nyanchow - Tumblr blog

nyanchow · 21 days ago

Text

my god. augh.

✦ caught in between

kazuha x fem!reader x scaramouche

cw: soft dom kazu, rough dom kuni, sub fem reader, oral (giving + receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, spit-roasting, overstimulation, possessiveness, jealousy-fueled sex, emotionally charged threesome, praise kink, degradation kink, guilt sex, slight voyeurism/exhibitionism, soft and rough dynamics clashing. modern college au.

you meet kazuha first.

at a poetry night your roommate drags you to.

small room. carpet stained with wine, string lights sagging above thrift-store pillows. someone’s reading about heartbreak into a $20 mic, and you’re halfway through a cup of cheap rosé when you see him.

in the corner. folded into himself.

quiet. thumbing the edge of a crumpled paper like it might disappear if he looks at it too long.

but when he gets up to read, he changes.

his voice is low. deliberate. every word lands heavy and soft, like snowmelt. metaphors that ache in your chest. lines about the sea and bruised mouths and gentleness like it’s a language. like he’s fluent in it.

afterward, you find him near the door.

you say: “that was beautiful.”

he blushes. thanks you softly. says you have kind eyes. offers to walk you home.

you say yes.

and two nights later, he’s in your bed.

it starts slow.

you’re side by side on the sheets, dorm lamp glowing soft yellow, casting gentle shadows on the wall. your fingers brush once, twice — then stay. he smells like flowers and something fresh, like green tea steeped in rain.

he’s watching you. carefully. like you might vanish.

“you make me nervous,” he says, voice barely audible.

you blink. “why?”

his throat moves. “because you’re not afraid to look at me like you want something.”

and you’re not. so you kiss him first.

his lips are soft. hesitant. like he’s writing something and second-guessing every word. one hand finds your jaw, thumb resting just under your ear. the other presses gentle to your ribs, grounding you both.

when you whine softly into his mouth, he deepens it. kisses you like a gasp. like a slow burn.

and then he exhales, like he’s made a decision.

he starts kissing down your neck. open-mouthed, slow. reverent. he murmurs things against your skin, breath hot and ragged — not words, exactly. just sounds. you think he might be humming. or reciting lines under his breath.

his hand ghosts over your hip.

“may i?” he asks, already tugging at your shirt.

you nod, breath caught. he peels it off like something sacred.

his hands find your waist first. warm, steady. then your thighs, thumbs pressing soft circles as he slowly spreads you open.

you shiver under him.

“gods…�� he breathes, staring down at you like you’re a miracle. “you’re—”

he doesn’t finish. just kisses your stomach. then lower.

his mouth lingers right above your panties. he noses against the fabric, eyes fluttering shut.

“may i taste you?”

you nod again — too fast. too desperate.

he pulls your panties down so, so slowly. like unwrapping something delicate. kisses the inside of your knee. then the soft skin of your thigh. works his way up.

his mouth finds your cunt with almost painful gentleness. the first lick is slow. long. he groans — like he wasn’t ready. like you taste too good.

he doesn’t start fast. he takes his time.

soft, precise licks. shallow circles around your clit. fingers teasing at your entrance, not pushing in yet. just stroking you open. easing you wider.

you can barely breathe.

“so wet,” he whispers. “so soft.”

his fingers slip in slowly. one at first, then two. he curls them just right — you arch off the bed.

his tongue presses to your clit again. this time firmer. his rhythm steady. like he’s studying you. reading you. learning you one sigh at a time.

you’re whimpering now. legs trembling. hands tangled in his hair.

“please,” you whisper. “please—kazuha—”

he groans into you when you say his name.

his pace picks up. tongue working in slow, perfect circles. fingers pumping deep and steady. every movement deliberate. you swear he’s writing with his mouth. spelling something out against your skin. over and over.

“don’t stop,” you gasp.

“never,” he says. voice hoarse. “not until you break for me.”

you do.

you come with your thighs shaking and your back arched off the bed. eyes screwed shut. his name falling from your lips like a prayer. you’re wet everywhere — thighs sticky, sheets damp, mouth gasping open.

he doesn’t stop right away.

keeps kissing you gently, slowly, coaxing you down.

you’re limp when he finally pulls back. blinking up at the ceiling, lungs burning. he kisses your stomach again. then your chest. your collarbone.

he lies beside you. breath uneven.

you glance down — he’s hard. pressed up against his sweats.

you reach for him, dazed. “kazuha—”

but he catches your wrist.

“not yet,” he murmurs. “i want to remember this. you—like this.”

you blink at him. flushed. panting.

“just let me hold you,” he whispers. “for now.”

and he does.

he pulls you against him, your back to his chest, his fingers still damp from your cunt. he strokes your thigh like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. like this moment might slip away if he doesn’t anchor it to your skin.

you fall asleep like that.

with his breath warm in your hair. with his lips pressed to your shoulder. with your name still stuck between his teeth like a line he hasn’t figured out how to end.

but the thing about softness is that it doesn’t last.

kazuha leaves a poem in your notebook and doesn’t text back for days.

you try not to spiral. try not to read it over again and again and again like there’s some hidden meaning underneath the stanzas. like there’s anything to analyze except the silence.

you need something loud. fast. something that doesn’t feel like holding your breath.

you meet scaramouche the same week.

you’re still thinking about kazuha.

how soft his hands were. how he kissed you like you were made of paper. how he left a fucking poem in your notebook and then disappeared.

you try not to care. you try not to be the girl who catches feelings from one night.

but it’s friday, and you haven’t heard from him, and you’re spiraling, and your friends drag you out to a party with sticky floors and beer that tastes like pennies.

you go anyway. short skirt. winged liner. drink in hand.

someone hands you a shot. someone else spins you in the hallway. you almost feel okay.

you hear his voice before you see him.

loud. sharp. biting.

he’s leaning against the counter like he fucking owns it — black hoodie, half-lidded stare, rings flashing under the shitty kitchen light. he’s got a red solo cup in one hand and is tearing apart three econ majors with the other. something about soft power. maybe sanctions. you’re not listening that closely — not until he says, “you’re already soft in the brain.”

you snort into your drink.

“he argues for fun,” says the girl next to you, mascara smudged halfway down her cheek. she rolls her eyes. “don’t get involved.”

you sip. “he’s not even right.”

he hears you. of course he fucking hears you. his eyes snap to yours — sharp, electric, like a dog scenting blood.

“you got something to say?” he calls across the kitchen, like he’s bored already. like he’s daring you.

you meet his stare. shrug. “just that you sound like a polsci freshman who learned the word ‘hegemony’ yesterday.”

the crowd goes quiet for a beat.

he stares at you. then laughs. low. amused.

“cute,” he says. “wrong, but cute.”

you roll your eyes and start to walk away — but he’s already peeling off the wall, weaving through people like they don’t exist. like this conversation was always inevitable.

you pretend not to see him. down the rest of your drink in one go. laugh too hard at something some guy says in passing. but he’s still following you. still gaining.

you end up near the fridge. cheap tile under your heels, fluorescent light buzzing overhead. you reach for another drink, but his voice cuts through the static:

“so,” he says, “you got a degree in international relations, or are you just this annoying for free?”

you turn. squint at him.

“jesus,” you mutter. “do you ever shut up?”

he leans in — not touching you, but close enough that you feel it anyway.

“not when i’m right.”

you scoff. “you’re not.”

“say that again.”

“you’re not right.”

he steps closer.

barely an inch between you now. you’re backed into the fridge, nowhere to go. he smells like smoke and clean detergent and something artificial — cologne from some dollar store, maybe. his hoodie brushes your bare arm.

his voice drops low. almost a whisper.

“you’ve got a mouth on you,” he murmurs. “big opinions for someone who’s been unstable all night.”

you tilt your chin up. “fuck you.”

he grins, all sharpness and intent. no warmth at all.

“if you’re gonna act like you know everything,” he says, voice dark and close, “maybe i should fuck the arrogance out of you.”

your breath catches. your heart stutters.

but your voice doesn’t shake when you say:

“then do it.”

and that’s it. that’s the trigger.

his eyes flash. his jaw tightens. and then he grabs your wrist. not gently.

you barely register the twist of your arm as he pulls you through the kitchen — past couples pressed against doorframes, past someone throwing up in a sink, past that girl from earlier who gasps and says “holy shit” as you’re dragged outside into the cold.

you don’t resist. not even a little.

your heart’s in your throat. your mouth is dry. you don’t know his name, and you don’t care.

he pushes open the back door. leads you down the porch steps. past the trash cans. through the dark where the porch light doesn’t reach.

the car’s not even his.

he doesn’t tell you whose it is. doesn’t care. just opens the back door and gestures with his head — get in.

you do. like a fucking idiot.

your ass barely hits the backseat before he’s on you, slamming the door shut and pressing you into the leather like he can’t stand the space between you. his mouth crashes onto yours, all teeth and spit and heat. his hands are already on your thighs, pushing your skirt up without asking. you’re already soaked. you can feel it.

his rings are cold when they touch your skin.

“you want me to stop?” he mutters against your mouth, voice low and ruined, fingers dragging up your inner thigh.

you don’t say anything. you just yank him down by the collar, dragging him into another kiss. messier. hungrier. your lip gets caught on his teeth.

he groans.

grinds into you — grinding that hard cock against your panties, where you’re already pulsing for him. he reaches down, rubs you there with two fingers, lazy and smug.

“you’re soaked,” he sneers. “fucking knew you were like this.”

his fingers press against the fabric. slow, firm, spreading your slick over the cotton.

“you act smart,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek, “but you get off on this, huh? getting fucked like a whore in the back of someone else’s car?”

you try to say something. maybe deny it. maybe beg.

but then he pulls your panties aside and slides two fingers into you, all at once. your words vanish into a broken moan.

“fuck,” he hisses. “tight little cunt. bet you’ve been thinking about this all night.”

he curls his fingers. pumps them slow. thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit.

you’re shaking already. thighs twitching. his fingers are longer than yours, reach deeper than yours, touch places you can’t. you grind down against him helplessly.

“say it,” he growls. “say you like it.”

you shake your head. too far gone to talk. you’re too full, too close.

he slaps your thigh. hard.

“say it,” he demands again.

“i—fuck, i like it,” you gasp. “i like it, i want it, please—”

he shoves his fingers deeper.

your back arches. you clench around him.

“good girl,” he mutters. “knew you’d beg if i made you.”

you fumble for his belt.

he watches you with half-lidded eyes, like he’s bored, like this is nothing to him — and that somehow makes it worse.

you finally get him free. he’s hard already. thick and flushed, tip glistening.

he leans in close. grabs your jaw again.

“you want it?”

you nod. fast. dizzy.

“then fucking beg.”

“please,” you whisper. “please—fuck me. i need it.”

“again.”

“please, i want you, i want your cock, i want you to fuck me—”

he slams into you in one brutal thrust.

you scream — but his hand’s already over your mouth.

“shut up,” he hisses, hips pounding into yours. “you want people to hear what a slut you are?”

you shake your head. his cock stretches you open. it hurts — it burns — but you love it. you fucking love it.

he fucks you deep. fast. no rhythm, no grace. he holds your hips down, grinds into you like he’s angry.

your moans come out muffled against his hand.

“yeah,” he groans. “that’s it. take it. take my cock like a good little toy.”

your nails dig into his hoodie. your body bounces under him with every thrust.

“feel that?” he growls. “feel how deep i am?”

you nod. sob. your legs are trembling.

he leans in, mouth against your ear.

“i told you,” he says, panting. “i told you i’d fuck the arrogance out of you.”

he means it. every thrust is punishing. like he’s tearing something out of you. like he’s trying to fuck his name into your bones.

you feel the orgasm hit before you can warn him.

tight. sudden. white-hot.

you scream into his palm as your pussy clamps around him, soaking his cock, slick dripping down your thighs.

“fuck, fuck, fuck—” he moans, hips stuttering.

he pulls out fast, just in time, and finishes across your stomach with a strangled gasp. thick, hot ropes of cum painting your skin.

and for a second — just a second — everything goes quiet.

your chest heaves. your skin’s slick with sweat and cum. your panties are still pulled to the side. your legs won’t stop shaking.

he exhales. leans forward. brushes your hair from your face — kind of gentle, for the first time.

“jesus,” he mutters. “you’re a fucking mess.”

you blink up at him. your vision’s gone soft. blurry.

he pulls your skirt down. wipes your stomach with the sleeve of his hoodie, muttering something under his breath about how you “shouldn’t walk around looking like that.”

he pulls your panties back into place. doesn’t even laugh when you wince.

he opens the car door. cool air rushes in. you shiver.

“come on,” he says quietly.

“mmfm…wha?”

he sighs. like you’re stupid.

“you’re drunk,” he mutters. “you’re not walking home.”

and the last thing you remember is the sound of the door closing again.

a hand on your thigh. a voice, half a whisper: “fucking idiot.”

you wake up like you’re drowning.

head pounding. mouth dry. your tongue feels like it’s wrapped in gauze. mascara crusted in the corners of your eyes. glitter dusting your pillowcase like confetti from some party you don’t quite remember.

you blink. once. twice.

everything’s too bright. your bedroom ceiling spins slightly above you.

you try to sit up and immediately regret it — your thighs ache, sharp and sticky and sore in a way that feels too familiar. your skirt’s riding up around your hips, tights rolled halfway down. your shirt’s on backwards. your bra’s gone.

your breath catches.

what the fuck.

you search your body for bruises.

your fingertips come away with smudges of black on them — eyeliner, maybe. maybe something else.

there’s a faint, tacky feeling between your thighs.

and you remember — a voice. dark, teasing.

“i told you i’d fuck the arrogance out of you.”

you close your eyes. your stomach flips.

you sit up slowly — shaking. still not sure if you’re going to puke or cry or both — and reach for your phone, but it’s not on your nightstand.

you find it on the floor, face-down, tangled in your charger cord.

1:43pm. a few blurry photos from the night before. one half-lit snap of you in the mirror, tongue out, glitter on your collarbone.

and then nothing. no texts. no missed calls.

you wrap a blanket around your shoulders like armor. make your way to the kitchen, knees weak, bare feet cold on the tile.

your roommate’s there, hunched over a bowl of cereal. eyes still half-closed.

she glances up when she hears you. “jesus. you look like hell.”

you don’t answer.

she spoons cereal into her mouth, still squinting at you. “you remember anything from last night?”

you wet your lips. they feel chapped. “some of it.”

she laughs. “well. hot guy carried you in. that ring any bells?”

you stop. heartbeat skipping.

“…what?”

“yeah, he dropped you off like two in the morning. bridal style. set you down on the couch, made sure you were breathing, then dipped.”

you just stare at her.

she chews her cereal. swallows. keeps going, casual like it’s nothing.

“purple hair. wore all black. looked pissed off at the world.” she tilts her head. “kind of hot in an emo way. dunno how you landed that.”

your mouth opens. then closes.

your brain finally catches up: he brought you home.

after fucking you. in someone else’s car. without even telling you his name. he carried you home.

your hands shake.

“did he say anything?” you ask, voice low.

your roommate shakes her head. “just knocked. asked me if you lived here. i said yeah, and he just… dropped you on the your bed and left.” she pauses. “honestly, he was weirdly gentle. like, you were all limp and glittery and looked like you’d just sobbed through a mitski concert, and he still, like… made sure you were okay.”

you feel like you’ve been slapped.

you sit down on the edge of the couch — legs folding under you, heartbeat trapped in your throat.

you remember how rough he was. how he shoved you back into the seat, fingers already sliding between your thighs. how he laughed when you whined. how he told you to beg.

but you also remember —

a hand on your waist. a breath against your cheek. something brushing your hair back

maybe you imagined it. maybe you didn’t.

either way, you still don’t know his name.

but now? now you know something else.

he could’ve left you there. but he didn’t.

you’re still lying in bed, phone face-down, trying not to die from dehydration or existential dread, when it buzzes.

your head’s pounding. your mouth tastes like old liquor and regret. your thighs are sticky under the sheets, skin still a little sore. you haven’t even changed out of the crop top you wore last night.

you flip the phone over with a sigh, fully expecting it to be your roommate asking if you want waffles.

but it’s not.

kazuha

hey i hope this isn’t weird but i’ve been thinking about you a lot i still owe you that tea if you want to come over

you blink. once. twice.

you sit up too fast. regret it instantly.

because what the fuck.

he just texted you. like that.

you just stare at the screen, heart thudding, nausea curling slow and low in your stomach.

it’s been a week. a full week of silence. seven days of playing it off, pretending you didn’t care, trying to laugh with your friends and sleep it off and rip the poem he left in your notebook like it didn’t mean anything.

you’d practically convinced yourself it was a fluke. a one-night thing. a pretty boy with a soft voice and a talent for leaving before things got messy.

and now he’s texting like he’s been sitting in his apartment thinking about you for days.

like he still wants to pour you jasmine tea and quote rilke under dim lighting. like he meant it.

and you… you fucked someone else.

you let a stranger finger you in the back of a borrowed car. let him talk down to you, press his hand over your mouth, fill you up like he wanted to ruin you.

you let him get under your skin. into you. and you still don’t even know his name.

your chest tightens. your breath stutters. because now you don’t know how to feel. you don’t know what you feel.

guilt? shame? desire?

yes. all of it.

you text back before you can stop yourself.

hey um yeah. okay. i can come over

you stare at your screen for ten more minutes. motionless. buzzing. your palms are sweaty. your heart won’t slow down.

kazuha wants to see you.

after all this time. after a week of nothing, of silence, of overthinking every word he said in your bed. of replaying how gently he touched you. how quietly he made you fall apart.

and yet—despite all of that, all you can think about is him.

the other one.

the stranger in the kitchen with a sharp tongue and purple hair. the one who smelled like smoke and contempt. the one who ruined you with his fingers and didn’t even stay long enough for you to ask his name.

you don’t know who he is. you don’t know if you’ll ever see him again.

but you’re still thinking about the way he looked at you like a challenge. the way he pulled you into the car like he already knew how you liked it.

your thighs squeeze together. you exhale. and get dressed.

because kazuha wants you to come over. and maybe that should be enough.

kazuha buzzes you up without saying anything.

it’s late afternoon. your head still hurts. you almost didn’t come. you almost talked yourself out of it — four times, actually. but now you’re standing in front of his apartment door with your hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, heart beating like it wants to crawl out of your chest.

he opens the door like he’s been waiting. like he was standing right behind it the whole time.

soft hoodie. loose hair. sleepy eyes.

“hey,” he says, almost a whisper.

you swallow. “hey.”

he steps back to let you in.

the place smells like green tea and rain through the window. warm. lived-in. books stacked on every surface. plants in chipped ceramic pots. a record player humming something slow and instrumental in the corner. a kettle whistling on the stove.

you step out of your shoes. your legs feel shaky.

kazuha watches you. quietly. eyes flicking down like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to look.

“you really came,” he says, almost to himself.

you smile — small. nervous. “i said i would.”

he nods. drifts toward the kitchen. “i kept thinking maybe you wouldn’t. after…”

“after what?”

he doesn’t answer. just turns the burner off and pours the tea.

when he hands you the mug, your fingers brush. his linger.

“i missed you,” he says.

you look at him. really look at him. his expression’s unreadable. soft, but hesitant. like he’s scared to spook you. like he’s still not sure he’s allowed to want you.

your chest aches.

you still have feelings for him. of course you do. he made you feel seen. held. kissed. like you mattered.

you sit down on the couch. kazuha follows.

it’s quiet. painfully quiet.

you take a sip. stare down at the tea. “this is nice.”

he nods. “i thought about what kind you might like.”

you don’t know what to say to that.

you wish he’d kiss you. you wish he’d pull you into his arms and pretend nothing changed. but he doesn’t.

instead, he just says: “i meant to text you sooner.”

“why didn’t you?”

he pauses.

and then, just as he opens his mouth — a door creaks open down the hall. a shadow shifts behind the cracked bedroom door.

and then — he steps out.

purple hair. black hoodie. bruised mouth.

you recognize him immediately. every nerve in your body goes electric.

it’s him.

you freeze. you don’t breathe. don’t blink. don’t move.

scaramouche steps into the light like he was waiting for a cue. hoodie slouched off one shoulder, drawstrings tangled, purple streaks falling into his eyes. there’s a split on his lip now — fresh or maybe not — and he’s watching you like he already knows how this ends.

he cocks his head.

“oh,” he says. “it’s you.”

you clutch the tea mug tighter. the ceramic’s too hot, practically burning into your palms, but you barely feel it. your pulse is louder than everything else.

kazuha glances up from the couch, voice soft and unbothered. “you’re up.”

your head whips toward him. “…he’s your roommate?”

kazuha blinks. “yeah. sorry—did i not say that?”

and behind you, scaramouche fucking laughs. low. amused. cruel.

you turn back, throat dry. “no,” you manage. “you didn’t.”

“thought maybe you’d met at one of those campus parties,” kazuha continues gently. “he always wanders off and starts fights in kitchens.”

he says it like a joke. like this is nothing. like you’re not spiraling.

you feel like the floor’s giving out beneath you. like you’re in a dream, or a joke, or a punishment.

and he doesn’t stop staring.

“so you’re the one he’s been writing about,” he says, mouth twitching like he’s tasting it.

your head snaps up. heart stuttering.

kazuha blinks again. “oh. um—right. you two haven’t been introduced, huh?”

you can’t speak. your lips won’t work. your lungs won’t fill.

“this is my roommate,” kazuha says, quiet. “kunikuzushi. everyone just calls him scara.”

the name hits you like a punch.

kunikuzushi.

he finally has a name.

you look at him, sharp and crooked and slouched like he owns the room.

he’s smirking. not kindly. not sweetly. like he remembers everything.

the way you clawed at his hoodie. the way you begged. the way you cried when you came.

“nice to meet you,” he says, syrup-thick.

“yeah,” you whisper. “you too.”

you sit stiff as a corpse.

and scara just drops onto the couch beside you like it’s his throne.

sprawls out, legs spread, arm stretched over the back. his thigh presses into yours, casual and close, like it belongs there. like you belong there.

kazuha’s still warm on your other side — too close, too trusting, too soft.

your stomach twists. you’re boxed in.

you can feel your skin buzzing. you’re too hot, too aware of every inch of your body. of every breath. every glance. it feels like a trap and you walked straight into it.

kazuha doesn’t notice.

or maybe — worse — he doesn’t want to.

“so,” scara says, easy, “how do you two know each other?”

his voice is light, but his eyes aren’t.

you can feel him looking at you. feel the way his smirk stretches, just a little.

like he already knows the answer. like he’s daring you to lie.

kazuha answers first. of course he does.

“she came to a reading last week,” he says, voice soft. “we talked after.”

he turns to you, smiling a little. “she said she liked my poems.”

you manage a nod, lips pressed thin. you can feel your pulse in your throat.

“huh,” scara says.

he doesn’t add anything. doesn’t need to. because a second later, his fingers brush your thigh. barely there. but enough.

enough to make your breath catch. enough to send your stomach flipping.

he knows what he’s doing. and he’s doing it anyway.

kazuha glances over, concern flashing briefly behind his eyes. “you okay?”

you smile too fast. “yeah,” you say. “just hot.”

scara exhales softly through his nose. a laugh, low and smug.

you want to punch him. or kiss him. or cry. maybe all three.

he leans in.

close enough for his breath to brush your cheek. for his words to curl against your ear like smoke.

“you always get this squirmy when someone touches you?”

you flinch. it’s not subtle.

kazuha doesn’t seem to notice. but scara does.

his knuckles press in, slow and deliberate, dragging just a little higher on your thigh.

your breath stutters. you don’t move. you should. but you don’t.

“what would he think,” scara murmurs, voice like venom, “if he knew how wet you got for me?”

your skin goes cold. then hot. then cold again.

you want to shove him off the couch. you want to bury your face in your hands. you want to disappear.

but you don’t do anything.

you just sit there. silent. frozen. and then he says it. too sharp, too fast, like he’s slicing through you —

“you gonna let him make you cum next?”

and this time, kazuha hears it.

“…what?” he says, startled.

you stiffen. you feel like you’re going to be sick.

scaramouche doesn’t even blink.

“we hooked up,” he says plainly, like it’s a fun fact. like it doesn’t mean anything. like he’s not holding the knife and twisting it.

he looks at you. grinning.

“you didn’t mention that?”

your mouth opens. no sound comes out. you’re drowning.

“i didn’t know you were roommates,” you finally choke. “i didn’t know.”

kazuha doesn’t respond right away. he stares at the floor, quiet. then he nods. slow. once.

“…okay.”

it’s the softest thing in the world. and somehow, it cuts the deepest.

your fingers curl around your mug, white-knuckled. your hands won’t stop shaking.

the silence drags. painful. unbearable. thick.

you reach for him. instinctive. desperate.

“kazuha—”

he cuts you off, but gently. always gently.

“it’s okay,” he says, voice tight. not angry. not sharp. worse.

like he’s trying not to let it hurt. like he’s swallowing it down.

“you don’t owe me anything.”

and the way he says it — it shatters something in you. because it’s true.

but god, you wish it wasn’t.

he stands. quietly. slowly. like the air’s too heavy now.

his hands curl at his sides. his voice is small. careful.

“i think i’m gonna go to bed.”

he doesn’t look at you.

“you can let yourself out.”

then he turns.

walks down the hall.

soft steps. soft goodbye.

he doesn’t shut the door, but he might as well have.

and scara?

he doesn’t say a word. doesn’t flinch. doesn’t move. just leans back, all smug and spread out on the couch.

like he won. like you’re not falling apart beside him.

and you just sit there.

it’s been four days since that night.

four days since you watched kazuha’s face fall. since you walked out with your chest caving in. since your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

you couldn’t stop thinking about it. about him.

his soft voice. the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room. how he curled his fingers around a mug like he was scared it might break. how he might.

you didn’t mean to hurt him. you never meant to hurt him.

and you can’t take it anymore.

so now you’re standing in front of his apartment door at 8pm, knuckles raised, heart in your throat.

you don’t even knock. you just twist the handle. it’s unlocked.

and he’s on the couch. hair tied back, sweatshirt too big, book in his lap.

he looks up. blinks.

“…hey,” he says, quietly. like he’s not sure you’re real.

you don’t speak. you just walk over. slow. trembling.

and then you kiss him.

hard. messy. open-mouthed. hands gripping his jaw like you’re trying to say everything at once.

he gasps against your mouth.

“wait—what—”

“i’m sorry,” you breathe, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak. your forehead pressed to his. your hands in his hair.

“i didn’t know. i didn’t know, and i was stupid and drunk and i can’t stop thinking about you—”

he pulls you back in. wordless.

you stumble into his lap, straddling him, fingers tugging at his sweatshirt. your lips drag across his jaw, down his throat, mouthing apology after apology into his skin.

“i missed you,” you whisper, voice cracking.

he kisses you like he believes it.

his hands slide under your shirt, reverent, trembling a little. like he’s still not sure this is allowed. like he’s scared it’ll vanish if he moves too fast.

but you want fast. you want messy. desperate. fucked-up. you want to feel again.

you grind down into his lap and feel him gasp against your mouth.

“fuck,” he mumbles. “you can’t just—just show up like this—”

“why not?” you say, nipping at his bottom lip. “don’t you want me?”

his eyes flutter shut.

“…i always do.”

you rock against him again, and he groans.

hands under your thighs now, pulling you closer, guiding your hips. there’s no rhythm, no thought — just friction, heat, want.

you grab the hem of your shirt and tug it off. your bra goes next.

his breath stutters.

you swear he says your name like it’s a prayer.

his mouth finds your chest. kisses soft, open, shaky. his hands shaking as he palms your tits, thumbs brushing your nipples until they pebble.

“kazuha,” you whimper. “please.”

he flips you before you can blink.

lays you out on the couch. gets on top of you like he’s starving. like he’s waited a lifetime.

his hands drag down your waist. unbutton your jeans. he looks up once, checking.

you nod.

he tugs them down. your panties with them. and then his mouth is on you.

tongue soft and slow at first, then deeper, faster, firmer — his fingers gripping your thighs open, holding you steady, licking through your folds like it’s all he wants.

you moan — loud. head tipped back, hips rocking up into his face. he moans into your cunt like it’s divine.

and then — just as you’re close — he slips a finger in. then two. curling them just right.

“kazuha—oh my god—fuck, right there—”

his eyes are wild when he looks up. cheeks flushed, mouth wet, hair sticking to his face.

you cum with a cry, back arching off the couch, thighs trembling.

he doesn’t stop until you’re gasping.

until you’re pulling him up by his sweatshirt, mumbling “fuck me, please, fuck me—”

he fumbles with his sweats, hard and flushed and leaking as he lines himself up.

“you’re sure—?”

“yes,” you breathe. “i want you. i want you.”

he pushes in.

you both moan.

it’s so deep. so thick. he fills you like he belongs there.

his mouth drops to your shoulder. his pace stutters. he’s so gentle, even now — hips rolling slow, trying not to break you. trying not to lose himself.

but you’re already gone.

“harder,” you beg. “please, harder—i can take it—”

and he does.

he thrusts harder. faster. lets himself feel it — years of restraint crumbling in your arms.

the couch creaks beneath you. skin slaps. your name, over and over in his mouth, like he’s thankful for you.

you’re so close again — hips jerking, nails digging into his back, gasping his name when —

the door creaks open.

you freeze. kazuha freezes. you both turn your heads.

and there — bag slung over one shoulder, keys in hand, jaw tight — is scaramouche.

he stares. expression unreadable.

and then?

he shuts the door behind him.

“…should’ve known,” he mutters, deadpan. “you only get this loud when you’re trying to prove a point.”

his voice drips mockery.

you tense under kazuha — your fingers curling into the cotton of his sweatshirt, knuckles white. he’s still inside you, still trembling, still trying to breathe through the impossible weight of what’s happening.

but it’s real. the couch is real. kazuha’s cock still buried in you is real.

and scaramouche — kunikuzushi — is standing there, dropping his jacket on the chair like this is normal.

“k-kuni—” kazuha stammers, trying to pull out. “i didn’t know you’d be—”

“spare me,” scara cuts in, already toeing off his boots. “i live here.”

you flinch.

he says it like it’s obvious. like you should’ve known.

but how could you? kazuha never said his roommate was the same man who had fucked you in the back of a car, told you to shut up, called you a know-it-all brat with your skirt pushed up to your waist and his fingers choking off your moans.

but now you know.

and he’s still looking at you. eyes dragging down your body — your bare chest, your fucked-out cunt, the way kazuha’s cock twitches inside you like he doesn’t know what to do next.

“so this is what we’re doing now?” kuni asks. his tone is flat, but there’s something gleaming in his eyes. sharp. greedy. like he’s daring you to answer wrong.

kazuha tries. bless him.

“it’s not—she’s not—”

but you’re already nodding.

your lips part. nothing comes out at first. then —

“yes.”

scara’s smirk spreads like wildfire.

“knew you were a little freak,” he says, low, dragging the hoodie over his head.

his shirt follows. then his belt. your breath catches.

his cock’s already hard. flushed dark, curved, glistening at the tip. and thick.

kazuha pulls out slowly — still holding you, still touching like you’re delicate. like you won’t break. and you miss the stretch immediately. your cunt clenches down on nothing. sticky with both your slicks. aching for more.

“get her ready,” scara says, stroking himself. “since you’re the nice one.”

kazuha just stares. wide-eyed. dazed.

but you’re already whispering: “please.”

he moves.

fingers slipping back inside you, slow and reverent, curling in that sweet spot that makes your thighs twitch. he’s still so gentle. too gentle. like he doesn’t realize you’re past the point of careful. you’re wrecked. ruined. and still hungry.

then scara kneels beside you. strokes your cheek with one calloused thumb.

“open,” he commands.

you do.

and he doesn’t wait — pushes into your mouth fast, groaning when your tongue wraps around him. when your lips close tight.

kazuha’s fingers are still working you open. slow, precise. you gasp around scara’s cock, trying not to choke. he’s too big for this. you can barely take him. but he doesn’t care.

“fuck,” he hisses. “she’s still tight?”

“she came twice already,” kazuha murmurs, dazed. “and she’s still so—”

“that’s cause she’s fucking starving for it.”

he grips your hair, starts fucking your throat. deep. rough. wet sounds filling the room.

you gag, tears spilling down your cheeks.

kazuha pulls his fingers out. lines up again. and god — you’re not sure you can take it, but your hips roll toward him anyway.

then he’s inside. deep.

the stretch makes your whole body arch. kazuha moans against your back, and scara curses low, staring down at your glassy eyes.

“shit,” he mutters, snapping his hips. “i can feel him in your throat.”

your arms shake. your cunt clenches. you’re crying. drooling. babbling around his cock.

you’re nothing. just a body between them. a fucktoy they’ve decided to share. and fuck — it feels so good.

kazuha’s thrusts are slow again, holding you open, whispering your name in your ear like it means something. scara’s pace is merciless, fucking your throat like it’s his right, like your mouth belongs to him.

and you? you can’t stop.

you choke. sob. cum again so hard it feels like lightning in your spine — your walls clenching around kazuha so tight he gasps, hips jerking. he spills inside you with a stuttering breath, holding you so close it’s like he’s scared you’ll vanish.

but scara pulls out.

strokes himself twice.

and finishes across your lips. your cheek. your chin. hot and sticky and everywhere.

you’re still shaking.

and they’re still watching you.

you can barely think.

your face is sticky with scara’s cum. your throat’s sore. your thighs won’t stop twitching. kazuha’s still catching his breath somewhere behind you, and your cunt’s leaking so much you don’t know who you’re dripping.

you’re a mess.

you should be done. this should be the end. but then —

“i made her cum first,” scara says.

like it’s obvious. like it’s fact. like it’s important.

your mind stutters, sluggish and cloudy, barely registering his voice over the dull throb between your legs. you’re flat on your back on the couch, eyes half-shut, heart still racing. you feel like static. boneless. high on everything.

kazuha lets out a soft snort beside you, pulling his sweats back on with shaky hands. “you mean just now?”

“obviously.”

scara stands over you, all smug satisfaction — one hand still in his hair, the other dragging his thumb across your jaw to wipe off the mess he left there.

you whimper faintly at the touch.

kazuha just raises a brow.

“if we’re counting real firsts,” he says calmly, “i made her cum days ago. with my mouth. in her dorm. she was shaking.”

scara freezes. just for a second.

“are you serious.”

“very.”

“that doesn’t count.”

“why not?”

“because you had her alone. if she’d had the option of me, she would’ve picked me.”

you groan. weakly. “guys—”

“shush,” they both snap.

you shut up.

kazuha looks unnervingly serene. the picture of quiet confidence. “i didn’t realize this was a competition.”

“it is now.”

and before you can protest — before your brain catches up — you’re being lifted. sat upright. dizzy. sore. you feel like jelly. your whole body aches.

your back hits kazuha’s chest as he settles back on the couch, arms around you. his lips find your shoulder again. soft. tender. his fingers trace slow shapes down your thigh.

and scara?

he’s kneeling between your legs. again.

“round two,” he says, voice a low purr. “let’s settle this.”

your whole body tenses.

“wait—i can’t—i’m still—”

kazuha hushes you. strokes your hair. kisses your cheek like it’ll fix the way your thighs are still shaking. “we’ll go slow.”

“i won’t,” scara mutters.

he doesn’t.

his fingers slide back inside you first — two at once, fast and rough. your back arches, sharp pain mixing with something darker, deeper. your whole body jerks.

“fuck—she’s still clenching,” he groans. “so needy it’s fucking embarrassing.”

you don’t even get to argue.

because then he’s inside.

his cock slams into you with one brutal thrust. your hands scramble for something — anything — but kazuha’s already gripping your wrists, holding you still, letting kuni take what he wants.

you scream.

kazuha kisses your temple, murmuring soft nothings while scara ruins you again. his thrusts are vicious. relentless. wet sounds echo off the walls. you can’t even think.

“you close already?” scara sneers, watching your face twist. “you are. fuck, that’s pathetic.”

“don’t be cruel,” kazuha says gently, brushing hair from your face. “she’s trying.”

“she’s a slut,” scara growls. “a messy little whore who likes getting fought over. that’s what you want, huh?”

you sob. your body trembles. you want to deny it. say it isn’t true. but it is.

you cum again — harder than before. your cunt clenches tight around him, and scara moans like he’s vindicated. like he’s won.

he doesn’t even stop.

fucks you through it. drags every last shiver out of your body until your brain fizzles out and your breath stutters into nothing. then — finally — he pulls out, panting, spent, and absolutely pleased with himself.

“that’s one,” he says smugly. “your turn.”

kazuha shifts.

moves you slowly — gently — onto your hands and knees, your whole body shaking like you’ve never been touched before.

“you okay?” he whispers.

you nod. barely.

and he’s inside you. slow. sweet. almost careful.

his cock stretches you all over again — but this time it’s different. like he’s pouring himself into you instead of fucking you apart. his hands curl over your hips. his lips ghost along your spine.

“you’re doing so well,” he whispers. “i’ve got you.”

you whimper.

you don’t even realize you’re crying again until he kisses the tears away.

his thrusts are deep. rolling. steady.

your cunt’s raw. swollen. slick with too much. but he still finds a rhythm that pulls the pleasure back up from the ache. still finds the softness under the wreckage.

your fingers clutch at the couch cushion.

“ka—kazuha—i can’t—”

“you can. just breathe.”

and you do.

you breathe. you break. you cum again.

quiet this time. all soft gasps and shaking thighs and tears on your cheeks. your hand finds his. you squeeze it when you come, clenching around him like you’re scared to let go.

he groans. spills inside you with a kiss pressed to your neck.

and you collapse in his arms. limp. barely breathing.

but then — you hear it. again.

“that one was mine,” kazuha says, still panting.

scara scoffs. “barely. she was already there.”

“still counts.”

“you’re such a fucking bitch.”

“and you’re a sore loser.”

you groan into the couch cushion. “guys.”

they don’t answer. you lift your head. barely.

they’re both still standing over you. flushed. fucked out. proud. and still arguing.

“shut up,” you mumble, dragging the pillow over your face.

they don’t. you know they won’t.

and somehow — you just know this isn’t the last time you’ll end up between them.

a/n: everyone say THANK YOU XIA for this absolutely amazing idea !!!!!!!! 🫡🫡🫡 ok anyway time to ghost u all <3 love u mwah i was never here bye

1K notes · View notes

nyanchow · 25 days ago

Text

୨♡︎୧ You Got Me Thinking Nonsense ୨♡︎୧

୨♡︎୧ Pairings: Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

୨♡︎୧ Summary: You're Suguru Geto's little sister, which means you've dealt with both him and his best friend Satoru Gojo being overprotective little shits for most your life. You've also been in love with Satoru Gojo that long, but he sees you as nothing but his best friend's little sister. Finally taking the steps to move on from the delusion, you decide to go on a date with a sweet boy from college, Yuuta. Only... then Satoru seems furious, even as Suguru finally approves of a boy. You wonder why he cares, and he wonders why seeing you with someone makes him sick to his stomach. Is Satoru, this overbearing best friend of your brother, actually into you?

୨♡︎୧ CW- MDNI/NSFW- Reader is 20, Satoru is 24- Reader is Suguru's lil sis, you're down bad forever, Gojo is a dick but lowkey sweet. Explicit sexual content, oral (m&f recieving) porn w/feelings and a lil plot, mutual pining, loss of virginity (reader's) rough sex, creampie, Satoru being a cocky lil shit. (Yuuta and reader go on a date but it's SFW, and just to make Satoru jealous) Wordcount 11.6k

୨♡︎୧ Comments/reblogs very appreciated if you enjoy!! ୨♡︎୧ Also happy birthday Satoru!! 🎂

You’ve had a crush on Satoru Gojo for as long as you can remember, there are just two big problems. Problem one- his best friend is your brother.

Being Suguru Geto’s little sister was not for the weak, he constantly chases any man off, big and strong and intimidating, your entire life. Even more so now, that your parents are gone, and even though you’re now in college, he doesn’t care, in fact he’s even more ridiculous. He not only scares every guy off, he is constantly dragging you around with him.

Every outing he goes to, he never lets you just go alone, even though you’re now twenty years old and he’s only twenty four. He acts a million years older than you, and he’s the most overprotective brother you can imagine. He feels it’s his responsibility to take care of you, he doesn’t even see you as an adult. You know he just loves you, but it’s overwhelming lately.

There’s also another problem- Satoru Gojo is a dick to you.

He’s never done anything but pick on you, ruffle your hair and call you a baby, a little brat, little kid when you’re a whole ass adult, and all you can do is drool over him, all these years. Satoru was a little shithead to you, all through your teen years when you wanted to hang out, he’d throw you out of their room, he’d pick on you, pinch you. Why you feel something for that ass you don’t know.

You’d pined away so long, but finally Satoru has set you off.

You’d been dressed up to go out with your friends, sporting a little crop top and a pleated mini skirt, fishnet stockings with boots. You looked cute as fuck, spinning in the mirror nervously, Satoru has surely never seen you in this way, you think, in a lacy bustier like this, body on full display. You stepped down the stairs, and his icy blue eyes had gone wide.

He’d had pink on his cheeks, lips parted as you walked down, and you think to yourself, it’s like every movie, your moment. The moment Satoru would see you’re not some little girl, you’re not just Suguru’s little sister, you’re a whole ass woman, grown and your own person. And when his eyes trailed down your body, you felt your heart pounding in your chest.

He’s just sputtering when you bounce down the last step, smiling up at him, fuck he’s pretty, and he just gets better looking every year it seems. You’ve had it bad since you were ten years old, and he was fourteen, even then he’d been so tall and pretty, and even then he’d been a little shit to you. You’d gone from being jealous of him getting your brother’s attention to craving his attention.

“What do you think, Toru?” You ask now, and he clears his throat, blush creeping further up his cheeks, nothing like the confident, cocky jock he and Suguru were, the sureness of them with any ladies, who fawned over them.

“What now?” Is all he manages, as you lean forward a bit, hands behind your back, and your breasts on full display for the tall, white haired man you can’t stop thinking of in the worst ways.

“How do I look?” You ask now, feeling your cheeks heat up when those insane blue eyes stare at you, framed by a fringe of snowy lashes.

“How you look…” He trails off now, opening his glossy ass lips again, it’s not fair for a man to have such glossy lips or lush lashes, truly.

“Mmhmm. New outfit.” You do a little spin, popping a foot out then. “New boots. I think they’re so cute.”

“The boots… mmm.” He is staring at your fishnet clad thighs now, exhaling, blinking as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Um. They’re fine.”

You blink now. “And I look?”

“Fine I guess.” He looks off, before looking back directly at you, glaring now, while you feel yourself close to fucking tears. “But you know Suguru won’t let you out like that, all… are these even clothes, brat?” Satoru tugs on your mini skirt, you smack his hand now, scowling.

“Yes they’re clothes! I’m an adult, he can’t tell me what to wear anymore.”

“An adult, hmm. Still a little brat.” He ruffles your hair and you smack his hands again, glaring now. “Go put on a hoodie or something.”

“You know what, fuck you Gojo.” He blinks now, before glaring back.

“Fuck me? No sweetheart.” You gasp, stepping back, feeling the tears start to form in your eyes. “Don’t… why are… are you crying?”

“N-no!” You turn now, swiping at your eyes, taking a breath, he literally turned you down, stone cold. How stupid were you?

Suddenly you feel a big jacket on you, and you hate how good it smells, that expensive, musky cologne Satoru wears, the one that drips money. Suguru did very well for you both, but Satoru had come from money, and you could see it in everything, from his Gucci shades, to his Givenchy clothes, and his Rolex watches, including this damn cologne probably $100 a spray.

You hate that it makes your tummy clench with need when he’s standing behind you, feeling his body heat almost, drawing you in and tempting to no end. You also hate that you find your thoughts drifting to him when you play with yourself, even when you have so many twitter links pulled up, no, it’s still him.

And now?

“I don’t want your jacket.” You say, slipping it off, and for a moment his long fingers touch your bare shoulders, you have to bite your lip at how good it fucking feels, a touch from him.

“You’ll get cold.” His voice is husky, a voice already deep and sensual naturally, now it sounds like pure sex.

“What do you care?”

“I’m your brother’s best friend, we both-”

“I don’t care, I’m not a kid! You’re barely older than me.” You turn now, shoving his letterman’s jacket in his hands, wishing instead you could stay in it forever, but he’s never going to see you differently, you realize now.

Never.

“What’s going on, you two bickering?” Suguru comes out now, and glares when he sees you. “Excuse me young lady, no. Get changed now.”

“Young lady my ass, Suguru you are barely older!”

“You’re still a little-”

“I am not a little kid. I’m over it. I’ll wear whatever I want.” Now Suguru is following you, he’s throwing his own coat over your shoulders, as Satoru is snickering, making you even angrier. “No!”

“Some creep will try to grab you, or worse. Where are you going, and who are you going with?” He turns you to him, violet eyes assessing your face, as if you’re some lying little kid. You roll your eyes and cross your arms.

“I’m going out with my friends, I’m an adult, I have a car and a licence, shit I work at college! Maybe I should live at the dorm.”

“No, you will not. It’s not safe, you don’t know what kind of guys are there.”

“I’m grown, Suguru.”

He blinks now, violet eyes emotional, making you feel like shit. “You’re my responsibility.”

“I don’t need to be. Now here.” You take off his jacket, and Satoru stomps up now, shoving it back on you. “Oh fuck off somewhere, Satoru, go enjoy some boyfriend time while I’m gone.”

“I’m not gay!” He says, and you smile meanly.

“Sure you’re not.”

“Just because I don’t find annoying little brats like you attractive doesn’t mean I’m gay now.” You blink again, stepping back, and Satoru rolls his eyes.

“Lots of people think I’m pretty.”

“That’s why you should wear actual clothes. And why would Satoru find you attractive, you’re like family to him. You’re a little sister to him.”

“Fuck both of you. I’m not coming home tonight, don’t wait up.” You stomp out to your car, flipping them both off from your tinted windows as you drive to your best friend’s house to go out. Of course Suguru is protective, but Satoru!?

A little sister huh.

After that night last week, you have decided you damn sure will go out with someone finally. You have a date tonight with your classmate in college, Yuuta, he was sweet and a gentleman, there was no way Suguru could find fault with him. And if he did, so what, and if Satoru did!? So what.

You take the pictures you have collected of Satoru and shove them in that shoebox, the one with all the love letters you’ve written him and never sent, and kick the box under your bed frame. Fuck that, fuck him, it’s not as if he ever thought of you any different, it’s like every stupid moment was imagined.

Now you’re dressed tonight in a pretty little black dress and red bottomed heels, red lipstick on and your hair done up, earrings glittering and dangling as you catch your reflection. You tend to have a bit of a baby face, you always have, but how you look tonight is mature, womanly, body showcased but it’s still covered enough Suguru can’t say shit.

You hear the door knock, and you panic, knowing the two of them are going to try to scare Yuuta away, so you dart down the stairs, only to trip, Satoru sees you and catches you so quick you are left breathless. You’re cursing yourself for being so damn clumsy, as his hands are on your back, arms wrapped around you, steadying you to the floor.

When you’re in Satoru Gojo’s arms, you forget he’s an asshole, you forget everything but how good it feels, for him to hold you like this, feeling his steady heart thrumming against your breasts. Your nipples perk up at being pressed on his hard body, your tummy tightens at how badly you want him, when your eyes lock and you see his blush again.

You’ve seen Satoru blush a few times, but especially recently, it just makes him look more attractive even. Fuck he’s the bane of your existence. When he sets you down, his hands linger for just a moment too long, addling your psyche, wrecking your thoughts to just let him go, let the idea go.

His eyes glide down your body, mouth open, and you brace for whatever stupid comment he is going to say, but Suguru comes over then with Yuuta, and he actually smiles at you now. Yuuta has his jaw dropped, quickly clearing his throat as he clutches flowers he’s brought, earning Satoru scowling at him, for no good reason.

“You look so beautiful…” Yuuta says your name softly, brushing back his dark hair, giving a tired little smile, making you flushed under the praise, so nice to hear after constantly being around two assholes.

“Oh thank you so much, sorry I’m so clumsy.” Your heels click on the tile as you walk to him, taking the flowers and inhaling their sweet scent. “Oh you didn’t have to do this at all!”

“Nonsense, of course I did. Do you like lilies?”

“I do!”

“She likes sunflowers.” Satoru grumbles, earning a look of shock from you, and a curious look from Suguru. “Well she has them all over her shit, and wears them all the time.”

How did he notice that about you?

“I love them, thank you.” You lean forward, kissing his cheek, feeling Satoru’s eyes rip through you. Suguru tenses now, stepping between you both, and you sigh, shaking your head. “Do you want to get to know Yuuta before we go out?”

“I sure would. C’mon, kid.” Yuuta looks at you nervously with his sad brown eyes, and you smile encouragingly.

“I’m twenty?”

“Kid.” Satoru says, snorting, you glare at him.

“You all act old as fuck, I swear. Yuuta they’re not even a couple years older, and don’t be scared. He’s a softie.” You nudge Suguru, he snorts, inclining his head. “May the force be with you.”

“I really like you.” Yuuta says with a grin, and you giggle, watching Suguru drag him for ‘a drink and a talk’ aka- how your brother tries to scare everyone.

You are giddy as you look at the gorgeous flowers, heading to the kitchen to find something to put them in. You set the flowers on the counter, tiptoeing in your heels, to try to reach the cabinet. Satoru’s behind you suddenly, you feel his hard body against you, right against your ass, and you damn near trip into the counter, as he reaches up and grabs a vase.

“You show off.” You huff. “Must be nice being a giant.”

“It’s pretty nice up here. Air quality.” He’s grinning, and it makes your tummy do flips, you look away, taking the vase to the sink.

“Thanks. They’re beautiful, hmm?” The water is sloshing gently, filling the vase up halfway, Satoru stops you then. “What?”

“If you clip them diagonally they stay fresh longer.” He snatches up the kitchen scissors, of course he knows where everything is, Satoru is here more than he’s home. He uses those long elegant fingers to unsnap the rubber band the flowers are in, starting to clip the green stems.

“How do you know these things?” You ask curiously, he shrugs a broad shoulder, that dress shirt stretching over those muscles.

“I remember my mom doing it when she’d get roses.”

“Oh, that’s sweet.”

“I guess.” Satoru clears his throat, like Suguru and you, his parents were gone, which you believe is why Suguru and him were so very close, amongst other reasons, you’ve never seen two people closer. Even you and Suguru aren’t.

“I bet she was beautiful.” You say then, and he pauses, putting the flowers in the vase and arranging them.

“What makes you say that?”

“Look at you. Gotta be strong genetics. Oh thank you.” Satoru hands you the pretty vase now, eyes drifting down your body quickly before looking away.

“She was beautiful.” He says then, softly, and you feel it, his pain emanating. It is as if you feel it yourself. You gently put a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense at the contact.

“I shouldn’t have brought that up…”

“No, just… I don’t like to think about it.”

“I get it.”

“Yeah I know you do.” His hand comes on yours, and for a moment you pause there, and you wonder… does he see you as the woman you are? He eases your hand off his shoulder, patting your head again with a smile, a gesture he has always shown you, and it makes you emotional.

Will you ever let this fantasy go? He just doesn’t see you.

You gulp now, looking away to where Suguru is actually laughing, and Yuuta smiles nervously at you. “Knew he’d love him.”

“You never dated. What’s the rush?” Satoru asks casually, leaning on the counter with hands in his pockets.

I want to get over you, that’s what.

“I’m twenty, Satoru. I know you think I’m a kid, but I’m not. I want things… to be desired, to be close to someone.” Your voice is quiet, Satoru’s snowy lashes lower. “I want someone to make me feel beautiful.”

Satoru swipes a hand over his face, shaking his head and stiffening. “You are-”

“Okay, okay, I like him.” Suguru says, and you bounce up and down, hugging your brother, he kisses your head and sighs. “You’re allowed.”

“You can’t tell me what to do anyway.” You stick out your tongue. “But, I’m glad you approve. Yuuta, you’re brave.” Yuuta laughs a bit, hugging you by the waist, Satoru’s eyes dart right there, jaw tensing when Yuuta’s fingers press into the nip at your waist.

“I like him too. What was your name?” Yuuta asked, and Satoru walks up, holding out his hand.

“Gojo.” He says, then he squeezes the shit out of Yuuta’s hand, smirking, but Yuuta squeezes right back, and Gojo blinks. “Damn, strong kid.”

“We’re not children, stop acting like the Golden girls. All right, you ready?” You ask, and Yuuta nods. “We’re out!”

“Don’t be out late.” Satoru says, narrowing his eyes, you laugh out loud.

“Oh jesus. I’ll be back when I get back, maybe go home, Satoru?”

“You need a jacket.” Satoru says now, and Suguru nods.

“You do need a jacket.”

“I’m fine!” Yuuta grabs his jacket off, slinging it over your shoulders, you smile gratefully, and you see your brother smile at you too.

“Have fun kids.” You roll your eyes as you walk out, hand in hand with Yuuta, and it feels nice, his presence, how interested he is.

“Not too much fun.” Satoru’s words are terse, however, not teasing. You peer back at him for a moment as Yuuta opens the door for you, blue eyes glinting in the dark night, before sliding in and shoving him in the back of your mind.

Yuuta is the sweetest, and you want to feel those butterflies, maybe you do a bit, but you can’t get Satoru out of your damn head. It’s like he’s right there, you’re unable to get rid of him, even having so much fun, even enjoying yourself like this, you can’t stop thinking of how he looked at you, how he almost seemed sad.

But how can he be?

Yuuta is walking you up now, you hand him his jacket he’d placed back on you, smiling as you stand in front of your door, he takes your hand and pulls you just a bit closer. “I had so much fun.” He says.

“I did too, so much. Should we…”

“Do it again?”

“Yeah?” He nods with a smile, tired eyes lighting up. You nervously step even closer, and his hands rest on your waist, you both stare at each other in the quiet night, hearing the distant sounds of cars whirling on the road, a gentle breeze brushing against your skin.

You’ve kissed of course, but it’s been little hidden kisses at parties you’ve snuck out to, or sneaking around at school, Suguru had been that strict with you. So you haven’t gone past it, despite your never ending sources of smut and porn links - you’re very thankful that you have a big house and Suguru is nowhere near your room- when you take care of things.

But… Yuuta’s hands slipping up and down your back are feeling good, when he leans down, you lean in and meet his lips, soft and gentle. You exhale, wrapping your arms around his neck, and his hands are pressing into your hips now, bringing you flush against him. His tongue slips in your mouth, and you gasp a bit at it, at how sensual he is with you.

“Is this all right?” He asks softly, pulling back for a moment, you nod, dragging him back down for more, until he’s pressing you against the wall, kissing down your neck, tickling your skin, earning a little moan. “Oh you’re so sexy.”

“Me, sexy?” You giggle, and he nods, eyes dilated when he’s cupping your cheek with one hand.

“Very. Beautiful. I am not usually so forward.” He pulls back just a bit, you bite your lower lip, hands running up his chest now.

“I like it, Yuuta.” He kisses you again, hands brushing down the sides of your breasts. “Mmm, Suguru will kill you.”

“It’s worth it.” You giggle again, letting his kisses wash through you, his sweet words, his touch, but your mind is flitting to Satoru, you almost feel terrible, but how can you? It’s not like he’s a possibility…

You wish you weren’t so pathetic for him.

“I can’t invite you in, they’d lose it.” You murmur, his hands are slipping lower down your back, looking at you for permission, you nod and now they’re slipping up your thighs, sliding your silky dress up, baring your thighs. Fuck it feels good, being so desired, and he’s such a good kisser…

“I could sneak in your window.” He teases, you grin, shaking your head, but feeling the thrill of him touching you, thumb brushing over your hip, toying with the elastic of your panties, you cry out softly just against his lips, when the door opens, and Satoru Gojo stands right there, keys in his hand.

You pause, he’s wide eyed as he sees you like that, Yuuta pulls back, clearing his throat, earning Satoru stepping up to you, grabbing your arm. “Time for good night, I think?”

“Whatever, aren’t you leaving?” You shrug your arm out of his hold, and Yuuta is bright fucking red, taking your hand and kissing it.

“Text me?” He asks, you nod then, smiling and stepping to him, kissing him right in front of Satoru, a brush of the lips but still, you feel something so petty doing it.

Maybe he’ll see you’re a woman.

Yuuta is so sweet and perfect, you wonder if you’ll one day shove those thoughts of Satoru far enough away. “Good night, Yuuta, I will.”

“Good night, beautiful.” You feel your cheeks heat up at it, turning when he heads inside his car, and bumping right into Satoru.

“Shit… go on, I’m safe.” You say, shoving past him, but he doesn’t move, glaring down at you now, towering over you, you’ve never seen him so damn mad. “What, gonna tell my brother I kissed someone? Snitch.”

“That was more than kissing.” Satoru leans down, blue eyes raking down your dress, still scrunched up just so, you tug it down a bit. “Boy probably came in his pants touching you.”

“What!? You’re so stupid!”

“I’m stupid?”

“You are. Think I don’t wanna be touched, Satoru? Think I wanna be a virgin forever because you and Suguru are so overbearing?” Satoru blinks at that, leaning back now, you cross your arms, trembling with anger and the chill of the night.

“And he’s who you want? On one date?”

“Don’t you even, I know you like the back of my hand. How often do you sleep with women? Plus I wasn’t yet.”

“Yet!?”

“Satoru why the fuck do you care? Your big brother act is getting old. I don’t need you to babysit me. If I wanna sleep with someone eventually, I will.”

He scoffs now. “You don’t even know what fucking is.”

“Not with you and Suguru cockblocking my life away. But I feel I’ll be a fast learner.” You pat his shoulder, smiling and tilting your head. “Are you mad?”

“Me, mad? No. I just care about you. I just… want you to make good decisions. I just…”

“He’s sweet, he’s got his shit together. And he thinks… I’m beautiful.” You say softly, brows drawing together. Satoru exhales now, hands gently pausing you, tilting your chin up with two fingers.

“Who wouldn’t think you’re beautiful?” His voice drops an octave, then you feel it, the tension coiling, not sweet butterflies, no Satoru’s touch is destroying you, like a fire that you want to burn from. His words muddle your mind.

“You don’t think I’m anything but ‘fine’ remember?”

“What do you want me to say? If I say what’s on my mind I’ll be a shit friend, a shit person.” You blink rapidly now.

“What’s on your mind?”

Satoru’s hands slip down your body slowly, every bit of you responds, when he’s leaning so low, you can feel his breath on your lips, you can taste his sweet breath, feel your pulse pounding in your neck. “Last week in that outfit, all I could think of was bending you the fuck over, ripping those fishnets.”

You gulp now, vividly imagining it all, shaking with need, feeling your cunt dripping wet, embarrassingly. “Y-you what!?”

“And this dress? Unzip it slowly, brushing your hair back as I do.” Satoru lifts your hair now, turning you to where your back is pressed against him, you can barely control your breaths as his fingers trail over that zipper. “Kiss down your back, every pretty inch of your skin, until I got here.”

His hands press on your thighs, slipping up one, and you’re a mess when he presses up against your panties, your drippy cunt throbbing around nothing, letting out an embarrassing moan. He exhales at it, pressing long fingers up against your clothed clit as he wraps an arm around your waist, you feel like you’re in some Satoru Gojo fucking wet dream, damn near cumming from that.

“Wh-what… since… you never…ngh!” Satoru laughs softly, tickling your ear with his breath, sending shivers down your spine as you get wetter and wetter, shamelessly grinding against his hand, your own gripping his arms.

“Think I haven’t wanted you for so long? That I don’t die every time you run around in those slutty boy shorts you sleep in?”

“Then why… why…”

“I can’t, I can’t do it. But don’t think I don’t fucking want you, so badly it makes me stupid. F-fuck, feel how wet you are, that from that boy?” His voice gets darker, as he’s swirling his fingertip, coating it with your slick, your head falls back, eyes fluttering shut at being touched this way.

“Maybe I am.” You taunt, and he laughs, slipping his finger under the elastic, slamming a hand on your mouth to cover your cry, fingers brushing your slick folds, you almost cum, pathetic for him.

“Nah, sweetheart, think that’s from me. Barely touch you and…” He takes some of your pooled arousal, bringing it to his lips then, moaning. “Fuck you taste good.”

“Satoru what the fuck… do you know how long I have-” You both hear steps now, and Satoru is off you in a flash, leaving you a flustered mess with sticky thighs, panting as you try to pull yourself together.

“I can’t do this to him.” Satoru says, brows drawn together, and your lips tremble, breath catching.

“You want me?” You whisper, then Suguru opens the door, leaning on the doorway, assessing you both as Satoru hastily yanks out his keys again.

“Scare the boy off?” Suguru asks, Satoru lets out a big grin, so genuine looking you wouldn’t know it was fake.

“Of course I did, he was getting a little handsy.” You glare at him now, simply earning a smoldering look from him, before he waves.

“You little shithead.” You earn a laugh, and Suguru glares.

“Handsy?”

“Night!” Satoru bounces off to his sleek sports car, as if he hadn’t just tasted your pussy, as if he hadn’t just wrecked everything for you.

How can you get over him now? Is it some game to him?

“Handsy how?” Suguru demands, you shove past your brother, rolling your eyes now.

“Go to bed!”

“Excuse me-”

You’re off to your room before Suguru can catch you, back against the door, struggling to catch a breath. You yank off your heels, unzipping your dress, picturing his hands doing it. Picturing what it would be like to kiss him, to kiss Satoru Gojo. You huff as you lay on the bed, pussy aching, you clench your thighs together and cover your face, overheated from everything.

“What a dick. What an ass.” You yank your phone out then, dialing him now, and to your surprise he answers.

“What, brat?”

“What was that!?” You whisper, leaning up on an elbow, Satoru sighs heavily, you hear it in his voice.

“Me fucking up once, it won’t happen again.”

“It won’t happen again?”

“Why, ya want it sweetheart, my fingers on you?” You let out an unwilling moan, and he moans in response, cursing. “Do you have to sound so fucking hot?”

“Since when!”

“You’re his sister, you know what that means?”

“I’m not just his sister, I’m a woman, okay? My own woman.”

“Yeah, I know, how can I not? I can taste you on my tongue.”

“Jesus, Satoru.” You can’t stop yourself from reaching down, touching your clit, puffy and slick, crying out as you do.

“You’re not… are you… touching yourself to my voice?” Your hips buck up as you rub in circles, whining out. “You’re a slutty little virgin.”

“Satoru, I want you.”

“Want me, hmm?” His voice is too much, you can’t stand it, you nod though he can’t see. “Want me to taste you there? Drag my tongue over your slit?”

“Please, please, want it.” You’re moaning now, and he’s cursing, cock hard and straining under his jeans as he drives, cursing you mentally. He can hear your cries, picturing your perfect body as you play with your pussy, the one so yummy, so hot and wet. “Satoru…”

“Shh, what if he hears?”

“He never has before.”

“You’ve cum to the thought of me?” His words are a whisper, you don’t even know what to say, the entirety of this feels so surreal you have no sense of shame over it or embarrassment.

“Just… keep going, please I hurt.” Satoru practically drools as he pulls into his driveway, leaning his head back, hand rubbing his cock over his jeans now, eyes fluttering shut as he listens to your cries, picturing his face between your thighs.

“You’d hurt when I got done with you, would fuck your pretty cunt so good. Have you… fuck…” Satoru’s having trouble concentrating, releasing his cock, it springs and smacks his stomach, dripping pre cum all over.

“Are you-”

“Keep touching yourself. Fuck I wonder how pretty it is.” He huffs, and you bear his own gasps as he strokes his cock just making you drip more. “I hear how wet you are.”

Your eyes roll back at him. “Want you to. To touch me again, more.” You're gasping as your fingers move in sure circles, listening to Satoru stroke his cock in sync. “Want you… for my… first.”

“Oh my fucking- slip a finger in.” You nervously do as he says. Feeling your finger in your slick hole but wanting him so badly, it’s just a tease for what you want. “That’s it, god I can hear it through the phone.

“Satoru… jus’ come back.” You’re pressing a finger inside your little drippy cunt, panting breaths, breasts rising and falling.

“Yeah, you want me to come back? What do you want?”

“W-want your fingers. So long- ah!” Satoru moans as he listens, his mind going insane with images of all the times he’s watched you in your bikini, all the times you’ve bent over in front of him, remembering how wet you were on his fingers.

Fuck.

“Want 'em deep in you, so greedy.” His words just edge you more, and you’re huffing, oversensitive, not hitting what you need. “Aw baby can’t cum?”

“Fuck you, Toru.”

“I know, you want me too hmm? Break your tight little pussy?” You’re on the edge of cumming, while you hear him moaning, picturing what his cock must look like, it drives you insane, your pussy so slippery your hands nearly fall off.

“Yes, I do. Do you want it, to be inside?”

“Fuck…” Satoru’s tip is sensitive as he spits on it, mixing with the drooling precum, pinching his tip as he tortures himself with thoughts of you. “Wanna bury myself in you.”

“Ah!” You’re screaming out, covering your hand as the phone falls next to you, Satoru hears as you shatter, cumming so hard your pussy throbs, entire body sensitive, so sensitive just your sheets against your skin have you shivering. Your hand is covered in your own slick as it trembles. “S-Satoru, can you cum for me too?”

“Oh my god.” Satoru’s cock starts twitching as he cums so hard he can’t remember, white hot sticky ropes dripping all over his hand, as his head slams his head against the driver’s seat, jerking as he’s so sensitive.

“Satoru, I-”

“This can’t happen.” He says tersely, you blink back tears, so damn weak from cumming to his voice, to hearing him say the words you’ve literally dreamed about, that he wants you.

“You want me.”

“Yes, god how don’t you know!?” Satoru embarrassingly cleans himself up with napkins, cursing. “Got me acting like a dumb fucking teenager.”

“Satoru please just come back over.”

“No, because at this rate I’ll knock you up when I get in you, and your brother will literally hate me forever.”

“You don’t know that! And okay then we be sneaky.”

“You’re still a little brat. No.”

“And you’re a dick!” You get into pajamas now, staring at the mirror in your dark room, lit only by the little fairy lights hanging over your bed.

Satoru scoffs, swiping at that silky white hair as he walks into his home, cock twitching at the thought of you. “I won’t do it, this is terrible enough.”

“If you wanted to, why were you so mean to me!?”

“So you’d stop having a goddamn crush on me. It clearly failed.”

“Yeah, no shit. Fine, then I’ll go on another date.”

“What!?”

“No hope for us, and well Satoru now I’m so wet.”

Satoru glares at the phone, you don’t see it but you can sense it, as he remembers how mad he was seeing you. “You do what you want, we can’t be together so it doesn’t matter.” He curses himself as he says it, leaning over the counter.

“Fine then. You’re immature.”

“Me!? You’re a little annoying thing I swear. You have to forget what I did, what we just did… I can’t.”

“Forgotten then.” You say, choking on a cry. “You’re so scared of what, Suguru would love you even if we were together.”

“You just don’t do that. And I don’t date.”

“You fuck?”

“Yep.”

“Then fuck me.”

“Oh my… go to bed, brat.” You sniffle, shaking your head, hating how weak you constantly are for him, you hang up, slumping back on your bed and screaming into your pillow.

How can you get over him now!?

Meanwhile, Satoru slams into the counters, grabbing a drink and pouring it, throwing it straight down his throat.

How can he get over you now?

“Satoru! Are you ready for this?” Suguru asks, and your heart damn near beats out of your chest when you see Satoru Gojo shirtless. You've seen it here and there, it was not something one got used to.

His rippling, lean muscles make your mouth dry, you struggle not to look, arms covering yourself a bit in your bikini, while he stares at you in shock, eyes drifting down you in a moment’s glance while Suguru is snatching up bags and slinging them over his shoulder.

Your breasts are on full display in the bikini top, and Satoru can’t get his mind off it, that night last week, he’s avoided Suguru all damn week because of it. How he’s jerked it to the memory of your moans, and now he has to see you like this in this bikini that barely covers your tits, pretty and pink, popping against your milky skin. It takes so much not to tear it off and suck on your nipples.

He sees them perk up through the thin material, tempting him more, how can they not perk up when you want him so bad? You can barely formulate a thought in your head, when his muscles flex just so, and your eyes trail to his trunks, where you see the outline of his cock.

Great, you’re wet.

You quickly clear your throat when your brother smiles, bringing you the little white cover up. “Thanks.”

“Mmhmm, let’s go, Shoko, Nanami and Utahime will all be here.”

“You gonna talk Shoko up finally?” Satoru teases, a heartbreakingly pretty grin on his stupidly pretty face.

Ugh.

“You gonna get Utahime not to hate you?”

“Ha, no fucking way.”

“She’s hot though.”

Satoru looks back at you, something swirling in his blue eyes. “I guess so.”

“You guess so? Didn’t you think so like a week ago?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He only can think of you, little brat driving him insane, have you seen that guy again!?

“She’s pretty.” You agree, smiling brightly, putting on a show. “My friend Maki is coming too, and Yuuta will be here.”

Satoru’s fists clench, raising a white thin brow. “Oh?”

“Mmhmm. A full pool party.” The doorbell rings now, and everyone starts piling around the house, you grab the appetizers and drinks with Suguru’s help, greeting everyone as you all head to the pool.

Watching Satoru Gojo grill out was doing things, things that made you unable to focus, even as Maki comes, and gives you a big hug, so pretty with her emerald hair and glasses, her body lean and muscled. “Maki you look hot!”

“You look hot, baby. Oh, is that your boyfriend?”

“Not a boyfriend. But we went out. You’ll like him.”

“Give up on Gojo?” She asks, peering over, she knows you’ve been in love since you were a teenager. You sigh, nodding. “Suuree.”

“Oh stop. Yuuta!” You give him a hug, he smiles and hugs you back, lean and cut in his swim trunks, and when he sees Maki his mouth drops, though he quickly clears his throat.

Maki blushes, and you look between them, smiling then.

“Yuuta, come meet Maki, my best friend. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

“What!?” Maki hisses at you, but you see it the moment they meet.

“You’re both beautiful.” Yuuta takes Maki’s hand and she is bright red, you lean over to Yuuta’s ear.

“Think she likes you.”

“What!?” You just giggle.

“I’m hopping in!” You wave at everyone else before you jump in, and Satoru watches the way your ass bounces when you do, to the point he has to turn and adjust himself, semi hard from that.

You hop up in the pool, covered in dripping wet water, hair slicked back and sticking to you just so, tempting him to no goddamn end. It’s like you know it too, smirking at him with a bratty raise of your eyebrows. He holds the spatula and thinks of beating your ass with it, when Suguru walks up.

“So I thought I liked the kid, but look.” Suguru nudges his head, shaking Satoru out of his reverie, as Yuuta is clearly flirting with Maki, then he looks back at you, smiling at them.

“I think… She's matchmaking.” Satoru says, and Suguru sighs.

“I guess, but I was hoping for her to get a good guy, not some dick you know. He seems like a good kid.”

“Yeah, she deserves the best.” Satoru’s voice gets hoarse, and Suguru puts his hair up in a ponytail, tilting his head curiously at Satoru.

“She does. Not some shithead like me and you were at her age.” He jokes, smacking his shoulder, Satoru feels the words like a punch to the gut.

“I mean we’re not much older.”

“What now?” Suguru’s called over, and Satoru is barely able to breathe, Nanami walks up and takes over cooking with a tired smile, leaving Satoru to watch you, swimming across the pool in smooth strokes.

All he can picture is carrying you up to your little room and hearing those moans in person, making you moan. If he hadn’t touched you, if he’d just held himself back, maybe he could keep this in, but now you’re pulling him in, he’s a stupid moth smacking a fucking lightbulb.

Satoru grabs two drinks, cracking them open, sitting on the edge of the pool now and handing you one. You smile so damn pretty he’s dying. “Ah thanks, Toru, I’m old enough now?”

“I guess so. Fuck I was wasted in a frat house at your age.”

“I bet you were a slut.” Satoru glares, earning your grin, damn he’s sexy when those blue eyes narrow.

“You don’t know shit. Your brother was the slut.”

“What? No!”

“Sure was.” Satoru slides in the pool, you two are the only ones in there, and he’s dangerously close, the cold water chilling you as he warms you up, his gaze takes in the goosebumps on your breasts and how the water is just pressing them up more. “I’m no virgin but I’m not what you think.”

You sip the beer now, nodding a bit. “I was teasing, really.”

“You tease a lot, run your mouth all the time.” You scowl, and he smirks. “Wonder if I could put it to better use.”

Fuck.

Your body hums, stepping closer, your legs brushing against Satoru’s, strong and so damn long, and you watch him tense, but you act so casual, just sipping your drink, eyes locking with his. “Something wrong?”

“I swear to god you’re annoying.” You feel his hand on your back, taking it over with his long fingers, slipping lower where no one can see, grabbing an ass cheek and exhaling. “Annoying with a nice ass. And perfect tits.”

You’re flustered now, for all your talk, his hand is gone as quick as it was there. “Did you just compliment me?”

“It’s no compliment, it pisses me off.” He sips his drink with a scowl, then he jolts as you teasingly brush the back of your hand on his cock under the water, his free hand snatches your wrist.

“What, you did it to me?”

“You’re a slutty little brat you know that?”

“Hmm, am I?”

“Lucky your brother’s here, I’d drag you out of this pool and beat your ass.” You’re further turned on, he sees it, in your dilated eyes and parted lips, how your breasts rise and fall quicker. “I swear you’ll kill me before he gets to.”

Soon everyone else starts to get in the pool, and Satoru goes as far from you as he can, avoiding even looking at you, lest he has a stupidly hard cock in a pool with all of his best friends. The women there are beautiful too, but his eyes are only on you, his mind is overtaken in the most annoying way, you had the audacity to touch him now too!?

He wants to beat that bouncy little ass.

You end up a little overheated from the sun, deciding to head inside and chug some water, only to shut the fridge and there he is, snatching you by your arm before you can blink, dragging you into the pantry. You blink in surprise, also to adjust your vision, before gasping as Satoru turns you around, pressing you against the wall, smacking your ass.

“Ow!” You hiss, it stings so bad, but you’re clenching around nothing when he smacks your other ass cheek. “You dick!”

“That’s for touching me, brat.” He turns you back around now, bending low, cupping the side of your face, and your breath catches in your throat, hammering when you taste his sweet breath on your lips, lingering so close. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” You whisper, hand sliding up his bare, slick chest, his eyes slam shut, forehead resting on yours.

“Stop looking at me that way.”

“I’ve just hid it. You think I haven’t always wanted you?”

“You can’t. So stop.” You laugh softly, shaking your head. “We won’t do it.”

“What, kiss?” You pull on him, but he refuses to budge. “You don’t kiss?”

“I can’t kiss you, it won’t end there. I’m not that boy. I’d have my fingers in you at dinner.” You gasp as he slides your bikini bottoms to the side, sinking a finger in, you have to cover your mouth not to scream, he has to bite back a moan. “I’d have been licking you right in the car, have you on the hood of my fucking car, making you cum all over my face.”

“Satoru, please.” You yank on him again, and he’s shaking his head, sighing over your lips, knowing you’ll end him when he does, your cunt squishing so loud in the little pantry, as you soak him, and he slides a second into your eager hole. “Please.”

“Stop making me want you so fucking bad. Now.” He presses on that little spot in your gummy walls. You can't even see then, gripping him, dizzy as he studies you.

“I was swimming-”

“Stop looking so good.”

“Don’t stop!” You beg, when he’s slipped his fingers out, sucking on them and exhaling, pressing you against the wall further, a thigh between yours now, pressing up and making you gasp.

“I can’t do it to him.”

“Satoru who’s to say he won’t approve? You’re his best friend.”

“Ha, and not good enough.” You frown now, hands sliding up, wrapping around his neck, entangling in drippy silvery hair.

“You’re good enough for anyone.” He melts at your words.

“Not for his little sister, you don’t get how much he cares, he feels like a damn parent to you.”

“He’s not though. Satoru just… kiss me.”

“No I’ll be fucking you and crash the shelves.” You sigh frustratedly when he pulls back, shaking his head when you grip his arms.

“Then let me please you-”

“Jesus christ you’re a whole monster meant to fuck me up.” You snort at that, at his eyes bugging out. “You’re a virgin, you’ll be with someone special.”

“You’re special.”

“Fuck me.” He storms out, once again edging the fuck out of you, you go to chase him when Suguru and his friends are all walking in, and Satoru puts on the role of unbothered so damn well, all while he’s fucking you up.

You storm to your bathroom after making an excuse you don’t feel good, letting the hot spray of the shower hit, trying to focus on anything other than him, and his face when he thinks he’s not good enough. How can he ever think that!? You lean back against the wall, the water beating your skin, scalding hot on full blast, trying to blank your stupid mind out.

“No, I'm not mad at all!”

“But you went on a date-”

“Maki, I… I can’t get over Gojo.” You say softly, leaning against the door of your room. “I just can’t let the love go.”

“Baby, maybe just tell him?”

“I think he knows, but he’s too scared of Suguru to do shit, I am not sure he feels the same anyway.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know, but how do I say- oh yes, I love you Satoru Gojo, I have a box of your pictures and love notes- aha it’s chill though!” Maki snorts in laughter over the phone.

“You need clarity or you’ll never move on. Are you really okay with me and Yuuta hanging out though? It’s like the only date I’ve seen you on.” You hear the concern in her voice.

“No, it’s fine, he’s so sweet Maki. I think he’d be good for you.”

“Oh don’t get so serious, just a movie. But okay, I believe in you!”

“You shouldn’t.” She laughs and you say your goodbyes, it’s been another week since Satoru had fucked you up again. You’re annoyed by his back and forth, you’re annoyed you can’t think of anything but kissing him.

You open the door then, to go get water, and he’s right there, making you gasp, jumping when blue eyes lock on yours. Suguru is out on a date tonight and you didn't expect him to be here, pouty lips set in a thin line when he looks down at you. You stare at each other for a heart stoppingly long time, just breathing, until his arm drops from the door frame, and he steps inside your room.

“God how much did you hear?” You whisper, Satoru shuts your door behind him then, the resounding click echoing.

“I heard all of it.” He says quietly, brushing a hand down your hair, making you tremble.

“That's not how I wanted you to find out.”

“Were you ever going to tell me? That it's not some little crush?” He asks, eyes darting across your face, his own chest heaving.

You look down, trying to find any words. “I didn't want to scare you away even more.”

“Is it true?” Satoru cups your face now, and you nod, tears in your eyes.

“Satoru Gojo, I have loved you since you first met Suguru. I know I was a kid, I get it, but it never went away. It's more intense, my feelings, aching to be with you every moment of every day.” Satoru stands there, listening, and you step closer, a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “I thought if I went on a date I could try to get over this, but you occupy all my dreams, all my thoughts.”

Satoru exhales, shocking you when he picks you up in his arms, holding you like you're nothing, your legs wrap slender hips, your arms around his neck. Satoru’s huge hands are on your bare thighs, as his hard body presses against you. You're so close to his lips, lips you've ached to kiss since you first knew what kissing even was.

“I'm in love with you, Satoru.” He exhales, his eyes swirling with emotions. “I can't stop how I feel, I have tried. I'm so in love with you, I just wish you could see me as more, I'm not a kid okay? I'm not just Suguru’s sister. I'm-”

“You're beautiful.” He cuts you off, his words melting you completely, his voice hoarse as he whispers. “I know you're you, I see who you are. I see more than you know.”

“That's all I ever wanted, for you to see me.” Satory carries you to your bed, laying you on it now, hovering over you, lips tantalizing when you run a thumb across them. “I do love you, fuck I think I always will, it just won't go away. It's okay if you don't feel the same, but you deserve to know.”

Satoru leans down, and he kisses you, the sparks from his lips like electric tingles everywhere, your every nerve ending is on fire as he does. You moan into his mouth, hands sinking in silky white hair, and he deepens the kiss, moaning himself, sinking low onto you, hard body pressed on yours. You're arching up against the thigh he has, braced on for support, gasping as it brushes up, firm and strong, bumping where you're so needy.

“You're so hot for me.” He murmurs, pulling back, before diving back in, tongue swirling with yours, and it's so breathtaking, the intensity in which your tongues meet. When he's biting your lips, sinking lower, on his elbows now, your tongues dripping saliva, so messy. Satoru takes over everything, long limbs too long for your small bed, you drown in him.

“Please.” You whisper, and he exhales, kissing down your throat, your chest, big hands gripping your breasts, you cry out at it.

“Are you sure about this? It's important, sweetheart.” He whispers, slipping down your shirt and moaning audibly. “Perfect.”

“I've never been more sure about anything.” Your words strike a cord with him, when he's sucking a nipple into his hot mouth, you cry out, pussy wetter and hotter against your shorts, he feels you on his thigh, dying to shove his cock so deep, you grind on his thigh as he sucks on your other pretty titty.

“So desperate, gonna cum from that?” He raises a sarcastic ass brow, and you remember, Satoru is a cocky asshole.

One that you love.

You roll your hips again, he gasps at it, leaning up on his knees, you whine. “No, get back!”

He smirks now, peeling down your shorts, revealing your bare cunt to him, glistening with your arousal. He moans as he looks at you, parting your lips and looking at your pretty cunt. “So wet already…”

Your thighs shake as he stares at you so intimately, then he's kissing down your waist, between your breasts, your tummy. You're whimpering and soaking wet by the time he's kissing up your inner thigh, breath teasing your entrance. “Satoru… you don't have to um… if you don't…”

“I love to eat pussy, especially when they're this fucking pretty.” You're dripping wetness out of your little hole, when his lips press, you jump now. “So pretty it'll ruin me forever.”

“Satoru!” You scream out when he slips his tongue up your slit now, nothing you've felt or done can prepare you for it, for him flicking his tongue on your engorged clit, you see him staring at you under lidded eyes, big hands pressing into the plush of your thighs. “Oh my god.”

“You taste s’fucking good.” He whispers, flicking his long tongue up against your clit again, you’re screaming out from just that, earning his little laugh. “So easy, I’ve barely started, baby.”

Baby.

Satoru called you baby.

Satoru called you baby as he’s grinning against your pussy, tongue slipping between your folds again, licking up your slit, your cunt is gushing down his pretty face, coating his tongue in your arousal. He takes a hand off your thigh, using it to separate your lips, slipping his tongue inside your tight little entrance, you’re falling apart under him.

Your entire body reacts to the sensation, your hands unwillingly pulling at his hair, hips arching up for more of him, and then Satoru leans up a bit, spitting on your clit, grinning as he watches it slip down your pretty pussy. “S-Satoru…”

“So pretty, look at her.” He muses, swirling the saliva around with your own slick, shoving two fingers in your cunt, stretching you so good you gasp out, then he’s using his tongue on you with them, pumping them in and out of your slick walls, pressing on a spot that makes you drool, closer and closer when he sucks your clit in his mouth, humming on you.

“Oh my- f-fuck I… Satoru!” You’re crying his name as your orgasm wracks over you, arousal drooling out of your cunt all down his mouth, his chin, he groans as he laps it all up.

“Messy little brat.” He huffs, grinning again against you, before nipping at your clit, the sensation of sharp pain only egging your orgasm on further. “Mmm.”

Satoru now holds your hood up, thumb and finger pinching your clit as he fucks you with two fingers, hearing the sloppy mess he was making your pussy, looking up to see your pretty face flushed and fucked out already. Your pretty breasts are heaving up and down, the peaks taut and begging for his mouth again. He presses up on your spot again, watching you fall apart.

“That’s it, you’re so easy f’me.” He teases, but you don’t talk shit, you don’t talk back like usual, no you’re just whimpering, your thighs tightening on his head on either side.

“Ngh!” Is all you manage, walls pulsing around his two fingers now, fingers deeper than anything you’ve felt, you’re so slippery and messy his fingers slip, he’s drinking you up, you hear him sipping you, devouring you, you’re losing it as his hand presses on your tummy, curling his fingers just so, sucking your clit again, bringing you to another climax. “Toru!”

“Mmm.” He finally lets you go, leaving you a twitching mess and smirking, charming fucking asshole over you, having so casually wrecked you, you’re so flustered when you see he’s glistening with you. You wipe at his chin. “You feel better, brat?”

“I want more.” You whisper, hand slipping down his abdomen, his breath catches at it, brushing your hair back, kissing you. You taste yourself on his lips, hands trembling as you unbutton his shirt, revealing his strong chest. “Please.”

“We can stop here for now.” You see it then, the concern on his face, you shake your head.

“I want you inside me. I wanna feel you. Satoru I love-”

“I love you.” He cups your face, eyes darting back and forth, your heart pounds so loudly you hear it in your ears, body thrumming and reeling from the orgasms, from his words.

“What!?”

He laughs now, shaking his head and kissing you. “I love you too, annoying little brat. I don’t have a box of love notes and pictures though, simp.”

“Oh fuck off!” You giggle then, sniffling as emotions hit, and he grins, so beautiful your heart breaks.

“You’re a regular yandere.” You laugh once more, kissing him over and over, slipping his dress shirt down his shoulders.

“I am no yandere, I just am in love with you, Satoru. How could I not be? How could anyone not love you?” His own lips tremble, but he catches himself, glaring.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Make me sappy. Are you sure, I could eat you out every day all day, we can wait for more.” He kisses down to your breasts again, touching you so deeply, worshipping you with his hands, his lips, his tongue.

“I’ve been ready.”

“Masturbating to me?” He teases.

“Yes.” Satoru groans now, kissing you again, pressing between your thighs now, you feel his bulge against you, frustratingly inside of his jeans, you rub on him eagerly, earning his huff of frustration.

“Do you have to be so sexy?” He murmurs, pink lips glossy from your kisses, you nip at one, earning a breathy whine from him.

“Yes I thought of you, it’s hard to think of or see anyone else when there is a Satoru Gojo at your house all the time.” You unbuckle his belt, gasping when he springs free from his boxers, huge, long and thick, two veins wrapping around his cock from the base to the pink tip, all leaking precum. “You’re so big…”

“Did you ever do it while I was here, hmm?” He asks, standing up now, slipping off his jeans and boxers, and his cock slaps his belly button before it settles back, hard and throbbing. You feel your tummy clench again, he’s so perfect, but also…

“Will it fit?” He snorts, as he eases you to sit up, brushing your hair back as you stroke it, little hand nowhere close to covering any of it.

“We’ll have fun making it try to. Open your mouth pretty.” You eagerly obey, and Satoru Gojo’s cock enters your mouth, you taste his salty precum on your tongue, swirling the tip as he leans his head back for a moment, moaning.

“That’s it, fuck… mouth feels s’good.” You whine out now, thighs pressing together as you lap at him, sucking as much as you can into your mouth, but there was no possibility of deep throating as you’ve seen, at least not yet, Satoru Gojo is way, way too big. He’s pulling at your hair, thrusting into your mouth, groaning as you take more and more of him. “Did you?”

“Hmm?” You look up at him with dazed out eyes, drool dripping down your full lips, he smirks then, cock aching to slide inside you.

“Did it while I was here?” You feel your cheeks heat up now, looking down shyly, nodding. “You did!?”

“Oh shut up! Yes, do you really wanna talk right now?” He glares again, pulling at your hair, it feels so good, the pricking of pain on your scalp you moan.

“Tell me a time.” He murmurs, tilting your chin up, as you stroke his cock, aching for more and more of him as your eyes drift down his perfect, chiseled body.

“You’re such a perv.”

“Me? You were playing with your pretty pussy in the room next to me.” His words fuck your brain up more, while he presses you back down on your bed, kneeling between your thighs, you gasp when his length presses against your inner thigh, hot and heavy.

“There were lots of times.” You whisper, and he moans, slipping his tip against you, drooling tip pressing on your clit, you cry out, shaking. “First night was my high school graduation, after my eighteenth birthday, remember the party we threw?”

“Fuck you looked pretty in that little dress.” You melt further, eyes catching him as his tip presses just so in your entrance, you feel it, the burning stretch, almost cumming from his tip alone. Satoru cups your face with one hand as he leans on an elbow, lips hovering over yours.

“Y-you noticed?” You whisper, he smiles then.

“That was the first time I noticed you grew up, your little graduation cap and that pretty blue dress. Fuck… could cum from this.” He kisses you again, desperately, just staying there, not going further, fucking you with his tip, a ridiculous tease.

“Mmm, that night I imagined you in here, my graduation gift, all tied up in a big ribbon. Even better than the car Sugu got me. Ah!” Satoru presses deeper, eyes lidded as he feels your tight walls gripping him.

“In ribbon!?” He demands, you just giggle a bit, before whining out, he’s pressing deeper, your cunt stretching to accommodate. “For you to have your way with me.”

“Absolutely. Ah! Please…”

“It’ll hurt for a sec, okay?” You nod, and he kisses you so sweetly then, a hand sliding down the curves of your body to your thigh, then he shoves past the little barrier, nestling himself in your snug entrance, you scream out at it, tears pricking your eyes at the pain, he pauses, cursing. “Fuck, you okay? Breathe.”

“S’big… so full…” You feel too full, never anything like it, Satoru’s about halfway in and already you don’t know if you can take him. He kisses you, slipping his hand between you both, thumb pressing against your swollen clit. “T-Toru!”

“That’s it, relax, breathe. You’re too tight, please.” He lets out a strangled sound, as you grip him so good he could bust right there, fucking embarrassing. He looks at your pretty face, hating the tears in your eyes, he wants it to be so good for you, he eases out then sinks back in, easier as he plays, and you let out a moan. “Good girl, listening for once.”

You sniffle and smile tremulously, before your eyes roll back in your skull, mouth in an O, and Satoru’s sinking deeper in your cunt, gushing around his cock, feeling him fill you so good as his fingers work your clit. Soon it starts to feel so fucking good, you’re gasping, arching your hips up, earning his snowy lashes fluttering shut before he slams his lips on yours.

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect, baby, she’s tryna milk me already.” He huffs, starting to pump into you, continuing the circles, your velvety walls suck him in greedily as he fucks you deeper, sinking almost balls deep, tip smashing your cervix. “Oh my god, I feel it, cum on me please.”

His little whimper and his plea end you, you cum so hard you’re seeing stars, your pussy spasming around his cock, your orgasm so intense it’s like your whole body is seizing. You’re twitching embarrassingly as his thumb stops its circles, and Satoru is panting, his breath hot against your cheek as he kisses your neck, his cock still buried to the hilt inside of you, not moving now.

“You’re perfect, doing such a good job.” He whispers, his voice strained and full of emotion, his kisses sloppier as feels you ride out the aftershocks.

“M’just laying here, you’re doing the work.” You mumble, he laughs then softly, grinning at you.

“Next time, on your knees. Ah- f-fuck…” He’s groaning as he bottoms out, balls smacking on your ass, you hear the sounds of it as he’s flushing on top of you, eyes getting darker and darker. “Then, on top the third time.”

“Y-yeah?” You whisper, and he moans, nodding before kissing you again, fingers dipping into the jut of your hips, he pulls back on his knees, hand on your white headboard, rolling his hips and making every abdominal tense, as you look down, seeing him in your tummy, bulging. “Is that… your…”

“Ha, look at it. Fucking you so deep, feel me there?” He takes your hand, pressing it on your tummy, and you feel him, his movements slower, sweat dripping down his porcelain skin, dripping onto your lips as he works you.

“I feel you everywhere.” Your words ignite something in him, the nostrils of that thin perfect nose flare.

"I can't hold back baby, can you take it harder?" His voice is strangled, you nod eagerly.

"Y-yes, I can." You gasp out, still panting, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. "I want it, I need it, all of you."

"Fuck…" Satoru groans, his eyes darkening even more, pupils huge as he pulls back a bit before slamming back into you, making you scream out again at the sensation, it hurts so fucking good. “Hang on t’me baby.”

Your hands grip his shoulders, pressing in, then he leans down, and his hips begin to piston, his cock makes you feel like you’re going to split in half, but it’s so good you crave more, weakly whining out. You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to keep him as deep as possible, your nails digging into his back, leaving crescent marks, earning his hiss of pain.

“Brat.” He huffs, you just whimper, hearing the sounds of his pelvis slamming you, and you feel another orgasm building, your pussy clenching around his shaft, your walls fluttering. Satoru’s eyes widen, feeling your muscles tightening around him. "You gonna cum again? You’re so easy."

"F-fuck off… just… y-yes, fuck yes!" You scream, your body shaking as he picks up the pace, his cock hitting that spot, tip dragging on it over and over, you’re a drippy mess down his cock, your thighs, dripping down your ass to the bed as he works you, pounding your pussy. You cum again, harder than the first time, crying it’s so good, burying your face into his neck, shaking from it.

“Oh my god…” Satoru feels his own climax approaching, his movements becoming erratic and desperate. "I'm gonna fill you up, baby, so full of me. Fill your pretty pussy, yeah?"

“Please, please.” You beg, sniffling, tears so pretty from the pleasure, from the overwhelming feelings you have as he pounds you.

“Can you take it?” He asks, shoving your thighs up high, until you’re bent in half, so small under him, the bed is small compared to him, hands pressing into your thighs and squeezing almost painfully as his cock works you, fucking harder and harder, you watch him come apart over you.

“I can, I can.” He moans, leaning over you, cock bottoming out balls deep, you do feel him everywhere, when he slams into you one last time, his cock swelling and releasing hot ropes of cum inside of you, filling you to the brim with him.

“Baby… filling you s’fucking much. Fuck.” You’re cumming just from his heat inside you, from him throbbing inside you so deep, kissing you, you cling to him, thighs shaking around his hips, while he pumps it in and out of you.

“Oh my god...” You whisper weakly, eyes fluttering shut, struggling to keep them open.

“You’re so fucked out. Cute.” He huffs, and you glare, earning his chuckle as he lays on top of you, his weight pressing you into the bed, his heart hammering against your chest. "That was..." He can't even find the words, his breathing ragged while he stares at you, brushing back your hair.

"Amazing." You whisper, stroking his sweat-slicked hair back too.

He lifts himself up, looking into your eyes. "It was more than that. I’ve never felt anything like you.”

You heat up at his praise, and he watches you with a lazy smirk, kissing down your chest, to your breasts, so sensitive, every bit of you is, his cum dripping out of your pussy along with your own. “Can we do it again?”

“What a fiend, give me a minute!” You grin up at him, so beautiful fuck you make his heart ache, his cock already having blood rush through it when he slips out, fluids pouring from your hole as he does. You look down nervously.

“Oh it’s…”

“Shh, lemme clean you up.” You nod nervously, and Satoru runs out to the bathroom, running back and cleaning you up carefully, kissing you between each gentle wipe of your pussy, you feel the soreness set in, but it’s delicious. “Only happens once, okay?”

“It doesn’t bother you?” Your brows draw together, he shakes his head, finishing cleaning you up, kissing your pussy now, and you feel her throbbing again for him. “I don’t think I’ll get enough of this.”

“Neither will I. That's why I tried to avoid this.” He exhales, kissing your hood, darting his tongue out to circle your clit again, you scream out, pulling on his hair, and it urges him on, as he starts tasting his own cum mixing with yours on his tongue.

“Toru! Y-yes!”

“What the fuck!?” You both hear it then, Suguru slamming the door, and you separate quickly, Satoru’s jumping into his jeans, falling backwards as you hastily slide up your shorts, grabbing your twisted tank top and yanking it over your tits as you hear footsteps up the stairs.

“We’re screwed.” Satoru grumbles, kissing your lips deeply, and you cling to him as your brother walks up into the room, furious.

“Satoru Gojo, what the fuck are you doing with my sister!?”

“A kiss before I die.” Satoru asks, tilting up your chin, and you kiss him eagerly as he’s dragged off you by Suguru, but Satoru and you both can’t stop the stupid fucked out grins on your faces even as Suguru loses his shit.

A/N- this was a request fill for you loving your big brother's best friend, so ofc I made it Suguru lol! <3 Hope you enjoyed! Tagging below!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61154809

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nyanchow · 1 month ago

Note

did you ever finish the bully yan scara college au? it was so good and i was sad i didn’t see a part two 🥲

bully!yandere scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. drugging. kidnapping. grinding. biting/marking. bondage. degradation. masochism. sensory deprivation/blindfold. mind break. cumming on/inside. obsessive/possessive behavior and thoughts. use of marijuana.

you know, i thought the first part might have been too heavy to go over well. i am surprised so many people want to see part two still. so, without further ado.

part one: https://www.tumblr.com/hitomisuzuya/775776529760272384/bullyyandere-scaramouche-x-femreader-smut?source=share

warning: very dark themes ahead. this is also quite long.

scaramouche has to admit that it is awfully sweet that you never stopped texting kuni. even when he started keeping you by his side all the time. more and more, you started and ended the day in his dorm.

if he didn't feel like going to class, then you didn't either.

"but, there is an exam coming up," you insist, grabbing your bag off his computer desk, "i really should go, i have to study a little bit more than you do."

scaramouche scoffs, and rolls his eyes. getting up off his bed, he takes your bag out of your hands. "what? do you always do everything you are told? always gotta be the goody two shoes, don't you?"

"n-no, i don't," you stammer, looking away shyly. he almost snorted because he knew that wasn't true. if he asked you to sink to your knees right now and suck him off, you oh so willingly would.

"and anyways, i'll tutor you," he tries to sweeten the deal to get to stay. he wouldn't ever dream of making you let your grades slip. he can already see you folding. "stay here, and smoke with me. and i'll take you to get dinner later."

your heart flip-flops in your chest hearing him want to spend time with you. "okay, reviews are happening all week anyways since the exam is right before winter break, so i guess i don't necessarily need to go."

smirking, scaramouche tilts your chin up to make you look at him. "besides," you continue, meeting his gaze. you swear your heart always stops in your chest because of how beautiful his eyes are, "i'd rather stay here and smoke with you."

it ian long after he starts shotgunning hits of pot into your mouth that he has you pinned naked beneath him, shivering and moan softly as grinds his cock between your folds.

"fuck, you are so wet, and i am not even fucking you," he groans into your neck, nuzzling against it. you feel so soft and fucking pliable underneath him. the perfect toy for him break over and over.

his cock grinds, and glides against your throbbing clit. your pussy is soaking his cock so much he can barely stand it. hooking a leg over his hip, you grind back on his cock in an attempt to urge even just the head inside your clenching hole.

feeling your arms tighten around him, he isr eeling as you press his mouth down onto your neck. tilting your head, you expose your throat to him.

"shit," he shivers as his cock throbs harder between your messy folds, "you want me to mark you up, slut?" his tongue sweeps out across your neck, "and show everyone what you were really up to instead of going to class like a good girl?"

your pussy clenches hearing his degradation. "yes, yes, please," you plead so sweetly. he isn't surprised you said that. you told kuni in what you thought were private texts that you wanted to be marked. marked until you are practically cumming from the pain.

scaramouche smirks into your neck, wasting no time taking a fold of skin into his mouth to suck on. in reward for showing such utter submission to him, he pushes his cock head into your hole, groaning as you clench around him.

he doesn't just mark one place on your neck. he bruises several places on your neck, his cock aching more hearing you whimper with pleasure the harder he bit. "now they will all see. they will all see before winter break. and then.."

"wh-what?" you moan, confused, grinding back against him. your whole body aches to feel his cock fucking into you to the hilt.

"nothing" he hisses, grinding his teeth on your skin. "i'm going to cum on his pretty pussy of yours," he moans, releasing a fold of inflamed skin with a soft pop. he prods his tongue soothingly on your neck, pumping his cock head in and out of your hole until cum spurts between your folds.

scaramouche knows you are so close to cumming, but he denies you on purpose. he needs to take you high, and then leave you hanging. you would do nothing but crave him then. it's all part of the plan.

once dinner was had, and you are tucked high and sleeping against his chest, scaramouche reads one of his favorite texts you sent to kuni: "scaramouche is hinting at wanting to spend time with me over winter break. i am falling more and more each day for him. i'm in love with him, kuni."

he stares at the text for a long moment before putting his phone down. "i only have a few more things to get in order. and then it will be time," he cards his fingers gently through your hair, "there will be no room for errors, i promise," he whispers.

finally, the day everyone leaves to go home for winter break is finally here.

scaramouche found it awfully pitiful when you announce you would be going home to an empty house. that your parents decided to vacation somewhere foreign, so you would only have your dog to come home to.

"i guess i'll see my dog, make sure she was fed before my parents left, and.." you trail off as you zip your bag up, "get settled back into my room for the week," you sounded so lonely, and it made his heart squeeze.

your neck sports deep, deep bruises much to scaramouche's delight. how sweet you are to not cover them up.

"i'll call you later. and take you to a movie or something," he said, picking up your bag and taking it to his car. he didn't want to leave you alone for long, but he has a few things to get prepared.

he'd long since gotten another phone, giving you that number as his phone number instead. after tonight, you wouldn't need kuni's number anymore.

once he drops you off at your house, leaving you with a little bit of pot to smoke and one of his pipes, he takes out his phone and orders a dozen roses to be delivered to your house. that should make you feel less lonely until he came to collect you.

a few hours later, scaramouche is finally prepared for you. he put various things of comfort for you in his room. stuffed animals, lots of pillows and blankets. plenty of pot. his heart is pounding with anticipation as he pokes the needle into the vial containing the sedative he would use to sedate you.

he has various other things prepared. a pretty collar for you to wear, a vibrating clit clamp, the softest silk ribbons to bind your wrists together, and a blindfold.

he even got an extra bag of dog food. you would be staying with him, so why not just bring your dog back to his house? his mom wasn't going to be home all week, anyways. your dog is special to you, and you are special to him.

you are sitting on the couch with your dog, watching tv, and finishing the pot scaramouche left with you when he texts you. "hey, i am on my way back. your dog isn't going to bite me when i come in, right?"

"no, she won't. she's super friendly. you wanna come in, and watch tv for a bit while we pick what movie we are gonna go see? thank you for the roses, btw. they are beautiful." you text back. you didn't know how scaramouche somehow knew your favorite color of roses.

you thought that was something you only told kuni.

"and i am glad you like them."

"i had to do something, you just looked so pitiful. i'll be there soon."

scaramouche makes sure to familiarize himself with your dog first before he puts his plan into action. it would be really bad for him if your dog saw him as a threat while he was sedating you.

"yeah, you are a good little mutt, aren't you?" he teases, scratching your dog behind her ear. to his relief, your dog warmed up to him in no time, and before long, he is rubbing her belly.

"i knew she would like you," you say, blushing as you hand him his pipe back. he is relieved to see your eyes already look a little glazed. your house felt so empty, and lonely. he couldn't unagine how heavy and cold it must've felt for you, even if your dog is really good company.

"here," he hands you his phone, "find the time for whatever movie you want. and for god's sake, pick one you want to see. not something you think i would like," he needs your attention hardcore on something else so you wouldn't see him getting the syringe out of his pocket.

"okay," you said, smiling softly at him as you start to scroll through movie times. you are always hyper focused after smoking pot. you didn't even notice a thing.

"hey, i need you to look up at me," getting up from the couch, he walks over to you.

"hm? what is it? i think i found the movie i want to see," you hope you weren't taking too long to pick something.

"you trust me, right?" he asks suddenly, raising an eyebrow. he keeps his hand down at his side, concealing the syringe in his cupped hand.

"yes, why?" you answer without hesitation, and it stuns him. you are entirely focused on him, his phone seemingly forgotten in your hand.

"good, then i need you to just keep looking at me, okay?" he instructs, tilting your head up a little. you look confused, but you don't fight him. before you even grasp that anything has happened, he pricks the needle into your neck.

"what's happening?" your body starts to feel warm, and limp as a fuzzy feeling spreads from your head down your body. he can tell in only mere seconds that it was hard for you to even hold your head up.

he catches you before you slump forward on the couch. "it's okay, my girl. sleep for awhile, you have been looking tired," kissing the top of your head, he carefully lifts you bridal style into his arms. "everything will be okay when you wake up in a few hours."

cradling you against his chest, he walks out of your house, and puts your sleeping body down in the backseat of his car. making sure you are secure, and have a blanket over you, he heads back inside, brings your dog out, and opens the door so she can ride in the front seat.

the backseat would be more comfortable for you to sleep on during the drive back.

it was quite some long hours later when you finally stirred in your sleep. once he got you back to his house, he took you upstairs to his room, and tucked you in his bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets.

you looked so defenseless while you slept. he could've helped himself to whatever part of you he wanted at any time.

"scara? what's happening?" you ask, realizing you weren't in your house anymore. your head spins as you start to sit up, your blurry eyes darting around, confused.

scaramouche quickly puts a hand on your shoulder, pushing you back down onto his bed. "you shouldn't move so fast. it's okay, we are in my room. you woke up later than i thought you would. rise and shine, sleepyhead," he teases to ease any anxiety you should rightfully have, flicking you in the forehead.

rubbing your eyes, you could tell it was quite late judging from how dark it was outside. suddenly everything rushes to you at once. "oh my god, my dog. i dunno if she has eaten yet. and i need to text kuni, he hasn't heard from me in awhile. where is my phone?"

sitting down on the bed next to you, scaramouche grasps your chin. "calm down, your dog is downstairs with my cat, sleeping away. they get a long real well," he squeezes your chin a little, "you don't need to text kuni. he knows you are fine."

"i don't need to..wait, why did you talk about kuni like you know him?" you want to shake your head and clear your thoughts, but he has you levelled so intensely in his gaze that you can't look away.

scaramouche can't help but laugh a little. "you are so naive it's adorable. you really don't have any idea of what's going on around you," his thumb brushes over your cheek.

"i'm sorry, what are you talking about?" he isn't surprised seeing you struggle to catch up. he decides to just rip the bandaid off, and make it easier.

"scaramouche is hinting at wanting to spend time with me over winter break. i am falling more and more each day for him. i'm in love with him, kuni," he recites your most recent text to kuni word for word, watching the shock and realization cross your face.

"you..it was you the whole time," your voice trembles a little as tears well into your eyes, "i..i said so many things.." you trail off in disbelief, not in scaramouche, but in yourself. "so many things that you were never supposed to find out."

"hey now, don't cry," he soothes, brushing a tear away before he falls from your eye, "it really is quite romantic. you were practically writing a love letter to me. don't you see," his lips hover over yours, "i'm so in love with you that i am disgusted with myself."

he seizes your lips in a harsh kiss, parting your lips gently with his tongue. he dominantly devours your mouth for a few moments before he pulls away, panting, "submit to me. submit all of yourself to me. it's what you want. give it all to me," he bites at your lower lip, awaiting your answer.

more tears well into your eyes. you heard scaramouche say the one thing you thought he would never say: that he is in love with you. and you come to the discovery that despite all this, all the deceiving and manipulation, your feelings for him haven't changed.

"okay, i'll submit to you. i have wanted to completely for so long," you can't help the weak feeling you always felt for him setting in.

your heart pounds during what you deem is the most erotic moment of your life. scaramouche stripes both you and himself, and takes his time tying your wrists together above your head. he practiced the knot he used to tie the ribbon to the headboard so many times.

complete and total control was turned over to him the moment he put the blindfold over your eyes. you would be completely defenseless and dependant on him now. you didn't have your sight or use of your hands, relying only on sensation.

placing the vibrating clit clamp on your clit, he plays with your nipples until you are twitching and drooling while you moan, your thighs trembling from the consistent stimulation on your clit and nipples.

"look at how pretty you look, whore, all tied up and drooling for me. this neat little toy sure has made a mess of you," he squeezes the clit clamp, making you choke out a sob of pleasure.

"am i..am i finally going to get to cum?" your voice shakes as tears drip down from underneath the blindfold. all he has done is deny you orgasm after orgasm all week. you can barely stand it anymore.

"of course you are," scaramouche coos, pinching your nipple as your back arches off the bed, "but you will cum when i say you can cum," he flicks your nipple, "be a doll, and start begging for me now."

the overwhelming need to cum breaks you down. the words tumble out of your mouth as you whimper, straining against the ribbons. "please, scara, please fuck me. make me cum on your cock, i need it!" your words shake with an erotic desperation that nearly makes him cum right then.

he is already crawling over to you, holding your thighs tightly apart as he positions his cock at your entrance. "it will be my pleasure, slut," he moans, pushing his cock deep into your sweet spot all at once.

the clit clamp has been fast overwhelming you. your eyes squeeze tight shut as his cock bullies your sweet spot. "oh fuck, oh god, it feels so good!" you cry out, writhing underneath him as he mindlessly thrusts.

you can't help it. your pussy suddenly gushes on his cock as you cum hard. "scaramouche!" you sob in pleasure, your fingernails digging into the palms of your hands.

"shit, you are suffocating my cock, slut," he groans, holding you down on his bed. he loses himself in the sounds of your moans as your pussy squeezes his cock.

your next cries makes his cock empty inside of you. "scaramouche! i am all yours, scaramouche!"

you broke for him so well.

after that night, you didn't want to leave his house for the rest of winter break. you wore his collar every day.

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nyanchow · 1 month ago

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Warnings: Smut + Naga!Scaramouche + Hybrid!Scaramouche + Innocent!reader + 2 cocks + mating + fem!Reader + Naive!Reader + breeding + heat + aphrodisiacs + mentions of pregnancy

Notes: THIS IS FOR EVERYONE WHO WANTED NAGA!SCARAMOUCHE. SADLY I WONT BE DOING ANY MORE PART TWOS OF THIS UNTIL I CLEAR UP EVERYTHING ELSE! LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!

Naga!Scaramouche officially has you within his house, he’s got you settled down like a little obedient wife, the beautiful ring he hunted some humans down for shines on your finger, it was clearly meant for you.

He makes it so you don’t worry your little airy head about anything, he always makes sure you’re well fed and plumped up especially for this upcoming season. He can smell what’s right around the corner; His heat. Nagas heats get intense, so he has to make sure you’re well prepared because you most likely won’t be leaving his nest for days.

He’s already made a well thought how plan how he’s gonna knock you up and make you the perfect mommy and himself an incredible father.

Clutching himself he can feel his cocks throbbing in their slits, every little thing you’ve been doing lately is exciting him, even you just bending over to pick something up, the slight peak of your asscheek is stirring nasty thoughts in his head.

This is his first ever heat with someone, in the past he’d simply experience everything by himself which was extremely painful, it’s painful for him to fist his cocks and not have anything to sink into that night.

Now the time has come, he’s got you in his hold in the hot syrupy room, he knows you can feel what he’s feeling on a somewhat different level but you don’t really now. He begins nuzzling into you at first, slowly working himself up as his heat fully transcends into his body.

He’s hot and fucking throbbing painfully, his entire body feels like a Furnace under your fingers. He urges you to take his cocks out, you follow and god is he so sensitive, simply touching the head of his cock has him biting back nasty groans.

He places his hand ontop of yours so he can follow your movements, you stroke his cock in a fluid motion, it’s not long before his pink dusted head starts oozing precum spontaneously, and not just a little either, it’s a lot.

Your cunt is clenching down on his smooth scaled body the little bit of friction is egging you on to get more out of the always in control man. He can’t spend much time on his pleasure for he needs to get you ready, he moves you so you can kiss him deeply.

A few seconds later you feel something warm inside of your mouth, he uses his long tongue to force it down your throat, you gag at the feeling but quickly feel your body growing wetter by the second, your pussy wasn’t just throbbing now it was fully aching for his cock, your ass wasn’t fairing any better, you needed to be full of him right now.

Naga!Scaramouche who successfully has you bouncing delusional on both of his cocks, one filled to the brim in your sopping cunt that hasn’t stopped cum since he entered you and your poor tight ass. If you weren’t all “drugged” up right now you’d probably be in pain but he knows right now all you feel his bliss blossoming throughout your body.

His grip on your waist is strong, he needs you to up right to hit all your gummy spots, the spots that make you see white and clench around him over and over.

He’s cum into you more times than he can count, he needs you full of his cum so you can beautifully carry his little ones, it’s going to be such a sight for eyes to see you waddling around the house clutching his babies.

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nyanchow · 1 month ago

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yandere!hybrid scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. somnophilia. drugging. biting/marking. masturbation/cumming on. desperate scaramouche. this is kinda dark.

here ya go, guys. there will be another part to this. i know i repeat somnophilia here, but this is for build up.

scaramouche is getting desperate. and things have just gotten a whole lot worse for him. times two. yesterday, he started to smell that you are ovulating. it didn't help that always smell so fucking good all the time. now it suffocates him twice as much.

and on top of that, you are going out tomorrow night on a dinner meeting. a dinner meeting that includes two other men coworkers coming. he nearly pitched a fit about it until you told him a pay raise is being discussed.

god, he couldn't fucking stand the thought of you being near two other men. near two other men fucking ovulating. the thought made his blood boil. he even casually mentioned how stupid it for someone to date their coworkers when it was a topic on tv last night, saying it just to bait you into saying whether you would date a coworker or not.

when you said you wouldn't, that wasn't a can of worms that you would ever want, it didn't make him feel better.

scaramouche has to fucking do something before you went to your important dinner meeting tomorrow night. something, anything to mark his territory. even though you have no idea how he felt about you, you are his mate, damn it!

they have to know you belong to him.

you wanted to homemake him something for dinner since you felt bad about leaving him alone. when you went to the store, scaramouche started preparing things. it was easy for him to put a hat over his ears and go into town.

he headed to a more seedier part of town, and it didn't take him long to find someone who could sell him a sedative. now all he has to do is offer to make you a drink, a peace offering for being such a high strung asshole lately. you even told him multiple he is good at mixing drinks for you.

unseen by you, he would slip the sedative into your drink. the fruity tasting alcohol would easily cover up any taste the sedative would leave.

once he handed you your drink, he would lazily lounge around on the couch, being unsuspecting until you felt drowsy enough to go upstairs to bed. he could hear the slur in your words, see the choppiness in your steps as you went upstairs. the sedative is doing its job. you were going to sleep nice and deep all night.

the two hours he waited before going upstairs felt like brutal torture. he could smell you all the way downstairs.

scaramouche has gotten quite good at easing your bedroom door open and closed without a sound. now in his human form, he crawls on your bed. he smirks seeing everything has fallen so easily into place.

all of it, including anticipating that the mix of alcohol and the sedative would make you feel too warm. he knows you hate being too warm. and here you are, sleeping topless and in panties he wants to shred off of you to get at your sweet smelling cunt.

"i hate what you have done to me, you know," he whispers, leaning down to inhale the scent of your soft, pullable looking hair. hair he would like to grab a handful and pull your head back, biting into your neck while he fucks your brains out from behind.

"i am not sorry this time, this is necessary," he moves down to your neck, sighing. "it should be considered a crime for how long i have left this delicate skin unmarked," you are going to look twice as beautiful with his bruise of ownership adoring your neck.

drawing in a shaky breath, your scent overwhelms him as he leans down. his tongue snakes out to lick your pulse, testing how deep you really are sleeping. licking his lips, he scoops a fold of skin into his mouth when you didn't even stir.

he wonders if he can make you squirm, and soak your panties while you slept. his mouth sucks on the fold of skin, that one thought racing in his mind. swallowing a groan, he reaches down between your legs, brushing his knuckles across your clit outside your panties.

after a few long moments, he abruptly lifts his head. he has to stop himself before he bit too terribly hard. his eyes drift down to your breasts. "it's going to be a pleasure to watch your pretty tits bounce while i fuck you," his cock pulses harder swirling his tongue around and around your nipple.

he groans feeling your panties start to dampen under his knuckle. the primal urge to make you wetter consumes him as your scent overwhelms him more. he scoops your nipple into his mouth to suck on.

he is more than happy to indulge you in playing with your nipples.

his tongue tingles as your nipple hardens. "fuck, i love that i am making you wet," he whispers shakily, panting a little as he slowly swirls the tip of his tongue around your nipple.

scaramouche knows he is indulging himself way too much. he is just one step short of pushing your panties aside and just burying his cock inside you right then. your collarbone catches his eye.

"just in case," he murmurs, moving his head up to your collarbone, "they have to know you belong to me. i told you, i am a pretty bad guy," your skin tastes way too good to him, and it makes him suddenly wonder if your blood would taste just as sweet.

"fuck, i can't take it anymore," he groans quietly as he bites down on your collarbone. reluctantly taking his hand off your panties, he hastily reaches down to unbutton his jeans. it's such a relief for him to release his unbearably hard cock from its confines.

his mouth sucks and bites another bruise to blossom your skin, his hand desperately fisting his cock as it throbs. "let me breed you, please," he swallows a quiet, frustrated whimper, "i don't know how much longer i can take this shit."

he releases your skin before he bites too hard, letting out a soft moan as cum spurts onto your chest. he fists his cock until it's empty, admiring the developing bruises.

once he put his cock back in his pants, he grabs a towel from the bathroom and cleans you up before curling up to sleep on your chest in his cat form.

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nyanchow · 1 month ago

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BLOW ME (ONE LAST KISS)

𓉸 fwb!satoru gojo x f!reader

𓉸 kinktober smut oneshot

❝ it's been two years since you last saw satoru. showing up at his door in the dead of night wasn't on your list of things to do today, but when things don't work out with your boyfriend, you find yourself back at your old best friend and fuck buddy's door. ❞

𓉸 warnings ; 18+ only. contains explicit content. fwb to strangers to lovers type thing. pwp. fluff. hurt/comfort. gojo's a lovable idiot. sub!gojo. whiny!gojo. pet names (baby, sweetheart, pookie, darling, pretty girl, pretty, love). slight spitting. slight overstim. oral (m! and f! receiving). praise. handjob. unprotected. creampie. p in v. fairly soft n sweet.

𓉸 words ; 10.8k.

𓉸 a/n ; this turned out so much longer than i expected but i had a lot of fun writing the story so i hope you enjoy!

masterlist || kinktober 2024 masterlist

Bleary-eyed with exhaustion, Gojo’s barely able to keep himself upright as a knock at the door urges him out of bed at three in the morning. He yawns tiredly as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and shuffles down the hall to his front door.

He wouldn’t say he’s shocked to see you standing at his door, it’s not the first time you’ve made your way over unannounced. No, the shocking part of this encounter is that he hasn’t heard a peep from you since two years ago when you ended your ‘benefits’ agreement with him after getting a boyfriend.

He scratches his bare chest, looking you up and down. Your hair is a mess, mascara streaks are smudged on your cheeks in a lazy effort to cover up the evidence of your tears and the little fuzzy kitty cat shorts and matching shirt you’re wearing tell him everything he needs to know.

But why come to him?

“You broke up.” It’s not a question, he doesn’t need you to answer. The proof is written across your face.

“Something like that.” Your voice is raspy, throat raw from the sobs that wracked your body earlier, though now you just seem exhausted.

But why come to him, not your close friends?

Silently, Satoru’s eyes raise to your car. All of your belongings are clearly stuffed in the back seat from what he can tell. You’re shuffling from foot to foot, standing a small distance away from him.

“So are you here to fuck?”

It’s blunt, but it’s the truth of the agreement you once had. Though Gojo’s somewhat bitter tone is a reminder that you had forgotten about the ‘friends’ portion of that agreement somewhere along the way.

You hesitate, jaw opening and closing once, twice, three times as you search for an explanation but in truth you aren’t sure why you’re here. The thought tears you apart inside and you bring your arms up around your torso, shrinking in on yourself. That can’t be all that’s left of what was once your closest friendship.

But after all these years, maybe it is.

“No, I’m not,” you whisper softly, avoiding his gaze. “I… I should go.”

Even in his bitterness, your ex friend doesn’t have it in him to let you drive off to god knows where in the middle of the night alone when you’re clearly upset and came to him for help. With a tired sigh, his hand grabs your wrist and he tugs you inside.

You let out a surprised gasp as he easily pulls you into his house, shutting the door behind you. He takes a step back, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he waits for an explanation that never comes as you grapple with your own thoughts. His mind drifts back to the last time he saw you, a bitter taste bubbling in his throat at the thought.

He remembers the way you excitedly told him you had a date. He’d smiled, turning to face you on the couch, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t think you noticed, too caught up in your own excitement.

You had told him the benefits needed to end. It didn’t matter to him, he was never in this for the benefits.

In truth, he figured you would come back to him with the realization you had feelings for him. You were always so enthusiastic around him, you were the one always pushing the boundaries you had established. Satoru never minded, but the longer the agreement went on, he was sure you would come to the same realization he had.

He was so sure you would reciprocate the feelings he was so afraid to voice out of fear of losing his closest friend. After all, he had really only agreed to your whole ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement because he thought it would give him the opportunity to get closer to you.

The cocky asshole that he is, Gojo Satoru thought that his dick game was so good you would fall for him.

Then you went on a second date with the guy, gushing to Gojo about him with a movie playing in the background and he realized just how wrong he was.

He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up so colossally and he didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know if he even could fix it.

It was on the fourth date that your new guy made it official and you texted Satoru right away.

He feigned happiness. He would be what you needed him to be.

But the recoil of his complicated relationship with you hit him fast and hard.

It started with a decrease in time spent with you, which he could live with. Then, it was a decrease in excited texts. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt, when his time had once been completely occupied by you and only you. Regardless of the benefits of your friendship, that was never what mattered to him.

You were like the sun to him. You shone brighter than anyone he had ever met, your smile as radiant as it was beautiful. Burned into his mind like a polaroid, cherished, even in the two years since he’s seen you.

There was no argument that ended everything, no big explosion or blow up of emotions that caused something so dear to both of you to fizzle out suddenly. It all came from a place of not knowing what to do after the benefits ended.

It wasn’t like sex was the only thing you did with one another. In fact, most of your time spent together was watching movies, playing games, or just gossiping and chatting. When the sex ended, however, something lingered.

It was that lingering feeling that shattered what remained of the bond you shared. Between longing looks from Satoru while out on a bubble tea run, and lingering physical attraction to him that left you uncertain, it was too much for you.

Just like that, you slowly stopped responding. You can’t blame Satoru for the fact that he stopped trying to reach out either, if you were in his place you’re certain you would have been embarrassed by the amount of unread messages he’d sent.

Now, you’re ashamed for letting your greatest ally, your biggest cheerleader and your most eager movie buddy slip through the cracks so easily. So blinded by new, young, love that you never stopped to see what was already in front of you.

Although the loss of your closest friend was gradual, fizzling away until there was nothing left, it changed you irreparably. The changes were small at first, they came in the form of little things that would bring your mood down as you reached for your phone to excitedly text him only to falter. With time, the uncertainty and lingering sorrow became a constant numbness and you were so caught up in your own world you couldn’t identify what caused it. You couldn’t make out the little hole in your heart in the shape of Satoru. With time, the hole grew until it was so immense that it resulted in a fight with your boyfriend.

A long fight in which he had insisted that although he cared for you, he had come to terms long ago with the fact that you didn’t feel the same way that he did anymore. The most gut wrenching part was that he was right, but you couldn’t accept that he was right for so long, because you couldn’t accept that you had feelings for someone you hadn’t seen in two years.

Now, standing in front of him, you’re at a complete and utter loss for words. All this time without a word and to think that he’d still let you in. No, he’d pulled you in. After two years of silence, two years of doing him so painfully dirty, he was still here. For you.

“Why are you here?” He asks again when the silence grows so loud he thinks he might be going crazy.

“Can we sit down?” You ask him quietly, feeling guilt wash over you as your eyes trail his washboard abs, as though you have any right to admire just how good he looks.

He steps aside, letting you walk into his living room. It looks almost the same as the day you were last here, probably yapping about your date like a damn fool. The only real difference is that the photo that once sat on a shelf in the corner of the room of the two of you at an aquarium was gone. A pang of sadness courses through you at the realization that he’s probably let you go.

You’re too late. You fucked up.

Gingerly, you take a seat on the soft couch, squirreling your way as far into the corner as you can. You feel small in his presence, unable to read him as you once could. You’re not familiar with the painfully neutral expression he wears, masking what lies beneath. The hint of bitterness to top it all off only adds to the taste of bile in your mouth.

“I owe you a lot of things, Satoru,” you begin. You’d run over what you planned on saying for an hour in the car before gathering the courage to walk to his door, yet the words died in your throat as soon as you took in the sight of him.

He sits opposite you, the distance between the both of you like a rope pulled taut. All you want to do is pull him towards you, but you fear the rope might snap if you do, frayed at the ends. You swallow hard, chancing a glance at those gorgeous blue eyes of his.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. It will never be enough. You left him behind, and no apology will ever do him justice. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper again, choking on your words as tears burn in your eyes.

Satoru lets out a long breath. He never stopped hoping, praying, you would come back, but now that he has you here, something holds him back. Fear, maybe. Dejection, assuredly.

He doesn’t want to be your second choice.

As a tear trails down your cheek whilst you try your best to stay strong before him, the grip that fear has on him becomes frail, crumbling at the sight of his best friend, his movie buddy, his girl, crying.

“C’mere,” he sighs, sliding across the couch as he closes the distance between you. You cling to him like a lifeline as you sob against his bare chest. His skin is soft and warm, just as you remember it, tainted by your salty tears.

It takes him a moment, but his arms do eventually snake around your waist, pulling you into him.

“You deserved so much better back then,” you hiccup, a sound that has Satoru shutting his eyes as your pain crackles in the air around him, charged. “You deserve better now, I shouldn’t be here, I-” You panic suddenly, pressing open palms against his chest to push yourself away but his arms don’t relent. In fact, he rests his chin softly atop your head as he tucks you back against his chest in an effort to soothe you.

He still doesn’t say a word, but the silence and his insistence on holding you tightly serves as your encouragement to talk. That’s all Satoru wants, it’s all he needs. He needs to understand what happened. He wants to know why you’re here after two years of radio silence.

And do you ever talk. The words spill from you, messy and unorganized thoughts falling from your lips like a waterfall.

“You tried so hard to get through to me, and I was such an asshole. I kept trying to- to-” you stammer over your words as you catch your breath between sobs, “-to tell myself my attraction to you was just physical, but then I cut you off anyway and that wasn’t fair. I just don’t think I ever realized-” again, a sob wracks your body, “-that I had feelings for you, I wasn’t willing to admit it because that was my number one rule between us and then I ruined everything anyway, so what does it matter?”

You sniffle, the tips of your fingers gripping at his skin.

“I was so stupid, and everything was so much worse without you. I wanted to text you to tell you little things but anytime I stared at your contact, it scared me how long it had been and how awful I felt and now- now-” you swallow hard, “-now I’m here in front of you and I don’t know what I’m even saying. I- I-” you stammer, your breathing picking up as the words fall from your lips before you have a chance to think twice about them. “-I think I’m in love with you.”

Satoru stiffens beside you, his arms rigid with the revelation. It takes a moment to sink in, before his chin lifts from your head and he pulls back to see your expression. Your cheeks are puffy, eyes red, pupils blown. You look exhausted, and somewhat shocked, as if you’ve just realized this yourself.

His eyes have the sea held within them as turmoil flows through them. Wave after wave, each crashing ashore as he wrestles with his own thoughts.

He whispers your name in a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He should have told you two years ago, before everything became so complicated. “I can’t be your second choice,” he sighs, rejecting you, although his arms don’t leave the tight grip he holds on you.

Of course he never stopped loving you. He got together with others afterwards, had the odd fling here or there, but it was never enough. It never filled the hole in his heart that you’d carved to fit you and only you.

Yet you didn’t fit within that hole either now, he feared. His heart had been hollowed out for someone that didn’t exist anymore.

“We broke up,” you tell him, as though he doesn’t already know. He just stares at you, so you continue. “He told me something changed after we started dating. Like a part of me died and he was never sure why,” you sigh, staring blankly at Satoru’s chest. “He said his feelings weren’t being returned, and he was right.”

Satoru’s grip on you tightens. It’s miniscule, but you feel the way he pulls you just the tiniest bit closer.

“I just couldn’t admit it to myself. It felt wrong because of all the rules,” you try to explain, but it’s all a pathetic attempt at what you’re trying to get to. “You were never my second choice, Toru.” The nickname sets his heart racing beneath your palm. “You’ve always been it for me. I was just too caught up in those stupid rules to see that.”

Pain lingers in the back of his mind, but something new seems to fill his chest. Like you’ve found the hole in his heart that he was so sure could never fit you again, and you’re molding it to fit you as you are now. Healing him in your own way.

“I’m not a rebound,” he blurts out. He can’t let you in so easily, not when you could snap him in two like you had once before. Yet beneath the walls he’s trying to uphold, he’s so painfully vulnerable, an open book for you to see. Behind your tear-filled eyes, he knows you recognize this.

“Never,” you agree, the tips of your fingers tightening against him. “Promise, pookie.”

The nickname he’d used to tease you all those years ago feels foreign from your lips, you’d always hated when he called you it, yet he can’t help the way it makes his lips quirk up. He chuckles, unable to resist the laughter bubbling in his chest.

Such a stupid nickname.

You laugh along with him, sniffling as the lighter air between the both of you settles comfortably.

“Four years and three months, by the way,” Satoru’s fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt as he holds you to him. The curious tilt of your head that’s oh so cute to him is enough for him to continue. “That’s when I fell for you.”

Your eyes widen at the realization you’ve both just confessed. Your heart races in your chest, battering at your bones like a caged animal. “Four years and three months…? What…?” You trail off, brow furrowed.

“We went bowling with Ieiri and Nanami. You and I versus the two of them.”

“I remember.”

“They were beating us until the last frame. You bowled a strike and ran back to hug me.”

The memory feels fresh in your mind as you recall how silly Satoru looked in those oversized bowling shoes. You’d all looked like clowns, but Satoru had playfully dressed the part too in an ugly over-patterned button-up, always the butt of all jokes as long as it meant making everyone smile.

In reality, it was always to make you smile. He never cared about the scoffs and playful banter from the rest of the group. He wanted nothing more than to hear your pretty laugh.

“That’s it?” You ask, mouth agape. You and Satoru have so many similar memories from many years prior, so why that one?

“Dunno. There was just something so endearing about you running into my arms over bowling. You looked so gorgeous.” Satoru pauses for a moment as he grins to himself, reliving the memory. “You were smiling like winning bowling was our greatest achievement, wearing those stupid bowling shoes and you had on ugly socks specifically for the occasion-”

“They were cute,” you pout. “They had snails on them.”

Satoru snickers. “The snails looked high, sweetheart.”

“No they didn’t!” You whine, although you can’t deny the heat in your cheeks as he relaxes with you, observing you with the fondness of someone who never lost sight of you, even when all seemed hopeless.

“Their eyes were literally red.”

“Nooooo,” you whine, jutting out your lower lip. Gojo’s eyes flicker down to your lip, returning to your eyes. “It was just a design choice,” you insist.

“A design choice that made them look high,” he snorts, rolling his eyes.

You laugh through the remnants of your sobs, running a hand over your face in an effort to wipe away what’s left of your tears. To your surprise, Satoru’s hand closes over yours, moving your hand away from your face as he softly wipes your tears away.

“You asked me why I was here,” you state as Satoru watches the movement of his thumb beneath your tearline, wiping the liquid from your lashes. “I think I’m here because it’s the only place that feels right.”

His face softens, and what’s left of his bitterness sputters away like a candle burning out. It leaves warmth in its wake that spreads through Satoru’s body. Although he thinks the pain will take time to heal, it’s not like the hole that you left when you shut him out, one that hollowed his very soul. Time will heal his wounds, he just hopes that this time around, you’ll let him in. Although you’ve both confessed, he knows you well and he can feel the way you’ve carefully barricaded your heart.

For now, he just hopes you can get some rest as he takes note of the heavy dark circles beneath your eyes.

His hands grip your waist, long thumbs settling beneath your breasts, brushing their undersides. You have no bra on, you’re in pajamas that Satoru’s seen a thousand times before. It’s clockwork, the way he shifts you until you’re settled comfortably on his lap while he leans back.

“Movie night?”

You nod, eyes widening hopefully, a familiar sparkle shining within them that warms Satoru’s heart.

He hates to see you cry. It brings him more pain than he could possibly have imagined, even after two years of bitter silence.

He uses his foot to pull the remote on the coffee table towards him without needing to move you off his lap, leaning you both forward before resting back. Your head rests comfortably on his bare chest, his arm circling your waist like it belongs there.

There’s no question of what you’ll be watching as he turns on your favorite Studio Ghibli movie. Not a single memory of you has been lost to him, each one fresh in his mind as though you never left.

He sets the remote down, reclining back on the couch with his feet up on the table. Your knees lean over his thighs, hands resting comfortably on his muscular arms that hold you flush to his skin. Settling comfortably, you do your best to focus on the movie and keep your thoughts from spiraling, although it isn’t so easy.

“I’m sorry, Toru.”

Satoru’s white lashes flutter as he hears your voice amid his near-slumber halfway through the movie. He blinks a few times to wake himself up, inhaling as he looks down at you. Your head still rests on his chest, eyes looking up expectantly at him.

“It’s okay,” he shrugs blearily.

“No, it’s not. It never will be. I’m not asking you to tell me what I did was okay,” you insist. Satoru observes you quietly. You’ve matured over the last two years in ways he’s never considered. “You don’t have to forgive me right now, but I’d like a chance to earn your forgiveness.”

In truth, Satoru thinks you might have had his forgiveness since the moment he saw you standing at the door. The depths of his pain are already long forgotten as his sorrows wash away to leave space for blossoms taking root in his veins.

He’s not one for caution. Satoru has always been the type of man to dive headfirst into something without a second thought, that’s how the two of you ended up in this situation anyways. A joking suggestion on his part taken entirely too seriously to land him the official ‘fuck buddy’ status.

This time, as he dives headfirst into your request, it’s not a joke or a dare or anything of the sort that he’s so used to.

You’re taking this seriously. You’re taking him seriously. Taking into account his feelings of being a second choice, a rebound, and you’ll spend a lifetime showing him he never was to begin with if you have to.

He shoots you a tired smile, head flopping to the side in a lazy fashion. His white hair falls over his eyes, obstructing your view of his gorgeous cerulean irises. “Consider your wish granted,” he agrees.

You return his smile, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair, unaware that you’ve soothed him almost instantly to an easy sleep as his gentle snores fill the air.

Despite the events of the long night and the early morning light beginning to peek through the windows as dawn approaches, you settle into an easy sleep in his arms.

When you awaken the following morning, the two of you have somehow shifted to be on the couch horizontally. You’re tucked between the back of the couch and Satoru’s chest, his arms wrapped protectively around your middle. His breath fans the crown of your head, his grip on you almost suffocating, he's holding you so tightly.

You don’t dare wake him, not after the night he had. Settling back comfortably against his chest, you rest your eyes as you wait for him to stir. It isn’t too much longer before you feel his muscles begin to twitch and the pace of his breathing increases. After a few minutes, his eyes flutter open and he takes in his surroundings, but more importantly, the gorgeous girl in his arms.

It’s a dream he’s had so many times that it can’t be real, can it?

“Ow! Did you just pinch me, Toru?”

“Sorry,” he mumbles groggily in a voice so incredibly sexy you can’t believe you didn’t notice your feelings sooner. “Had to make sure you were real.”

He shifts, moving to pepper kisses over your hair. Your giggles are musical as he showers you in affection, but when he pulls back, he catches a glimpse of… something that he can’t place.

“What’s on your mind, pretty girl?”

Your worries are forgotten momentarily with each pet name he uses, but you find your words soon enough. “I guess I just feel guilty,” you admit with a shrug and Satoru sees it again. He sees the walls you’ve built reflected in your eyes, shadowed with guilt.

“Eh? Nothing to feel guilty about,” he grins, but the look you shoot him in return tells him you’re not in the mood for him to take this so lightheartedly.

“I’m serious. I missed two years of your life.”

Satoru’s thumb rubs circles beneath the fabric of your pajama shirt with one hand, bringing the other up to rub his eyes. He’s not sure he’s awake enough for this conversation. Certainly not in a serious capacity.

“It’s not that long,” he shrugs, moving his free arm beneath his head as he shifts on the couch to lay on his back with you tucked into his side. He stares up at the ceiling. “I mean, you owe me a lot of movie and game nights, but that just means I get to make you pay,” he smirks, prodding your side.

It’s not the serious response you’re hoping for, but it does wonders to quell the nerves bubbling beneath the surface. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You better go easy on me though, you’re not a cheap date.”

He pouts playfully, lip jutting out as he prods your side beneath your ribs. You squeal in surprise at his finger jabbing into your side and in an effort to escape the ticklish sensation, proceed to shove him off the couch.

With a thump and a soft ‘oof’, he lands on his side on the (thankfully) carpeted floor.

“Sorry, Toru!” You squeak, peering down at him.

He rubs his shoulder with a wry smile. “Geez babe, I thought you were trying to make things up to me,” he grumbles as he pushes himself up off the floor.

You flash him an apologetic smile, taking a moment to admire him as he stands at his full height before you. He’s always been handsome, but even in the couple of years since you’ve seen him, he’s filled out and bulked up further. There’s a faint hint of barely visible white stubble growing along his chin and his hair is a breadth longer than you remember and falls in a more intentional manner over his head rather than its usual disheveled style.

He’s breathtaking, and you wonder how you were ever so foolish to begin with.

Unfortunately, he’s also just as frustrating as the day you last saw him.

“See something you like? You know, if you really wanna make it up to me-”

You cut him off by getting to your feet and shoving a hand against his stupidly pretty face, shutting him up with the action as he reels backwards. Catching his balance, he chuckles and trails after you as you walk into his kitchen just as you had so many times before.

Aside from a few new magnets on the fridge and a new set of dishcloths, it’s just as you remember it. Something about the knowledge that even in two years, things haven’t changed so dramatically that you’ve missed everything helps to keep you from feeling guilty.

“You know, I was gonna say if you wanted to make it up to me you could make me breakfast,” he grins cheekily as he leans into your personal space.

“No you weren’t.”

“I thought about it,” he shrugs as you catch him in the act of lying. You can’t resist the way your lips quirk up into a smile. He’s still so Satoru and his presence comforts you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

Opening the fridge, you take a look at what he’s got available, or more like the complete and utter lack of food in his fridge.

“Have you always lived like this?” You ask as you move to his pantry, which is somehow equally empty apart from a jar of peanut butter sitting beside some protein powder and a sickening amount of sweets.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He whines as he stares over your shoulder at what looks like a perfectly full pantry to him. It has mochi and chocolate and-

“What do you even have for breakfast usually?”

He purses his lips, staring up at the ceiling. His hair falls back over his ears as he does so, his skin so perfect you’re almost jealous at just how blessed he is with good looks. “Dunno. Mochi and some eggs?”

You recoil at the thought of mochi and eggs as a meal, nose wrinkling. “What happened to pancakes or omelets? We used to make them all the time.”

Something akin to sadness flashes in his eyes and you turn your full attention to him. “You weren’t there,” he says simply, his voice lowered, his tone unusually vulnerable. “I only really made them because you wanted them.” He doesn’t say it with the intent of making you feel guilty, but your shoulders fall to your sides as your chest coils with the emotion.

“Right.”

“Hey,” he raises his hand to cup your cheek and pull your attention away from your feet. “That’s behind us, yeah?”

Your eyes flit between his, the way they seem to hold galaxies within them. His face is so close to yours that his breath fans your face and your heart speeds up as you glance at his lips-

Like a gentle reminder of your wrongdoing, guilt churns in your chest and you stumble backwards out of his grip. Although he’s already forgiven you and given you another chance with him, you can’t help the way your heart stutters around him and your walls heighten out of fear of fucking things up again.

Yet your behavior only serves to confuse Satoru, who had been so sure you were about to kiss him and his heart is still hammering in his chest as you nearly trip over a flat of outdated soup cans, which is wild because how do soup cans even get outdated?

Before you can crash into the shelves behind you, Satoru reaches out to wrap a strong hand around your forearm and tugs you from the pantry.

“Um-” you clear your throat, trying to divert his attention away from your sudden meekness. “Can we order something?”

Satoru observes you for a moment, his expression unreadable before his usual grin finds his face. “Sure, pretty. You want your usual?”

Your eyes widen slightly, the guilt burrowing itself deeper into your chest as you realize just how many pieces of you remained tightly wound within his life all these years. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

He saunters off to his bedroom to grab his phone and place an order, your eyes trailing after him until he’s out of sight. With a sigh, you bring a hand up to clutch at the shirt hanging over your chest with a photo of a little cartoon kitty on it. Your heart hammers against your hand and you wonder what you’ve done to deserve such kindness from him when you had left him behind so easily.

Well, no, that’s a lie. It hadn’t been easy. It left a hole so deep within you that it tore you from a two year relationship and brought you here to Satoru’s door in the middle of the night in pieces. It was selfish, really, to ask him to help put you back together, and seeing how eager he is to have you back in his life does little to quell the growing feeling of wrongfulness.

With a deep breath, you try to remind yourself of the fact that he’s giving you another chance and you need to use this opportunity to prove yourself rather than shut him out again. Letting the breath out through pursed lips, you pad slowly from the kitchen to the living room, looking around the familiar room in daylight.

The TV is newer than you remember and there are a couple of mostly dead plants that you wonder if he’s ever watered that are new to you. A couple of empty mugs sit atop a table to the side of the couch and there are some new movies and games stacked in the bookshelves at the side of the room.

Before you even realize you’re moving, you stand in front of the shelves. Sitting on one of the lower shelves beneath a thick layer of dust is a small bowl you recognize all too well.

Satoru hadn’t been too keen on the idea of taking a pottery class with you, but he couldn’t resist your doe-eyed pleading. He always was weak for you, and so you had learned how to make bowls together. He had beamed at you upon completing his bowl, showing it to you with such childlike glee that it had warmed your heart.

Taking the bowl delicately into your hands, you flip it and feel your heart clench as you see the familiar initials carved into the bottom. Yours, alongside Satoru’s, with a heart. How had it never occurred to you?

How horribly clueless had you been?

You set the bowl down as your gaze trails the rest of the shelves. There’s a small collection of rocks from each of your beach trips, a strange tradition you had shared after finding a fossil lodged into a flat stone you’d been intending to skip across the water.

Finally, you stare at the empty spot where a framed photo of the two of you once sat. Although the photo was gone, you would never forget the day. You had visited the aquarium together with Suguru and Shoko very shortly after becoming friends with benefits. Suguru had noted that the two of you seemed particularly close, but you’d brushed off his words.

He was right, though. It solidified your friendship. It was the beginning of something beautiful and you regretted ever letting it turn ugly. Blinking, you bring a hand up to your face to wipe away the beginnings of tears when you catch a glimpse of something laying on the top shelf where the frame was just barely in view.

Reaching out, you pick it up and your jaw practically drops, your heart gripped with so many emotions you don’t know where to begin. Relief, longing, fear, uncertainty, guilt, and most importantly, love. Satoru never let go of you.

There, in your hands, is a photo of Satoru grinning with an arm around your shoulders as you peer up at the whale shark behind you, wide-eyed with awe at the beautiful creature. The photo never moved, he’d just laid it down when it became too painful to look at.

“Alright, I ordered all of our favorites and some new things I wanted to try-” Satoru comes around the corner from his room, phone in hand, peering into the kitchen before he finds you in the living room. “They had something called a Croffle, I just had to- are you crying?”

Satoru’s hand falls to his side as he hears you sniffle. You straighten, refusing to face him as you attempt to compose yourself.

He takes a step towards you, setting a large hand on your shoulder as he peers down at your hands. “Oh, pretty girl. C’mere,” he coos, pulling the frame from your fingers with one hand as he wraps the other around you. He sets the photo back in its place on the shelf, upright now, before his full attention is on you.

He sways you softly from side to side, soothing his hand up and down your back as he tucks your head beneath his chin. Your cries are silent, the only sign of your sobs being the way your body shakes and the warm tears that wet his bare chest. He stands with you like that, swaying you gently from side to side and humming gentle “it’s okay”s into the crown of your head for a couple of minutes.

With a sniffle, you pull back and wipe the remnants of your tears, keeping your head down in an attempt to prevent him from seeing your puffy features. “Sorry, I- I don’t know what came over me,” you croak with a half-hearted laugh.

Satoru is silent for a moment as he quietly observes you. “You know,” he starts, “if you keep shutting me out, you’re not gonna be able to make things up to me.”

“I’m not shutting you out,” you retort stubbornly, peeking up at him.

He dramatically swings his head back to stare at the ceiling. “You show up at my door at- what-? Three in the morning? To try to fix things- which is working, by the way- and now you shut me out?” He asks, reeling back and crouching until he reaches your eye level. You can’t escape those stupidly gorgeous eyes of his now, taking in a deep breath as you attempt to compose yourself.

You pull your lower lip between your teeth, mindlessly chewing on it as you consider what he said. You’d be foolish not to take his words into consideration given that he’s right, you are here to fix things, and the fact that he said it’s working sparks hope you haven’t felt in a long time within you. Yet, you’ve upheld your walls for so long that it’s difficult to let him in. Years of rules between the both of you, no kissing, no cuddling outside of aftercare, no PDA, they all still lived within you, even if you wanted to break them down. Sure, the rules were broken often, but not without reminding yourself why they were there later.

Then there were the walls you built to protect the Gojo-shaped hole in your heart. The hole that you couldn’t identify the shape of until now. With Satoru standing alongside you attempting to crawl his way into that hole and fill it, it scares you. Having what you didn’t know you needed for two whole years, if not more, is a terrifying thought.

You glance up at him, patiently waiting on your response as you consider his words while his thumbs rub soothing circles into your upper arms.

With your attention now on him, Satoru takes the opportunity to slide one hand down to your waist, taking a small step towards you until you’re flush to him. You hold your breath at the contact, giving him a wide-eyed stare. His words replay over and over in your mind as his other hand slides up your neck to rest on your cheek. He deftly tilts your chin up as his eyes bore into yours.

“Let me in, sweetheart,” he whispers, his face so close that your entire body feels as though it’s on fire and you can’t help the way your eyes flicker to his lips, so soft and close.

The air between you is charged, tension crackling in the air as the world seems to pause just for you. Your heart beats erratically and you fear it may escape its cage if it pounds any harder.

Satoru swallows hard as his thumb runs across your lower lip. Your breathing speeds up, as though it’s racing with your heart as you cling desperately to his chest like a deer in the headlights. His heart races beneath your fingertips, the only sign that he’s anywhere near as flustered as you are.

“Can I break rule number one?” He whispers, his voice low and sexy in a way that you’ve heard so many times but it’s charged with something new. Something more tender than you’re used to.

You glance between his eyes and his lips, letting out a shaky breath as you throw caution to the wind and slide your hands up to wrap around the back of his neck and pull him the remaining distance down to your lips. Time stands still as his lips softly capture yours, moving slowly as he pours every ounce of adoration into the kiss. As though he fears he may never have the chance to kiss you again, he puts everything he has into it.

It takes only a faint brush of his finger along your chin to tilt your head up to give him better access as his tongue crests your lips. You’re pliant against him, your lips parting for him as he breaks down your walls. His tongue takes over your mouth, his minty taste flooding your senses as his fingers grip your waist almost bruisingly with how tight he holds you.

He hesitates as he pulls back, both of your eyes fluttering open to take in the sights before you as you catch your breath. Satoru’s cheeks are red, white lashes fluttering as he blinks quickly.

“Why did you never say anything?” You ask, your voice barely a whisper.

“You had so many rules. You’d scold me for just putting a hand on your shoulder in public, what was I supposed to do?” He examines the way your expression returns to guilt, pressing a quick peck to your lips once more in an attempt to pull you away from the walls he’s trying to break down. Your eyes shine once again and he lets out a breath of relief.

“I’m sorry, Toru.”

He kisses you softly again. “Stop apologizing. Just be with me here and now, we can figure everything out, yeah?”

As you nod, there’s a knock at the door and Satoru grins.

“Now come try this Croffle thing I got.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” You tilt your head as you trail after him to the door.

“Croissant Waffle.”

“Right. Of course,” you shrug playfully, heading back to the living room where Satoru sets the delivery bag on the coffee table. The two of you had always had a habit of eating anywhere but the kitchen table and it seemed that wasn’t about to change now.

As he pulls out your favorite order of pancakes alongside his own, you shoot him a lopsided smile at the fact that he remembered every single little detail of your order, right down to the specifics of no whipped cream as it was too sweet. He always insisted it was perfectly sweet, but maybe that’s just because of how saccharine Satoru himself is.

“Okay, I got a sweet and a savory one,” he beams, holding up what you can only assume is the Croffles. They seem to be just croissant shaped waffles, though you assume the dough is likely flaky.

“There’s no world where you eat the savory one, so just give me that one,” you chide with a roll of your eyes.

“Ouch,” he pouts, “I’m an adult, you know. I can eat it.”

“Satoru Gojo,” you get his attention and his back straightens as though he’s in trouble with you. “Look me dead in the eye and tell me you would eat your pancakes and a savory Croffle.”

The way he avoids your gaze tells you everything you need to know and you burst into laughter, followed shortly after by his own. You snatch the savory Croffle from his hands as the two of you share your favorite breakfast once again. It doesn’t surprise either of you to find the Croffle is also delicious and you may need to change your orders. Then again, everything from this restaurant is delicious.

“I missed this,” Satoru hums as he adjusts the way he’s sitting on the floor, leaning on his elbow over the short coffee table.

“Me too,” you hum, a bittersweet smile gracing your lips as you set your breakfast down to stare at it.

“Ah-!” Gojo blurts out a noise and just as you look up at him, he’s tackling you to the floor, pressing short and chaste kisses to your lips followed by your nose, your cheeks, your chin, and your forehead. He peppers them across your face as you squirm beneath him, laughing as he refuses to relent.

“Toru! Toru, stop!” You whine through giggles, pushing against his chest.

“Nope! Not until you stop trying to shut me out,” he insists, his hair draping around your face like a curtain as he holds himself just above you, pressing more chaste kisses to your face and lips. In an effort to stop his relentless attack, you pull him down and deepen one of his kisses. He hums contentedly into your lips, letting you lead.

You move slowly at first, cherishing the gentle feeling of his soft lips, but the way he treats you as though you’re porcelain causes something to coil in your stomach and you greedily pull him down harder, deepening the kiss as his lips part. Your tongue explores his mouth, the taste of sugar and syrup fresh on his lips but it’s the way he whines that sets your stomach on fire with need.

You part from him, the evidence of your lust now wet in your panties as you stare at him with blown pupils. He recognizes the look on your face and tugs you to your feet in one fluid motion. Like every other time you’ve done this dance, you figure you’ll end up in his arms, making out as he stumbles to his bedroom and tosses you on the bed, but to your surprise, he instead scoops you into his arms bridal style.

You yelp in surprise, snaking your arms around his neck as you cling to him. “Toru?” You question as you peer curiously up at him. He shoots you a genuine smile, filled with glee.

“Lemme treat you like a princess for once,” he grins. Your face softens and you bury your face into his chest. Who would have thought your eager fuck buddy would be such a romantic sweetheart?

He sets you gently on his bed before sitting beside you, the bed sinking beneath his weight. To your delight, he pulls you into his lap so that you’re straddling him. Leaning back towards him, you capture his lips in an eager but passionate kiss and it seems the dissolving of your rules has changed the way it feels being with him.

Where once you kept kissing always off the table, the addition of it changed the entire tone of being in his bedroom. Where once you would eagerly fuck like rabbits, using the act purely as a way to relieve stress and have some fun, now it feels like a union of years’ worth of emotions. The way Satoru holds you as though he’s afraid the moment is fleeting, the way he puts his soul into the kiss just as you do, it’s a moment you know will play in your mind like a movie years into the future.

Satoru moans needily into your mouth as you let your hands roam, exploring the peaks and valleys of his abs. He’s grown bulkier since you last saw him, clearly continuing to work out. When your eyes flicker open as you catch your breath, his eyes are locked on you with a look of wonder that’s entirely too sweet given just how badly you want to see him between your thighs.

You set your hands on his collarbones, pressing him down onto his bed. You’ve had sex more times than you can possibly count, but everything about this still feels new. Satoru has always been fairly dominant, but the man looking up at you now is needy with lust and willing to relinquish all control to you. He’s looking at you like you hold the sun up in the sky and he wants to worship you for it. His gaze holds such adoration that you could melt into him.

You grind against the growing bulge in his sweatpants as you lean down and hungrily capture his lips, tugging his bottom lip with your teeth. He whines into your lips, sliding his large palms along the length of your curves. He tugs your pajama shirt over your head, breaking the kiss only to toss it aside before he pulls you back to him.

Parting from the kiss to catch your breath, you trail the tips of your fingers down his broad chest, past his chiseled abdomen, until your featherlight touch reaches the waist of his sweatpants. His cock noticeably jumps beneath you and oh how Satoru yearns to submit wholly to you, to be yours and let you do anything you wish to him.

Satoru’s pupils are blown with desire, his jaw slightly ajar as he stares at the swell of your breasts, admiring the way you look on top of him, so pretty. You smirk at his reaction to a simple drag of your fingers along his skin, wondering what else you can elicit from him now that you have him laid out beneath you.

Now that you’ve tested the waters, you cup Gojo’s face gently as you press a kiss to his lips before sitting up on your knees to shimmy out of your shorts and panties. Satoru thinks he may actually be seeing stars when your fingers card through his hair and you sit on his face. You sharply inhale when he moans at the taste of your pussy, at being used by you and the way his lips vibrate from the guttural noise sends white hot lust straight to your core.

“Shit, Toru-” you breathe out, throwing your head back as he laps at your entrance, pressing chaste kisses to your clit that have you whimpering as you rock your hips forward with need. The additional pressure you place on him that restricts his breathing subtly sends him into a haze of pure lust as he tightens his grip on your thighs and plunges his tongue between your folds.

As you pant and fist his hair harder, Satoru’s tongue delves deeper until he’s tongue-fucking you so well you’re seeing stars. “T-Toru- hah- don’t stop,” you pant, legs trembling as he eats you so expertly you’d think he’s a professional. With how many times he’s eaten you out, he may as well be. He still knows exactly what you like as he nudges your clit with his nose, sending sparks through your body like only he knows how to.

Grinding harder against his tongue, Satoru relishes in the sounds of your pleasured pants and moans mixing with the obscene squelching of his practiced tongue as your gummy walls pulse around him. He can tell you’re close by the way you grip him, the way you tug his hair and subtly restrict his breathing between your thighs in an effort to chase your high.

Your stomach tightens and twists as you hurtle closer to the edge and you lean forward, eyes locking with the definition of an angel beneath you. “Look at me, Toru,” you pant between pleasured mewls. One look from those lust-blown eyes sends you over the edge and you collapse forward as your body trembles and shakes.

With languid licks up your folds, Satoru draws out every last drop of your orgasm, eagerly drinking up every last bit until you weakly push his head back into the mattress out of overstimulation. His lips are parted as he pants weakly in an effort to catch his breath.

“Tastes so good,” Satoru moans from beneath you. You take the opportunity to push yourself back up and slide down his torso somewhat to look at him, shooting him a lopsided smile. He grins back at you, slick dripping down his chin.

“You’re still so good with your tongue,” you whisper in a sultry voice. He swallows hard, his abs noticeably tensing beneath your thighs as his cock jumps. All these years and you had absolutely no idea Satoru got off so much on praise. “Such a good boy,” you purr, testing just what sets him off.

Immediately, his fingers tighten bruisingly on your thighs and he whimpers. “Please, baby. I need you.”

Your lips curl into a devious smirk as you slide down his body until you’re on your knees at the base of the bed. Satoru sits with his legs thrown over the edge and a look of pure eager desire as he watches the way you slowly leave a trail of kisses up his thighs.

There’s a noticeable wet spot on his gray sweatpants from where his cock is steadily leaking with pre-cum and you tease the spot with a kitten lick and a glance up at him. Satoru whines, relieved when you tug his sweatpants down to the floor, his blue boxers following shortly after. His cock springs to attention, the tip swollen and leaking for you.

Just as he thinks you’ll bring him relief, you duck your head down to kiss a trail up his inner thighs once more. Satoru mewls, babbling out a needy “please- please, sweetheart, please,” as he attempts to direct your lips to his jerking cock.

The sound of his begging is intoxicating but you want to drag out the pleasure for you both. “Let me take care of you, Toru,” you hum, pulling away when he attempts to move his hand to your hair. He lets out a broken groan as his hand goes back to the bed, gripping the blankets beneath with enough force to turn his knuckles white. “Good boy,” you purr.

Satoru’s breath hitches, pre-cum leaking from his cock as it jumps again, aching for your touch. Sparing him of your teasing, you finally swirl your tongue over his swollen tip. He lets out a tortured groan, his abs contracting with the effort of not immediately cumming onto your lips, so needy for you that he’s not sure he can last.

“Sh- Shit,” he whispers, watching intently as you lick a stripe up his length so slowly that he mewls. The amount of time he’s spent fantasizing about this moment is shameful, really, and now that it’s here, he’s sent into a frenzy. His thighs are twitching, abdomen clenching with the effort of not blowing his load immediately.

“Tell me what you want, Toru,” you whisper, your breath ghosting warm over his leaky tip.

“Need you, baby, need your lips on me so bad, please pleasepleaseplease-” he babbles out, swallowing his broken moan when you teasingly kiss his tip, chasing after his desperate reactions. Pleased with his begging, you take his cock between your lips, sinking down slowly over him as you take him to the hilt.

His cock nestles into the back of your throat as you choke on his length. Bobbing your head as you set a slow pace, Satoru’s brain turns to mush as pleasure courses through his body. You take him so well and he’s already careening dangerously close to the edge of an orgasm, abs clenching as he throws his head back when your pace picks up. What sends him over the edge is the feeling of your little hum when you take him down to the hilt again.

His hand reaches out to hold you steady as a broken cry leaves his lips when his orgasm comes crashing over him suddenly, cock pulsing as he paints your throat with his arousal. You swallow it with a hum that makes his whole body jolt. He gently pulls your lips from his cock, leaning back on his hands as he comes down from his climax.

A chaste kiss left on his cock makes him shiver. Glassy eyes meet yours, pleasure swirling within the barely visible blues of them. “Such a tease,” he murmurs before pushing himself up the bed and flopping down on his back.

He smirks at you as you slide back on top of him, your wet cunt grinding over his hardened length. “So fuckin’ gorgeous,” he groans, warm hands coming to rest on your hips. Rocking your hips back and forth as you chase the friction you so desperately crave, Satoru throws his head back. “Fuuuuuck, pretty. So fuckin’ good.”

You lean down to kiss him, slowing your ministrations as you capture his lips in a heated kiss laced with your own desperation. His tongue eagerly explores your mouth again, the taste of him fresh on your lips. Every second of you on top of him sends him into a spiral of glossy-eyed pleasure that he hopes he can bask in for the rest of his life.

When you pull back suddenly, he whines, sitting up on his elbows to watch your movements as you slide down the bed with a predatory gaze. His lashes flutter as you intently watch his reaction while you spit on his swollen cock head. His jaw hangs slightly open and he groans when you use your thumb to spread the saliva down his shaft.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans unevenly between shallow breaths. His length jerks as you slowly pump your hand, so slowly it’s painful. “Baby, ne-need you,” he babbles, bucking his hips to chase the friction of your hand.

You grin, kissing his tip. “Yeah, Toru?” You purr, reveling in the way he turns to putty in your hand. “Think you’ve been a good boy for me?”

“Mhm. Wanna cum inside you,” he pants, raking his hands through your hair.

Your breath hitches as you crawl back up his body and position yourself over his twitching length. You don’t have the strength to tease him anymore, more for your own sake than his.

“Please,” he begs once more, leaking pre-cum as he waits to feel your walls squeeze him. No matter how many times you’ve had sex, this is entirely different. This is full of a new kind of desperation, full of a new kind of adoration as you grip Satoru’s shoulders tightly while sinking down on his cock slowly. Satoru’s long thickness makes you moan as you break past the first ring of resistance.

Your pussy is heaven for Satoru, a moment he’s dreamt of so long he has half a mind to pinch himself to make sure this isn’t the world’s most vivid wet dream, but he’s entirely too fucked out to manage a sane thought.

“So tight, love,” Satoru moans, his grip bruising on your hips. Every bone in his body begs him to fuck up into you, desperate to feel your gummy walls milk him.

You hold still for a moment as you adjust to his length, whimpering at the feeling of his cock twitching within you. As the pain of the stretch turns to pleasure, you begin to rock your hips slowly, leaning back on his cock as it brushes your g spot and bliss floods your body.

Suddenly snapping, Satoru grips you tightly as he matches your rhythm and rocks his hips in tandem with yours. Every stroke of his cock within you pushes you both closer to the edge and as your nails rake his chest, you can hardly manage a coherent sentence.

“Toru- so big-” you moan, your pussy fluttering on his length as he needily whines along with your words.

“Shit, not gonna last long baby, I’m-” he watches your heavenly expression as you whimper and babble through your own words, both glassy-eyed and fucked out. He can tell you aren’t far behind him in spite of how teasing you’ve been all night, increasing the pace that he rolls his hips at until he feels your cunt pulse and your orgasm hits you like a wave.

You hunch over on him, your pace slowing to a halt. Your body trembles with the strength of your climax and your walls milk Satoru’s orgasm from him at the same time. “Fuck- nngh- feelsogood-!” He slows his rhythm as he works wave after wave of both climaxes out, chest panting from the overwhelming feeling of reaching such a high with you.

The sounds of your breaths fill the room as blood roars in your ears. After a moment of catching your breath, your eyes flutter open to find Satoru already staring up at you. His eyes are glazed in pleasure, but the look of pure adoration is what makes your heart flip. If your cheeks weren’t already flushed, you’re certain the look he’s giving you would have that effect.

“Toru?” You breathe, staring down at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers as his breathing begins to steady. You can’t help the grin that spreads over your features as you giggle at the man beneath you. Both of you so clearly spent in the afterglow of sex, and he’s being entirely too cute with his cock still nestled deep within you.

Sucking a breath through your teeth, you push yourself off of him, flopping down on the bed at his side as his slick drips from your folds and paints your thighs.

Comfortable silence settles between you both as you bask in the moment. Sparrows sing outside the window and the faint sound of distant traffic breaks through what’s otherwise a silent room. Your mind wanders to every moment in the past where Satoru shot you a longing gaze, where his words implied more than just friends. To each moment where you had brushed him off, assuming he was just pushing your buttons because that’s just how he is.

Now, each one of those moments held a different, new meaning. You turn your head to take in the sight of Satoru. He looks angelic in the morning light with his hair slightly disheveled, skin warmed by the sunlight peeking through the blinds.

“Where do we go from here?” You ask suddenly, pulling his attention to you.

Cerulean irises take in the sight of you just as you had done for him. It takes him a moment to reply, admiring your features and committing your face to memory as though he might lose you if he utters the wrong words. “As long as you’re by my side, I’ll go anywhere.”

“Satoru that’s… Cheesy and not what I meant,” you giggle. “But I’d love to start with a date. I know it won’t begin to make it up to you, but-”

“Sweetheart. Stop,” Satoru leans up on an elbow, kissing you so softly you would assume he thinks you’re glass. “I forgive you. I forgave you the moment I saw your pretty face last night.”

“Toru, please, let me make it up to you-”

“I forgive you. I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you. Okay? Stop worrying.” He peppers kisses over your face amid playful giggles as he speaks, eyes warm with mirth.

“Let me take you out, then. Just- Let me do something, at least,” you insist.

“Yeah, gonna plan something, baby?” Satoru smirks, pressing a kiss to your collar. You nod eagerly. “Sounds like a plan, then.”

Sitting up, Satoru shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. Quietly, you admire the musculature of his back and arms, smiling to yourself. You have to consider yourself lucky that you have this chance at all, grateful you didn’t miss your opportunity with the angelic man.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Satoru hums as he bounds to his feet. In spite of his own tiredness, there’s a pep in his step that makes you grin.

“Satoru?” You call after him before he can disappear, sitting up on the bed. He pokes his head back around the corner, giving you his full attention. “Since we’re doing everything out of order anyways, uh-” you hesitate for a moment, not because you doubt what you’re about to say, but because you don’t want to scare him off. “I love you.” Although it’s an admission you made last night as well, without the tension of the prior night it holds a new meaning.

His expression softens but his eyes seem to glow as he grins. Giddily, he quickly makes his way back to your side and kisses you with all the passion in the world. “I love you too, you gorgeous, wonderful, maybe a bit sticky girl.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Did you have to mention the sticky part?”

Bounding back over to the ensuite door, he hums affirmatively. “Yeah, if you keep calling me back and don’t let me clean you up.”

And with that, he disappears to grab a warm cloth as you stare with a smile at the place where he just stood. You sigh to yourself at how goofy Satoru has remained over the years, always the butt of the joke and the life of the party.

Now you think he just might be the light of your life too.

masterlist || kinktober 2024 masterlist

𓉸 a/n ; i don't know what happened this was meant to be like. 3k words of pure smut. but here we are so i hope you enjoyed! ♡ writing sub!gojo was a CHALLENGE for me it's not my usual thing so i hope i did it justice. as always likes, reblogs, and comments are super appreciated :))

𓉸 taglist ; currently open. please comment here or on the masterlist to be tagged in the rest of my kinktober work ♡ @tojis-ball-sack @rathreads @sukunadckrider @nxcxllxsevens @r0ckst4rjk

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nyanchow · 2 months ago

Text

HEART OF THE OCEAN - GOJO SATORU

summary. Gojo Satoru was never meant to survive your song. You were never meant to fall for a human. But the ocean has never followed the rules.

word count. 17.2k (nnyeah)

content. mdni fem!siren!reader, pirate!gojo, slowburn, mutual pining, forbidden love, reader lowkey has daddy issues, fluff, pet names, making out, really inaccurate transformations from siren to human, smut, fingering, p in v, feral gojo, pearl necklaces, aftercare, ANGST, violence, gore and blood, major character death (not too graphic tho), reincarnation

author's note. idk y'all i just wanted to write some angst

The ship rocked gently beneath a sky smeared with pink clouds and salt-kissed breeze. The sails are full, the air warm, the crew loud as ever. Shoko tosses a flask to Geto across the deck, slouching against the railing with her usual lazy grin. Nanami mutters to himself over the ration count, already annoyed and it wasn’t even noon. Yuuji and Nobara are bickering again, locked in a heated knot-tying competition that neither of them are winning.

Gojo stood at the helm, one hand on the wheel, the other dragging along the edge of a map he’d practically memorized. His fingers paused over a spot he’d circled days ago, the charcoal mark smudged from how often he’d touched it.

"Been staring at that for hours, Satoru," Geto called out, an amused lilt in his voice. "You sure you’re not in love with that map?"

Gojo didn’t glance up. "If it leads to what I think it does, I just might propose."

"Treasure, treasure, treasure," Nobara groaned. She climbs up onto a barrel, arms crossed. "You know there’s more to life than gold, right?"

"I respectfully disagree," Nanami mumbles.

"I just hope we don’t run into any sirens," Yuuji says, tossing a pebble into the sea, watching it plop uselessly into the waves.

That earned a collective scoff.

"Oh, not this again," Nobara rolled her eyes.

"I’m serious!" Yuuji turned around, pointing his finger like he was telling a ghost story. "They sing to you and boom—you're overboard. You don’t even realize your legs stopped working ‘til you're halfway down."

"Those are just stories," Nobara snaps. "Tales to keep dumb kids from getting too close to the water."

"But what if they’re real?" Yuuji presses. "Like, really real. What if one of us hears singing and just jumps in without meaning to—"

"I vote Megumi," Nobara cut in, grinning.

Megumi didn’t even look up from the net he was mending. "You’d drown before I would."

Shoko snorted. "That tracks."

Their laughter rolled like thunder, loud and light. But Gojo’s gaze slid back to the horizon, narrowing just slightly. The water was still. Too still. Then, a ripple. Subtle, but there.

He blinked. A shimmer caught his eye—just beneath the sunlit surface. Iridescent. Brief. Gone.

His fingers flex around the wheel. There it was again. That strange pull. A drumbeat deep in his chest. Familiar and foreign, like a memory from a dream he couldn’t place.

He exhales. Must’ve been the fish.

"Alright," he says, snapping the map shut with one hand. "We drop anchor near that island before sundown. We’ll stay the night."

"Think the treasure’s buried there?" Geto asks, already reaching for the spyglass.

"No," Gojo replies, voice as easy as ever. "But I’ve got a good feeling."

He doesn’t say more. Doesn’t mention the ripple, or the flash of light beneath the water. Doesn’t mention the song he swore he hears every now and then, just barely, rising from the sea.

The ship had long since gone quiet. Lanterns dimmed, voices hushed, footsteps replaced with the rhythmic creak of wood and the hush of waves licking the hull. The moon hung low, fat and silver, scattering a path of light across the water.

Gojo lay stretched across a barrel of rope, arms folded behind his head, eyes half-lidded but nowhere near sleep. The wind was calm. Almost too calm. He should’ve been tired—hell, he was tired—but something kept tugging at him from inside his chest. That same pull again. A gnawing curiosity. A whisper. And then he heard it—voice. Not loud. Not calling. Just… singing.

Soft. Sweet. Smooth like honey and salt. The kind of sound that shouldn't exist out here. Not this far from civilization. Not on an unmarked island in the middle of nowhere.

He sat up slowly, blinking. The song wove through the air, light as seafoam, curling around him like mist. It didn’t sound human. It sounded too perfect for that. But it didn’t sound inhuman, either. It sounded like longing. What the hell?

He stood, quiet, careful not to wake the others. No one stirred—not even Geto, who usually slept with one eye open. Gojo climbed down the side of the ship, boots hitting sand with a soft thud. The island was still. The trees whispered, but there was no wind.

The voice carried again. Closer now. Just beyond the curve of the beach. He walked toward it, heart thumping hard. His mouth felt dry.

And then—he saw you.

You were seated on a wide rock near the shallows, bathed in moonlight. The surf curled gently around your feet. You glowed, in a way no human could—skin kissed with shimmer, hair catching the light like strands of pearl. And you were singing. Not to the sky, not to the sea. To him.

Gojo froze. You looked up, still singing. His throat went dry. He blinked once. Twice. No way.

He pinched his own arm, hard. Ow.

Still there. Still singing.

His heart was thundering now. Not in fear—he didn’t know what this was. Enchantment? A dream? A warning? He couldn’t tear his eyes away. He’d seen beauty. But this—this was something else. Something ethereal. Something that didn’t belong in a world full of men with swords and ships and thievery.

You smiled, just barely. And kept singing. To him.

You don’t stop singing. If anything, your voice softens, curling like silk around his ribs as he takes a slow step forward. Then another. The moonlight halos around you and the wet sheen of your skin shimmers. Your fingers trail along the stone you’re perched on, just barely touching the water, like you're inviting him in without a single word.

He’s never seen eyes like yours. Deep and endless, like the ocean. And they’re looking right at him. He swallows hard.

“...What are you?” he whispers. It’s not fear in his voice. It’s awe.

You tilt your head. Your song slows, just a little. A single note hangs in the air, trembling like a secret.

His boots crunch the sand as he nears the edge of the water, close enough to see the shimmer of your scales beneath the surface. He doesn’t stop walking. He should. But gods, he doesn’t want to.

You lift your hand then—slow, graceful, beckoning. He’s close enough now to see the curve of your mouth, the glint of something glowing faintly at your throat. An amulet. Round. Ancient. The glow pulsing softly like a heartbeat.

You hum one final note, low and intimate, and it lingers in the air like perfume. Your voice disappears into the sound of the sea.

Gojo takes another step, so close now the tide laps at his ankles. His mouth parts like he’s going to say something again, ask what this is, who you are, why it feels like the ocean is calling his name through your lips. But all that comes out is “You’re real.” And gods help him, he wants you to be.

The silence that follows is deafening. The sea seems to still around you. Even the breeze hesitates. He stands there, thigh-deep in the water now, eyes fixed on you like a man utterly enthralled. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. You watch him with a soft smile curling your lips—dangerously pretty, devastatingly calm.

Then, finally, you speak.

“Well,” you murmur, voice dipped in honey and seafoam. “Took you long enough.” It’s like breaking a spell—and casting another one right after.

His breath hitches. That teasing lilt in your voice? It sparks something wild in his chest. His fingers twitch at his sides.

“Was beginning to think you’d never come closer,” you purr, tilting your head, letting your hair fall over one shoulder. It bares your chest completely—not that you were hiding it.

Gojo’s breath catches. His hands—previously relaxed at his sides—suddenly twitch like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His gaze darts away, toward the horizon, the water, anywhere but you. And yet—he keeps sneaking glances. Quick. Desperate. Guilty.

You watch his throat work around a swallow. He shifts his weight. Drags a hand down his face. Tries very hard to look like he’s not flustered out of his goddamn mind.

He fails spectacularly.

You don’t move. You don’t need to. Just sit there, naked under the moonlight, letting him unravel quietly in front of you.

The silence stretches.

His mouth opens. Closes. For once, Gojo Satoru is speechless.

“You—” he tries.

You blink slowly. Innocently. “Me?” The word rolls off your tongue like silk.

He swallows hard. “You’re not afraid I’ll—”

“What?” You laugh, soft and rich. “Try to capture me? Drag me aboard your little ship and chain me like some prize?”

His eyes narrow, but there's a flicker of a grin tugging at his lips.

You lean forward, elbows resting on your tail, eyes gleaming. “Tell me, sailor,” you whisper. “What would you even do with a creature like me?”

He’s standing there like a man caught between heaven and hell. Every instinct in him is screaming this is a bad idea. But gods above, he wants to find out.

You watch him take another step. The water reaches his hips now, the fabric of his coat floating around him in soft ripples. He’s soaked, hair damp, moonlight catching on the white strands like frost. But he doesn’t seem to care. You don’t move. You don’t need to. He’s the one crossing the sea for you.

“Still think you’re dreaming?” you ask, voice low, velvet-smooth. You rest your chin in your hand, gaze locked to his. There's a dangerous sort of curiosity behind those sea-deep eyes—like you’re not just waiting for him, but testing him.

He lets out a breathless laugh, half-shaky. “Wouldn’t be the strangest dream I’ve had.”

Gojo’s throat bobs as he swallows. His hand lifts slowly, as if moving through water thick with molasses, hesitation and desire tangling in every breath he takes. You watch him with a smile, calm and inviting.

His fingers are just inches from your skin now. The curve of your jaw. The shimmer of your collarbone. One final confirmation that you’re real.

He pauses. “You won’t disappear, will you?” he whispers.

“I could,” you say. “But I won’t.”

He reaches. Slowly. And when the tips of his fingers brush your skin—just barely—you don’t flinch. You don’t pull away. You lean in. A little. Just enough. Enough to make him ache.

Suddenly it isn’t just his hand. It’s his whole body straining forward, the pull of something ancient and dangerous and inevitable. You smell like salt and stormwinds, something sacred and wild, and when your skin meets his, warm and cool at once—

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for centuries.

You smile. “Not a dream,” you murmur. “Sorry, sailor.”

You feel it. The shift in the air, the quiet tremor in the waves. Your amulet pulses once, faintly, like it senses what’s supposed to happen next. The ritual. The ending.

But you ignore it.

Because he’s still looking at you, cerulean eyes boring into yours like he’s never seen anything more divine.

For just a little longer, you want to be worshipped.

Your fingers move before you even think. Lightly, you drag one hand along his collar—soft, teasing, feather-light. His breath stutters. You smile, letting your nails trail just barely down the line of his chest. He leans in without realizing it, gaze half-lidded, pupils blown wide.

“What’s the matter, sailor?” you whisper, voice melting like warm tidewater. “You look like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.”

His hands twitch at his sides. “Kinda hard to remember… when you keep doing that.”

You laugh—quiet, delighted. He doesn’t even know what that is. The way your voice coils around his ribs, your touch singing along his skin. He doesn’t know that every second he stays in your presence, he’s sinking.

Not just into the sea. But into you.

Your palm finds the side of his neck, thumb brushing just under his jaw. His heart races. You can feel it. It makes something hungry stir in your chest—but beneath that hunger is something else. Something like want.

You lean in until your lips are just a breath from his ear. “It’s time, you know,” you murmur, voice so low it’s almost a song again. “I’m supposed to take you now.”

He doesn’t pull away. He shivers.

“…Take me where?”

You smile, lips ghosting over his jaw. “To the depths. The dark. Where all your kind eventually go when they trespass too far.”

Silence stretches, heavy, water-thick. He finally meets your gaze again. “Then why haven’t you?”

Your smile fades. Not completely—but the edges tremble. Just slightly.

You trace the line of his collarbone, softer now. “Because I don’t want to. Not yet.”

And it’s true. You should have dragged him under the moment he stepped into the tide. But you can’t bring yourself to. Not with him. Not when you still want to hear the way he laughs. Still want to feel the heat of his skin beneath your hands. Still want to be wanted.

So instead, you look at him like he’s something sacred. Like he’s the one you’d worship.

And softly, you say: “Stay with me a little longer, sailor. Just a little while.”

Because even if the sea eventually takes him, you want him to be yours first.

He doesn’t know who moves first—him or you. All he knows is that your face is suddenly closer. The moonlight curves along your cheekbone, your lashes, the tip of your nose. And then, your lips brush his. Featherlight. Barely there. But it undoes him.

He inhales sharply, like you’ve stolen something from his chest. Like a breath, or maybe a part of his soul. It wasn’t a real kiss—not really—but gods, it might as well have been. Because everything inside him lurches forward. He needs more. Needs to feel your warmth pressed to him, to find out what it’s like to drown in you.

But before he can pull you closer—before his hands can cup your face and drag you into the kind of kiss that ends men—you’re already gone.

A teasing smile dances on your lips as you drift back, slow and languid, water curling around your waist.

“Goodnight, sailor,” you murmur and then you dip beneath the waves.

The moonlight ripples where you vanish, and for a moment, he sees it—just the faintest shimmer of your tail, iridescent, unreal, slipping deeper and deeper into the dark.

He stays in the shallows, breath shallow, chest heaving. The sea laps at his thighs like it’s trying to tug him in after you. He doesn’t even realize his hand is still outstretched, reaching for something that’s already gone.

But now he’ll search every shore, scan every ripple, chase every whisper of song.

Just for a glimpse of you.

Just for another chance.

The waters are quiet.

You sit curled within the shell of your chamber, arms wrapped around your tail, staring out the arched opening where light from the surface used to filter in. Now there’s only dark. The soft glow of the seabed pulses around you—blue, green, violet. It reflects off the polished coral walls, dances across your skin like gentle ghosts. But you barely notice it.

Because all you can think about is him.

The sailor with sapphire eyes and a grin like sunlight. The one who didn’t flinch when you touched him. The one whose heart beat so loud, you could still hear it ringing in your ears even now.

“Stupid,” you mutter under your breath, sinking your chin to where your tail bends. “Stupid, stupid—”

“You’re not stupid,” comes a voice, soft and familiar.

You glance up to see your sister floating just outside the chamber, arms crossed, watching you with an arched brow.

You blink. “Were you listening?”

“I didn’t need to. Your amulet’s been glowing for the past half hour like you swallowed a lanternfish. What’s going on?”

You try to play it off. “Nothing. Just tired.”

She swims closer, unimpressed. “Liar. You only get like this when something really bad happens. Or really good.”

You sigh, letting yourself drift down a little, hair fanning around you like seaweed. “I… I met someone.”

That gets her attention.

“Oh?” Her tone sharpens, cautious. “Down by the shore?”

You nod. “He was on a ship. Docked just off the cove. I heard his voice before I saw him.”

“Did you sing?”

“Of course I did.”

“And?”

“I was supposed to take him under.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “But you didn’t.”

“No.”

A long pause. Then: “Why?”

You shake your head, frustrated. “I don’t know. I should’ve. It would’ve been easy. He was right there. I touched him. He was already falling.” Your voice trails off. The memory of his warmth haunts your fingertips. “But I didn’t want to. I just… wanted to keep him for a little longer. Just—just talk. Just see him.”

Your sister tilts her head. “You’re not supposed to see them. You’re supposed to lure them, enchant them, end them. That’s what we do.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you still thinking about him?”

You don’t answer. Because you don’t have one. All you know is that his laugh is stuck in your head. His breathless voice. The stunned way he looked at you when you kissed him—if you could even call it a kiss.

You press your hand to your chest, just above where your amulet hums. And softly, almost too quiet for even the sea to hear: “I don’t think I want to forget him.”

Your sister doesn’t speak for a long time. She just floats there, expression unreadable, eyes dark with something older than you can name. Then she drifts closer, gently reaches out to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“We wouldn’t know this. We weren’t born yet,” she says softly, “but it wasn’t always like this. The reefs used to glow. The caverns used to sing with color. Our kind would dance with dolphins, weave pearls through our hair, and the waters would hum beneath us—alive.”

You look up at her, startled by the sadness in her voice.

“It was beautiful,” she says, almost to herself. “Before they came.”

You know who she means. The humans. Greedy fingers always reaching for more.

“They took everything. Our shells, our corals, our sacred stones. Even the bones of our dead. Called them artifacts. Called them treasure.” Her voice hardens. “They don’t see us. Only what we can give them. And they always want more.”

You want to argue, say he’s not like that, but the words tangle in your throat. She sees it. “You think he’s different.” A statement, not a question.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Maybe.”

“You hope he is.” She shakes her head. “But hope doesn’t stop a ship’s hull from crushing the sea floor. Doesn’t stop the spears. The nets. The hands that rip and take and never give back.” She floats away from you then, back toward the chamber’s edge.

“You don’t know what it means to lose your first home,” she says quietly. “To watch the sea dim, to see your mother weep because the place she was born in no longer sings. You don’t remember the day we buried our queen and humans tore open her grave two tides later.”

Your chest aches.

“They don’t love us. Not really. They love the idea of us. They love the lure. And they’ll take everything you are if you let them.” She turns back once, eyes sharp, but not unkind.

“So whatever you think you feel—kill it. Before it kills you first.” Then she’s gone.

And you’re left alone in the dim quiet of your chamber, the weight of her words settling like silt in your bones. But still, you think of him.

What if he is different?

The surface is calm tonight. Moonlight drapes across it like silk, soft and glowing.

You hover just beneath, eyes fixed on the ship above. On him.

He’s standing there again. Alone, hands on the railing, silver hair catching the wind like sea foam. He doesn’t know it—but he calls to you. Every night. Not with his voice, no. But with something else.

A longing. A question. A pull in your chest you hate and crave at once.

You shouldn’t have come back. You told yourself that night was a mistake. That you'd been foolish to linger. To touch him.

But here you are. Again.

The current shifts. You swim a little closer. Close enough to see the frustration in his face. The tension in his jaw. He’s been looking for you. You know it.

Your fingers curl at your sides.

One more song and he’ll follow. That’s how it works. You know the rules. Lure them. Seduce them. Pull them down. Return the treasures they stole with their lives.

But he didn’t take anything. He only looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And damn it all if that isn’t the worst kind of theft.

You drift to the surface. Just your eyes above water now. Watching. Waiting.

He sighs, and his hand lifts—briefly—toward the sea. Like he knows. Like he feels you here.

He doesn’t call out. Not this time. He just walks to the same stretch of shore, boots sinking into the sand, cloak fluttering behind him. The moon is brighter tonight. Or maybe he just wants it to be.

He stares out at the water. “I know you’re there,” he says quietly.

Silence.

Then a ripple. A shimmer. And then you. Rising from the waves with water trailing down your arms like glass. Your hair clings to your skin, your eyes reflect the moonlight, and your expression? Playful. Curious. Maybe even… fond.

He steps forward. Doesn’t dare blink.

“Did you miss me, sailor?” you ask.

His lips twitch. “Starting to think I dreamt you up.”

You tilt your head. “Would that be so bad?”

He’s close now. Close enough to see the droplets on your lashes, the delicate gleam of scales at your shoulders, the curve of your smile. “I don’t dream like this,” he murmurs.

You glide a little closer, arms resting on the rock, the moonlight catching on your skin and droplets of water that haven’t quite dried. The sea rocks beneath you gently.

Gojo’s doing his best. Really.

But his eyes keep flicking downward and snapping back up—like he's fighting a war with his own damn brain. He clears his throat, face a little pink. Then pinker.

Then finally: “Uh… don’t mermaids usually wear… like… shells? On their, y’know. Their… uh.” He gestures vaguely in your direction, eyes avoiding your chest like it’s going to smite him.

You blink at him. Then smile. Not cruel. Not teasing. Just… amused. “Shells?”

He shrugs helplessly, ears going red now. “Yeah. You know. Like in the drawings? I thought it was a mermaid thing.”

You laugh—quiet and genuinely delighted. You’ve never seen a human blush like this. Pink all across his cheeks, nose, even the tips of his ears.

You tilt your head. “You think I’d strap bits of broken clam to my chest for modesty?”

He makes a sound that might be a choke or a laugh. You’re not sure.

You let your gaze drift up and down his face, watching how he refuses to meet your eyes for too long. It’s charming, really—how flustered he gets when you do absolutely nothing but exist.

“I never understood why humans found breasts so enticing,” you murmur, thoughtful now. “They’re just for feeding the younglings. We never bother covering them.”

Gojo covers his face with one hand.

You smile wider. “And yet you’re looking at me like I’ve committed a crime.”

“I’m not!” His voice jumps. “I’m not looking—I mean—I’m trying not to.”

You hum, resting your chin on your arms. “You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed.” You tilt your head at him, gaze soft, voice feather-light.

“If it’s troubling you so much,” you say, letting your fingers lazily swirl the water, “I suppose I can do something about it.” You smile, watching his composure slip through his fingers like sand.

“What would you prefer, sailor? Shells? Seaweed?” You lean forward just slightly. “Or should I just stay like this and let you keep pretending not to look?”

Gojo’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He’s blinking fast, flaming in the face now. “I—uh—whatever—” he swallows hard, waves a hand uselessly between you and the horizon. “Whatever you’re—uh—comfortable with.”

You laugh—a soft, melodic thing that makes his chest ache.

He looks like he wants the sea to swallow him whole. His ears have gone from pink to red, and he’s clearly regretting everything that brought him to this moment.

You hum, lounging back a little. “You really are sweet.”

He scrubs a hand through his hair, still pink to the tips of his ears, but now there’s a lopsided grin tugging at his mouth. He reaches out again. Slower this time. Testing the moment. His fingers brush your cheek. Trail down your neck. Neither of you move.

“You’re real.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. “You say that like you still don’t believe it.”

“Maybe I’m afraid if I do, you’ll vanish.”

You wade in closer, just enough that the sea brushes his boots, and he doesn’t move back. “You came back,” you murmur.

He shrugs one shoulder, eyes not leaving yours. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You laugh softly. “A sailor with a soft heart. That’s new.”

“You’re the one who sang to me.”

“I sing to many.”

He narrows his eyes. “Did you kiss them too?”

That catches you off guard—but you recover quick, smile sharpening. “Would it matter if I did?”

He doesn’t answer right away. But there’s something darker flickering in his gaze now. Possessive. Curious. “…No,” he lies.

You swim forward, water lapping at your waist. “You don’t even know my name.”

“I don’t need it.”

“And what if I pull you under?” you ask, voice like silk and storm.

He smirks. “Then I’ll die with a smile.”

You blink. For a moment, you’re not sure if he’s joking. But he is. Mostly.

Still—his words land heavy. Make your throat tighten. “Humans don’t speak like that,” you say.

“I’m not most humans.”

Silence stretches again. His eyes roam over you. Not in lust—not yet—but in reverence. Like he’s trying to understand what you are. Why he isn’t scared. Why he feels like he’s been waiting for you.

You reach for him then—not to kiss. Just to touch. A gentle drag of your fingertips across his wrist. He doesn’t flinch. He leans in.

“Why are you here?” you ask, softly.

He looks at you like the answer should be obvious. “I think,” he says, “I was meant to find you.”

Your heart skips. The ocean pulls at your waist. It’s almost time. But you stay a little longer. “You should be careful, sailor,” you whisper. “Saying things like that. You’ll make me believe you.”

He watches you like he already does.

You don’t notice the ripple. Not the soft shift in the waves behind you, not the gleam of eyes just beneath the surface. You’re too caught up in him.

You tease him, you laugh. You reach out again, a touch light as foam across his skin. And this time, he leans into it.

You don’t pull him under. Not yet.

You want more of this. The way he speaks. The way he looks at you. The way he doesn’t flinch from you like the others do. You want to keep this, even if just a little longer.

But you’re not alone.

Far behind you, beneath a curtain of kelp and shadow, a shape floats. Still. Silent. Watching.

Your sister’s eyes glint through the dark, catching every flicker of movement between you and the sailor.

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. She sees enough.

And when she finally sinks back into the depths, the water grows colder in her wake.

The moonlight hasn’t even faded from the surface when you slip back beneath the waves.

Your pulse is still racing. Your cheeks are still warm. His voice still rings in your ears—teasing, amused, wanting. And stars, if he had leaned in just a little more, you might’ve let him kiss you.

You should feel shame. But all you feel is light.

Until the sea goes cold.

There’s a shift in the current—sudden and sharp—and when you whirl around, she’s there. Floating in the dark like a phantom. Your sister.

Her expression is unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line, dark hair fanning out around her shoulders like a halo of judgment. “Sister,” she says, voice low and echoing. “Do you think we wouldn’t notice?”

You open your mouth—but nothing comes out.

She swims closer. “The sailor,” she hisses. “You’ve met him more than once now. I saw you. I saw everything.” Her words slice into you like a harpoon.

“I wasn’t going to—”

“You weren’t going to what?” she snaps. “Pull him under? Take what belongs to our people? Do your duty?”

You flinch. “He’s not like the others—”

Her laugh is sharp, bitter. “They never are. Until they are.” She grabs your wrist, not harshly—but firmly. “You’re forgetting why we sing. Why our mother gave us this gift. We are not meant to love them. We are meant to protect what’s left.”

You look away. But she’s not done.

“You think he’s blind? He knows what you are. Your tail, your voice, all of it.”

Your jaw tightens. “And yet he’s still here.”

She blinks. You keep going, voice sharp. “He’s not afraid. He doesn’t flinch. He treats me like I’m more than just a creature in the water. Can you say the same about anyone else?”

Her eyes flash. “That’s not the point—”

“No, you’re missing the point,” you snap. “I’m not dragging him under. I’m not stealing from him. I’m not using him. I’m just… being with him.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “And maybe I want to be more than what we’ve been taught to be. Maybe I want something for me.”

The silence that follows is heavy, the water still between you. But you don’t regret saying it. Not this time.

Your sister says nothing for a long moment. The anger in her eyes dims, simmering into something quieter, wearier.

Finally, she sighs. “You always were the stubborn one.”

You don’t speak. You’re still braced for more venom, more warnings. But instead, she moves closer, brushing her fingers against yours beneath the water. A small, wordless gesture of truce.

“I still don’t trust him,” she murmurs. “But I trust you. And if this is something real… I won’t stop you.”

Your chest tightens.

Then she adds, low and urgent, “But we can’t let Father know. You know what he’d do. To him, all humans are thieves.”

You nod, slowly. “I know.”

She meets your eyes, serious now. “Then be careful, sister. Whatever this is… keep it hidden. For both your sakes.”

And just like that, the warmth of her hand fades as she turns, slipping back into the dark sea, leaving you alone again—with your heart, your secret, and the ache of wanting something that feels more dangerous than ever.

The tide laps gently at the shore, but you hear none of it. All you hear is his breath.

He’s there again. Leaning against a crooked, barnacle-bitten post, sleeves rolled to his elbows, moonlight caught in the silver strands of his hair. He doesn’t speak when you emerge. He just watches, as if he’s afraid too much sound might send you fleeing back into the sea.

Your arms fold loosely across your chest, and you regard him with cool eyes. “You’re persistent.”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Only when I think it’s worth it.”

That stupid charm at your chest pulses again. You hate it. Almost.

You rise from the water just a little, arms shifting subtly—and for the first time, he notices something different.

Draped lazily across your chest: a strand of seaweed, delicate and half-hearted, barely clinging to its job. Twined between it—two pearlescent shells, awkwardly fastened like a joke.

His gaze catches. Lingers. His brows lift in disbelief.

You blink at him, expression unreadable. Then slowly—so slowly—you smile. “Better?”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “You did not—”

“I thought it might make you more comfortable,” you say, perfectly composed. “Isn’t this how your kind prefers mermaids?”

“You’re mocking me.”

You tilt your head. “Am I?”

Silence stretches between you, filled only by the sound of waves kissing the sand. He doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t even step forward. But you can feel his eyes—soft and searching, like he’s trying to read the parts of you you’re too afraid to say aloud.

Your gaze flicks toward the water. “This is a bad idea.”

“I know.”

Your brows knit. “Then why are you here?”

He pauses, then slowly reaches into his coat. “To give you this.”

He steps forward—not too close—and opens his palm.

A pendant. Sea glass, pale and smoothed by time, looped into a simple twine necklace. It glows faintly blue beneath the moonlight.

“I don’t know if it’s good enough,” he says, voice low, “but I thought… maybe you’d like something that wasn’t stolen.”

Your heart jerks. You stare at it. Then at him. And for a moment, you can’t breathe.

This—this isn’t what humans do. They come to take. Always. Treasures, songs, magic, you. But this one came to give. Something small. Something quiet. But his.

You take it with trembling fingers, brushing his palm as you do. Your voice is soft. “Thank you.”

His smile is gentle. “Didn’t know if you’d show.”

“I shouldn’t have,” you murmur.

“But you did.”

You pull back before it aches more. Let the waves touch your skin again.

“Don’t follow me,” you say—not unkindly, a soft warning.

He nods. Doesn’t stop you. Just watches you go, watches the silver glint of the ocean close around you. Watches the glimmer of sea glass now hanging around your neck.

There’s a puddle of rum soaking into his map. Gojo doesn’t notice.

Not when he’s got his chin in his hand, elbow propped up on the wooden table, and a downright dreamy expression on his face. His eyes are unfocused. His mouth is curved in a faraway smile. And he hasn’t blinked in… a while.

“Okay, what is wrong with you?” Nobara’s voice cuts through the cabin like a blade.

He doesn’t react.

Yuji leans over the table and waves a hand in front of his captain’s face. “Hellooo? Earth to Gojo?”

Still nothing.

Shoko groans and sips lazily from her flask. “He’s doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” Megumi deadpans, though he already knows.

“That thing where he zones out and grins like he’s in love.” Nanami’s tone is dry as the open sea.

“Because he is,” Geto mutters, arms crossed.

That gets Gojo’s attention—he blinks rapidly and jerks upright like he’s been caught with a dagger behind his back. “What? No. I’m not—what do you mean in love? I’m not in love. You’re in love. Shut up.”

“You literally didn’t hear a single word of our battle plan,” Geto says.

“There was a plan?” Gojo blinks again. “Oh… crap.”

Nobara slaps the table. “See?! He’s bewitched.”

“Bewitched,” Shoko echoes with a snort. “You’ve been reading Yuji’s ghost stories again, haven’t you?”

Yuji raises his hands defensively. “They’re good stories!”

Gojo stands, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. “Listen, listen. I’m fine. Perfectly composed. Mentally sound. Fully focused.”

Megumi gives him a look. “You just tried to drink ink thinking it was rum.”

Gojo looks at the bottle of ink in his hand—the one he's brought dangerously close to his mouth. “Not my fault the bottle looks the same.”

“You’re seeing someone,” Nobara accuses.

Gojo doesn’t even deny it this time. He just hums under his breath, dreamy-eyed as he watches the waves lap against the hull.

Shoko raises an eyebrow. “And who exactly is this mystery woman?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” he says, ever the smug bastard, but there's a wistful edge in his voice. Like he’s holding on to something delicate.

Yuji leans in. “Is she pretty?”

“She’s… beyond.” Gojo exhales, like saying even that aloud is sacred. “She makes the sea itself look dull.”

“Ugh,” Nobara groans. “You are so whipped. You don’t even know her last name.”

“Or her name,” Megumi mutters.

Gojo only smiles. Because he doesn’t know. Not really. You never gave it. Never offered. Only left behind shimmer and salt and the echo of your laugh in the breeze.

The sea is quiet tonight. Not still, but calm—the kind of hush that makes it feel like the world’s listening in.

You float easily beside the ship, water lapping gently against the hull. The sea glass he gave you hangs around your neck, cool and smooth, right beneath your amulet and shifting with every little ripple. You still don’t understand why he gave it to you. Maybe he doesn’t either.

Gojo leans against the railing above, chin resting on his forearms. He’s not smiling, but he looks… content. Like just being here is enough for him.

"You never told me your name," he says.

His voice is quieter at night. Less show, more real. He’s asked before, but not like this. Not like it actually matters.

You trail your fingers along the wood of the hull.

"Names carry weight," you murmur. "Especially mine."

He hums, like he gets it. "Then I’ll carry it carefully."

It’s not a line. Just something simple and steady, like most things about him that surprise you.

You glance up at him. Moonlight catches in his white hair, makes him look more ghost than man. And still—he waits. Patient, like the sea.

You hesitate. You’ve kept it to yourself for so long it almost feels like giving it away would be losing something. But he gave first. Not a demand. Not a trick. A gift.

"Would you even use it?" you ask.

"Only when it matters," he says.

That earns the smallest flicker of a smile from you. Not that he sees it.

So you say it. Soft. Almost like you’re not sure you meant to. But he hears it.

He says it back—quiet, careful. Like he doesn’t want to chip it, like it’s something that can bruise if he’s not gentle.

He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but it sticks. Settles into the space between you like it belongs there.

"Can I come down?"

His voice drifts lazily over the railing, casual like he's asking to sit beside you—not throw himself into the ocean.

You glance up at him, raising a brow. "What, you planning to jump?"

There's a flicker in his eye. Something boyish and stupid and far too Satoru.

Something in your gut tightens. “Don’t.”

But his smile tips, sharp and boyish. “Too late.”

Before you can make sense of it—before you can even move—he cannonballs.

You barely have time to curse before instinct takes over. You dart backward, tail slicing through the water as you throw yourself out of the drop zone. The splash hits like a small explosion—loud and ridiculous and completely him. Salt sprays across your face, cool and stinging, and you blink rapidly, water rushing past your ears.

He breaks the surface a moment later, coughing, laughing, looking wildly pleased with himself.

"You're insane," you sputter, treading a safe distance away. "You almost landed on me."

He slicks his hair back with both hands, grin still wide. “I knew you’d move.”

“You hoped I’d move.”

“Same thing,” he says easily, floating on his back now, arms stretched wide like he belongs here. Like the ocean’s always been waiting for him.

You stare at him. You should be mad. You should be furious—he scared the breath out of you, risked everything on a whim, shattered the calm of the night like it meant nothing.

But all that comes out is a laugh.

A real one. Unfiltered. It bubbles up from your chest before you can stop it—light, surprised, almost giddy. You cover your mouth too late, shoulders shaking.

Gojo blinks. Then stares.

And slowly, that ridiculous grin fades—not fully, but enough for something softer to settle in its place. Something honest.

“That,” he says, voice quieter now, “is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

Because he says it like he means it. Like your laugh just rewired something in him. Like that sound—the one you didn’t even mean to give—touched a part of him no one else ever has.

You duck under the surface for a moment, just long enough to cool the flush spreading across your skin. When you rise again, he’s still watching you. Not smug. Not proud.

Just there. Floating in your world. Not asking for anything. Not running.

“I thought humans were supposed to take,” you say quietly, your voice barely above the lapping waves. “Steal. Want. Use.”

His brows lift just slightly, water beading on his lashes. “Maybe I’m just bad at it.”

You shake your head. “No. You’re just… different.”

You don’t know why you say it. But it’s true. You’ve known it for a while now.

He’s not perfect. He’s a little reckless, probably too brave for his own good, but he gives. Things that matter. His attention. His time. The necklace still hanging at your throat. Your laugh.

He blinks salt from his eyes, and when he speaks, it’s soft. “So are you.”

You look at him for a long time, silence pulling between you like a tide.

You were supposed to drag him under. That was the plan. Lure, tempt, drown. Like you’ve done before. Like you were made to do.

But now… all you want is to float beside him, just like this. For a little longer. Maybe forever.

Gojo floats a little closer. He’s still grinning, but it’s softer now. Less playful, more… thoughtful. The kind of look he only gets when he forgets to be loud. When the walls slip and all that’s left is the man underneath—tired, curious, dangerous, and kind.

His voice breaks the hush, low and deliberate. “Can I ask you something?”

You nod.

“Why haven’t you pulled me under yet?”

The question sinks like stone.

You don’t answer at first. Not with words. Just look at him—really look—and see all the reasons you haven’t. The way he watches you like you’re not a threat but a wonder. The way he gives without expecting. The way his voice softens around your name like it’s something sacred.

“I was supposed to,” you admit. “The first time I saw you. You were an easy mark.”

He lets out a low breath, water curling around his fingers. “But?”

You shake your head. “You smiled at me. Like I was real. Like I wasn’t just something to catch.”

His eyes flicker. Something shifts behind them—something too big to name.

You don’t notice how close he’s gotten until your hands brush beneath the surface. Neither of you moves away.

You feel the pull of it now, subtle and steady. Not magic. Just you, drawn toward him like the tide.

“Are you gonna kiss me?” you ask, the words barely audible.

Gojo tilts his head. “I want to,” he says.

You blink. The breath in your lungs feels heavy, thick with the weight of everything this isn’t supposed to be. You shouldn’t let this happen. You shouldn’t. But you nod.

And then he waits.

He waits while the space between you shrinks, while the water ripples with tension. He waits with his gaze fixed on you, patient, like this is the first thing he’s ever wanted badly enough not to rush.

You lean in—barely. Enough to close half the distance.

He mirrors you.

It’s slow. So slow. One inch, then another. Close enough now that your noses almost brush. Close enough to feel his breath against your lips, warm despite the chill of the ocean.

Your eyes flick to his. There’s no trick there. No hunger. Just want.

And when you close the gap, it’s not a crash. It’s a pull.

The kiss is gentle, almost shy. Like you’re both afraid to break it. Like neither of you expected this to feel like something holy.

And then—something cracks.

Maybe it’s the way you tilt your head just slightly, or the way his fingers lift from the water and find your jaw like it’s instinct. But the moment shifts, deepens.

He kisses you again, firmer this time.

His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, thumb skimming along your skin, warm and reverent. Your body leans into his before you can think to stop it, the sea curling around you both like it’s trying to pull you closer.

He exhales against your mouth—half a sigh, half a groan—like he’s been holding this in for far too long.

And then he kisses you properly.

Deep. Slow. Like he’s learning you one breath at a time.

You feel his other hand slide along your side beneath the surface, barely touching, not pushing—just there, steady, grounding. Your fingers curl around his wrist. Not to stop him. Just to feel him there.

You move closer to him, body pressed flush against him. The heat comes quiet, curling up your spine, pooling low. Not wild, not frantic—just consuming.

He pulls back just slightly, just to breathe—but his forehead rests against yours, and his mouth still ghosts over yours like he’s not ready to let go.

Neither are you.

“Wow,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “That was…”

“I know,” you whisper.

His thumb traces your cheek again, slower now. You’re both breathing hard, but it’s not tension anymore—it’s something else. Something softer.

He laughs, just a puff of breath against your mouth.

And then he leans in again—not a kiss, not quite. Just his nose brushing yours. His forehead still pressed to yours. Like he can’t bear to be further away than this.

No more talking. Just warmth. His hands on you. Yours on him. Water cradling you both.

Like the sea finally made space for two.

The waters of your chamber are still. For once.

No humming currents. No idle song. Just the soft flicker of bioluminescent light playing across the curved walls of coral and stone. You hover near the ceiling, resting against a smooth shelf of shell, the sea-cushioned silence wrapping around you like a second skin.

The charm at your chest glows faintly. Steady. Unyielding.

It hasn't dimmed since your last meeting with him.

You close your fingers over it—try to will it still.

A shadow passes the outer threshold. Then a ripple, soft and polite, before a familiar voice filters in: “Forgive me, my lady. Your father has asked for you.”

You don’t move right away. Just tilt your head slightly, slow and deliberate.

“Did he say what for?”

The palace stirs as you pass through.

You swim down the coral corridor with practiced grace, head held high, ignoring the way the other courtiers glance your way—curious, cautious, always whispering behind their hands.

The throne room opens like a cavern—high and echoing, walls pulsing with soft light from the sponges embedded in the stone. The court has gathered, a loose semicircle of officials and guards trailing the edges of the chamber.

And there he sits. Your father. Tall and silver-scaled, eyes like polished obsidian. He watches as you approach.

You stop a few lengths from the throne, posture poised.

“You summoned me,” you say.

A pause. The room is quiet.

Then, his voice: “I did.”

He shifts on the throne, steepling his long fingers, scarred from past wars.

“There’s been talk,” he says slowly, “of a ship lingering far too close to our waters.”

Your chest tightens.

He meets your eyes.

“And I’ve heard whispers,” he continues, voice sharper now, “that its captain has not drowned.”

Your spine stays straight, but you feel the flicker of heat pulse at your chest. Not from fear. From that cursed charm. Still glowing. Still betraying you.

You school your features. “Plenty of ships pass through our waters. If they’ve not drowned, perhaps they’ve not been foolish.”

Your father’s gaze sharpens. “Or perhaps they’ve been warned.”

The air—no, the water—tightens. Just slightly.

You don’t flinch. “I wouldn’t waste my song on men who pose no threat.”

A silence blooms after that. Heavy. Testing.

Then he leans forward, voice dropping low. “There are rumors, child. A human—a pirate—who’s seen you more than once. Who still lives.”

You say nothing.

His eyes narrow. “If a human captain resists a siren’s call, it invites suspicion. If a siren chooses not to call—”

He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.

“I have not failed my duty,” you say, calm, cool, perfectly composed.

“But you haven’t fulfilled it, either,” he counters. “Not yet.”

Your jaw tightens. A flicker of motion at your side—a ripple of your tail.

Your father leans back again, like he’s weighing something.

Then “You have until the next moonrise. Handle it.”

He doesn’t say what “it” means. He doesn’t have to.

He’s already there when you emerge.

He’s sprawled out on the sand like he’s got nowhere else to be—hands behind his head, boots kicked off, one knee bent lazily as he stares up at the sky. The sea breeze stirs his white hair, moonlight catching in the strands like glass.

When he hears the water shift, he turns his head and grins.

“Took you long enough,” he calls. “Was starting to think you’d moved on to prettier sailors.”

You roll your eyes, swimming closer. “You’d be the last to believe someone prettier than you exists.”

His grin widens. “True. But flattery from a sea goddess? I’ll take it.”

You laugh. Light. Smooth. Just like always.

You even smile up at him, that soft little tilt he’s grown too fond of. It feels easy—almost too easy—to slip back into it.

He starts walking. Slow, unhurried, straight into the sea.

The waves rush over his ankles, then knees, soaking his rolled-up trousers until the fabric clings to him. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t hesitate.

“Most men run from the sea,” you murmur, brow lifting.

He grins. “Most men don’t get invited back.”

You let him come closer.

The water laps at his hips now, warm and slow between you. He stops just short of where you hover—still half-submerged, hair trailing like silk beneath the surface.

“So,” he says lightly, “do I pass the test?”

You hum. “That depends.”

“On?”

You tilt your head. “Whether you plan on drowning.”

He huffs a laugh, eyes flicking over your face, then down to your fingers curled lightly against the water’s surface. The charm at your chest pulses faintly, soft as a heartbeat.

“I think,” he says, voice gentler now, “if I were going to drown… I’d want it to be like this.”

And for a moment—just one—you forget what you are. What he is.

You forget the crown in your blood, your father’s cold warning, the weight of your song.

There’s only him. Standing in the sea like he belongs there. Looking at you like you do.

You don’t move.

Neither does he.

The water is still between you—warm and golden in the fading light. His eyes hold yours like they’re tethered, soft at the edges, full of something that makes your chest ache.

Then—

He flicks water at you.

You blink, stunned.

A single splash, right to your cheek.

Gojo grins. “You were looking too serious.”

You sputter, flicking water right back—quick and sharp, right between his eyes.

He laughs. Loud, real, head tipping back as droplets catch on his lashes. “Oh, is that how it is?”

You duck half-under the surface, sending a wave his way with a flick of your tail. He gasps, mock-betrayed, and retaliates with both hands—splashes big enough to soak your hair again. The charm at your chest pulses with warmth, steady now, matching the laughter bubbling out of you.

You’re not thinking of your father.

Not of the sea. Not even of what this could cost.

Just this—this moment.

Him. You. The light in his eyes. And the sound of your laughter rising above the waves.

The waves settle.

Laughter fades into the hush of the sea, and slowly, the two of you drift back toward the shore—water clinging to you like a second skin.

You lie on your back just where the sand meets the tide, the cool grains molding to your elbows. Gojo flops down beside you, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath, hair sticking out in damp tufts.

For a while, neither of you speak.

Just the sound of waves. Wind. The far-off cry of a gull.

Above, the sky stretches wide and black, scattered with stars.

And yet you can’t enjoy it. Not fully. Not with your heart tight in your chest.

He turns his head lazily toward you, voice soft. “You're quiet.”

You swallow. “I’m thinking.”

He hums, teasing lightly. “Should I be worried?”

But you don’t laugh. You don't even smile.

And that’s when he sits up a little, his brows drawing together as he watches you more closely.

“What’s wrong?”

You don’t want to ruin this moment. You really don’t. But the words come anyway, soft and shaking at the edges.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The look on his face flickers—surprise first, then something more unreadable. “You’re serious.”

You nod slowly, arms curled around your tail. “You don’t understand what you’re stepping into. What I am. What this is.”

He doesn’t interrupt. Just listens, quiet and still.

You keep your eyes down, watching your fingers press into the wet sand.

“I was supposed to lure you in,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “Draw you under. That’s what we do.”

Your voice trembles, and for the first time in a long time, you feel something unfamiliar tighten in your chest.

“But then you gave me that necklace,” you continue. “And you didn’t take anything in return. You just… smiled at me like I was someone.”

A shaky breath escapes you.

“And now I don’t know how to stop this.”

Gojo’s face softens—but he doesn’t rush in. Doesn’t try to fix it. Just lets you speak.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” you whisper, finally looking at him. “But I think—”

You stop. Bite your lip.

“I think I’m falling. For you,” you finish, so quietly you’re not sure he even hears it. “And I don’t know what that means for either of us.”

He doesn’t speak right away.

Just watches you.

Then, with that same gentle steadiness, he shifts closer, brushing the wet hair from your face with fingers that tremble just slightly.

“Let me stay. Just for now,” he says quietly. “Just… don’t push me away.”

You blink, breath catching. You hesitate.

And then, slowly, you lean into him. Just enough that your shoulder brushes his. Just enough that you feel his warmth.

The tide laps gently at your fins. Above, the stars keep watching.

And below them, you let yourself fall—just a little more.

You don’t realize how close he’s gotten until the distance between you feels like nothing. Just breath and warmth.

Your fingers twitch where they rest in the sand—close enough to his that the edges brush.

He doesn’t move. So you do.

Slowly, you turn your hand, the tips of your fingers grazing the back of his. And when he still doesn’t flinch, you let them slide higher, curling gently around his wrist.

You reach up with your other hand, brush his hair back from his face, and your fingers linger—just a moment longer than they should.

He exhales, slow. Careful. Like he's scared one wrong move will send you swimming off into the dark.

But you're not running. Not this time.

His hand lifts to your cheek—hesitating, then settling like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His thumb strokes the curve of your jaw, and you tilt into it, letting your eyes flutter shut.

Then his lips are on yours.

Not greedy. Not rushed. Just soft.

Like he wants to memorize the shape of you this way. The taste of salt on your lips. The quiet catch in your breath.

Your amulet pulses low and warm against your collarbone, steady as your heartbeat.

When the kiss deepens, it’s unspoken permission. His hand tangles in your hair, your fingers sliding up his chest, feeling the damp fabric clinging to skin.

It shouldn’t happen.

But it is.

And gods—neither of you wants it to stop.

The kiss deepens—soft to slow, slow to aching. Every brush of his mouth against yours says please don’t send me away yet.

Your fingers trace the line of his jaw, then slide down his throat, feeling the heat under his skin. He exhales shakily when your hand flattens against his chest, just over his racing heart.

His own hands hesitate at first, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to want this much. But when you don’t stop him—when you lean into his touch like it’s the only thing anchoring you—he gives in.

One hand cradles your face, the other drifts down, tracing the edge of your ribs where skin meets the soft iridescence of your scales.

He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips.

"If I’m leaving, at least let me have this."

You open your eyes. He’s looking at you like he already knows how this ends—and wants this moment anyway.

Your charm pulses once—bright and warm between you.

You nod, barely.

And that’s all he needs.

His hands grow bolder. Slower. Reverent. Like he wants to map every inch of you to memory. His lips trail down your neck, lingering at the curve of your shoulder, your collarbone. Your fingers thread into his damp hair, tugging just slightly, urging him closer.

He groans low against your skin. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shake your head, breathless. “Don’t.”

The moonlight catches the water still clinging to your skin, to his. Everything feels soft. Dreamlike.

Your bodies press together—heat against heat, breath catching, mouths seeking. It’s not rushed. It’s intentional.

And when his hand grazes the edge of your hip—where scales shimmer under his palm—and you shift closer with a soft gasp, he kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to.

Because maybe it is.

Your back arches under him, breath trembling. His mouth finds the center of your throat and lingers there, reverent, like he can feel your pulse answering his own.

Then—

“Wait,” you whisper.

His head lifts instantly. He’s off of you in a heartbeat, but still so close, lips parted, breath warm against your cheek. Hands hovering, eyes searching yours.

He doesn’t ask why. He just waits. Because that’s the kind of man he is.

You sit up slowly, water slipping off your skin, your tail coiled beneath you. You reach out, cup his face gently in both palms—and then cover his eyes with one.

He stiffens, just for a second. But he trusts you.

Your amulet glows.

It begins soft—just a pulse, like a heartbeat. Then brighter. Warmer. It blooms across your collarbone, pulsing with something deeper than magic.

When you remove your hand from his eyes, they open slowly—blinking against the moonlight, the shimmer still lingering in the air.

And what he sees leaves him speechless.

Your tail is gone. And in its place there’s a pair of legs.

Smooth and bare.

Skin kissed with salt and moonlight, knees curled delicately beneath you. You’re still you—but softer. Closer. Changed.

For him.

His mouth parts slightly. Not in lust. In awe.

“Gods,” he breathes.

You smile, just barely. “Better?”

He swallows hard. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” you say, quiet. “I want you.”

And that’s it. That’s all he can take.

He’s on you again—but slower now. Like he’s been handed something fragile. His hands slide up your thighs, careful, reverent, like he can’t believe you’re real. His mouth meets yours with heat, with hunger—but still gentle. Still asking.

And this time, when you press your chest to his and pull him in with both hands, there’s nothing between you.

Only skin. Only breath. Only wanting.

The glow at your throat flares again—hotter now. Brighter.

It pulses against your chest, steady at first. Then quicker.

Gojo pulls back just enough to look down at it, breathless, the tips of his fingers still ghosting along your skin. The glow matches the rhythm of your breathing—no, your arousal.

He laughs under his breath, something low and amazed, eyes wide as he watches the way your amulet throbs brighter each time his palm smooths over your skin. “It responds to touch,” he murmurs, like he’s just discovered treasure. “To you.”

His hand moves, slow and steady—gliding up from your waist, fingers splaying across your ribs until they rest just beneath your breasts. His touch lingers.

And then, with a careful brush of his fingers, he nudges the coverings away. You shiver—not from cold, but from how he looks at you.

He doesn’t rush. Just grazes his palm over one breast, watching the charm flare in response. His thumb circles over your nipple gently, and your breath catches. Your eyes flutter half-shut, hips shifting just slightly toward him.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs.

You almost want to laugh—except he’s looking at you like he’s in awe, like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and it makes your pulse skip.

His hand drifts down, fingers mapping the line of your hip. Over your thigh. Skin to skin, gliding slow.

And then lower.

He watches you the whole time—eyes dark, steady, waiting for the moment your body reacts. His hand dips between your thighs, and the charm flares, sharp and brilliant and hot.

You gasp—eyes fluttering closed, hips tipping into his hand.

“Gods,” he breathes. “That’s incredible.”

His fingers tease, slow and deliberate, and you feel your thoughts unravel with every stroke. Every touch echoes in your core—and in the gem at your chest, glowing like a heartbeat, wild and bright.

“Is this…” he leans closer, lips brushing your jaw, “...what you want?”

You can barely speak—but you nod, eyes glazed, back arching toward him.

His fingers slip lower, parting you with reverence and care.

And there—there it is.

That first brush over your clit, light and exploratory, has your hips jerking and your lips parting in a soft gasp. The charm at your collar flares like it’s tethered to the aching beat between your legs—responding with each subtle throb, each flutter of sensation.

“Shit,” he whispers, mesmerized.

He strokes again, more deliberately now—just the pads of two fingers sliding through your slick, testing how wet you already are. The gem flashes again, and your head falls back with a breathless whimper. Your thighs twitch beneath his touch, eyes hazy as he watches you squirm. Then—gently, carefully—he sinks a single finger inside.

The charm flares so bright it casts shadows along the shore.

You’re impossibly warm around him—soft, tight, slick with want—and when he curls his finger just right, your body clenches, a pulse deep inside that matches the flickering of the charm exactly.

His breath catches. “You feel—fuck—you feel perfect.”

He moves slowly, drawing that finger out, then easing a second in with practiced patience. The stretch makes you moan, your hand flying to his arm like you need something to hold onto. He leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Breathe, angel. You’re doing so good.”

The glow brightens with every pump of his fingers, every soft squelch of wet heat. The deeper he strokes, the harder your body responds—hips rising into him, breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

And the amulet pulses in perfect rhythm with your cunt.

Throb. Glow. Throb. Glow. Throb.

“Can’t believe this thing’s showing me everything you’re feeling,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear. “You like this? Like my fingers inside you?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak—your body already trembling, on the edge.

And he feels it.

The way your walls start to flutter, how the glow grows unstable—flickering wildly now, close to bursting.

“Let go for me,” he whispers, dragging his thumb up to circle your clit just once—soft and perfect.

And you do.

You fall apart with a cry, back arching, thighs shaking, body clenching around his fingers as the charm explodes in a radiant wave of golden light.

He watches it all—spellbound.

Then leans in to kiss you—slow and deep and full of heat that says we’re not done yet.

He watches your cunt flutter around nothing, charm still flickering weakly at your throat like it’s trying to recover from what just happened. You’re limp beneath him, chest rising and falling, skin shining with salt and moonlight.

“Didn’t know you could sound that sweet,” he breathes, dragging his fingers up your thigh, smearing your slick along your skin like he wants to mark you with it. “Might lose my mind if you do that again.”

You try to say something back—something sharp, something teasing—but all that comes out is a soft, shattered whimper.

He groans.

Low and ragged and wrecked.

His head drops for a second like he’s trying to collect himself—but you feel it. The tension in his body, the restraint snapping thin. He looks at you, eyes blown wide, lips parted.

And then—“Fuck this.”

He shifts back onto his knees, still between your thighs, eyes raking over your glowing body as he tugs at his soaked shirt. The fabric sticks to his skin, but he doesn’t care. Just wrestles it off and tosses it somewhere behind him, hair even messier now, chest rising fast.

You blink up at him—bare-chested now, sea-glossed skin kissed with salt and moonlight. He looks wild like this. Like he could devour you whole.

And still not have enough.

Then comes the belt—fingers fumbling, desperate. He mutters a curse, half-laughs through it, then undoes his pants, shoving them down with just as much frustration. You catch a glimpse of him, long and heavy and twitching with need.

He kicks the rest of it off and lowers himself over you again, your slick thighs pressing to his hips, the heat between you crackling.

And oh, the moan he lets out when your bare chest presses to his.

“That’s better,” he whispers, forehead against yours, hips rocking once more, cock sliding between your folds. “So much better.”

He looks down at the glow between your breasts, at the way your body responds to his bare skin like it’s craving it.

And he grins.

“Think your magic likes me.”

And then he’s back over you—fully bare, hot and heavy against your slick, glowing skin. “Gods,” he murmurs. “You’re unreal.”

You whine as he settles between your thighs, guiding himself to your entrance. His cock is thick, flushed, glistening with precum. The tip nudges at your folds—hot, insistent—and your breath catches in your throat.

“You can take it,” he murmurs, hand sliding up to cup your cheek. “Already so wet for me.”

He starts to push in. Slow. So slow you feel every inch. Every stretch. Your back arches and your mouth parts in a silent gasp. He groans low in his throat, dropping his head to your shoulder as he sinks deeper.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hisses.

You’re trembling beneath him—clutching at his arms, moaning helplessly as he bottoms out.

And once he’s fully inside, he stills. Not out of mercy. But reverence.

“Look at you,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to see your face, the glow between your breasts starting to flare again. “All stretched out just for me.”

He rocks into you once. Slow. Deep.

You mewl, legs instinctively trying to wrap around his waist—and the glow pulses brighter.

“Gods—let me see how much you want it, sweetheart.”

He sets a rhythm that’s deep and steady, hips rolling into yours with that perfect pressure that has you melting under him. One hand tangled in your hair, the other on your thigh, pushing it open further so he can fuck you deeper.

And he talks the whole time.

So sweet. So filthy.

“Taking me so good. So perfect inside.” “You were made for this, weren’t you? For me.” “Look at you. So needy, so pretty.”

You’re babbling now—half his name, half nonsense, your hands scrabbling at his back like you need to anchor yourself.

He watches the way your lips part, the way your lashes flutter.

You feel the stretch as he pushes in again—inch by inch, deliberate—like he’s savoring the way you tremble beneath him.

“Shit—too much?” he asks, voice tight, lips brushing yours.

You shake your head, a breathy moan breaking free.

“N-no—don’t stop—fuck, ’Toru!”

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours. His hands grip your hips like he’s anchoring himself there, holding you still as he sinks into the feeling of being completely surrounded by you.

“Feels so fucking good,” he whispers. “You—you feel so good.”

He pulls back just enough to thrust in again—slow, smooth, deep—and your body arches.

The sound you make is soft, helpless.

He does it again. And again.

You’re gasping now, fingernails digging into his back, every roll of his hips sending sparks down your spine.

“Yeah? That what you needed?” he murmurs against your throat. “Want me to fuck you slow like this, baby? Let you feel every inch?”

Your only answer is a broken moan—and he grins.

His rhythm stays steady. Deep. Each thrust has your body trembling, your cunt clenching so tight around him that he shudders.

His groans grow louder. He doesn’t care if his crew wakes up from it. Can’t even think about it now, not with the way you clench around him like that.

“Gods, I’m not gonna last,” he admits, voice hoarse. “Not when you’re like this—tight little thing, crying under me—fuck—”

You try to speak, to beg for more, for faster, for anything, but your brain’s not working anymore. All you can do is cling to him, ride out the wave of pleasure crashing over and over—

And he feels it.

Feels the way you start to shake, the way your breath hitches.

He grabs your hand, laces your fingers with his, and presses your arm into the sand beside your head.

“Come for me,” he whispers, voice soft—almost reverent now. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

His thrusts grow more desperate—less patient, more need—until your body tightens beneath him with a stuttering gasp and you fall apart all over again.

Your orgasm hits hard. A cry breaks from your throat, your body arching as you clench around him—pulsing, shaking, stars exploding behind your eyes.

Gojo groans as you come—low and rough and helpless.

“Holy shit—fuck, that’s it, that’s my girl—”

He thrusts once, twice more before pulling out and shooting his load all over your stomach and chest with a broken sound, his fist tight around his cock, hips twitching.

And then silence. Heavy breathing.

His lips brush your temple.

“Still with me?” he asks, voice hoarse but soft.

You’re barely breathing.

Chest rising in little, uneven gasps, thighs trembling, your hand still tangled in his hair like you forgot how to let go.

Gojo doesn’t move at first.

He just stays there, nose brushing your cheek, lips parted against your skin. You can feel the beat of his heart where his chest rests over yours, still racing.

He presses a kiss to your jaw.

Then another, to the corner of your mouth. His hand slips down to soothe the shake in your thighs, thumb grazing your hip.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You okay?”

You nod, blinking dazedly, lips barely able to form the words.

He huffs a soft laugh, curling beside you, arm hooked under your head to ease you into his chest. He’s warm. Still a little damp. Still naked. Still pressing soft kisses wherever he can reach.

You manage a breathless smile, curling closer. His hand trails down your spine, settling low on your back like he needs to keep touching you.

And for a while, that’s all it is.

Touch. Breath. Silence.

Then “I should get you cleaned up,” he murmurs. “You’ve got sand in places sand was never meant to be.”

You laugh—softly, tiredly—and he grins like he just won something.

He shifts, kneeling between your legs, coaxing you to sit up. His hands are gentle, wiping away the mess, brushing the hair from your face, fingers lingering everywhere like he can’t believe you’re real.

And when he wraps you in his discarded shirt, helps you back into the shallows to rinse off, he does it all like you’re something sacred.

Afterwards, he’s dressed again—barely dry, shirt wrinkled and hair a mess, but somehow still glowing in that effortless, infuriating way. He settles next to you, arms folded behind his head, eyes on the stars.

You lie beside him in silence, your body still humming from everything he gave you. Everything you let him give you.

Then he says it, so simply, like it costs him nothing at all: “Stay.”

You turn your head.

His eyes are closed, voice soft. “Just a little longer.”

You don’t answer. You just stay.

You stay as the moon climbs higher, casting silver light across his face. You stay until his breathing evens out, until his eyes can’t stay open any longer and until the smirk fades from his lips, replaced by something softer. Peaceful.

You reach out, brushing your fingers through his hair once—just once.

Then you rise, slow and silent, not daring to look back. The sand is cool beneath your feet as you cross to the water’s edge. Each step feels heavier than the last.

When your toes meet the sea, you pause. Your hand lifts to your chest.

The amulet pulses—soft and bright.

One more step.

The glow flares as your legs shift, flesh transforming back into scaled fin, your body easing into the current like it belongs there.

You look back only once.

He’s still there. Still asleep. Still smiling, just a little.

And then you sink beneath the surface—silent, alone, and glowing like you’re breaking apart from the inside out.

The ocean is quiet today.

Too quiet.

No schools of fish flitting past your chambers. No kelp swaying with the currents. Even the water feels heavier somehow, like the weight of what you did has sunk into the sea itself.

You don't sleep that night. Not really.

You drift. You float.

You try not to think about his hands, his mouth, the way your charm glowed for him like it had never glowed before.

But the sea doesn’t forget.

By morning, a summons arrives.

No explanation. Just a stiff nod from the attendant, eyes carefully averted, voice flat:

“Your father wants to see you.”

You already know what for.

Still, you school your face into something composed as you swim through the winding halls, past the guards who can barely meet your gaze. You feel the glimmer of your charm even now—dulled, but not dark. Not completely.

Your father is waiting.

Throned, still, massive. His presence fills the chamber before his voice ever does.

“You broke the law,” he says.

You lift your chin, but say nothing.

He rises—slowly, deliberately—and you feel the pressure of his disappointment before he’s even crossed the floor. “With him. A human. You let him touch you.” His eyes narrow, ancient and sharp. “You let him claim you.”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. Not in denial. Not even in shame. But in memory.

Because you remember the way Gojo held you like you were something to be worshipped, not stolen. Not claimed.

Still, you say nothing. And your silence seals it.

Your father exhales, slow. “Then you leave me no choice.”

His trident slams to the ocean floor with a crack that echoes through your bones.

“There is only one thing left to sever the bond you’ve created.”

Your breath stutters in your throat.

He looks down at you. “You will return to the surface. And you will bring me his heart.”

You don’t move. You don’t speak.

His words hang heavy in the water, thick as blood.

Your heart thunders, but your voice is barely a whisper. “…No.”

He narrows his eyes. “You would defy me?”

“I—please.” The word leaves you before you can stop it. Your hands rise, open in front of you. “You don’t understand. He’s not like the others. He didn’t take anything—he gave.”

“A trinket,” your father snaps. “A distraction.”

You shake your head. “It wasn’t just that.”

Silence follows. Deep. Crushing.

His eyes bore into you like the weight of the entire sea. But still, you try again.

“Let him go,” you whisper. “Please. If I made a mistake, punish me. But don’t—don’t hurt him.”

Your father stares for a long, still moment. And then, he speaks again. Quietly this time.

“If you cannot do it,” he says, “I have men who will.”

“No—” you surge forward, falling to your knees before him. “Please, Father. I’ll stay here. I won’t see him again. I’ll do whatever you ask, but don’t send anyone after him—don’t kill him.”

You’re shaking. You can feel it. The way your voice trembles. The way the charm around your neck flickers in protest.

But your father doesn’t soften.

He looks down at you—not as his daughter, but as something lesser. A traitor. A disappointment.

“You broke the laws that bind our kind. You let a human inside your mind, your body, your power.” He leans forward. “This is not about love. This is about balance. And you have tipped it.”

You go quiet.

Because you know then—he’s already made up his mind.

Gojo Satoru is as good as dead.

Unless you get to him first.

The moment you rise from the floor, ready to run—he moves faster.

A wave of pressure slams down around you. Not painful, but impossible to push through. You twist, try to swim forward, but it holds you in place like invisible chains.

“I know you, daughter,” he says, voice colder now, more ancient. “I know what you’d do.”

Your eyes widen.

“Don’t,” you breathe. “Please—”

“You would betray your kingdom for one man,” he says. “I won’t let you.”

You surge forward, desperate, heart thudding so loud you swear he can hear it through the water. But the force field remains. Sealed. Final. “Father.”

He turns his back to you. His guards step in. “Lock her in the coral chamber,” he commands.

“No!” Your scream is swallowed by the sea. “Please, don’t do this—he’ll think I left—he’ll think I meant to—”

But your father doesn’t look back. Not even once.

And as the guards grab your arms, drag you through the halls, you realize something far worse than being punished: Satoru will never see this coming.

The coral chamber is silent but for the soft hum of the magic holding it sealed. It’s not a prison in the traditional sense—but it might as well be. The walls pulse with a faint light, ancient enchantments woven into every inch of the reef.

And then a ripple. You spin, heart in your throat, and see her.

Your sister floats just outside the barrier, arms crossed, gaze sharp. “You look like you’re going to pass out,” she says coolly. “Did you think you could hide it forever?”

You exhale shakily. “He wasn’t supposed to find out.”

“I told you,” she snaps, gliding closer, her face stern. “You were reckless. You fell for a land-strider. You gave him your power. Do you have any idea what that means for us?”

“I didn’t give him anything!” you hiss. “It wasn’t like that.”

Her silence is pointed.

You run a hand through your hair, frustrated, angry, terrified all at once. “He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t want to take. He saw me.”

Her jaw tightens.

“And now he’s going to die for it,” you whisper, voice cracking. You reach the edge of the barrier, fingertips barely brushing the glowing wall. “Please. Please, I need to warn him.”

She doesn’t answer. You see it in her face—the doubt, the war she’s fighting behind her eyes. “Do you love him?” she asks finally.

You hesitate. “…Yes.”

Her features flicker, soften just a little. “You know what our father will do to me if I help you.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” you whisper. “But if you don’t, he’ll never even see it coming. He’ll think I abandoned him.”

Silence stretches long between you. Then she breathes out through her nose. “You always were the reckless one.”

And her hand reaches forward. The barrier parts, just a crack. “Go. Now.”

You grip her wrist before she can pull away completely. “I can’t leave,” you say, voice trembling. “He’ll know. He’ll tighten the wards. But please. Just find him. Tell him I didn’t abandon him. Tell him I tried.”

Your sister hesitates. “…I don’t even know what he looks like.”

You give her the faintest smile. “Tall. White hair. Blue eyes. Stupidly pretty. He waits near the tide line at night.”

Her lips twitch. “Sounds irritating.”

“He is,” you breathe out. “But I—he matters.”

Another pause. And then she nods. “I’ll find him.”

You watch her disappear into the deep. You’re left with nothing but the steady pulse of the chamber’s magic and the wild pounding of your heart.

The tide laps gently against the rocks. Gojo sits near the edge, legs drawn up, his arms resting over his knees. The stars scatter across the surface like they’re watching him wait.

He checks the horizon again. Still no sign of you.

It’s the third night in a row.

His easy smile is gone now, replaced with a quiet furrow between his brows. “Starting to think I scared you off,” he mutters, trying to sound light. It falls flat.

Then a shimmer breaks the water. He jerks upright, hopeful.

But it’s not you. A different figure rises—eyes too familiar, but colder. Cautious.

His confusion lasts only a second. “You’re not her.”

“No,” she says. “I’m her sister.” She studies him, as if weighing whether he’s worth the risk she just took. “She didn’t leave because she wanted to,” she says. “Our father found out. He locked her away before she could warn you.”

Gojo goes still. The next beat of his heart is loud enough to drown out the sea.

“She tried,” her sister adds, voice quiet. “She begged.”

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. Just stares out at the water, jaw tight, something in his chest twisting painfully. Then, slowly—he stands.

“…Where is she?” Gojo takes a step toward the tide. “I’m going after her.”

She blinks. “Are you serious?”

His jaw is set. “You just said she’s locked away. I’m not letting her sit there thinking I gave up on her.”

“Okay,” she huffs, flicking a bit of water off her wrist, “and how exactly do you plan to breathe underwater?”

He pauses.

“…Minor setback.”

“Minor—” She cuts herself off, dragging a hand down her face. “Gods, she really would fall for someone like you.”

He flashes a grin. “Thanks.”

“Not a compliment.”

But the smile fades quickly. “I mean it. I have to do something.”

She regards him for a moment. He’s serious. Really serious. No smug teasing, no flirtation—just that unshakable look in his eyes that tells her he’d throw himself into the ocean for you without hesitation.

“She wanted to warn you,” she says more softly now. “She tried. But our father… he knows. And if he catches you near our waters again—he won’t show mercy.”

Gojo’s mouth tightens. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“Then be afraid for her.”

That silences him.

Your sister crosses her arms, not cruel—just resigned. “The only way you keep her safe now is by staying away.”

“…So that’s it?” he asks hoarsely. “I just go? Pretend it never happened?”

“No,” she says, gentler now. “You remember it. Every moment of it. So does she.”

A long silence passes.

Then Gojo turns back to the shore. Shoulders stiff. Jaw clenched. He doesn’t look back when he walks away. But the ache he leaves in the sand stays long after the tide rolls in.

The ship creaks gently beneath their feet as the sails fill again with wind, the salt-stung breeze tugging at hair and loose shirts. They’ve set course for somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Gojo stands at the helm, one hand gripping the wood so tightly his knuckles pale. The horizon is just blue and endless, but he keeps staring, like he expects something to rise out of it. Like he’s hoping to catch one last glimpse of what he left behind.

Behind him, Shoko lights a cigarette and leans against the rail. “He’s been like that all morning.”

“More like all week,” Nanami mutters.

“Yuuji tried giving him an orange,” Nobara says, arms crossed. “Didn’t work.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are fixed on Gojo’s back. He sees the way his captain keeps shifting like he’s restless. Like he’s waiting for the sea to give something back.

“Did something happen on shore?” Shoko asks finally.

Yuuji plops down on a crate nearby, chewing absently on a strip of dried mango. “Did mystery girl dump him or something?”

Gojo doesn’t flinch. But his grip tightens. Slightly. Sharply. The tension in his shoulders is sudden and obvious—and enough for Shoko to groan under her breath and flick Yuuji on the back of the head. “Yuuji.”

“Seriously?” Nobara scowls.

“...What?” Yuuji says, rubbing the spot. “I was joking!”

Megumi exhales slowly. “Read the room. Or boat.”

Gojo still hasn’t said anything.

Nobara steps up beside him, quieter now. “You don’t have to tell us what happened.”

Gojo’s voice finally breaks through, low and flat, “I left her behind.”

Silence spreads like fog.

“I didn’t want to,” he adds, almost like he’s trying to convince himself. “I had to.”

Shoko crosses her arms. “Is she in danger?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Then—barely audible—“I don't know.”

And that’s all he says. No one jokes after that. Not even Yuuji.

The silence in your chambers has been so loud lately, it’s almost a relief when the door bursts open. Your sister rushes in, breathless, hair wild from swimming too fast. “They’re moving.”

You blink, still half-curled on the smooth stone floor, tail tucked beneath you like you were trying to disappear into it.

Her voice is breathless. Urgent. “The guards—Father’s men—they’re already close. Too close.”

Your heart stutters. “No,” you whisper, sitting upright fast, tail shifting beneath you, trembling. “He—he promised me time.”

“He never meant it,” she says, voice thin and breaking. “He just wanted you calm. You know how he is.”

The charm at your neck pulses once—weak and frightened. “How close?” Your voice comes out barely audible.

She hesitates. That alone is answer enough. “Close enough that you might not make it in time,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Your chest feels tight. Like the water around you is thickening, pressing in, suffocating. “I should’ve gone sooner,” you murmur, guilt blooming like ink in your gut. “I should’ve warned him.”

Your sister moves closer. “If you leave now—if you swim hard—maybe…”

You don’t respond. Because maybe isn’t good enough.

You move, slow at first, like your body is still catching up to what your mind already knows—then faster, faster, until you’re flying through the water, heart in your throat, pulse roaring in your ears.

Please, you think, over and over, please let me be wrong. Please let them be safe.

Because if you're not—if they aren’t—then it’s already too late.

The ocean is too quiet. Not calm—quiet.

The kind of stillness that makes even seasoned sailors look over their shoulders.

Gojo leans against the railing, forearms braced, eyes fixed on the horizon like he’s trying to find something he can’t name. His hair’s still damp from a morning swim he swore he wasn’t waiting around for. Salt clings to his skin. But his charm’s gone dim.

Behind him, the crew stirs with a strange energy.

Shoko’s brow is furrowed as she peers into the distance through a spyglass. “Feels wrong,” she mutters.

“Like storm weather?” Yuuji asks, quieter now.

“No,” Nanami says, voice low and firm. “Worse.”

Gojo turns finally, eyes narrowed just slightly. “How long until we’re ready to move?”

“Half hour, if the wind holds,” Megumi replies.

Gojo doesn’t nod. Doesn’t speak. Just looks out again—toward nothing—and feels something tightening in his chest.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but they can all tell:

Something’s coming.

The first jolt doesn’t come from above—it comes from below. A violent lurch rocks the ship, enough to knock Megumi sideways and send a bucket skittering across the deck.

“What the hell—?!” Shoko grabs the railing.

“Something hit the hull,” Nanami barks, already moving.

But it’s not just one strike. The second comes harder. Something slams into the underside of the ship with a dull, sickening crack, the kind of force that splinters wood. The whole vessel groans in protest.

“Below deck! Check for breach!” Geto shouts.

Gojo doesn’t move. He knows what this is. Not a storm. Not sea creatures.

This—this is retribution.

Another strike. This time from the side—something sharp tearing into the boards just above the waterline. A wave sloshes over the deck.

“Someone’s attacking us,” Nobara shouts, already drawing her blade.

“No ships in sight,” Shoko says, snapping the spyglass shut. “No sails. Nothing.”

“Because it’s not human,” Gojo says softly.

Everyone goes quiet. The water stills again. Only for a breath.

Then—something breaches. A dark, jagged figure shoots up from the depths, slicing the surface like a living spear before diving back under. Sleek. Fast. Not quite human.

There’s a chorus of shouted commands, boots thundering across wood, hands grabbing ropes and weapons. But Gojo doesn’t shout. He steps to the edge, staring down into the deep.

You promised him time. And he knows now—you never had it.

The first crash nearly knocks the mast loose. It hits low—beneath the waterline. A sickening jolt, wood shattering like ribs, sends barrels tumbling and sailors cursing.

“What the fuck was that?!” Nobara yells, grabbing onto the railing.

“Something’s under us!” Megumi shouts, already disappearing below deck.

Another impact. This one’s higher—near the stern. It scrapes deep, long, like claws carving into the hull.

The crew scrambles, chaos erupting.

“Plug the breach!” Nanami orders, voice like iron even as water pours through the cracks. “We’re taking on fast—!”

Then silence. Not peace. Stillness. It only lasts a second.

And then something launches from the water. It isn’t human. Slippery, scaled, and lean. Gills flaring. Hands like knives. A sea-creature—no, a hunter—lands on the deck.

“Starboard!” Shoko shouts, throwing a harpoon from behind a barrel. It pierces straight through the creature’s side—sends it flailing back over the railing with a screech.

But more are coming. Dozens. Fingers claw the sides of the ship. Webbed hands. Serrated weapons. Shifting forms dart just under the surface, circling like sharks.

Geto kicks a supply crate toward Yuuji. “Arm everyone—now!”

Nobara’s sword is slick with blood already. “I’ll gut every last one of you scaled fuckers!”

Gojo’s still at the edge. Frozen. Not with fear—but with a gut-deep knowing.

This isn’t a random attack. This is a message. From the sea. From the ones who’ve taken you.

Another clawed hand slams onto the railing beside him. He reacts fast—kicks it off, blade out, breath heavy.

Behind him, Nanami grabs rope and starts tying barrels together. “If we have to abandon ship—”

“We’re not abandoning shit,” Gojo snaps, spinning around. “We hold until we can’t.”

But even as he says it—his eyes flick toward the horizon. Still no sign of you. No soft laugh. No glowing charm.

Just the black, roiling sea.

The ship groans—loud, guttural, like it’s begging to stay afloat. They’re everywhere now. Climbing over the sides, pouring up from the sea. Not all of them fully formed—some half-human, half-monstrous, with fins instead of feet, barbed tails slashing through the air. The deck is slick with seawater and blood, bodies scrambling between debris and weapons, screams barely heard over the crash of the waves.

“Get back!” Nobara snarls, kicking a writhing thing off the main mast ladder.

“Too many!” Geto yells. “We won’t hold this!”

“I told you something felt wrong last night!” Shoko ducks under a spear, slices its wielder’s throat clean with a broken bottle. “Where the hell is Gojo?!”

Then they see him. At the far end of the deck. Standing above the chaos, coat soaked and sticking to his skin, hair clinging to his forehead, hands trembling just enough to show he’s running on pure adrenaline. His blade’s buried in one of the creatures—but he doesn’t look back at it. He’s looking at them. “Get to the rafts!” he shouts. “Now!”

“No—” Yuuji tries to argue, but Gojo’s already throwing a crate across the deck, knocking one of the attackers away from a half-loosened life raft. “We’re not leaving you!”

“Just go!” he shouts again, this time louder—eyes hard, desperate. “I’ll keep them off you!”

One of the creatures lunges at him from behind. He ducks it. Spins. Stabs. Another comes from the side. He doesn’t flinch—slams his elbow into its gills, kicks it back into the sea.

And when Geto opens his mouth to argue again—he sees it.

Gojo’s not planning on coming with them. Not yet. This happened because of him. He’s not letting anything happen to his crew—his family.

He’s buying them time. A distraction.

“Move!” Nanami grabs Yuuji by the collar, dragging him toward the rope ladders. “He made his choice—don’t waste it!”

The crew rushes to untie the rafts, each member fending off attacks as they scramble toward escape. The ship lurches again—one final groan from the keel, deep and ugly.

And through it all, Gojo fights. Face bloodied, body bruised from the impact of too many claws and spears. But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look away. He stays. Waiting. Hoping.

Because maybe you’ll come. Maybe you know.

The water is far too calm.

Too still for what should’ve been here—shouts, battle cries, fire and fury. All that’s left is quiet. A quiet so deep it feels wrong, like the ocean itself is holding its breath.

You break the surface, expecting chaos. Expecting the fight. But there’s only ruin.

Pieces of the ship drift past you—shards of splintered wood, torn cloth fluttering uselessly. A piece of railing, a shattered crate. The scent of smoke still clings faintly in the air.

You swim further in. Your eyes are wide, darting. Searching. Where is he?

You don’t realize you're whispering his name until your voice cracks.

The deeper you go, the worse it gets. A mast, snapped clean in two. Ropes hanging uselessly. No figures. No sound. Just wreckage.

And blood—thin, diluted trails fading into the tide.

You pass the remains of a lifeboat. Empty.

Your stomach turns. Your hands tremble, barely keeping you above water now.

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Just a hollow breath. The glow of your charm dims at your chest—flickering, like it, too, has begun to mourn. You turn slowly in the water.

And then you see it. A large, flat piece of the ship’s hull—still afloat, barely. And on it, unmoving, soaked through, arm dangling off the side—Gojo.

Your breath catches violently in your throat. You freeze. For a second, you don't move. Your body forgets how. Your mind goes blank. Then you’re flying through the water, limbs cutting through it as fast as you can move. You reach him and he’s still there. Still whole. Still—

“Satoru,” you whisper, pulling yourself up onto the debris, crawling to him on shaking arms. “Satoru—”

His skin is cold. Salt-stung. Pale.

You don’t know when you started shaking. Not from the cold, not from the sea.

From what rests in your arms.

You cradle him as best you can atop the broken hull, dragging his weight against you as your tail propels you toward shore. The waves are gentle now—cruelly so, as if mocking what the sea just took.

His head slumps against your shoulder. His skin is ice. No breath. No movement.

And still you keep going. You drag him onto the sand, gasping, coughing. The glow at your chest is frantic now—wild, erratic, pulsing like a heartbeat that doesn't belong to you anymore.

You drag him onto the sand, gasping, coughing. The glow at your chest is frantic now—wild, erratic, pulsing like a heartbeat that doesn't belong to you anymore.

You barely feel the shift until it’s already happening—muscle pulling, fins splitting apart, the weight of your tail giving way to something softer. The cool press of sand meets your knees. Your calves. Your feet. Legs.

Breath shudders out of you. You clutch at the charm, still burning warm against your palm, as if it’s trying to hold you together. But all you can see is him—still too still, too pale, the sea in his lungs and salt on his skin.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice hoarse, your hands pressed against his chest. “Please—” You don’t know who you’re begging. Him. The ocean. The gods. Anyone.

You press your forehead to his, still dripping, still trembling. Saltwater pools around his body. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t breathe.

He’s gone. You know it.

But you refuse.

“No,” you breathe, louder this time, almost choking on it. “No—I didn’t come this far for you to leave me. You can’t—,” your voice breaks. Your chest heaves.

You sit there for what feels like forever—holding him, cradling his lifeless face, brushing damp white strands from his eyes.

“You said you'd always find me,” you whisper. “Even if I was hiding beneath the sea.”

Silence answers.

And still you stay there, beside him, your charm glowing so desperately it hurts.

Until the sea turns quiet again. Until your tears dry with the wind. Until you're left with nothing but the weight of him—and the crushing ache of everything you didn’t get to say.

You’re not sure how long you’ve sat there.

Long enough for the stars to shift overhead. Long enough for the tide to creep higher around your legs. Long enough to feel the weight of him turning cold in your arms. And still, you can’t let go.

Your fingers slip to your charm. It’s still glowing faintly—soft white, barely flickering, as if mourning with you. You don’t know what you’re doing until it’s already in your palm, the knotted cord pooling there. Your voice is barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m so—so sorry.”

He’s heavy in your arms. Too still. His lips are blue. His skin is cold. You don’t realize you’re crying again until your tears hit his cheek.

Then you slip it around his neck, letting the charm settle over his chest, right where his heart should be beating.

The glow flickers. Soft. Faint. Then—bright.

But it’s not white. It’s blue. The deep, clear cerulean of his eyes. The kind of blue that once made you hesitate mid-sentence. The kind that lit up when he laughed. The kind that stared at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

And then his body jerks. He spasms, and your hands fly to his shoulders just as he twists onto his side, choking, convulsing. He gasps—wet and raw. Saltwater floods from his mouth, spilling over his lips. He coughs hard, body wracked with it, and you hold him through every shudder. “Breathe,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Please. Just breathe.”

Another violent cough. His fingers dig into the sand, weak and scrambling. His chest heaves. And finally—finally—he sucks in a breath. A real one. It’s ragged. Fragile. But it’s there.

His eyelids flutter open slowly. His gaze is unfocused at first—glassy, dazed. But then those eyes shift. Land on you. “…You,” he croaks, hoarse. Barely a whisper.

Your heart cracks open. You lean over him, one hand cradling his cheek, the other smoothing wet hair back from his face. “I thought I lost you,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak. Just stares up at you like he doesn’t quite believe it either. Like he’s still half between this world and the next.

“I’m here,” you say, softly. “I’m right here.”

And finally, his eyes flutter closed again—not unconscious, just overwhelmed. He lets out a weak breath and presses his forehead against your palm. And you sit there, holding him, while the waves keep rising.

You feel warmth slowly return to him—the cold fading from his skin, replaced by the heat of life. Of him. He’s curled against you on the sand, breathing shallow but steady, as the ocean hums quietly at your back. Neither of you speak for a long while.

Then, his fingers twitch—reach for yours. And when you lace them together, he holds on like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world. “…You saved me,” he says, voice rough.

You don’t look at him. “You shouldn’t have been there.”

“I couldn’t stay away.” Your throat tightens. He squeezes your hand, and when you finally meet his gaze, it steals the air right from your lungs. He’s looking at you like you’re a miracle. Like he’s afraid to blink and lose you again.

“I thought you were gone,” you whisper. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Same,” he breathes, giving you a half smile—soft, tired. “But apparently I’m too pretty to die.”

You let out a shaky laugh. Then a tear slips down your cheek, and he catches it with his thumb. “No more running,” he says. “No more hiding.”

Your voice trembles. “They’ll come after you.”

“Then let them.” His tone is quiet but sure. “Let them come. I’m not leaving you.”

You barely have time to breathe before his hand is on your jaw, tilting your face toward his. He doesn’t kiss you gently. He crashes into you, his hand cupping your jaw, pulling you in as his lips claim yours with raw, aching need. There’s no hesitation, no fear. Just everything he’s wanted to say and never had the words for.

You melt into him, fingers knotting in the fabric of his shirt—still soaked, still clinging to him like your touch does now. The taste of salt lingers between your mouths, your breaths shared and stolen, again and again. He groans softly into your lips as you shift over him, your body fitting against his like you were always meant to. His hands—calloused and warm—trail down your back, over the ridges of your spine, holding you closer, closer.

When you pull back to breathe, you hover there, foreheads pressed together, your lips barely apart. “I missed you,” he whispers. “More than I can explain.”

Your eyes flutter shut. “I never stopped thinking of you.”

Another kiss. Slower this time. Full of promise and pain and everything you’ve both fought so hard to bury. His tongue slides against yours—gentle, then greedy. And you let him have you, let him take all of it.

Because he came back. Because you saved him.

Because against every odd and warning, he’s still yours.

And you’re not letting go.

author's note. after almost A MONTH we're back gang. the PAIN i went thru before posting this- FUCK TUMBLR'S BLOCK LIMIT i had to delete an entire scene (but dw the full version will be on my ao3 soon)

please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.

2K notes · View notes

nyanchow · 2 months ago

Text

ADULT STORE [2]

↳ GETO すぐる + fem!reader

"... just hold on for thirty seconds for me, okay? Hold it in."

3.9k

[ This is a continuation : Read pt. 1? | Masterlist ]

[ Summary ] : the Friday after you visit the adult store that Suguru works at, you and him have a date at his apartment... with the company of his favorite toy that he can't wait to use on you.

[ Warnings ] : 🔞 minors do not interact/read : contains explicit 18+ content, smut : toys, sexting, stranger/hookup sex, mutual m*sturbation, dirty talk, solo m*sturbation scene (fingering c*m out toy, c*m tasting), edging, +++

[ Note ] : i recently went to the adult store and left with inspiration for this fic 👍

[ Tags ] : @ackachii / @qmsvpx / @aydene / @seaweedsaiki

🍒 More from Jay : GETO / JJK / LIBRARY

Suguru's invited you to his apartment... promising to show you his favorite toys, and why they're his favorite. He's dying to see you moan and squirm for him again, and you bet he's determined to make you cum on each one. Especially that rabbit vibrator... he peeks at it in the morning with you on his mind.

God. I'm actually gonna have her on my bed.

He's getting hard at just the thought of what this "date" is going to be like. his hand naturally comes down to palm at his bulge, giving a few needy squeezes to his sensitive tip.

Even when alone, he does everything with a naturally sensual slowness.

His dick stands tall and hard now, just after a few teasing pumps through his sweatpants. Great timing; work starts in thirty minutes. So he decides to stroke out a quick orgasm with his favorite toy — a clear fleshlight. He chose the clear one just to have the joy of seeing his own dick stretching out the inside.

Just imagine it's her pussy... fuck... y-yeah... this is her pussyyy... god... I wanna be inside her so fucking bad... she can milk my cock like it's her toy.

He slides out, pours more cherry lube onto the fleshlight, then slides back inside with a soft groan. Lube smears along his shaft. A nasty squelching sound starts up as he pumps the toy full of his sensitive cock, head bumping against the end. He stretches out that silicone pussy so good while thinking hard about how his dick would stretch out your pussy instead.

And he wants it bad. He starts deluding himself into thinking that the fleshlight he's pounding into is actually your cunt. So he goes harder. Faster. Talks dirty to himself, mutters those obscenities as if they're going into your ear.

"Take it... yeah, just like that, angel. Fuck. T-take it, please, j-just keep taking my cock like you're meant to..."

The memory of toying with your pussy in the backroom of the adult store burns in his mind, he's focusing hard on the image of what your leaky hole looked like while getting stuffed up with his fingers. And god, how tight you were. And fuck, how you squirted twice for him. Not once. Twice. That fact makes a smug smirk form on his lips as he pounds into his toy, chasing that sexual high.

His cock pulses, the fleshlight is tight and textured just right but still it's not enough. He's feeling insatiable today... he really needs a pussy to fill... yours. He wants yours. He needs to feel how your hole sucks on him, how it constricts, how your inner muscles twitch with each pounding motion of his fat cock.

I wanna feel her milking me... please... please... fuck... hnnn!

"Ughhh, fuuuck..." he groans.

He spurts out three ropes of cum, his orgasm coming on quicker than he expects after he daydreams about you; legs spread open wide, tears pricking your eyes, muttering "Suguru, please!" as you cum hard on him. And it's the "Suguru, please!" of your imaginary voice that tipped him over the edge right now.

His cock fills the clear fleshlight up with a gooey, sticky mess of cum. It squelches as he stuffs his cock deeper, trying to get his cum to spill out. Then he slides out and puts his weight on one hand, puffy veins up from holding the fleshlight so tightly. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

While he huffs and regains composure, swallowing a shaky breath, he slides his long fingers into the fleshlight, thinking of how he slid them into you just a few days ago. He fingers out his cum like a nasty boy and has a taste just to check.

Salty. Not bad. Would she like it? Maybe she likes swallowing. God I hope so... but if she doesn't, that's okay. I just wanna cum with her... yeah... fuck I just wanna cum with her.

And he thinks about cumming with you allllllllll day. It's a fully-fleshed, replayed fantasy in his mind.

He can hardly work, and yet the store is busy.

He sells someone the same toy that he sold you, and then he has to excuse himself, asking his coworker Satoru to take over, please, because he has some business to tend to.

So Satoru smirks, "Oh, is this about Miss Sex Toy?" yes, it's Satoru who came up with the crude nickname after Suguru excitedly told him about the encounter.

"Yes, it's about her." Suguru responds with an obvious tone, rolling his eyes.

"Is she still meeting you later? I mean, she actually wants to?" Satoru asks.

"Yeah... I asked her again this morning to make sure she's really fine with it... you know, jokes and flirting aside... aaa i'm so fuckin' lucky." he grins like a cheeky bastard at the end. "Really, so fuckin' lucky. She's just my type."

"—yes, you've told me three times now. Stop boasting, I'll get jealous." Satoru laughs.

Suguru goes alone in the break room, locking the door behind him with a click. He's so hard it hurts. His eyes catch on the couch that he had you laid on once, and he remembers having your legs spread and a vibrator cushioned in your pussy.

The memory heats him up. So he texts you. Casually. Flirtily.

📨 Suguru : sold another of the toy that you bought and thought of you 👀 hru

📨 You : haha really? mmm i'm okay ❤️ just been playing with mine all day.

Suguru widens his eyes. Were you seriously just telling him this over text?

Well he's starting to leak precum as he thinks about you using that pretty toy.

God, her cunt must be sucking it up nice and tight.

Ah fuck... don't have too much fun without me. I'm jealous.

His heart does a thing. He tries to sound calm over text, even though he's the complete opposite.

📨 Suguru : oh? having fun i hope

📨 You : mhm. holding back a lot.

📨 Suguru : yeah? wanna elaborate?

📨 You : i keep pulling it out when it gets too intense. need breaks im soooo sensitive :(

He's giving his cock a few squeezes while reading that.

Fuck. I wouldn't give you breaks.

📨 Suguru : don't take breaks. just enjoy yourself and cum as much as you want.

He's a bit nervous as he types back with one hand, the other tamely stroking his cock through his pants, then unzipping and pulling it out to curl his fingers around the shaft because he can't help it, he needs that friction.

He waits eagerly for your reply.

📨 You : noooo i don't wanna spoil my pussy too much before i see u today :( want u to make me cum

He accidentally climaxes right there when he reads that, and he doesn't know why. He's rarely cum from such tame stroking, he's amazed by himself considering he even had a morning session with his fleshlight already.

He texts back shakily.

📨 Suguru : fuck.

📨 Suguru : work ends in an hour. see u soon yeah? 🖤

📨 You : waiting patiently ❤️

His heart flutters. Wow. Waiting? Patiently? To see him? Fuck. He tells himself in his head as he washes off in the bathroom;

I'm gonna leave a print on her. I swear I'll ruin sex for her. No one's gonna make her cum better than me.

And then god, finally, work ends. Satoru giggles at how antsy Suguru is, how quickly he clocks off.

"Someone's excited. Is uh..." Satoru smirks cheekily, tugging a display toy off the shelf, "... your Lil' Guy eager to meet Miss Sex Toy?" he rattles the sex toy box suggestively.

"Oh God, Satoru, shut up." Suguru shakes his head. "You're a menace."

"I am, but you love me anyways." Satoru responds toothily, "Anyways, enjoy yourself. Can't wait to hear the details."

Suguru verbally scowls.

"I'll be sparing the details to you."

"Aw damn!"

Suguru's actually nervous when he hears you ringing his doorbell.

It's hilarious, how all his dorky nerves start to vibrate with raw sexual desire once he invites you inside.

You'd think there would be awkward small talk. Like oh, we're strangers who fucked in an adult store last time we saw each other.

But no. There's just a ravaging, heated makeout that sparks between you and him almost immediately after he greets you with a "heyyy" and makes electric eye contact. Because you and him share a rare, once in a lifetime type of connection. Potassium and water. Violent reaction. Your bodies tell it well; his dick is getting hard just as your small cunt is clenching and wetting your panties with juices.

His skin feels like it's on fire when you slip your fingers under his shirt. You feel his abs reactively flex to your touch.

Fuck. Yes. God. Touch my body. Just touch it.

Suguru collides his lips so hard with yours that he seems feverish. Starved. Incurably desirous. He needs you, all of you; not just that pussy but your everything. Everything that makes you you, he wants it.

He breaks from the make out to let you breathe, hands holding the back of your neck to keep you close. He adores how you stand on your tippy-toes and yet still can't reach him for a kiss without him leaning far down.

Notice how hard I'm getting. Please.

"N-n—nice to see you again." you stutter out a joke.

"Y-y–yeah." he chokes for air.

Goddd I'm so fucking hard. I can feel my precum leaking out, baby, it's gonna soak my pants...

He's cornering you in the hallway, kissing you right into it, leaning down and casting a shadow over your tiny body.

"I—need–need you really bad." you gasp, pleading with both your eyes and body language.

"Yeah? Fuck. Me too. F-feel me. Feel how hard you make me." he brings your hand down and you squeeze his stiff length through his pants. He groans. "Th–that's how you got my body acting, haha... 'n I barely fucking know you." he speaks breathily, quickly.

"Fuck... " you lid your eyes, bite your lip; he's analyzing you closely, noticing every small expression change. "I'm so wet for you. I've never soaked my panties through and felt it before..." you admit.

"Yeah? Can I feel...?" he asks breathlessly.

You nod eagerly, letting him slide his fingers up your dress. His breath catches in his throat and he swallows, eyes widening, when he dips a finger into your panties, and smoothly slides a finger into your tight hole.

Oh. Wow.

"Shit that's really fuckin' wet... baby... need me to take care of that?"

"Yes please!" your voice strains into a moaning sound as his fingertips slide up and down your slit. You can feel his heartbeat on your clit.

"Fuck... come h-here." he backs up into his bedroom door and hastily opens it, leading your body against his.

There's no more time for talking dirty, his kisses cut you off.

"Get on the bed."

You do so, pussy buzzing excitedly and hole clenching in anticipation as you watch him bring out a pretty set of toys. He catches your eyes sparkling, then kneels at the edge of the bed and smirkingly explains each one. There's a slight know-it-all edge in his tone, a mock professionalism too.

"This one is a G-spot vibe... it has really good ratings, I think you'll see why."

"How is it different to the one you sold me?" you ask.

"Oh, yours is a special one. You know, it has a better curve..." he emphasizes as he bends the vibrator's shaft, "See... this one has great flexibility, but your one has that ribbed design that massages your G-spot just right... although, I really wanted to sell you this one as well but I refrained... I mean, I didn't want to blow your budget. This one is has thrusting action... I really want to see how you react to it..."

He's lowered his voice into a smooth murmur now, holding that intense eye contact that so many people reprimand him for because it feels like he's staring at your soul, making you feel so exposed that you feel naked.

"Oh yeah? I wanna see how I react to that one, too... it sounds like fun." you respond, tone between horny and dreamy.

"M'kay... then let's start with this one. Lay back... relax... just let me... let me pleasure your body, yeah?"

You nod excitedly.

She's a sex-crazed loser just like me. I love it.

He's so turned on it's consuming him. He needs to fuck you so bad. To stretch you out. To use all those toys on you like it's an experiment.

So he doesn't waste time beating around the bush. Suguru isn't like that anyways. When he knows what he wants, he will go for it with little to no hesitation; that's why he asked you out on this "date" at the checkout so boldly. He just knew he had to see you again. You know, for a good conversation between your bodies.

"Hold the shaft, I want you to get a feel for it. Don't be shy..."

He turns it on as you hold it delicately in your fist. His mind runs hot with the idea of swapping the vibrator in your hand for his pulsing dick.

I want your fingers curling 'round my dick so baddd...

Fuck. You really are just my type.

A couple strokes from me could destroy you. I know it. I just want to show you... I can fuck your cunt better than any toy.

"Put a hand on that pretty pussy for me and squeeze, yeah? Squeeze nice 'n tight. Press that palm into your clit more... 'bet it's all swollen and sensitive, huh? No, baby, don't massage it yet, tease yourself... just trace your fingertips around... up and down... just like that..."

He's guiding you on how to touch yourself, and relishing in your compliance. He leans over your body, licking his lips and staring at yours.

Can I kiss her? I'm watching her play with her pussy... why do I feel the need to ask... that's so weird... I'm gonna ask anyways...

"Can I kiss you?" he's breathless after watching your fingers trace teasingly over your panties; the pillowy curve of your pussy pressing tight to the fabric drives him nuts.

"Ye—"

His lips are on you before you get the 's' out.

He's feverish, acting touch-starved with the way he kisses you. His lips are soft, wet, warm... and you notice he smells good. He smells really good.

Smooth moments pass, he's taking your breath away, then breaking apart from your lips to run the slick vibrator through your wet slit while you watch with bated breath.

"Spread that pussy for me... yeah, like that. Good girl..." he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips, sliding the vibrator right inside.

He goes through the modes with you, refraining from playing with the live control just yet.

The mode he picks feels like pulsing waves, The shaft of the toy is snuggled up against your G-spot, the rabbit head cushioned and buzzing into your clit.

"O-o—ohhh-h fu-uck fuck fuck... hnnn!" the toy makes your voice quiver from pleasure.

"Too intense?"

"N-no! It's perffff—fuck—perfect."

He watches your eyes dare to flutter shut.

"That's it pretty girl, just close your eyes and let yourself feel it."

"Fuuuck..."

He smirks, his free hand stroking his cock through his pants and groans softly. You're getting lost in the alternating vibration patterns of the shaft and rabbit, when he suddenly gives you a boost.

"Oh! Oh fuck, oh my g—hfuck fuck fuck! I'm gonna cum if you keep it this h-h—high fuck!"

"Ahah... sorry... just hold on for thirty seconds for me, okay? Hold it in. Don't let yourself cum just yet." he leans down and watches your pussy hole react to the pulsing shaft.

"Fuck look at that... such a pretty fucking cunt..." he groans, staring hard while he strokes his shaft faster through his pants.

"O-oh! Mm! Fuck! Fuck please let me cum!"

"No, hold it in. Be good."

"Fuuuck okay... fuck! Hnn!" your orgasm's building up, but then the boost is over, and it goes right back to that repetitive pattern that drives your clit and G-spot wild.

Your brain feels a bit mushy.

"All done. There, wasn't too long to hold on, hm?" Suguru speaks.

"Ooh, you're so mean... I almost c-came."

"Sorry. I like edging. Probably should have told you that beforehand."

"N-not fair... I've been edging all ay at home... fuuuck!" you giggle.

But then that giggle is broken by a long moan, as his his finger slides upppppp on the shaft setting, and you feel this hard intense pulse right up against your G-spot. Suguru's thoroughly enjoying playing with your pussy like this.

You're giving him a dazed look like you're daring to ask about marriage, because it feels so good.

"You know... I've been the complete opposite to you... I've been cumming to the thought of you all day. 'Wanna pleasure myself with you so badly..." he murmurs against your lips, giving you his phone, "Why don't you play with your own pussy like a good girl 'n let me... jerk myself off while watching. How's that sound?"

"Yes! Please! I wannaaa watch you f—ahhnnnmnfuck—" you moan your whole sentence out.

You're completely losing your mind over this toy, and he loves it; it's exactly what he wanted. To see your pussy freak out over this perfect little vibrator.

"It's a good product, huh? You don't have to do anything... perfect for lazy days... I don't mind if uh... if you wanna keep this one... I um... bought it just for today, actually."

"F—ffffuck f–th-thank you... th-that's – ouh fuck – oh my god –" you keep trying to talk, but failing because of the vibrations against your G-spot... it's curved right up there.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Yeahhh~!"

"Good."

He stares and stares, eyes lidded and hands shakily tracing your thigh.

"Keep playing with it, yeah? I'm gonna — fuck — um — you don't mind if I, use this in front of you?"

He's clutching the clear fleshlight he used this morning

Please say yes. I want you to see my cock stretch it out. I want you to see how I stretch this pussy out...

"Y-yes of course. I don't mind a-at all if you pleasure yourself with me... do what you usually do – hahhh – do — um — I might get a little jealous though." you joke.

"Jealous?" he feathers, eyes glittering.

Yes. God. Let me make that pussy feel jealous.

It's just you, him, sitting opposite each other, playing with toys and getting so filled up on pleasure that your brains stop worrying about anything except that sexual high.

When your eyes dare to flutter shut in bliss, Suguru's raspy voice comes; "Ah— nah, keep your eyes on me; watch me fuck this pocket pussy. Oh, do you wanna try fucking me with it? M'kay... pump it on my cock, angel, just like that."

His breathing becomes more ragged when it's you who's using the silicone pussy on his cock.

It feels better, even if you hit softer strokes than his strong hands. You kneel on the bed, ass sticking out, feeling your high approach as the vibrator buzzes hard in a pumping pattern.

"Fuck that's good..." Suguru rolls his head back and closes his eyes, getting shakier as you work the toy up and down his thick cock.

The slapping sound of his balls hitting the entrance, and the lube squelching, and your toy buzzing, makes your highs creep up from deep in your abdomen.

Sure he's cum a lot today, but he feels a threateningly heavy orgasm building up in him when you play with your pussy with him. His tip twitches, shaft pulsing harder and harder, tension twisting tighter until he lets out a forewarning groan and—

"Fuck... I'm gonna cum inside it. G‐g‐g—gonna cum, fuck I'm cumming. C-cum with me, cum with me please. M-make that clit feel good, yeah? You feelin' it against your G-spot? Yeahhh? Good. Turn it up to max 'n cum with me, please cum with me... please..." he's babbling, drunk on sex.

"Oh my god!" your voice breaks, you arch your back more and feel your hole clenching tight around the toy, juices coating the pink shape of it.

"Yes baby, there we go... just let go and cum..."

His fleshlight squelches louder as you pump his cock full of it, and you feel a bit jealous of the toy now... it's getting filled up with hot spurts of cum. You can see it.

"Ah, fuck..."

Oh god... that's it... watch me cum in this fleshlight baby... don't you wish it was inside you...?

"S-suuuuguru..." you call his name when you're about to cum, and that just makes him want to slide his cock out and plunge it right into your clenching pussy.

His eyes sparkle when you get on your back and spread your legs wide, exposing yourself completely.

Kinda slutty, aren't you?

"Fuck... look at your little cunt pulsing..." he gets so close, hand smoothing over your thighs to comfort you as you cum.

God I wanna feel your soft cunt wrapping 'round my dick... wanna feel those walls milking me...

You're in a dazed state and take a while to come out of it.

"Fuck..."

"... yeah, fuck."

You laugh with him. There's an afterglow on his face and yours. Sweat trickles down his abs, you only notice now, as he collapses tiredly on the bed next to you.

For a while, you're just breathing hard with him, enjoying the silence after a good shared orgasm. The toy's off. His cock softens, he tucks it back into his pants.

And then you're exchanging pillow talk.

"Sooo... care to get coffee with me sometime?" Suguru asks.

You giggle.

"Are you asking me out on a date? how indecent." you joke.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, I'm so forward, aren't I?" he plays along.

You giggle louder, and he feels his heart flutter. "Yeah... anyways... coffee sounds good. I'd love to." you reply flirtatiously.

His lips spread into a sweet grin.

You and him are cleaning up, gulping down water, indulging in aftercare as best as two strangers can together. He cleans off the toy that was stuffed up inside you earlier, staring at it intently.

"Hey... I'll give you this toy on one condition." he proposes.

"Yeah?" you hum.

"You'll send me evidence that you're putting it to good use." he says suggestively.

You grin devilishly at him.

"Hmmm... sure. I'd love to spoil your gallery... and give you some content for those lonely nights."

He laughs, "Haha... shut up. Thanks... though I'd love to have you on my lonely nights..." he mumbles.

"Yeah? Want me to come over again?" you flirt.

His eyes light up. "Absolutely... uh... maybe... tomorrow...?"

"Wow. So eager?" you tease.

"Yeah..." he responds with a self-conscious look.

"I'm just teasing. I'll come."

"Suuure you will." he winks.

You roll your eyes.

"You free at six?"

"Yes, I'm free at six for sex."

"Haha. Alright... I'll make sure everything's charged."

"Nah..." you look into his eyes, he feels flustered. What a rarity, for him to feel flustered just by the girl's stare. Usually it's the other way around.

"... No toys. Just you." you say.

Fuck. Yes. Please. God.

"Fuck... y-yeah, alright. Sounds like a good time."

Sooo... his apartment. At six. Sex. No toys. Just him. And you. Sound good?

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