. The cool air kissed his damp skin; he shuddered.
At the dresser, you unhooked the harness with deliberate slowness. Leather whispered against skin as you fastened the straps. When you turned, his gaze burned—not at the strap on, but at your hands tightening the last buckle. "Come here," he rasped, spreading his legs wider. The raw hunger in his voice made your breath catch.
You climbed over him, lining up the silicone head against his entrance. He arched, breath shallow. "Now," he ordered—that familiar arrogance fraying at the edges. “Please.” You pressed in slowly, watching his jaw clench, then slacken. "There," he sighed, fingers tangling in your hair. "Right there." His eyes never left yours as you began to move, the rhythm building like thunder.
His hands slid down your back, pulling you flush against him. "Faster," he demanded, voice cracking. You obeyed, driving deeper with each thrust until his moans turned ragged. Sweat-slicked skin slid against yours as he whispered, "Don't stop—please," the plea raw and unfiltered. You kissed his throat, tasting salt and vulnerability.
When you withdrew abruptly, he cried out—a broken sound. "Cruel," he gasped, hips lifting desperately. You silenced him with two fingers pressed to his lips. "Hush. I know what you need." His teeth grazed your skin in answer, eyes dark with surrender.
With all your strength, You flipped him over, placing your hands on his back to keep him steady. You started thrusting back in relentlessly, angling deeper. His back arched off the bed, a choked sob escaping as you hit that spot again. "Y/N—" His hand fumbled for yours, interlacing fingers with bruising tightness. The harness straps dug into your hips as he pulled you closer, whispering, "Don't let go."
He turned onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. The movement drove you deeper, wrenching a gasp from him. "Fuck," he groaned, voice muffled and thick. "Feels... so good." His knuckles whitened against the sheets. "Don't stop—please—" Each thrust punched the plea from his lungs.
His hips lifted instinctively, meeting your rhythm. "Never knew..." he panted, turning his head to catch your gaze. Sweat plastered white hair to his temple. "Never knew it could feel like this." His fingers tightened around the silk. "Keep going. Don't ever stop."
The moonlight caught the tremble in his shoulders as you slowed, drawing out each stroke. He whimpered, pushing back desperately. "More," he demanded, the word cracking into a moan. You obliged, snapping forward hard—and watched his eyes roll back, mouth slack with silent ecstasy.
His hand slid down his abdomen, fingers wrapping around his cock in time with your thrusts. The rhythm was hypnotic—your hips driving deep, his fist pumping feverishly. "That's it," you murmured against his spine, kissing the sweat-damp skin between his shoulder blades. "Show me how much you need it." His breath hitched, hips jerking uncontrollably as he matched your pace.
He arched higher, knuckles white where they gripped the sheets. Soft whimpers escaped him—tiny, broken sounds that grew louder with every snap of your hips. His strokes quickened, thumb smearing precome across his tip. "Close," he gasped, voice shredded raw. "So fucking close—" His thighs trembled violently beneath you.
You leaned down, biting his earlobe. "Let go," you ordered. His cry tore through the room—half sob, half roar—as he spilled over his fingers and the silk sheets. You kept moving, dragging him through the aftershocks until he collapsed bonelessly, panting into the pillow. His hand fell away, sticky and limp.
For a long moment, the only sound was his ragged breathing and the rain against glass. Then you withdrew slowly, unfastening the harness straps. Gojo shuddered at the loss but didn't move, face still buried in damp silk. You fetched a warm cloth from the ensuite, wringing it quietly before returning to the bed.
He flinched when the cloth touched his lower back—not pain, but surprise. "Easy," you murmured, wiping the sweat and mixed release from his trembling thighs. His breath hitched as you turned him gently onto his side. The vulnerability in his eyes was startling: blue irises stripped of arrogance, reflecting only exhaustion and something softer. You cleaned him methodically—hips, stomach, the mess on his hand—while he watched silently, eyelids heavy.
When you pulled the ruined cloth away, he caught your wrist. His thumb brushed your pulse point. "Stay," he rasped, tugging you down beside him. You settled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow. His arms wrapped around you—not possessive, but anchoring. Outside, neon lights blurred through rain-streaked windows as his fingers traced idle patterns on your shoulder. Neither spoke. The silence felt like forgiveness.
Gojo pressed his lips to your temple, the gesture startlingly tender. "Always thought," he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion, "being strongest meant never needing anything." You felt the hitch in his breath. "Turns out... it just meant no one dared to give it." His hand slid down to cover yours, interlacing fingers sticky with sweat and shared surrender.
He shifted, pulling you half atop him. Moonlight caught the curve of his throat as he tilted his head back. "Do it again tomorrow," he breathed—a command softened into plea. You kissed the hollow beneath his jaw. "Only if you beg prettier." His laugh vibrated against your lips, warm and unguarded. For once, the weight felt shared.
No infinity hummed between skin. No jokes deflected vulnerability. Here, in the wreckage of silk and pride, Satoru Gojo finally rested. Not as the untouchable god, but as the man beneath—achingly human, beautifully conquered. Your fingers tangled in his sweat-damp hair as his eyelids fluttered shut. The strongest slept. And for once, someone else kept watch.