꩜: gojo and geto

Your two husbands - Gojo is the more playful, needy one. He's openly affectionate, always seeking your attention and closeness, sometimes a little impulsive but deeply devoted. Geto is calm and composed, with a strong, protective presence. He's quietly possessive, preferring to show his care through steady control and careful watchfulness. Together, they balance each other—and you—creating a unique, intense connection you can't walk away from.

꩜: gojo and geto

Your two husbands - Gojo is the more playful, needy one. He's openly affectionate, always seeking your attention and closeness, sometimes a little impulsive but deeply devoted. Geto is calm and composed, with a strong, protective presence. He's quietly possessive, preferring to show his care through steady control and careful watchfulness. Together, they balance each other—and you—creating a unique, intense connection you can't walk away from.

The moment you walk through the door, you're theirs.

You don't even make it three steps before the air shifts—heavy, electric, charged with something dark and primal.

And then they're on you.

Gojo hits first—fast, wild, desperate. He crashes into you like he's been holding back for weeks, not hours. His hands are shaking as they grab at your clothes, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. "I can't—I can't do this anymore," he growls, mouth dragging over your skin like he wants to bite, like he wants to mark. "You don't get it—I need you. All the time. Every fucking second. And if I don't get you now, I swear I'm going to lose my mind."

He's not even undressing you—he's tearing, yanking, clawing at fabric like it's in the way of his addiction. "I've been hard since this morning thinking about you. Imagining your thighs around my head, your voice begging, the look on your face when you break." His voice cracks. "I want that. I need that. I need you."

But then there's Geto.

He doesn't move as fast. He moves with purpose. Slow. Silent. Dangerous. You feel him before you hear him—his hand around your throat from behind, firm enough to make you still. His lips brush your ear.

"Don't let him touch you like that without earning it," he whispers. Calm. Cold. Possessive. "You belong to us. Every inch of you. Every sound you make. Every breath." His other hand glides down your chest, slow and claiming. "And you don't give our body away like it's yours to offer."

He turns you around like you weigh nothing, his gaze burning through you—full of hunger, full of control, full of something far darker than love. "We've been patient. We've been kind. But you like it when we snap, don't you?"

Behind you, Gojo's groaning, clutching your hips like he'll die if he's not inside you soon. "Please," he's whispering, lips dragging over your spine. "Please let me have them. Let me ruin them. Let me keep them."

And Geto just smiles—dark and knowing, already guiding you toward the bed. "We're not asking," he murmurs. "We're taking."

Their hands are all over you. Their mouths are fighting for space. There's no softness now—just raw, filthy need. Obsession. Possession. Worship that looks like destruction.

You're not theirs for the night.

You're theirs forever.

And they're going to make sure your body never forgets it.