soobiary

[soobiary]

⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ FIELD TRIP

[ SUM ] - toji agreeing to be a parent chaperone just so he can be with his son’s hot sixth grade teacher for three whole days.

[ PAIRING ] - mma!toji fushiguro x teacher!reader

[ CONTENT ] - nsfw, dilf toji, unprotected, pet names, toji cums a lot, obsessed, age gap (37 + 24), fantasizing, spit play, biting, hickies, breeding kink, teasing, perverted toji, morally ambiguous toji, creampies, squirting, slight dub-con (both drunk), spanking, cute toji dad moments,

[ WORD COUNT ] - ?? def over 10k (I’ll fix this later)

[ A/N ] - just a head ups half way through spelling and grammar have not been checked….anyways here’s a long ass fic — lets just say in honor of the s3 trailer!!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

“aha!— don’t tap out on me, teach,” toji’s laugh was deep and husky as he pounded his throbbing hard cock into the squishy velvety walls of his son’s sixth grade teacher.

your eyes were crossed, senses focused on nothing but the lewd stretch that had drool running down your cheek. “y’r such a fuckin’ ngh— mess.” you try to sputter a reply, but only a moan comes out. desperate and slutty. “is this the same mouth you’re usin’ to talk to my son?”

toji is lifting you up, arm wrapping over your chest, and his cock sliding even deeper inside, your walls stretch as your eyes bulge. your back arches from his chest, nails sliding down his forearm and bicep as you feel him so deep in your tummy. “toji…angh!” your sweet moans turn even dirtier as you cry on his lap, trying to turn your head.

“aww you wanna stop?” he grunts driving his hips rougher, your tears looked like gems as they fall from your eyes. “thought ngh i said we—“

“no…no,” you’re gasping, head turned to glance at the sweaty fighter, his cheeks flushed, sweat clinging to his skin. “kiss me….please.”

his eyes widen.

“fuck.”

his hard abs clench and you cry as you feel his cock somehow grow inside you, his veins throbbing as he drops his head to your shoulder. his hips stutter as he feels your mixed arousal that rims his base, the lewd mixed juices slide down his balls and coat his thighs creating a sticky mess that only makes his arms flex. “you’re fuckin’ killing me.”

your mind isn’t even fully registering anything, but toji was on the verge of breaking. his head roughly turns, crashing his lips with yours.

how did he end up fucking his son’s sixth grade teacher on a school field trip?

toji didn’t know how mean it was, but he started paying attention to his son’s rants just recently, only because nine times out of ten, he’ll mention his homeroom teacher. the one that called him in earlier in this year after megumi got into a fight.

it was bothersome. kids fight. for heavens sake, that’s his job, however, when megumi came back with a note insisting that his parents come speak to her, and not an assistant or nanny, is when toji dragged his ass from the gym to his sons little middle school. toji never really bothered with megumi’s school life, occasionally asking if his grades were up and listening when the boy rants a couple times about his idiot friends.

toji wasn’t negligent, he obviously cares deeply about his son, hell, his son is the only thing he cares about. so of course as his only provider, he needs to take care of him, give him the best life he could ask for, especially knowing how toji grew up, he only ever wants the very best for his only child. in other words, he doesn’t have much time to visit his son’s school all that much because of his very demanding career.

anyways, megumi was waiting by the front of the school, as toji walked up. sitting beside him was the same pink-haired kid that was always over at his house. his eyes brightened when he saw the fighter.

“hi mr. toji!” yuuji was definitely toji’s biggest fan.

“kid.” the acknowledgment was enough for yuuji to smile even brighter. “where am i supposed to go?” toji’s hands were deep in his pockets. he didn’t even bother changing out of his sweaty gym clothes, and he still had some bandaids wrapped around his knuckles.

megumi glanced up, eyes narrow. “did you even shower?”

“you said 3:30.”

“it’s 4 now.”

toji stared blankly. “show me the way or I’m leaving.” megumi stood up, yuuji bouncing up to follow too.

“hey mr. toji, you should’ve showered,” yuuji says walking backwards, his hands behind his head. toji raises a brow at his smug attitude. yuuji shrugs, continuing on. “ms. l/n likes things that smell good,” he says raising a finger. “like flowers, and chocolates and candy and maybe the ocean, and she’s really pretty, so if you smell sweaty then she’ll probably be upset.”

idiots, toji rolls his eyes. “well it’s too late now.” yuuji shrugs, looking at megumi who shrugs as well. this peaks toji’s sudden suspicion. since when was megumi aware of things like that?

toji watches as megumi and yuuji skip up to the door labeled 6C. they peak through the door window before swinging it open.

“hi ms. l/n!” yuuji shouts.

there’s a distant laugh, as toji follows the kids inside. “what’re you still doing here?”

oh shit.

toji felt like time stopped, and a wave of pink and fuzzy flowers hit him.

you were sitting cross legged at the desk as yuuji leaned over the table, and megumi leaned against the board beside you. both boys so naturally in their element it almost felt like you knew them better than he did. which might be true.

his eyes rack up, not really knowing what to say. he’d met megumi’s teachers in elementary school, but none of them looked like this. he didn’t say anything for a moment, until your eyes perk up catching him standing by the door.

“oh, you must be megumi’s dad,” you quickly stand up, your dress naturally falling perfectly, as you extend a hand out for him. “it’s great to finally meet you.”

your eyes were as bright as your voice, looking directly into his dark emerald eyes, it threw him for a loop. he glanced down at your hand before gently grasping it, his hand easily dwarfing yours.

when he touched your hand, there were noticeable callouses on his palm and fingers. you knew who he was, but you also knew that it was your job to take care of these kids. he studied your skin for a moment, noticing how smooth it was. he tried to keep his touch light somehow hyper aware now of how clammy his hands are, and that he probably stinks.

“likewise.” he replies, his voice deep and a bit raspy, matching his appearance.

you turn to look at megumi and yuuji by your desk, it gave you a momentary chance to catch your breath as you feel how warm your cheeks are. “okay boys, go wait outside, I need to talk to your dad alone.”

yuuji sighs dramatically, but the two hum walking away, but megumi briefly stops beside you, his eyes saying just enough for you to understand. toji raises a brow, but megumi ignores him, disappearing outside. brat.

you motion toji to sit at one of the desks in front which he obliges. the material of his black sweats stretch over his thighs as he sits. why the hell are you even taking note of that! this is harder than you expected.

you sit at your chair, your dress rests right above your knees, it wasn’t the kind of dress he sees on the women at his matches. it was an adorable little sun dress that fit a middle school teacher, yet it was still tight around the waist and breasts, hugging you so well he so desperately wanted to press a hand right on your tummy to see how big his palm was compared to you and yet he found himself getting irked that he definitely smells bad. fucking brats were right, he should’ve showered.

“megumi is a sweet boy. he’s very smart and soft-spoken,” you praise, “however, he also doesn’t seem to understand that we should keep our hands to ourselves. especially at school.” toji nods along, thankful he can keep his mind distracted from his son’s surprisingly attractive school teacher, “I think I wrote on the note, but he got into a fight with the upperclassman boys during lunch and he gave them both black eyes. we’re lucky he didn’t break their noses.”

his arms are crossed over his chest, his black compression shirt stretching around his large biceps, your mind blanking for a moment as you see the thick veins. you should have dress codes for these meeting because his arms were so beautifully structured, definitely for fighting and for—

toji nods at your comment. he knew megumi had a habit of getting into fights with older kids, but maybe having him as a father was rubbing off on him in the wrong way.

“I can imagine gumi was defending himself. he usually gets into fights when they’re messing with him.”

“I understand defending yourself, but causing these upperclassmen to bleed from their mouths and noses and sending them to the hospital is highly unacceptable,” your brows pinch as you speak. you’ve heard comments from the other teachers about megumi’s father. his whole life is about fighting, but you had to get through to him about his eleven year old son. “I understand things may be different at home, but megumi should learn that this isn’t the right way to solve problems.”

your eyes were so big and adorable. he leans back in his seat slightly, he had a hard time thinking anything else other than the adorable expression on your face. you were determined to get your point across, and the way your brows scrunched slightly had him reeling.

“I’ll talk to him about it,” he hums, voice low. He didn’t like being told what to do, especially when it came to megumi, but he’ll concede. just this once.

your eyes seem to light up immediately. you definitely expected that to be much harder than it was. his other teachers have said they’ve tried tooth and nail to get meetings with megumi’s dad but failed.

“that’s great!” you laugh lightly. “I was expecting a little more of a fight.” you confess.

he raised a brow, tilting his head slightly — fuck that was hot. “and why would you think that?”

“most parents get defensive,” you stand up, fixing your dress again, his eyes glance over your figure again.

“well I’m glad I’m not like most parents,” he leans forward. he’s seen his fair share of women, but this time it felt wrong. ogling at your figure and seeing your slightly low neckline felt like it was forbidden territory. who was he kidding, you were his son’s teacher and you definitely look much younger than the other teachers around here. “how do you like teaching?”

you tilt your head in surprise, gaze slowly wandering around the classroom walls. “it’s nice.” you smile to yourself. “i never took myself seriously, and would’ve never thought I’d be teaching middle schoolers, but now that i am it’s nice.” your eyes find his again, blushing slightly when you realize he never took his eyes off you.

“I wouldn’t have expected a pretty young girl teaching a bunch of bratty middle schoolers though.”

your cheeks flush at the compliment, laughing lightly. “most of them are not so bad.”

“most of them,” he raises a brow, making you laugh a little louder. his heart souring at the sound.

“they can be pretty mean sometimes,” you confess with a laugh, almost like you’re talking to a friend now. he lets out a low chuckle, leaning back in the chair, stretching out his muscular legs as he relaxed. normally he hated parent-teacher meetings, but this was much more comfortable than he expected, especially since it was you in front of him and not some old lady nagging him about his son’s behavior.

“I don’t doubt that.” he said with a slight nod, “I’ve gotten my fair share of glares and insults from gumi.”

your eyes widen. “megumi? really?”

he quirks a brow, “is it that shocking?”

“yes!” you’re pressed against the front of the desk, leaning forward as you hold the edge of your desk now, shocked. “i mean he gets into fights with some of the kids, but he’s always so respectful to the teachers.”

he raises his brow, “he might be respectful, but that could just be because it’s you.” his eyes follow the way your expression softens, fixing yourself on the desk. every little move you make catches his attention. it was addicting just watching you be you. no wonder those two brats were all over you. it should be criminal for a woman like you to be stuck as a teacher. “I can’t imagine anyone being mean to you.”

it was so easy pulling a smile from you, and yet he felt like he was the only one that should see the way your eyes dart away from his, pretending like you weren’t affected by his compliments. you were trying to stay professional, which made the idea of getting you flustered more appealing.

“you’d think,” you manage to respond. “middle schoolers are moody kids. they’ve definitely made some other teachers cry.”

he chuckled again, making you flush a little hotter just by the sound. it was so low, and you hate to sound like a stupid girl, but it was manly. you’ve seen your fair share of attractive parents, but there was just something about this man in particular that set your heart racing, but he’s also a very well known athlete, even though you haven’t seen any of his matches. everyone probably reacts the same considering he’s basically a celebrity.

“and have they made you cry?”

his dark green eyes were intense, and you met them with a light hearted smile, resisting the urge to absolutely melt. “no.”

he let out an amused sound at your answer. “not even once?” he teased, his smirk widening slightly. “not a single kid has ever been able to make you cry?”

you lean back on the desk, absolutely letting every single guard down as your dress rises a couple inches up your thigh. it felt so natural speaking to him. maybe subconsciously knowing exactly how he’s looking at you right now gave you more confidence.

“maybe I’m lucky, or I’m just not sensitive.” you glance up at the ceiling for a moment. his jaw clenched slightly, his eyes taking in the fat of your thighs just imagining the thought of pushing his body between your legs, hands grabbing at the flesh as you lay flat on your desk. do school teachers wear shorts or only panties underneath…

your eyes suddenly light up. “one kid a couple weeks ago got mad at me for giving him detention and he said i only did that because I’m not married so I have no reason to go home. that hurt my pride a bit.” you laugh.

“damnn, that’s pretty cruel.” but he doesn’t miss a second to add. “not married, really?” he hums. “no husband waiting at home for you?”

you laugh shaking your head. “no, definitely not. I’m just a baby.”

and he couldn’t help but feel relieved hearing you say that, the idea of someone else coming home to you didn’t sit right with him. “boyfriend then?” he asked, eyes burning into you. he wanted to know that no one else was there. he honestly didn’t know why he needed to know so badly, it would’ve been better if you did have someone, that way he could control himself. and yet just the thought of that made him nauseous. if there was someone else hearing your laughs in private, making you smile, kissing your lips, touching your soft skin—

“nope, just me.”

thank god!

“that’s hard to believe.”

you roll your eyes at the flattery. “no seriously. maybe that’s why I’m okay with this job taking up all my time.” you laugh, trying to mask the slight embarrassment, because you don’t exactly know if you’re being judged right now. you’re still in your early twenties, it’s not that hard to believe that you’re single—

“if it was up to me, I wouldn’t let you teach all these kids if you were single,” he’s looking at you intently.

your cheeks feel warm as you watch him sit straight, but you egg him on. “why?”

he looks at you as if you’d just asked a stupid question. “nothing,” he stood up. you were beautiful, sweet, and speaking to you right now, he’d be an idiot if he didn’t think other students dads were thinking the same lewd thoughts he was having right now. the teacher their students love is an absolute catch and she doesn’t seem to like being a teacher that much anyways.

so many taboo lines could be crossed. “so your dream is to teach kids?”

your lips part in shock. you hesitate. “no. but it’s not bad.” you feel slightly offended, almost getting defensive right now. does it show that you’d rather have a different occupation? you love these kids but…

he raises a brow, stepping in front of the desk, hands deep in his pockets. even though you were leaning against the desk, having him standing in front of you just made the height difference even more obvious. “then what is your dream, sweetheart.”

you bite your cheek, heart beating a little quicker, not even fully processing what he called you. he smirked when you accepted it, too focused on his question—

“how much longer!?” the loud yell startled you both. you stand up straight as you look over at megumi and yuuji by the open door. toji nearly forgot they were waiting. almost wishing the brats were kidnapped. his eyes dart away from you, a scowl forming on his face.

“we have practice, dad”.

he let out a light huff, his eyes darting back over to you for a moment before focusing his gaze on the two kids.

“go wait in the hallway,” he huffs, he wanted to hear what you had to say.

“it’s fine. we’re finished.” you hop off the desk, smiling gently at toji as you resume your role as his son’s teacher. he resisted the urge to push back because the way you were looking at him immediately had him submitting. “it was great finally meeting you, and thank you for coming in today, mr. fushiguro.“

he gave a slight nod, the eye contact overwhelming, so much so that you had to look away.

“now i already spoke to you megumi, and you’re gonna listen, right?” your sweet voice was absolutely mouth watering.

megumi grimaced, biting his cheek as he avoided your gaze until a rough hand landed on his head. “he better, I’ll make sure of it, teach.”

toji’s wink sent a flustered swarm breaking inside you. your cheeks stinging as your eyes go wide. a glint sparked in his gaze at your reaction.

yuuji lunged as well, wrapping his arm around megumi’s shoulder. “don’t worry ms. l/n, I’ll keep megumi in check!” his loud boisterous laugh made you laugh, especially when megumi elbowed him, grumbling about how he always needs to take care of yuuji, not the other way around.

toji let out a scoff as the two boys playfully argued with each other, megumi always seemed annoyed by yuuji, but they both knew how much they cared about each other. so instead, toji grabbed them both by the collar, dragging them to the door. the two boys were kicking each other, but the weight of the two twelve year old boys was nothing to toji, and you couldn’t help but laugh as a small heat spread across your cheeks as his large form retreated away from you.

“till next time. and ya better have an answer then,” his eyes bore into yours, the sounds of the boys looking up and asking what answer repeatedly didn’t stop you from humming, a little more energetic than you should be. he somehow had a way of breaking past your walls in a single conversation. hopefully that doesn’t make you seem easy…

“that’s if I ever you come again,” the small tease had a smirk pulling at his lips. somehow the idea of not seeing you again actually bothered him more than he realized.

“we’ll see about that.”

and with that he left. dragging the two boys who continued bickering and grabbing at the man, asking what that whole exchange meant. especially megumi who was wondering if he was in trouble or not.

however the second he left your sight, you were covering your face. your face beyond hot as your mind spun. never before had a parent had this sort of affect on you.

the way he looked at you.

the way he spoke.

he was so attractive, he was so big, his biceps were the size of your face. so beyond different from every other parent you ever spoke to. he could probably pick you up with one arm.

his presence alone was enough to have you feeling dizzy. and when he shook your hand, the way his wrapped effortlessly around yours, the calloused palm rubbing against you, his scent invading your nose.

and if that wasn’t as bad as it already was, the way he called you sweetheart had you absolutely melting between your legs!

but you have to get over it. you do.

however, unlike you, toji sits on the bench on the soccer field, only thinking about how he’ll see you again. when is parent teacher conferences, do they still have parents night in middle school? is there a talent show megumi has that he can force him to do so he can come and see you??

—

the following week, megumi stands frozen by the door. “what’re you doing?”

toji looks up, shoes tied. “dropping you off.”

“why?”

“because.”

“because why?”

“because—because—“ toji’s stuttering was ticking him off as he meets megumi’s very skeptical expression. “you’re a kid, you don’t ask questions.”

“I only ask questions,” megumi grabs his bag, watching his father intently as he looks over his surprisingly clean dress pants, along with the casual lose buttons on his dress shirt and rolled up sleeves. “i thought you were gonna be at the gym all day?”

“i am.” toji pauses, megumi’s brow is raised high. “I have a meeting before.”

“since when?”

toji’s nerve throbs, grabbing megumi’s bag and pulling him out of the house. “you ask too many fucking questions.”

the moment toji pulls up in front of the school, his eyes scan the entire lot in seconds. his hands immediately turning.

“what? what’re you doing?! Im gonna be late,” megumi shouts as toji drives around the entire school again.

“zip it kid, i had an arm spasm.” megumi glares at his dad, slouching in the passenger seat. the loop around takes another five minutes until they pull up again.

and toji will definitely lie and say it’s fate and not him purposely driving slow, because walking up the pavement is the only person he’s been thinking about for the entire week.

“finally,” megumi grumbles as he yanks the door handle swinging it open. toji being the fein he is barks a loud.

“no fights alright!”

megumi flinches.

why did he yell that?! and why now?! all the kids around start snickering and staring as they walk past them, getting a look at his dad as well, which gets a few more murmurs out.

megumi slams the door shut, pissed as he glares at his father. but that’s when a certain young teacher comes along, toji’s eyes lighting up.

“good morning, megumi,” your sweet delicate voice had megumi flushing with embarrassment. you definitely came over because you heard his dad shouting like a crazy person, and not because all those little middle school girls were ogling at megumi’s father…

“good mornin, teach.”

the low rumble of his voice had you glancing up. there was no harm in coming to say good morning. you just met with him last week, it would be impolite if you ignored that.

“mr. fushiguro,” you acknowledge, and that definitely made the man’s entire day. megumi licks his teeth in annoyance. “it looks like you both talked.” you glance at megumi with a gentle smile causing the boy to smile up at you. toji snickers. practically leaning over the passenger seat to speak to you. he knew that he was being ridiculous, but he could care less.

his smile widened as you looked up at him, his eyes staring intently, fuck he missed those eyes. “we did. gave him a good talking to, he won’t get into any fights — unless they start them.”

he leaned over the wheel, his arms resting against it, causing his shirt to tighten around his biceps. he looked good, you felt your face heat up. you should leave, and yet you find yourself staying a little longer.

fantasizing about him was one thing, but seeing him again here was making your heart race.

“i hope you guys weren’t late to megumi’s practice the other week.”

megumi is about to answer until toji cuts him off, ignoring megumi’s annoyed glare. “we weren’t, don’t worry. megumi and the other kid—“

“yuuji.” megumi mutters.

“they’re always late on their own.”

you laugh under your breath, your hand falling gently on top of megumi’s head. “are you sure it’s not because you’re taking them there?”

he huffed leaning back, “positive, besides the meeting we had was important”.

you hum, “it was.” toji smiles, eyes lighting up as he draws you closer to the passenger window as you both continue speaking not even realizing megumi has slipped away and into the school.

toji loved the way you easily spoke, the way your sweet voice filled his ears. he somehow managed to have you walk around the car to his side, so he can show you something on his phone.

your smile lights up when he shows you a picture of a three year old megumi sitting on his shoulders after he won his first title in light-heavyweight.

“oh my god, is that megumi, he’s so cute.”

toji snickers. “ya it was before he turned into an annoying brat.”

“don’t say that,” you laugh. toji’s arm was propped on the windowsill, your scent flooding his senses as you leaned close, looking at the picture. he could practically feel your soft skin touch his arm, the heat radiating off your body. if he only knew his son’s teacher was a seductress. “you look so young too.”

he chuckled again, “this was probably around 10 years ago. do i look that old now?”

you shake your head, turning to look at him. “no, you don’t. I don’t see any grey hairs.”

“is that the only indicator?” he tilts his head, staring at you so intently that you can’t break eye contact either. the green eyes were so deep and overwhelming, you felt your stomach flutter with butterflies. you feel the heat crawling up your neck because you can see that he looks older and more mature here than in the picture. but he still has a youth about him that makes your skin hot.

his eyes are still as beautiful as they are in the picture.

“you think my eyes are beautiful?”

your eyes go wide. “wha—“ you feel like a schoolgirl now, your face feeling so unbelievably hot especially when he leans a little closer, still leaning his arm on the window. now staring right up at you with his face so close to yours.

“i just…” never before have you been so tongue tied. your eyes so big as they glance everywhere in the car, heat flooding your ears.

his laugh fills your ear as he leans back into his seat, his palm gently coming up to fix your hair, thumb brushing your cheekbone only to get your attention back to him. “don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t tease you too much.”

whaaaat?!

you were dumbstruck. did he just say that?

your skin feels so hot as you fiddle with your necklace trying to cool down. “how kind of you.” you sarcastically remark, trying to save some face as you feel his hand continue caressing your cheek.

if any parent or teacher saw what was happening you have no idea how you would explain yourself, but you didn’t even have time to think about it because toji’s phone suddenly went off.

you notice his jaw clenching, making you somehow swell with pride, but also relief because he turns his attention away from you to his phone, answering.

he stares up at you, hand not leaving your cheek as he listens to the shouting on the other end.

where the fuck are you! you were supposed to be here at six! you’re not on a bender right—

“I was dropping megumi at school—“

doesn’t he take the bus?!!!

“he asked. I’ll be there —“

NOW!!

“alright!” toji hangs up aggressively, and notices that you’ve stepped back, a smile pulling at your lips.

he tsks, upset he’s no longer feeling your warm skin. “our conversations are always interrupted.”

you don’t know why him looking dejected makes you dance inside. you’re definitely reading too much into it.

you hum, “they are.” you laugh lightly, which somehow makes him want to descend into the heavens. “I should also head inside, the bells about to ring.” toji is left speechless as you fix your bag on your shoulder, offering him the most precious smile ever. “I’ll see you later.”

he just sat there and nodded, watching you walk into the school. he let out a long breath when you disappeared through the doors. his heart was hammering in his chest and his ears were hot.

this woman was going to be the death of him.

what followed after was no surprise. toji was dropping megumi off and picking him up every. single. day.

megumi definitely grew to despise it because all anyone would talk about in school now was how they saw his dad this morning, or how he came an hour early to pick him up. what made things worse is that they told their parents, and some would drop their kids off just to catch a glimpse of the famous A-list athlete. some even having the gall to ask for a photo or autograph.

what toji didn’t realize though is that he’s not going to see you every time. sometimes he’d wait a little longer in the car line to see if you were coming up, but most of the time he’d get yelled at by another teacher to keep the line moving. megumi would often rush him after school to get him and yuuji to practice. it was frustrating. especially when toji was also getting an ear full when he’d come to the gym late.

but when he would see you, he’d flirt talk to you. and just learning more about you like these were little dates to him so that you occupied his mind every single second of every hour. he finally learned your age after pushing you to answer when you graduated high school. and then some more about your favorite food. but all these conversations would last less than five minutes because you’d have to run back inside and he’s have to head back to the gym to train.

that was all before his golden ticket came in with his son.

“a field trip?”

megumi hums sitting on the bench at the gym. “ya, just sign it for me. yuuji wants to find some turtles at the beach near there.”

“ya its gonna be so much fun!” yuuji jumps beside him. both kids not bothering to talk about the history behind the location of their school trip or any of the important stuff—

toji’s eyes widen. “it says they need chaperones for the boys.”

megumi looks up, brow raised. “ya so?”

“is your dad chaperoning yuuji?”

megumi feels a weird energy surround his dad, his eyes almost look manic as yuuji shakes his head still playing on megumi’s Nintendo. “nah he’s taking choso to look at colleges.”

toji feels jittery, and nothing is stopping him now.

—

your hand was struggling in your bag as you looked around for your keys. it was getting a little late and you didn’t like staying at the school after sundown. you push the doors open. a large figure comes at you making you scream.

“It’s just me!” toji laughs, you hit him with your bag. hard. “ow!” he laughs harder.

“what the fuck, that scared me to death.” you gasp, catching your breath. toji whistles, making you glance up, annoyed.

he has to hold in a laugh. “aw come on, it was an accident.” a smirk slowly forms on his lips as you huff out a sigh, reluctantly easing up. you were so damn cute right now.

“you should know not to sneak up on women at night,” you huff feeling how hot your cheeks are, slightly embarrassed about your reaction, but still annoyed.

he smirked, watching the way you tried to fix your hair.

“sorry sweetheart,” he said in a low mumble. he could see your flushed cheeks, it made you look just so adorable right now and he almost wanted to make you more flustered.

your body tensed as he knelt down in front of you. his shoulder brushed against your leg making your cheeks flood pink. his hair looked damp, and unkept, he probably took a shower before coming here. you got a whiff as he passed down. fuck he smelled so good, but you almost missed his raw scent the first time you met.

toji could practically feel the heat radiating off your body as he picked up your keys. you must’ve dropped them when he came outta nowhere. he stood back up, towering over you, his eyes never leaving your face. he felt his smirk widen, he leaned down, your faces now a few inches apart. he felt your hands shake as he placed it back into your small palm.

“thanks,” you mutter. It was like he was stealing each breath out of you. you weren’t even registering the questions you should be asking, because you couldn’t stop looking at his face. his deep green eyes, the hypnotizing scar on his lip. he was so addicting to look at. you wanted to know what it feels like to kiss him.

he liked the way you mumbled, your voice sounding so incredibly soft. he felt his body grow hot. something slowly building up inside him, because damnit you were so unbelievably cute right now. he had to resist the urge to pull you closer, to press your body against his, he wanted to—

the door suddenly clicked behind you, making you both jump back for a second. it was just one of the janitors, you smile politely bidding him goodnight as you turn back to toji.

“sorry um—“

cursing inwardly at the disruption, he took out the paper from his pocket and handed it to you.

“megumi’s field trip.”

“oh,” you take the paper, “you could’ve waited until tomorrow and megumi could’ve brought it in.”

he shrugged, his eyes practically burning into yours right now. “maybe I just wanted a reason to talk to you.”

you freeze momentarily, well that was blunt. you rub your cheek, laughing lightly. that’s when you notice the additional document attached to the note.

“wait this is just for…”

“chaperone’s.”

you look up.

oh fuck me.

the days following were absolute chaos. well only for you. every night you went to sleep all you thought about was the fact that toji fushiguro was coming on a school trip with you. when you were in the shower you thought about him, when you walked to the grocery store you thought about him. when you were packing your bag, you thought about him!

then it finally came.

DAY 1

the entire seventh grade was going on the trip. it was also your first time chaperoning on an overnight trip so you did your best to follow your superiors leads. every teacher was assigned one parent chaperone to help on the 4 hour bus ride and then…

“I’ll go with ms. l/n,” toji didn’t even wait for himself to be assigned. your eyes go wide. you don’t notice some of the other teachers were looking at you. one of the older teacher’s who was about to read the assigned list pauses…

“oh mr. fushiguro, we had you assigned with—“

“I’d rather stay with my son’s bus. is that a problem?”

you bite your cheek. it definitely would be a problem since the contract he signed stated that he’ll be assigned the group given to him, but that is also if you’re not a celebrity as big as him.

he knew damn well that he was breaking a rule, but he couldn’t have cared less. he wanted to sit with you, he wanted to be near you, he needed to be near you. and if that meant he had to be a bit of a dick, then that’s what he had to do. he sat down on the bus, a smirk forming on his lips as he watched you place your bag on the seat beside him across the aisle.

you stood at the front of the bus as you clapped your hands twice and the students mimicked you, well not all, but most.

“okay guys, I’m just gonna say one more time. We’re gonna have 4 stops for bathrooms, so please use them when you have the chance so we don’t have a delay. okay?”

he watched you intently as you spoke to the students, his eyes not once leaving your face. you looked beautiful and he had to force himself to stop staring at you. but he couldn’t, not when you were so close to him, he could also smell your flowery fragrance that made him slightly dizzy.

“I’m going to do roll call one more time, raise your hand and answer when I call you,” you start reading your list. once all the students respond, the bus starts up and you take your seat. you couldn’t ignore him either, so you turned to toji. “I’m sure you read the email, mr. fushiguro, but I’ll just go over some really quick things with you since we have the time—“

“toji.” he blurts. you pause for a moment but then nod. you begin going over procedures for the students in case of an emergency, also how he should keep his ringer on in case a student needs to get in contact.

however the more you speak the less and less he cares about these formalities and just wants to know more about you.

“so we’ll be together for most of the time?” he asks.

you pause, your lips part for a moment. before you hum, “yes, but that’s if the students have all successfully made an itinerary with their group, since the purpose of this trip is to give them responsibility and just complete the assignments throughout these 3 days.”

“then shouldn’t we make our own itinerary?”

you laugh shaking your head, “no I don’t think so. we’ll tag along with groups here and there.”

he pouts slightly, his smirk slowly disappearing from his face when you chuckle at his idea. and you find it slightly flustering to see him upset at your response. did he seriously come on this trip to be around you? there’s no way?

he hums, shifting in his seat once more. “but the students will be all broken up into groups, isn’t that right? I’ll find something to do.”

you didn’t know what he meant by that, but the bus ride continued. it was quite enjoyable, minus the screaming that you had to continuously go back to silence. megumi came up a couple times asking for chips from his dad, and Yuuji would always come up to the front, until they just decided to sit up with you and some of the other kids came and joined as you all laughed and played. it was funny playing mafia with a bunch of middle schoolers. toji never played it before so it was amusing hearing nobara, one of the other girls, and megumi explain it to him.

“let’s just start playing!” yuuji whines, growing impatient.

toji raises a confused brow in your direction and you stifle a laugh, shrugging.

it was funny hearing nobara narrate the story, and it was even more funny when toji and you opened your eyes. he gave you a confused look.

‘we are the killers’ you mouth trying not to make a sound to not give yourself away.

and still he managed to give himself away since the first person he killed in the game wasn’t his son and it was common knowledge among the students that you either make megumi a killer, or doctor, if not you kill him right away because he always manages to end the game in two rounds because he guesses who everyone is. which was exactly what happened. toji was voted off easily and you in the next. it was impressive.

the students continued playing, they had a lot of energy, toji was even more impressed how fast you were keeping up with all of them. you also were getting some work done of your own. answering texts from other teachers.

“Okay guys, last bathroom break!” the students all file out, pushing past you as they run to the bathrooms, some heading to the little convenience store. “calmly guys!” you shout after them. you put your hands on your hips, your eyes scanning the desolate rest stop.

toji comes up behind you, “are we first or last?”

you look over your shoulder, “last, mrs. tanaka said they were able to miss the traffic we hit.” you frown scrolling through your phone as you check the messages that most of the buses already arrived at the hotel.

toji leans down, his presence overwhelming as you feel him reading your messages.

“are you worried?”

“what? no,” you close your phone, forcing out a smile as you pat his arm. woah! your cheeks flush feeling his large biceps. your hand retracts when you realize your hand actually stayed on his arm.

his tongue pokes his cheek, trying hard not to smile, because he can already feel how hot his cheeks are. “you can keep your hands on me, I don’t mind.”

your face burns. “i—I’m gonna use the bathroom.” you quickly scurry off, glancing back watching toji lean back on his heels stuffing his big hands into his pocket as he smiles back at you. fuck!

the students bring you back to reality as they fool around in the rest stop. you call the ones in the store as they load up the bus. “toji?”

he looks up at you, his green eyes so attentive you wanted to pat his head. you flush at the thought, patting a grown man’s head, as if he isn’t older than you and has a child. “can you check the boys bathroom? we’re missing two.”

toji hums, his hands come out of his pockets as he walks to the bathroom. your eyes track his large figure as he walks away. the expanse of his shoulders made your cheeks flush, imagining what he’d look like shirtless, muscles moving under your palm as he rails into you.

ahh stop it! you cover your face.

“ms. l/n, are you okay?” nobara is staring at you with a weird look.

“wha-yea im fine, hope on the bus,” you gently push her towards the bus which she immediately skips onto. you follow suite doing another head count before two other boys run onto the bus followed by toji.

he sighs, “one of them was throwing up.” your eyes grow wide, “he’s fine, i think he’s just sick of the long ride.”

you immediately move to the back of the bus to speak to the student, he allows you to bring him to the front of the bus so the motion sickness isn’t as bad. eventually the bus continues, the students fall silent. the traffic horrendous, most of you end of falling asleep, and that includes you.

only a few students were awake, but as for the rest they were dead silent. the seats were slightly uncomfortable, but toji turned to look at you.

he notices the way your head bangs against the bus window, his eyes squinting as he grows more and more concerned you’ll get a concussion, that’s a little dramatic, but still, how could you blame him, you looked so delicate. he gently moves the bag in the seat beside you and sits down. he carefully lifts the arm rest and moves his hand to cup your head. he’s careful not to disturb your sleep when he puts his coat between the window and you.

well that is until you shift your body to rest your head on his shoulder.

toji feels your body relax, sleeping peacefully on his strong shoulder. your soft breaths like music to his ears, as he rests his head back. sleep not coming easy for him he stays awake, and watches over the bus in your stead.

another hour passes until the bus comes to halt. the day now night as the kids start to wake up. you’re still fast asleep, and toji couldn’t help the swell in his chest seeing how heavy of a sleeper you are. but he should probably wake you up, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when he’s seeing your calm features resting so adorably.

“we’re here!” yuuji’s loud yell like a morning alarm.

toji flinched, suppressing an angry bark when you stirred awake from the call. you sigh softly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you wake up.

a low whistle has you blinking. the first thing you see is toji looking down at you with an expression you can’t quite read, and then standing around is some kids as they simultaneously ooo and laugh.

“teach was sleeping on mr. fushiguro!”

“teach and mister sitting on a treeee K I S—“

the taunting kids make you roll your eyes as you sit up.

“everyone back to your seats!��� you huff, shooing them as you stand up, only to see the large coat slip down. he catches it, eyes boring up at you.

“sleep well?” he smiles, and it absolutely breaks your heart, this man!! you internally scream, his green eyes and the twitch of his scar, the dark black hair over his eyes had you meltinggg. and the way he’s looking up at you, an immediate blush takes over your entire body.

“mhm,” you reply softly, and his eyes glint with something you have to turn away from.

you do another roll call before getting off the bus. the kids flood into the hotel and luckily some other teachers waited for you and helped with rooms for the kids. everyone was sent on their way and you felt a relief once you unlocked the key to your room, closing it behind you—

“teach.”

you whip around to see toji standing at the doorway, holding the door open with his strong hand.

“yes?”

toji’s eyes fell to your lips, back to your eyes, pretending like you didn’t see that, but you did. “you left this on the table,” he says, extending your packet of the schedule. you really must be tired.

“oh! thank you, oh my god, that would’ve been sooo bad if I lost that,” you laugh, taking the packet. but he doesn’t let go. your brows crease adorably as you look up at him. and he’s looking at you with that look again. “mr. fus—“

“if you need anything else, let me know. okay?” his firm request sent flutters breaking inside you. you nod, and he lets go. “good night, sweetheart.”

“g-good night.”

you watch the door close, until you feel your hand reaching out and then your body is coming out as you call him. he barely took a few steps as he turns at your voice. “i uh…” what’re you doing? why did you even call him? but you’re hypnotized by his presence, you almost didn’t want him to go. what’re you talking about? you’ll see him in the morning—

“gonna finish your sentence, honey?”

you mentally slap yourself. “it slipped my mind. nevermind. goodnight.” you disappear back to your room, missing the smirk that splits the fighters face. fucking adorable. it was on the tip of your tongue.

the next morning was packed, the students came down for breakfast, they were placed in their groups and the entire class went to mandatory orientation, then to a museum as they filled out packets, before lunch came and it was finally free time. the students all splitting into their groups and exploring the small historical town. yuuji led megumi, nobara, and junpei to the beach he’s been waiting to see.

“how’re you holding up?” toji appears beside you. you slump, sighing heavily.

“I didn’t know school trips were this exhausting when I was in school,” you complain just a little. toji chuckles, his hand coming up, carefully fixing the hair from your cheek. his eyes glance down at your lips again, then back into your eyes. “it’s just day one,” he teases.

“yay,” you fake enthusiasm, as he laughs with you, still brushing your cheek with his thumb. “we should check with some of the kids.”

“shouldn’t they be figuring out that shit themselves?” toji doesn’t let you escape. “ya, but what else—“ toji’s hand slips down to yours and takes it as he leads you in a direction. “where are we going?”

“I don’t know, let’s explore,” he pulls you closer to him and if anyone looked over they would think you were a couple, and to be honest, you loved that thought. your hand didn’t even try to break away from his, embracing how he basically engulfs your small palm in his. you mindlessly follow him around until something catches your eye and you go there then there, pointing and explaining random facts.

“how do you know that?”

“oh i studied architecture and art history,” you explain as you’re standing at a shrine. toji has a hand on your lower back as he leans over looking at the statue you’re pointing at. you’ve gotten used to smelling his cologne, but with the long day his natural musk is mixed in making you dizzy. he’s gently stroking a thumb on your lower back, almost like he always wants you to be conscious of his touch.

ding ding ding

you check your phone. on the chat, yuuji sent multiple photos of his group by the water on the beach, along with the turtles they found. your eyes widen, “yuuji actually found them.”

“we’re close by them,” toji looks over, and he immediately takes your hand and you both head to the beach. when you arrive most of the groups came, everyone having the same idea. it wouldn’t be bad for toji, that is until you retract your hand. your eyes flicker over his, a silent apology.

you don’t necessarily know what you’re apologizing about, but still. the rest of the day was spent with the kids playing with the turtles. you and a few teachers explaining the wild life here, along with the turtles. then you conclude with a circle on the beach with each group presenting what they learned today and so on.

dinner came at a perfect time. the kids all filing into the hotel restaurant, taking their seats and of course toji sitting with you and a few other teachers.

honestly, looking at himself, toji thought he was a good sport. entertaining these other teachers and chaperons even after the kids went back to their rooms to sleep and you all stayed for a few light drinks. they asked him questions he definitely hated answering, but when your sole attention was on him, he made due with it.

“are ya thinkin of retiring anytime?” one of the other dads asked, fully invested in toji.

toji licked his teeth, clearly annoyed as the questions got a little more intrusive. “we’ll see,” his clipped reply almost only seemed to clock in on your part as you sensed his mood shift. especially as the questions got more intimidate asking if megumi takes after him, or if he’ll allow him to start fighting early.

that’s when you decided to stand up, covering your mouth with a fake yawn. “It’s getting pretty late. I’m gonna knock out.” you speak to the table, but give toji a brief glance, inviting him to take the out, which he immediately does.

“I’m knocking in too then,” he stands up, easily leading you both out of the restaurant, unbothered by the looks the adults give him.

“fuck, they’re nosy as shit,” he mutters to you as you both step out and into the elevators.

“yea, sorry,” you cringe, but he shakes it off.

“no need for you to apologize,” he shrugs, rubbing his nose. you glance over at him, smiling as you rest a hand on his forearm.

“thank you again for volunteering. honestly, it’s premature since we still have two more days, but you’ve been a big help so far,” you say, and toji can’t help cracking a smile.

“it’s my pleasure. spending time with you doesn’t feel like work,” he coolly replies, allowing you to look him over with your adorable eyes.

“of course that’s not what I meant,” you mutter, he can see you trying not to smile.

“don’t tell me the best part of the day wasn’t walking with me?” he leans closer to you. “do you hold hands with every student’s dad?”

“no.”

“so am I special?” he pushes, hand gently playing with your hand.

the elevator stops on your floor. you sigh as you bring a hand up to his chest.

“our floor.”

“our room?”

“no,” you brush him as he follows you with a smirk. hands deep in his pockets as he looks at you from behind.

“you can have the extra key to my room,” he waves it to you as he walks you to your room.

“and why would I take it?” your smirk widens, glancing up at him.

“of course for safety. in case you feel like you need a strong man to protect the model teacher who’s all alone at night in an unknown town,” he smiles, hand against your door caging you in.

“yeah?” your tone was low and breathy, only luring him down to your eye level, humming deep in his chest. “but then I won’t be comfortable sleepin’,” you pull him in with your words.

his voice drops, taking the bait, “and why’s that?”

“well because I sleep with a t-shirt,” you pause, “only.”

Toji’s smile cracks, heat flooding his ears as he drops his gaze to your lips. “that’s not a problem for me.”

you can’t believe you’re actually flirting with a student’s dad. you didn’t feel like a teacher, no, you really felt like a girl in her twenties (which you well are) easily teasing a man into bed.

“having a stranger so close to me in bed?” you whisper, smiling when his lips hovers so close to you. “that’s scary.”

“nah, it’s for safety,” he leans in, breath fanning against your face.

unfortunately, when his lips hovered over yours, the booming footsteps and shouting immediately pulled you apart. toji pulled away as you both looked over to your right seeing four boys racing through the hotel floor.

“hey, boys!” you whisper shout, sliding by toji as you speed walk to the boys. all but leaving the six foot-five fighter pressing his face into the door.

after sending the boys back to their rooms with a heavy lecture, you walk back to your room slightly disappointed when toji wasn’t there. it was a long day, you didn’t blame him for going to bed early. but when you saw his room card in front of your door when you stepped inside you couldn’t contain you the heat that spread across your cheeks.

… DAY 2 …

most women found toji attractive. hell even men were jealous of his physique and face card. but does any of that excuse the slight annoyance you felt going through the aquarium and seeing the workers near the starfish flirt with toji as the kids in your group stuck their hands in the tank to pet the starfish and other aquatic creatures. probably not, but fuck it.

the small disgusting twist in your gut that came up when you saw toji smile and let out a laugh almost had you rolling your eyes. so being the pity twenty-four year old, you decided to open your mouth.

“toji,” you call his name before you can think twice about it. you force a smile when he turns to look at you. “can you come help me over here,” you call out from across the tank.

“oh, I can help you miss,” another worker at aquarium pops next to you making you jump from the surprise.

toji continues looking at you and he notices the way you shake your head. “oh sorry, it’s has to do with the students…paperwork…I mean,” you clear your throat nodding your head as the worker gives you an odd look that you can immediately note was a ‘she’s weird’. but at least you don’t catch the way toji is biting back a smirk as you call him again.

he easily struts over, his black t-shirt and black cargos, hugging his frame so when he stood beside you you were almost thankful that he blocked your view from the workers.

“yes, teach?” you can hear the smug smile in his voice before you even look at him.

“well,” you start, subtly glancing around for some lie you can make up, but toji crossing his big muscular arms showing off his veins and giving you a look you don’t even want to begin to decipher, wasn’t fucking helping. “just stay here. I forgot what I needed, but if I need something…just be near me,” you clear your throat looking up at him with confidence. “that’s your job…as a parent chaperon, okay?”

“okay,” he says with the biggest smile.

maybe you should’ve just let him talk to the workers, but you’d never admit that it made you jealous that this thirty-something year old man was focused on something that isn’t you. even when you both were walking behind the students on a hike to some shrines in the mountains, you were glad as fuck that he stayed right beside you and not upfront with the guides.

“you could’ve just said you didn’t want me talking to other girls and I would’ve listened,” Toji’s voice slips on the air as he walks beside you.

you scoff, “well that’d be ridiculous to say, especially because that wasn’t why I said it. if you remember, it said on the parent slip it that chaperons are the teachers assistants, basically.” you glance confidently at toji and he’s kissing his teeth as he holds back a smirk. you were a fucking brat. he definitely would’ve lost that bet. “so just stay near me.”

“I was near you at the aquarium,” he pushes, because shit, he’ll always tease the bait.

“you were distracted, that’s not being present, and it’s against the rules,” you roll your eyes, moving to tie your hair up the longer up the mountain you’re going. you loved a good hike, but the heat was a death sentence, so was this windbreaker.

“i was just asking the sweet worker about the starfish…to educate the kids of course,” his choice of words was definitely on purpose.

the group makes it to the shrine as they all scramble to look around.

you turn on your heel looking up at toji. “it didn’t look like that.” you try to hold back your criticism, not realizing that he’s trying to get a rise out of you because this revelation he’s discovered is definitely not something he’s gonna let go of.

“what did it look like then, hm?” he leans in, crossing his arms as he pushes his hair back, the sweat from the heat making his hair shine and his muscles constrict in his tight shirt. “did it look like i was flirting with her?”

you deadpan, “yeah, it did.”

“is that an issue?” he pushes.

“if it’s when you’re working, then yes it is,” your words are clipped, he was almost getting a hard-on with your attitude.

“so if it’s not in front of you or the kids?” he muses.

“yes.”

“because you’ll get jealous then,” his words once again make a vein unironically bulge from your forehead. you cup your cheeks.

“that’s not why—I just said why,” you exhale, and he finds it hilarious how well you control your emotions with your students but when it’s with him, you have to take some deep breaths. “I’m not jealous.” you state. “it’s professionalism.”

“so us holding hands is?—“

your eyes narrow.

“I’m not complaining, I just don’t know if I should also be holding Mrs. Takada’s hand too?” he doesn’t loose eye contact as you stare into his soul. “tell me what I can and can’t do, teach, I’m a good listener, I just need to be told what do to.” you were frustrated because you couldn’t tell if his choice of words were purposely submissive, especially with that smug look on his face as you tried hard to read him.

“you can’t hold anyone else’s hand,” you finally mutter, not before rubbing your cheek as you turn to look at the other students circling the guide as the other teachers tell them to quiet up and listen. “you’re my assistant, so that’s the reason.”

“understood,” his reply is punctuated by a step towards you, his lips ghosting you ear as his other hand sneaks around your waist. “I’ll keep my hands on you, so I don’t get you all mad at me again.” his cool voice went straight into your core as you felt your face burn red.

“I wasn’t mad,” you push his hand off you; finally distancing yourself from the shameless man.

however, toji listened. he was polite with the other teachers, curt and short with the female guide that tried to talk to him more when the students were roaming around the shrine, but it was pretty easy for him to side-step her and follow megumi and his friends as the huddled around a lizard they found.

“woahh is he gonna shapeshift?” Yuuji reaches out for the lizard only for it to run away. toji stays around the kids especially when they continue their hike up to another shrine at the top of the mountain. of course, it was fun hanging out with his son and his friends. but it also made your attitude more obvious the longer the hike went on.

especially when there was a broken step and toji was helping the kids up, only for your turn to come and you telling him you can go up yourself.

he had to bite back a scoff, he almost forgot you were basically straight out of college, and definitely stubborn as shit. but still his hand hovered behind you as you climbed up and you didn’t look back once. it was almost making him want to rub himself because of how fucking bratty you’re being. but still he continued to flirt with you, because why else did he come on this trip.

“dad?“

toji looks behind him to see megumi and yuuji still by the shrine while the rest of the group is already heading back down the mountain.

“yeah?” tojj raises a brow for megumi to continue. that’s when yuuji interrupts with your name.

“she went looking for nobara, but they’re not back yet,” yuuji shakes his head like a dramatic eleven year old. “I told nobara there’s no bathrooms behind the shrine, but she just went anyways.”

toji concerned now glances behind him to see the group now fully gone and the sun setting. now that he thinks back, he hasn’t seen you since they entered the shrine for a tour. “when did the girl leave?”

“like awhile ago,” yuuji sighs again dramatically, not fully grasping that that’s not a very helpful answer.

toji looks at megumi.

“it was around twenty minutes ago, when teacher followed after her,” megumi answers.

“you’re just repeating what I said,” yuuji narrows his eyes at megumi who brushes him off as he looks up at his dad who’s glancing around the empty shrine. the stand was already closed and it was getting dark.

“stay with me, kay, hold my hand,” toji extends his left hand for megumi to take, while yuuji held onto megumi’s hand. toji quickly pulled out his phone to text the WhatsApp chat with the other chaperons and teachers letting them know he was with two other students and will be down. right after he called you. with one ring it immediately went to voicemail. “are you fuckin’ with me right now?”

he walks around the shrine with megumi and yuuji in tow as he called again and same thing. your phone was definitely dead because you always answered your phone. that or—

now with the sun completely set, toji pulled out the flashlight from megumi’s bag as he went deeper into the woods behind the shrine. yuuji was clutching megumi’s arm as megumi held on his dad’s shirt. toji called your name, a little louder the deeper they went in.

“dad?” megumi glances up to, but toji ignores his worries as he continues shouting your name and yuuji easily mimics toji’s concern as he shouts for nobara.

“nobara!!”

after another fifteen minutes in the woods, toji receives a call from one of the teachers and immediately answers.

“hello, just checking if you guys are still up there?” she asks, and includes if you and nobara are with him because your phone had died the moment you arrived at the shrine.

“I have megumi and yuuji, but we’re looking for the other two,” toji’s voice was strained. he really should’ve listened to you and stayed by your side then this wouldn’t have happened. it makes it worse when the teacher on the line starts panicking. toji can overhear the tour guide speaking to the teacher saying they’ll send someone back up, but it’ll take them thirty minutes to walk back up.

“mr. fushiguro you should come back down the mountain so you and the boys don’t get lost-“

toji hangs up.

“mr. tojj i heard something,” yuuji yelps, suddenly clutching toji’s other arm and going on a rant from the nerves. “megumi was talking about the spirits and how they’re hiding in places where no one lives anymore and-and we passed by those broken shacks on the way up.”

toji’s jaw clenches, eye shutting as he exhales. “I told you not to watch that shit horror movie ‘gumi.”

megumi cringes, “I didn’t—“

“we did last night—AH!” the sudden crack behind them sends yuuji flying ten feet in the air and megumi clutching his dad even tighter almost pissing his pants.

toji turns abruptly at the noise, holding onto yuuji who’s basically on top of his shoulders and megumi wrapped under his arm, face smushed into his side clutching his shirt.

“toji?”

the familiar voice sends a flood of relief rushing through toji as he immediately moves forward as two black blobs turn into you and megumi’s friend. yuuji and megumi’s are still holding onto toji like they might die, but he’s still able to make it over to you, his hand coming up to cheek as he shines his flashlight on your face making you hiss pushing it away.

“shut up, I’m seein’ if you’re hurt,” he grunts pushing your hand away.

“I’m fine, just forgot my phone died when I went after nobara,” you say, but still letting toji examine your face before he kneels down to check on the girl.

“you still don’t fucking go off by yourself,” he grunts brushing the girls cheek as she crosses her arms.

“why can megumi’s dad say fuck, but I get in trouble, miss?” nobara snaps, making you frown down at her,

“because I’m not a little girl that ran off into the woods by herself and almost got lost,” toji clips back, having a harsh stare off with the girl who frowns even more, but eventually averts her gaze.

“I had to use the bathroom,” she mutters.

“I told you there was no bathroom!” yuuji points at nobara suddenly interrupting as he still holds on toji,

“you’ve never been here, how the heck would you know??” nobara scoffs.

“because I know everything, I told you that,” yuuji tsks.

“you’re an idiot,” nobara frowns, annoyed and already embarrassed about getting lost.

you sigh stepping in, “okay, enough guys. we don’t call each other names, we’re not in elementary school.” you gently tap toji’s shoulder and he stands up. the flashlight was pointed at the ground, but the shadows that contrasted his face made him look even more handsome. “let’s head down,” you look away, “you remember the way?”

“course.”

maybe toji should’ve called the teachers the second he found you and nobara, but it slipped his mind since he had to lead you and the three kids back down the mountain. especially with how scared yuuji and megumi were after watching that horror movie in the hotel room last night. nobara on the other hand was picking on them to make herself feel better about causing this whole mess. and you, you did your best to keep them close to toji, because even you were holding onto him to keep yourself from tripping on the unbalanced steps made over six centuries ago. but at least all that masked the underlying tension between you and your students father, especially when you held onto his arm a little longer after his arm wrapped around your waist before you tripped on a large tree root.

“thanks,” you sigh, catching your breath.

“I can pick you up if you’re tired,” he leans close, and you would say he’s teasing, but the way he’s looking at you even in the dark, you knew it wasn’t a joke.

“funny,” you say, but still hold his arm as you continue walking. the three kids right in front of you both.

“oh I see the gate!” yuuji jumps, grasping onto both nobara and megumi.

easy to say, once you arrived back at the hotel and the kids all filed into the hotel restaurant for dinner, you received an ear full privately from two of the teachers. you couldn’t really pinpoint what you’d done wrong, you went after Nobara the second you counted your kids again to see she wasn’t there then to hear from yuuji and megumi that she went off alone. maybe you should’ve told another teacher, hell toji first, and had a charged phone before going, that would’ve been smart.

okay, you deserved the lecture.

afterwards, you decided to head to your room. you weren’t that hungry anymore, and the other teachers would send the kids off to bed.

the second day was brutal. the early morning walk, then the aquarium, and then the shrine visits, then getting lost in the woods—

“fuck,” you groan, growing exhausted from just thinking about the day as you crawl into the covers after a much needed shower. unfortunately for you a loud knock hits your hotel door.

you want to ignore it, give an excuse in the morning that you’d already fallen asleep, but there’s another knock and it’s followed by a deep voice calling your name. it almost sent shivers down your spine as you stood up and walked to open the door.

“you didn’t eat?” his eyes fixate on your cute face, eyes half blinking with exhaustion, but then he lets his eyes roam further down. shamelessly checking you out.

“I wasn’t hungry,” you answer, leaning against the door as you hold it partially open, aware of any other teacher or parent that could pass by and see you in your old university shirt and skims boy shorts. “is everyone else heading back up?”

“most of the kids finished eating and went to bed. gonna check on megs and yuu to make sure they’re not watching another r rated movie,” toji says, still looking at you like you’re made of sin, though it’s not far off from the truth. “you normally let parents see ya like this?”

you try not to let the heat in your core take over, especially with the way that he’s eyeing your lips and leaning against the doorframe. his hand reaches out, holding the hem of your shirt, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. he says the name of your university. “when did you graduate?”

you’re desperately trying not to show how flustered his casual demeanor is making you, but feeling his knuckles skim over your exposed skin. he was towering over you, still in his cargo and tshirt from earlier. his shoulders were even more sculpted and because you showered, you can smell his musk even clearer. you’ve always had a sensitive nose, but something about how manly he smelled, the mix of his worn cologne and natural woody smell made you blush.

“you’re exhausted,” he interrupts, making you blink up at him. he chuckles lightly, and you’re beyond thankful that he didn’t realize you were thinking about something completely different. especially when his hand lets go of your shirt to take a step back. you’re almost surprised he’s the one putting space between you both, and you almost feel like you’re being rejected right now. you didn’t even stop to think if he was bothered with your attitude today. were you crossing a line? “goodnight, sweetheart.” he gives you one last smile, turning around.

“toji?” you stop him.

“hmm?” he turns. his undivided attention on you.

“thank you for today. with me and Nobara in the woods, we definitely would’ve been lost if you didn’t come looking for us,” your voice was light, and soft. he almost found it amusing how you’re a sweet girl one second and the other you’re giving him attitude. but still he lets a smile take over his face and you almost have to look away because the dimples that appear on his cheeks was too hypnotizing you could feel your face catch on fire.

“stop thanking me. plus I should’ve stayed by you like you said, then you wouldn’t have gotten lost.”

you frown, “it was my fault.”

toji smiles, “goodnight, ma.”

you flush at the new nickname. fuck, why are you so easy to please. especially when he’s walking away and waves his room key over his shoulder.

“Room 322, no need to knock.”

Unfortunately for you. you immediately crashed into bed once you closed your door. the exhausting day easily luring you into a deep sleep.

…DAY 3…

the multiple meetings you had with the teachers this month leading up to the trip all warned about day 3. it was going to be the longest day. not only were you guys going to an interactive zoo, you also had another hike near the lake with kayaking, and a final nighttime hike from a short astronomy lesson.

“everyone head down for breakfast,” you knock on all the hotel doors. some kids luckily already awake as they immediately popped out and started heading down with their backpacks.

you hesitated, but eventually knocked on toji’s door. no reply. biting your lip, you knock again, and that’s when the door wings open, and you’re met with a bare naked toji—

well he had a towel wrapped very loosely around his waist, he was basically naked. especially with your reaction that you had no way of controlling. your eyes couldn’t not follow the multiple water droplets that ran down his huge pecs, down to his very sculpted and ripped torso, and even further down his pelvis. his happy trail glistened from the water as the hairs grew thicker the lower—

a low whistle suddenly had your eyes snapping up. staring back at you was the very handsome man with the most shit eating smirk as his looked down at you.

“you wanna come in?” he teases, but his own ears turn red when you just stare into his eyes like you were actually considering what he’d just said.

“y-“ you clear your throat, coming back to your senses as you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes still scanning down his body, especially with the way his body filled the entire door frame. his huge veiny hand lazily holding the front of the towel so it doesn’t fall…it was so loose, he hurried out of the shower when he heard the door. “were you on a run again?” you could’ve easily ended this heated interaction by getting straight to the point, but the dumb twenty four year old part of your brain couldn’t help, but talk to the hot parent that’s basically been flirting with you non-stop for the last few months. especially when he looked like this right now.

“ya, can’t loose myself on this trip or my team will have my fuckin’ head,” toji thinks about how much arguing and convincing he had to do with his best friend/coach sukuna to let him chaperone this trip.

“pretty strict, do you not get any vacations?” your curious, and you lean against the doorframe, pretending like you don’t notice the way toji is holding back a smile.

“no I get vacations, but if there’s a match in a few months then it’s training 24/7. even during trips,” he answers, “you ever been to a match?”

your lips part, “no. I’ve watched some on tv. mainly in high school since my dad is a huge fan.”

“and you’re not a fan?” his teasing is intrusive, maybe because he wants you to admit to liking him, even if it’s just his image first—

“I’d have to see a match first before saying anything,” the light shrugged you had only made him even more attracted to you.

he raises a brow, “you can just tell me you want to come to my game. no need to tip toe around it.”

your cheeks flush, “that’s not—“ your cheeks blow up as toji breaks out laughing, leaning forward to meet you at the level. his huge body towering over you, his eyes scanning over your face.

“I’ll get you vip seats, but I have’ta get somethin’ in return.”

your chin tips out just a little so you can lock eyes, raising a brow, telling him to go on then.

you were killing him, without even realizing it, his fist clenched around his towel, feeling his blood filling up his dick, he had to refrain from making it show.

“a date.”

oh.

your lips part. you didn’t know why you were shocked. maybe because he’s been flirting with you for months, you probably thought deep down inside he wasn’t the type to take women out on dates. maybe it was just a bar and a fuck, not that you were complaining if that was the case. but still, his answer seemed to make your face even hotter than before, and you felt little stupid.

“i don’t know if that’s appropriate…” you mutter, almost defeated, his eyes glanced over yours as you looked away.

“you’re not gonna be megumi’s teacher forever. just another two months until school’s out,” his voice was deep, you hadn’t realized he’d been bending closer. your back pressed against the doorframe as his hand came up, firmly caressing your waist. “one date when we get back. let me treat you, you’d like that?”

you bite your cheek, back arched against the doorframe as you glance back at him. his hooded eyes and deep face, his handsome features practically seducing you.

“one date,” you repeat.

“and more if you like me so much,” he smirks, face inches from yours.

your voice is breathy, heart racing because he smells so good, so clean, “f-fine,” your cheeks flush at the stutter but he only smiles. his hand travels up to cup your cheek.

“you flustered?” his canines are hard to hide when he’s smiling like that.

“no-“ you push his hand away, pressing a hand to his chest to push him back. “g-get changed or you won’t have time for breakfast,” you huff, stepping away and speed walking away from him.

toji licks his teeth, shutting the door once you disappear. he’ll just grab an apple before leaving, because now he has to handle this mess. he clenches his jaw as he drops his towel, firm hand grabbing the base of his hard cock. “fuck.”

—

similar to the aquarium, at the zoo you had to keep an eye on your students while the zoo workers gave the lessons to the groups. they lead you to different sections, giving brief lessons on the different species so the kids can fill out their packets.

on the other hand, you were enjoying how close toji was. always an arm length away. the only time you separated is when one of the zookeepers asked if you wanted to feed the giraffe to give a demonstration to the students before it was their turn.

your face lit up as you stepped up.

“Up here, sweeetheart,” the zookeeper easily flirts as he helps you up on the platform, a hand resting on your lower back as he takes your palm with food over his. “Now you’re just gonna extend it out, and he’ll come right to you,” he smiles as you hum.

little did you know that toji was practically seething. his jaw set tight, muscles tensing at the way this shitkeeper was drooling over you. anyone would fucking drool over a hot school teacher, especially if they looked like you.

“here he comes,” the zookeeper points, all the students ooo as the giraffe leans down, then eats from your hand. you gasp at the odd feeling, backing into the zookeeper on accident, pressing yourself against him.

“sorry—“ you chirp, still afraid of the giraffe as he tries to lean in for more.

the zookeeper laughs, “it’s alright,” his arm holds your waist, and toji is rolling his eyes so hard.

“give me a break,” he mutters.

megumi standing in front of him looks up. “what?”

toji doesn’t spare him a glance, his eyes zeroed in on you feeding the giraffe again, totally fine with the zookeeper all over you, literally.

“what the fuck,” his nails dig into his bicep, the expression on his face was not subtle at all that even yuuji is cackling.

“mr. toji are you jealous? do you wanna feed the giraffe too?” yuuji blurts, making nobara beside him turn and cackle too, pointing at megumi’s dad. a few of the other students in your group laugh at toji.

toji glares down at the children, not catching the subtle way you’re shifting on the platform, hand over the zookeepers wrist as you step away. “okay, I think that’s it,” you say, the hairs on your body standing up the second the zookeeper kept himself pressed against you when you bumped into him.

“you can feed him so more-“-

“no I’m good—Toji!” you blurt, cutting the conversation quick because toji’s head snaps back up to you. “i need some help getting down.”

any command that slips your mouth is so easily executed, his body moving and standing in front of you as your kneel down, his hands grabbing. your waist as yours goes on your shoulders and easily carries you down. his brow quirks up at you.

“fucking keeper is a freak,” you mutter to him. and though internally toji is ecstatic about that, another part is seething at the fact that the keeper puts his hands all over you and made you very uncomfortable that you had to call toji to pick you up even though the latter was right beside you.

you stood beside toji arms crossed as two students went up the platform at a time to feed the giraffes.

“I can have a word with him,” toji leans down, his hand on your lower back, rubbing gentle circles.

you barely give a laugh, “I’d rather not cause a scene.”

“it would be a word.”

you shake your head, “it’s fine.” toji licks his teeth nodding.

but when you went to the next section. and the zookeeper wasn’t following you or toji, you already knew what must’ve happened when another keeper came to your group.

“I said it was fine,” you tell him.

“well I wasn’t fine,” he shrugs easily, his eyes glancing down at you, ready to brush your jeep before realizing where the fuck he is.

the rest of the day was hell.

pure hell.

the zoo was long, lunch only energized the kids for the two hour hike. it was a great view, but there was another bathroom problem and the kids had to take turns going in the woods. then the last thing before lunch was kayaking.

everyone was excited, a few kids sat out with another teacher since they were too scared even if they were given a life vest. but everyone else was way to excited to head into the water. maybe that’s why most if not all the kids ended up tipping into the water.

“everyone grab onto your kayaks,” the tour guide exclamined, but the kids were laughing and splashing. some bopping up and down in their life vests.

you were almost thankful for yours not tipping until it did. the students were laughing their asses off even more.

“miss.l/n fell into the water!!” they all laugh.

everyone but toji, because when everyone makes it back to shore. they’re drenched head to toe. including toji who jumped in after a student who said they knew how to swim but didn’t.

but what wasn’t funny was seeing your t-shirt stuck to your chest, showcasing your figure for all the parent chaperones. fuck.

“I hate wet jeans,” you grumble, as you squeeze the ends of your baggy jeans as the water pools down. you clip your wet hair up as you hold onto toji’s arm. “thanks for getting tyler, he should’ve taken a life vest.”

toji hums.

“is everything okay?” you stand up straight now. and that’s when you notice toji eyeing your chest. you flush, but also scoff.

“there’s other people looking,” he huffs.

“jus you.”

“not jus’ me, others,” he eyes the other parents helping the kids dry off before loading back on the bus to get dinner then go on the night hike back at the hotel.

“yeah yeah,” you wave him off, walking away. but toji remains guarding you. he didn’t calm down until you got changed before dinner. your modest skirt, tight cleavage covering top, and cardigan. it was adorable.

“mrs. jackson and mr. white said they’re getting us drinks after the hike,” one of the other teachers, ally, cheers to you as you’re on the night hike. Mrs. jackson and Mr.white are the oldest of the teachers and usually offer up drinks to celebrate a successful hard working field trip.

“oh really?” your eyes are wide.

Ally nods enthusiastic, “this was such a fun field trip, but I’ve been dying for a drink.” she’s practically buzzing, even though she’s a very happily married and in her mid thirties, you don’t fully regret what you’re about to say until you do.

“I think I’ll pass,” you starts.

“what?”

“I’ve never been a fan of drinking,” you admit, toji overhearing a few paces behind you with another parent chaperon.

“what?! you’re the youngest here, though!” Ally is unbelievably put off by your response that you have to salvage it, until she adds. “we’ll at least have one drink with us.it was your first field trip as one of the teachers here, and we just want to celebrate. you don’t even need to get another drink. okay? Okay.”

you bite your cheek nodding.

“yay!!”

and that’s how you ended up here. sitting at the center of the ten seat table with all the young teachers and parent chaperons. completely fucking drunk.

“this w-was such a fuuun trip,” you hiccup as the table is laughing and drinking. you were all laughing. “I’m like so happy—“

the table is cackling and toji seated beside you is realizing in seconds. “you’re a fuckin’ light weight,” he clocks. the other teachers laugh noting that as well.

“nuh-uh, I-i can drink another,” you hiccup again, taking his drink and gulping another few sips until he’s clicking his tongue.

“Christ,” he slides a water to you, “drink.”

and the night went on with you tipsy and the others getting unbelievably drunk into the night. even toji was getting tipsy with the parents asking question that he had to take the edge off before his fist collided with one of their faces. but when you went to grab the drinks from the bar for the table, slipping to the floor, toji realized maybe it was time to calm it night.

“what? but we’re still having fun,” you whine as toji lifts you up, arm wrapped around you waist, your cardigan slipping off your shoulder.

“fun until you’re puking if you drink more,” toji stubbles himself. not realizing he’s just as drunk until he’s tapping your key into door, easily dragging you to your bed. “get some rest,” he sighs, lips coming to plant a kiss on your forehead. your eyes are bright, almost too bright as you watch him trudge out.

fuck he’s glad he can at least walk back to his room.

which left you peeling your clothes off and pressing your face into the bed as you rolled around in your pajamas. you weren’t tired. not at all. today was long and exhausting, you were completely exhausted during dinner, but now. now you’re feeling alone…

you turned your head on the pillow, when you caught something on your nightstand.

toji’s room key.

he laid back on his bed, hand pressed to his face, he felt good, but he knew in the morning the headache will come and his moves will be lazy. fuck, he really should’ve cut it after his third drink, but the only reason he kept going was because you were still there.

even though he’d got what he wanted. you agreed on a date. he still couldn’t bare to rip himself away from you. especially when he saw how adorable and talkative you get when you’re drunk. you already had a sweet teacher things going, plus the bratty attitude underneath, but you drunk was all of that plus a little more unfiltered shit that he just couldn’t miss.

and when you leaned against him because you were laughing. fuck he almost flipped a table when one of the parents kept eyeing your chest. even though you couldn’t see any skin on the shirt, it was so tight hugging your breasts—that’s when he heard his door click.

his brow raised, as he sat up.

the light poured in from the hallway, but the wall still covered who was at the door.

the door slowly creaked shut, and toji was about to sit up even more when—

“toji?”

shit.

“teach?” toji responds.

that’s when your face peaks out as you step further into the room so the wall couldn’t hide you. toji’s eyes immediately scan your figure, eyes locking in on your bare thighs in those skims boyshorts and university tee.

“I thought you were crashing for the night?” toji rubs his face because he’s unsure now. unsure if you or him are sober enough for this. even when you slowly kneel at the foot of the bed.

you hum, “wasn’t tired. and I got lonely and…scared,” you exhale crawling up, until you stopped right at his bent feet, his back reclined against the stack of pillow, arm behind his head as he watched you. “I used you key.”

“I can see that,” toji stretched out his legs only dressed in loose black sweats, he pants his lap. “come’ere.”

and you fucking now.

a slow crawl up his lap, until you’re straddling him and pressing your hands on his stomach.

“scared?” he starts, hand hesitating, before easing it onto your bare thigh. and just that contact with your smooth skin, made his cock start to ache. “i thought you said you don’t get scared sleeping alone.”

you shrug, cute soft hands still feeling the ridges of his abs, your cheeks flush as you hum. “does it matter why i came?”

“not really. I’d just like to know, would you mind telling me?”

your lips purse as you glance at him and his cheeky smile, “i was lonely…and i saw your key and i thought of you so I came to see you. there, full truth.”

he raised a brow, hand easing up under your shirt to hold your waist, thumb caressing absentmindedly. “there’s something else.”

you lean down shaking your head. breath hot against his face.

“we can’t,” toji speaks lowly, your faces so close he has to stop his hips from adjusting underneath you.

“why not?”

“you’re drunk, sweetheart,” he continues to feel your body. definitely not listening to himself especially when your arching your back to press your chest against his, hands all over his shoulders.

you shake your head, “I’m not.”

“you are, because if you weren’t, you definitely wouldn’t be here,” he gives your side a squeeze, desperately holding back. “crawlin’ on one of your students’ parents’ lap, in thin shorts and a tee…”

“they’re my pajamas,” you sigh flawlessly with a delicate tilt to your head and your lashes half lidded as you gazed at him.

his son’s teacher was a natural slut.

you were definitely acting like your age now. the back talk, the way you’re trying to seduce him, it all came like second nature to you, even if you didn’t fully notice it, toji definitely does. he’s been the victim to many women batting their lashes and flaunting themselves, but you stood out.

toji bites back a groan.

“you’re drunk too, toji,” you lean in, eyes heavy.

he hums, struggling to conceal his smile as your lips hover over his.

“do you not wanna kiss me anymore?” you whisper, feigning rejection.

he exhales laughing, “anymore?”

you hum, sliding just a little further up his lap, so your face was hovering over his. your hair slides gently to one side, concealing this taboo interaction with a private curtain so the only thing toji was seeing was you.

his skin was hot, and his big hands holding your torso wasn’t stabilizing him when you were looking at him like that.

“you’ve been wanting to kiss me every night…and this morning,” you reveal, because of course you caught his hints. you were playing with him. “it was inappropriate.”

“and this isn’t?” he cautiously puts one hand back on your thigh, massaging the bare flesh. your skin was so smooth, so soft, he’d been craving you, thinking about you in the most inappropriate ways, so to have you so easily throwing yourself onto him.

you shake your head. “ it is…but…” your lips skim over his again, breathing heavily. “tonight…I can’t go to sleep without a reward.”

toji snorts, “reward?”

you nod, letting a small whine escape before swallowing it. “I’ve been holding myself back, taking the high road, being responsible, n-now…now I want a kiss, that’s it.” fuck, this is exactly why toji was a fucking whore when he was younger. the age group you’re in right now switched from bratty attitude to spoiled brat in seconds. never choosing between dominant or submissive and it’s so fucking hot.

“you want me to praise you?” toji leans up, his hand squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh electing the softest whine from the back of your throat. you nod, desperate. “want me to tell you how much of a god girl you’ve been not caving in?l he smiles, you nod again.

“please.”

fuck.

“you’re so spoiled,” he licks his scar, and you feel his tongue skim yours briefly, you’re so close.

“mmm!” toji grunts as you finally crash your lips against his.

he holds back a vicious laugh, because you’re so unbelievably desperate with this kiss he has to hold the back of your head to guide you. your whine came automatic, feeling his tongue push your lips open, allowing it to slip in your mouth.

he dominated the kiss, his grip on the back of your head tightened ever so slightly. in this moment, he had you completely at his mercy. and you let him.

he almost couldn't believe that this was the same woman who taught his son. the one who kept avoiding his very obvious advances and get flustered whenever he insinuated something vulgar. but now here she was, sitting on his lap and whimpering for more. it almost made his head spin.

you pull away briefly, catching your breath, your spit collects on your lip as toji glances over your flushed face.

this is wrong. you’re drunk.

but your arms lazily wrap around his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him again. this time longer, messier. your back arches, hope rolling against the his bulge making you moan into his mouth. your tongue selfish as you fought with his, the alcohol on his breath mixed with yours. finger tangling in his dark locks as you scratch his nape making him shiver.

“taste good,” you sigh with a lazy smile, and he can’t help but chuckle. low and deep, chest shaking making you flush. he’s so hot. his scent overflows and overwhelms. you kiss his scar, tongue running over it. “how’d you get this?” you kiss it again and again, moaning so gently, sending shivers down his spine.

“it’ll ruin the mood,” he says, hands grounding your hips down, grunting just a bit when you really start rocking on his fat bulge. his fingers digging into your flesh, sighing once your lips continue to trail down his neck, hands exploring his chest again.

“i’s okay,” you mutter, sucking gentle kisses on his nape, moving to his Adam’s apple, as he snorts.

there’s a beat before— “my old man did it.”

your eyes flick up. you pull away. your eyes suddenly less hazy and he can tell, because his lip curls into a smirk. “told ya it’d ruin the mood—“

his breath hitched.

your thumb gently touching his scar, eyes swimming with something he can’t recognize.

“how old were you?”

his grip on your hips tighten, subconsciously grounding himself.

“twelve,” he answers. eyes falling to your lips then back up to your eyes and the way your brows gently knit together was something he’ll never forget. “it was a long time ago.” he tries to ease your concerns because he was not passing up on this opportunity because the mood was ruined by his shitty childhood.

“i’m sorry,” your words are soft, not an apology he’s heard before, or at least when it came from you, it felt genuine. even if it was a long time ago and he’s long put that behind, he can’t help the sudden flutter deep in his chest.

you lean down, pecking his scar. not like before more gentle, “i thought it was because of a fight or training or somethin’,” you admit.

toji cracks a smile, “ya, that’s what everyone thinks,” he easily strokes your hips. “how ‘bout I get another kiss from ya’. make me feel better.”

unlike his previous flirtatious remarks that earn him a flustered look on your face. you embrace it, gently holding his jaw, maintaining eye contact that he doesn’t break from, his deep green orbs syncing with yours as you control the kiss. tilting his head and meeting his lips with yours meet. tongues colliding, back arching as you dominate and lead the kiss.

the room fills with sounds of your lips smacking. your spit connecting with his as your tongue runs across his bottom lip. you tongue his scar again, making his grip tighten on your waist, heat crawling up his neck. this was a much more passionate kiss than before. your heart was pounding as you continued with the deep sensual make-out.

you started rocking back against his bulge feeling it grow bigger between your legs. your heart was pounding as you pressed down, not fully grasping the consequences of said action because toji pulled away briefly as a deep husky groan escaped his lips.

you weren’t wearing any panties. the shorts clung to your wet folds like thin cloth.

“you’re killin’ me,” he grunts, hands sliding down from your waist to your full ass. his touch once cautious, easily turns desperate as he grabs a handful of your ass, grunting even more when the pads of his fingers spreads your cheeks up, feeling your folds spread behind your shorts, his hips bucking to grind you back down.

you whine, eyes fluttering as you grip his shoulder, nails digging in as you rock against him.

“I should stop…,” your voice was slightly hoarse from the kissing and toji had to contain the sudden urge to lose every ounce of self-control he’s holding. your concern was mixed with your own hazy and needy twenties side. your lips hover over his, and he can feel the heat coming from you, because he also doesn’t want to lose this proximity to you.

“your call, sweetheart,” toji licks his lips, large hands grounded on your ass permanently. your eyes flick over his face, landing on his lip-bitten lips, and you know you couldn’t stop. you didn’t want to.

your tongues clashed once again, and that bratty side of you came out again, but slightly more dominating as you pressed your fingers into his jaw, so your lips can trail down his neck.

“shit—“ toji grunts, hips bucking in surprise when you palm his bulge.

“more,” you whisper against his lips, the need just itching out.

toji slides his hand up to grab your face. a deep husky chuckle escapes him as he looks over your face. you were far from a respectable adorable middle school teacher. your lust filled expression was everything and more.

“you want a parent’s cock in y’r pussy?” his vulgar question sent a unknown heat break deep in your chest.

you glance away, embarrassed.

“don’t put it like that.”

“am i wrong?” his loud boisterous chuckle has you flushing beyond belief.

“shut up! I’m—I just,” you break into a whine, burying your face in his shoulder.

“am i embarrassing you?” he teases further.

you grunt in response.

“is this the brattiude again? aren’t’ch you a teacher, use your big girl words, or did we forget how?” his teasing was infinite.

“brattiude? I don’t have whatever that is,” you scoff.

“you do, it comes out when you get like this,” he eyes you up and down, and finds it even more amusing when you quirk a questioning, albeit annoyed, look. so he elaborates. “when you don’t get what you want…you get all snappy, and self-centered…just like a bratty girl.”

“I’ve never caught an attitude,” you gasp, staring incredulously at him.

he hums, sarcastically, “sure.”

you frown, but he could tell easily that it was just your brattiude, because you were still all up on his lap, squirming even more because even he could feel your the puddle you’re making on his lap.

his hand finds your jaw again, turning your face back to him. his pupils dilate at the flushed look on your face. would you cry if he teases you further? what if he bullies his fat cock in over and over—

“did i hurt your feelings, teach?” he coos so softly it was obvious he was teasing but you tsk, like an annoyed brat. “would you feel better if i touch you down here?”

the gasp was enough of a reaction for him to see just how much you wanted him. the simple touch of his hand cupping you over your shorts and pressing his palm against your clit had your eyes fluttering.

toji curses under his breath, letting another exhale, as he continues rubbing you, “these shorts are all ruined, and you looked so fuckin’ cute in ‘em,” he chuckles when you bite a whimper back.

but your patience for your students isn’t something that extends beyond that, because now your pawing his waistband eager for more, and impatience making you shaky.

he tsks, grabbing your wrist and pulling it up to his face.

“what’re ya thinking?”

“i want it…” the frown plus the whine isn’t a sight for any man that would easily buckle and fuck you stupid.

his jaw clenches, holding back. “let me take a look first.”

your brows pinch, “what do you mean—wha!” you squeak, your world tipping over in seconds, now laying on your back with your legs pushed up. toji swiftly and skillfully pulls your shorts off in one go. your heart is racing, preparing yourself, until toji pushes your thighs up and apart, kneeling his face close to your heated puckering core, eyes staring like saucers.

“what’re you doing?!” you immediately cover yourself, face bright and hot.

“taking a look,” he pushes your hand out of the way, his thumbs slipping into your folds before pulling them apart, “you’re soaked.” his pupils dilate at the sight of your sticky arousal, slipping out.

“toji—“ you push his shoulder, trying to get his face away, but he only leans his face closer, like your pussy was some hypnosis, and his tongue falls right on the mess, licking a bold wet strip up. your juices collect on his tongue as you flood his taste buds. “angh—“ you whine out, head tipping back and back arching, because fuck, you really did miss getting your pussy eaten.

“fuck, you’re so sweet,” toji groans, lapping the mess you made before tonguing the source. your eyes were on him the entire time, his back muscles moving as he wrapped his arms around your thighs, dipping his head again to suck and clean all your juices, before sucking your little bundle of nerves.

your eyes bulge once he starts giving your clit some attention, hand curling in his raven hair as your thighs twitching as he sucks.

his own body reacting to every mewl and whimper you let out, eyes flicking up to see the way you were gasping. his free hand came up, pushing your university tee up, hand flat on your stomach before your tits came into view, and he nearly came.

your eyelids flutter as you stare at him, chest heaving, you can feel how hot you’re body is getting as he feels your stomach.

“fuck me,” his body sits ups slowly, hovering over you, your legs slip around his torso as he dips his head to your tits. you wonder if he can feel how fast your heart is beating when his tongue lulls out and takes a wet lap of your nipple. his rough palm gropes your boob, squeezing the flesh making you react just the way he’d imagine.

your back arching and a stifled moan coming out.

“i don’t think teachers should be this slutty,” he licks his lips, tonguing your nipple again before he admittedly starts sucking.

“toji,” you moan, hand pressing into his nape as he hums around you. his fingers pinch and twist your other nipple making you gasp, letting out a higher pitched moan. you can feel his smirk, but you don’t have time to comment because he presses a finger against your hole.

“let’s see how much i needa stretch y’out,” his face is flushed, your reactions were enough to get him off.

your eyes glance down as he slips two thick veiny fingers into your core.

“shit,” toji exhales.

you whine, gasping when he pumps his fingers in to get them deep.

“you’re unbelievable,” his comment leaves you feeling bright pink. “when was the last time you had sex, baby?”

his question was confusing to you until he adds on.

“or are you still a virgin?”

“I’m not a virgin!” you gasp, offended, even though it wouldn’t have been embarrassing if it was a true. but still. you were flustered, especially when he leans his face close to yours.

“you sure?” he snarks, “because this pussy—“ he puts emphasis with a sharp thrust of his fingers making your head fall back. “is too fuckin’ tight,” he groans as you squeeze around him.

“I’ve had sex, like—five months ago,” you confess.

“five months,” he repeats, eyes narrowing when you glance away, and that’s when the light bulb goes off and he has to hold back a snort, because it was sweet. “and why five months?” he teases.

you hold back, too stubborn to expose your reasons, but he doesn’t make it easy when he starts sucking your neck, taking his time learning your body, until he finds the spot that makes you moan just a bit more uncontrolled and his fingers pick up speed. “does it have to do with me?”

his fingers piston into you and an unrelenting pace that he slips in another finger, groaning at the squelching that fills the air, your face pressing into his arm that rests beside your head. “cmon,” he slowly his pace, electing a cute whine from you. “you’re really acting kinda spoiled. expecting me to please you without anything in return.”

the guilt trip had your dumb brain glancing widely at him.

“I’m not—we’re gonna have sex now,” your face is bright with heat, eyes just a bit glassy from the pleasure.

“you think an old man like me gets off on just pussy?” though that was a big chunk of it, it still elected a cute reaction from you. “you needa to talk to me.”

your eyes are wide, almost like this was inconceivable to you, but nonetheless your lips part. “you’re not that old,” you comment with a slight snark.

he snorts, “you being cute?”

you shrug, squirming when he rubs his palm against your clit. “just a little,” you maintain eye contact. and he has to hold back a snort. his lips hover over yours, his hot breath fanning against your face, you instinctively lean up to kiss him but he easily dodges it, tucking his face into your side, lips ghosting over your ear.

“just tell me you didn’t let anyone near this pussy after our meeting,” his words sent a shiver running down your spine. “admit it.”

“it was coincidental,” you admit, whining when he curls his fingers inside, your legs closing around his hand but he only pushes both legs up, you squeal when he starts fingering you at an unrelenting pace, your face pressed to the side, gasping as you feel your orgasm taking over your body.

“coincident my fuckin’ ass,” he tsks, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he slips them out and puts them up to his mouth sucking them dry. your chest is uneven as you stare up at him. he moves to pull your shirt off, leaving you completely naked while he’s still in his sweats. “you’re gonna have’ta make it up to me.”

“why?” you snap back. his brow raises, it was intimidating. the look of an annoyed adult, but it had your core clenching around nothing.

“you’ve got a fuckin’ mouth on ya,” he chides, his palm cups your pussy, making you shiver. “I should shut you up for good,” he palms himself.

you nod, the blush and smile giving yourself away.

he can’t help but snort, “you wanna be punished?”

you flush, “I didn’t say that,” you mutter.

he leans over you again, hand caressing your face, it was slightly rough, thumb playing your lips, eyes honed in on how wet and kiss bitten they are. “you said you wanted your mouth to be shut,” he smirks. “this little pussy would make you pass out if I put my dick in.”

your brows furrow as you frown, “you don’t know that,” you argue.

“you could barely take three fingers,” he coos, but that only seems to make your dumb cock filled head more upset.

“but I did, you don’t know anything,” you scoff, “you don’t know what I can handle.”

“you telling me you a slut?”

“that’s not what I said,” you flush, “I can take you, that’s what I’m telling you,” you huff, but it turns into a pout, one that has him chuckling. especially when he moves off the bed. you watch him standing beside the bed as you sit up.

his fingers hook around his sweats and easily slips them down, letting them pool on the floor before kicking it aside.

to say you felt your heart drop to your ass was an understatement. your entire body burned red.

the dark happy trail that led down to his base was not enough of a warning for the sight of his large and thick cock. the tip already shiny from the pre that spread everywhere. his hand came down, squeezing the base, groaning lowly at the sight of you sitting up on the bed staring wide-eyed. he could fuck your pretty face and have no complaints. your lips were parted in frozen terror.

toji put a knee on the mattress, biting his lip in calculated self-control. he couldn’t react yet, not when his son’s poor little teacher was still grappling with the fact that she said she could take his fat cock not knowing what she got herself into.

“I—“ your voice cracks, lips parting at the sight of his weighty length in his palm. he lazily grips the base.

“you’re acting real fuckin’ cute,” toji groans, leaning down and kissing your lips. not realizing that that comment sent you spiraling. he was still standing, so you were leaning slightly up, as you tilt your head. “it’s okay, I won’t tease ya’ about your comments earlier,” he chuckles, taking your hand in his gently. “just be a good girl, and I’ll be gentle,” he sighs, guiding your hand to wrap around his cock. “fuck.”

his head tipped to rest on your shoulder, his hand rubbed your thigh. your grip on his cock grew tighter as you continued jerking him off, you couldn’t believe how big it was in your palm. your mind was overheating just thinking about how this thing could fit in you. that’s until you felt your back hit the mattress, again. your body immediately pulled to the edge of the bed as he hoisted your legs around his waist.

“can’t wait any longer,” he grunts, laying his fat cock on your stomach. his eyes dilating at the sight of how far he’d reach you.

“w-wait—“ you press a hand to his sweaty pec, eyes slightly wide as you swallow thickly. “I don’t think—I know what I said—“

however, toji break out into a loud laugh. one that has your skin heating up again, and your lips parting in shock. “t-toji!” you scold.

“sorry, sorry,” he laughs, leaning over as he kisses a cute gentle kiss on your cheek that once again leaves you speechless. you would’ve never expected him to be so gentle in the bedroom. “I can teach you how to take a big dick like this,” he starts moving his hips, sliding his length throw your folds, a low grunt escaping as your juices coat him.

“you’re getting cocky,” you mutter, the confidence you once head, just hanging by a thread now.

he snorts, “just a little. haveta make sure I’m just as good of a teacher as you are,” his angled his tip to press against your clit, smiling when your body jolts. your fingers lazily digging into his biceps. “plus, it’s not everyday i get to take a teachers virginity.”

you flush, “I’m not a virgin!”

toji smirks, “you are when it comes to me,” he rubs his cock head against your puckering hole, “gonna stretch you out real good, every other dick that’s been in ‘ere will be gone from your memory.”

you tense up as you feel the first push in. your eyes flying open as your jaw goes slack.

“easy, baby,” he coos, all cocky, and it only seems to make you even more turned on as you clench around him. “shit.”

his grip on the sheets tighten, jaw clenched. “don’t squeeze me like that.”

“not my fault,” you whimper, his hand pushing you thigh higher as he sinks himself deeper. your breath catches, nails digging into his shoulder. “too much—angh!”

your whining and moaning, fails to deter toji from the task at hand. his cheeks are flushed, muscles tense as he controls his strength. unlike you, he really hasn’t had sex with anyone in awhile. it seemed to only be a yearly ritual for him. so having someone he’s been chasing for months now, someone he definitely developed a strong attraction for squeezing him to absolute heaven definitely wasn’t making it any easier on him.

“you’re so—fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, pulling out and thrusting back in. your back arched, hips raised off the bed as he put on knee on the bed , groaning as he pushes more of himself in. your eyes bulge even more, tears squeezing at the corner of your eyes. “still got more.”

“what?!” you shriek, eyes bulging as he snaps more of his chubby girth inside your gummy walls. your pussy weeping, gasping for air as he starts picking up the pace.

“don’t be so dumb,” toji coos, “you saw how much i was gonna shove in,” he emphasis it with a hand pressed to your belly button. “you’ll know you’re full when you feel it right here.”

to say you get dumb on dick is an understatement.

by the time he’s fucking his full length inside you, you’re a completely different person.

“angh, you’re so fuckin’ good,” toji grunts, his hips snapping, he has one foot planted on the mattress, drilling his cock inside you hitting your cervix until your crying out. “good fuckin’ pussy,” his hand comes down your ass.

“toji—gun’ gunna come—ahh-!”

“again?” he snorts, but his own composure breaks when you’re drooling, his thumb collecting it and putting it back in your mouth as you suck. your back arches as his cock slides against your gummy walls pressing against your sweet spot making you see stars. his veins bulge from his arms, watching your eyes rolls back and moan around his thumb.

fuck, he wasn’t gonna cum just yet.

once you’d come undone, you pressed a hand to his chest.

“tapping out.”

you shake your head. “I’m on top.”

you sit up, pushing him back until he’s slipping out. and it was a sight.

his chest covered in a layer of sweat, your juices coated his heavy hanging cock and dark hair at his base. toji chuckled darkly as you grabbed his wrist pulling him back on the bed, laying him against the headboard. his hand lifted up, you easily took it as you stood up and slowly lowered yourself on his abs. pussy easily settling on the hard ridges making him groan.

“gonna teach me a lesson?” he bites his lip, watching you closely.

you laugh lightly, almost like he couldn’t feel the way your pussy clenched when he said that. your lips hovering over his. “teasing me every second and now you wanna learn something,” you kiss his jaw, a low hum escaping his lips. finding himself back in the same position you both started at, but this time you definitely weren’t holding back. his hands easily came to your ass, until you sat up. “no touching.”

his brow raised.

“I thought you wanted a lesson,” you test, his eyes boring into yours.

with an amused exhale, he raises both his hands in defeat, easily tucking them behind his head, muscles flexing casually.

“now,” you start, turning around so your ass was on full display facing him, a low whistle slips past his lips. your feet press over his pelvis while one hand was positioned on the mattered for balance, your hair sliding to one side, you look over your shoulder and it was fucking beautiful.

toji flushed as he saw the arch of your back, his eyes traveling down your spine until he noticed it. “because you called me a virgin,” you raise your hips, your free hand coming to press his wet cock against your twitching hole. “I’ll give you a little show,” you slide back down on his dick. his breath hitching as you take him in one go, no whining or crying like the rounds before. even though you clenched around him when he bottomed out, his jaw ticking, you still persevered.

you lean forward, arching your back as you raise your hips, only his tip still inside as you slam down again. the bulging ridges of his fat cock sliding against your walls had you drooling.

“christ,” he grunts. abs clenching as he watches the sticky cum from earlier start to create little wet strings that attach to his pelvis and your ass.

“angh fuck, toji,” your moans are breathier and needier. It was the fact that you weren’t facing a him that made it easier for you to let go and enjoy the sex all the more, especially when you’re putting on a show for him with the way you’re riding his dick.

“shit—ngh, i take back what i said,” he grunts, biting another groan because he was desperately trying to see how this plays out by keeping his hands behind him. but you were really riding him like a cock drunken slut. “wanted to shake y’r ass for me—mmm this whole time.”

he subtly slides his muscular thighs apart, angling his hips just a bit knowing that this angle was much better for you. and of course your dumb little brain didn’t even notice but your eyes flutter as does your pussy. “angh toji—“ it was quite endearing the way your actions and voice didn’t line up, the sluttiest thing he’s received and yet he’s hearing the sweetest voice chanting his name over and over.

“taking me so well, ya like riding this cock, hmm?” he bites his cheek, preventing a pathetic noise from slipping out when he watches the way your pussy stretches around him.

“so big, toji—fuck—angh fee’—good, hngh ahh—“

“Mmm, shit just like that, dirty fuckin’ pussy,” the messy squelching and breathy moans you were letting out was messing with his head.

and he couldn’t help it when you leaned forward even more, grasping the sheets and getting more air to bounce faster. picking up the pace which immediately had him exhaling loudly and reaching out a hand, unable to stop himself, because you definitely would make him cum. “should’ve told me how desperate this pussy was for a big cock,” he groans as you let out a loud whine. a snort escaping, “fuck.”

his palm slid across your ass, all the way to the fucking tramp stamp he hadn’t noticed until you’d turned around for him. his cock twitched when your back arched on instinct when he pressed a finger against the tattoo.

“fuck fuh—angh i said no touchin—“ you whine, it felt so good bouncing on such a big cock. you’d never had something so big inside you, and you couldn’t hold back.

“wanted to tell ya how much I’m lovin’ this fuckin’ lesson from you teach,” he groans, the low rumble from his chest has you angling your hips so you were only taking his tip. “shiit—“ his jaw went slack.

“it’s ah—a punishment,” you pant as you bounce only on the few inches of his tip, letting your juices drizzle down his creamy messy base. his eyes were like saucers seeing your hole take him and he could feel himself getting closer, his grip tightening on your waists

“cmon baby,” he lets out a noise that you could only think was a whine, if it wasn’t for your own moans and loud squelching.

god why did it feel good being tortured like this. his cock was going to burst, but you were edging him like crazy like this.

“d-don’t baby me—“ you bite your lip, but he clearly hears your whimper. your shoulders shaking. you were close. “I’m—I’m in charge.”

his neck rolled back, lashes fluttering. your pussy felt so good, riding his cock until he bursts inside you, and yet, “is that usually how it is?” he slides both hands to hold your torso.

“what do you m—angh!! toji!”

his hands grasp your waist, and with no hesitation, he plants both feet on the mattress and thrusts up. your eyes bulge, finding yourself laying against his chest, head thrown back against his shoulder as he bites at your neck, thrusting up at an unrelenting pace.

“I’m not gonna let a pretty girl like you do all the work,” he grunts, hand falling to your clit, rubbing tight circles, making your legs shake as tears form immediately. “there we go—ngh squeeze my dick like a good girl.”

you were definitely going to loose consciousness, the pleasure overwhelming. “toji,” your moans were getting loud.

“are ya only gonna moan my name?” he teased, mimicking your gasps as if he wasn’t desperately keeping the pace fighting your own bucks to pick up the pace because he wasn’t right on the edge. “shiit—baby,” he presses his face to your side, his instincts couldn’t stop him from absolutely wrecking you.

maybe that’s why when he had you back on your hands and knees, shaking and whining that he didn’t stop thrusting until he felt you cum again, but this time with a messier gush.

“shit—“ he groans, being forced out as you squirt on his cock. “you’re full of surprises, princess.”

you were absolutely delirious, tilting your head, arms stretching out grasping the sheets. “cu-cum in me.”

his jaw clenches, his brain frying as you look at him with those big glassy eyes. all pleading and fucked out.

“don’t,” he thrusts into you, it was getting sloppy, your hand was stretching back for him.

“want y-you to—ah ha—cum in me—please ngh please—“ you desperately match him, thrusting back against him, making him groan.

“don’t say that,” he brings a hand down on your ass, it was as hard, but enough to make you whine even more.

“want you to make me feel full, toji,” you plead, hand rubbing your tummy feeling the bulge he was creating. his cock threatening to burst with the way you’re acting. he leans forward, hands planted beside your head, as he drives his cock harder and faster.

“fuck, should’ve known you’d be a fuckin’ slut,” he grunts with each thrust, you were whining, face pressed against the mattress as you reached back to hold his head, his face coming close to yours.

“want it—I’m—I’m good,” you slur, the gasps and moans coming out. his muscles flexing as he felt his legs begin to shake and your own body squeezing him, clearly on the edge yourself.

“want me to breed this pussy on our first fuck,” he clearly already made his choice as his thrusts grew sloppier. his breathing getting uneven and louder as he drilled his pulsing cock into your warm gooey walls.

“yes-want it all—“ you gasp, his lips crash into yours. and the deep rumble of him moaning into your mouth immediately sent you over the edge again and him following after.

he hissed, his balls clenching as he shot ropes of warm cum into your walls. you were clenching him nails digging into his nape, as he continued thrusting deep and holding as more cum shot into his son’s hot middle school teacher.

you were whining, especially when his hand wouldn’t leave your clit, making you squirt more. he pulled out, biting his lip as he saw the mess he created, and selfishly, he pulled you back on your knees, spreading your pussy apart to get a better look. and you were too fucked out to feel embarrassed.

“should’ve gotten a warning that you were this dirty,” he teases, slipping a middle finger into the mess and his cum oozing out of your puffy overstimulated pussy hole. he slowly thrusts his fingers in, and your hips reluctantly try to move away. “Look at’cha,” he sighs, mesmerized when you start crying and shaking as you squirt.

he didn’t stop, until you were rolling to your side, pushing his hands away. “c-angh toji,” your cheek is pressed against the mattress, eyes glossy and pleading.

“had enough, pretty girl?” he coos.

you nod, completely exhausted.

“you sure you don’t wanna give me more,” he gently soothes a hand across your ass as he leans down to press a kiss to your lower back. “is that enough for my bratty girl?”

you nod again. eyes doting up at him as if that wasn’t both the cutest and filthiest sight he’s ever seen. he trails soft kissed up your spine, gently rolling you to your back, brushing the messy hair from your beautiful face.

your body weak, but still responsive, brushes a hand across his jaw. eyeing his scarred lips, he leans forward, hovering over yours as you sigh blissfully.

“my dream…” you whisper. “is dumb.”

his emerald eyes widen slightly before settling. hand caressing the top of your head, thumb rubbing your forehead as he remains close, the intimacy was unlike anything you’d ever felt. fucks absolutely stupid that this closeness has dropped all your walls.

especially when this man who’s been following you for three days and stopped to talk you almost every morning after dropping off his son. you felt it was okay to be a little insecure.

“I’m definitely not someone to judge if something’s dumb or not, pretty,” his voice was just above a whisper, matching your tone. a gentle smirk pulling at his lips as he reassures you.

and for once, you don’t look away. you maintain eye contact, voicing your dumb dreams to the man that asked you a few months ago.

“I wanted to write…for awhile,” you hesitate for a moment. “still do…but I—don’t tell people.”

“like books?”

you shake your head. finger lazily stroking his jaw tracing his features mindlessly. “no,” you whisper, “shows…I went to school for that…film and yv, graduated with a BFA,” you glance at his lips, touching his scar again.

toji remains silent, but his caresses don’t stop. gently reassuring you to continue talking, it was similar to the way he talks to megumi, giving him gentle reminders that’s it’s safe to talk. it took him awhile to understand what it means to sit and listen, but he likes to think he’s gotten better, especially when sigh gently.

“but it’s been two years since I graduated…and writing jobs are difficult,” your thumb trails back to his neck, “like really hard,” you mutter.

“you still apply to things?” his tone was identical to yours, not wanting to think he’s pushing. and you nod, licking your glossy bitten lips.

“ya, applied for a few writing programs a few weeks ago for the summer…” you trail off. “…it’s…just embarrassing,” your voice is much lower. you take a deep breath, your exhale is slightly shaky and your little smile was almost heartbreaking as his brows furrow.

“teaching isn’t bad…still gives me time to write, and make my portfolio more appealing,” you confess. you sigh and glancing back into his inviting eyes. a small smile appears on your face. “that’s it.”

toji couldn’t describe the way his chest tightened up. It made him feel like he couldn’t say the right thing but his lips parted.

“when I had megumi,” he starts, speaking just as soft. “i wasn’t in a good place. i was nineteen,” he clears his throat. “i can’t even remember his mom…i was pretty sleazy back then,” he confesses, making you crack an amused smile. “but i had no goals or job or money, so when megumi was thrown at my doorstep I couldn’t throw him out.” he itches his jaw, you could tell it was difficult for him to speak about this. but he quickly go to the point. “it took me awhile to get my shit together, and I made a fuck ton of mistakes, but eventually thing began to work. I forced myself to believe they’ll work out because of gumi.”

toji exhales as he brushes your forehead again. it felt like he could see through you.

“you’re a baby,” he whispers. “two years isn’t a long time, you have a goal, and you haven’t given up, right?”

you shake your head which he makes him crack a wider smirk.

“don’t be embarrassed,” he soothes, “most people would be jealous, I certainly am.” you scoff, and he raises a brow. “you think I’m lyin’?”

“no,” you mutter. “but like—“

“but nothing,” he grabs your jaw, angling you head up, eyes meeting. “it’ll happen. that’s it, okay?”

you bite your cheek, and his heart clenched even more when your eyes filled with tears. your bottom lip pouting just a bit, trying to hold them back from slipping.

“okay?” his voice more gentle.

and your response is just as sweet as you are, with a gentle tilt forward, your lips pressing against his. eyes closing with exhaustion and some slight ounce of comfort for your worries you hum against his lips. “okay.”

toji caresses your jaw as your worries slip into the night, letting this man kiss you to sleep.

—

the nights events afterwards was a blur, all you could feel when you woke the next moment was the full body ache and slight weight off your chest. you had almost thought it was all a dream, because your body that was covered in the post-sex mess was completely clean, and as were the sheets. but the bruises and bite marks that littered your body was a tell sign and the fact that you, along with the large man sleeping peacefully beside you were still fully naked.

his back rose and fell evenly, he looked peaceful as he slept beside you. the early morning sunrise casting a gentle orange glow across his features, softening him.

you were in awe.

he was so beautiful, it was hard to believe he’s a total sadist in bed, but even that mind blowing sex couldn’t make you forget how gentle he was afterwards. his teasing was something you doubt you’ve ever come across, and maybe it was because he was older, but his words made you feel more reassured.

your eyes followed the deep scratches that littered his biceps, nape and shoulders that your own face began to burn slightly. “ow,” you mutter.

“taking in the view?” his rasp voice had your eyes snapping back to his face. his eyes now half lidded gazed tiredly at you.

“I didn’t mean too,” you gently rub over the scratches on his shoulder, your own voice slightly hoarse from the crying and moaning from last night. toji glances at his biceps not even reacting to the marks, a smirk tugging on his lips.

“I doubt that,” he scoffs.

your eyes widen, “honest! I don’t—leave marks like this,” you flush, glancing at him with pleading eyes.

he chuckles, rolling to his side inviting you to come closer, but he doesn’t give you a chance as he pulls you with his strong arm. pressing his face into your shoulder as he exhales. “it’s hot, so shut up.”

“they look like they hurt,” you mutter into his shoulder.

“they do sting.”

you pull away with even wider eyes full of concern now that he can’t help but break out into a boisterous full body laugh. his chest shaking making you roll your eyes. “you’re joking.”

“nope, they do sting.”

“toji,” your cute brows a pinched together that he laughs even more.

“do ya always scrunch that face when you’re worried,” he squishes your cheek. “it’s cute, feels like ya do it on purpose.”

“I’m literally just upset,” you pout because he was squishing your cheeks where it was slightly hard to talk. “does it actually sting—like a lot?” your eyes have a little mischief.

“Mmm, makes me hard thinkin’ back to how they got there,” he cracks a smirk as you stutter, hand coming to his face.

“shut up,” you roll your eyes.

“does anyone else know about this slutty tattoo?” he puts emphasis with his hand splayed on your lower back, rubbing the spot. “that their teacher actually rides cock like a certified slut.”

“you can’t say that,” you huff, more embarrassed than you’d like to admit because he was pulling your closer to him as his hand grabbed a handful of your ass.

“just did—am i gonna get punished again,” he throws your words back at, and it only helped to get you even more speechless. “i confess, i would love to get punished again,” he spreads your ass making you arch into his chest. his lips hovering over your ear. “you were moaning like a little slut.” his lips part as he mimics your moans, “toji angh—“ you slap his chest, making him laugh.

you sit up holding the blanket to your chest as you glare down at him. clearly getting embarrassed, which serves to entertain the older man. he smirks up at you, hand caressing your smaller wrist.

“stop talking about last night,” you deadpan.

“how can i not, you surprised me,” he confesses making you glare at him.

“what did you expect?” you raise a skeptical brow. that attitude of yours was definitely something that had him holding back a whimper. god, your immaturity coming out around him made him hard.

“expected you to be a little vanilla. not that I would’ve minded, I’d get you to do other stuff, but the way you wanted to take me yourself, just to show me your pussy—“ toji had no shame being vulgar with his words. Especially when you pressed a hand to his mouth, flushed beyond belief.

“stop talking!” you press your face to his shoulder. he doesn’t though, instead he pulls your hand away easily and looks up.

“and your messy pussy gushing everywhere, were ya’ always a squirter?” he chuckles because he’d successfully fried your brain where your jaw was slack. your hands came to yours cheeks because you needed to cool down. the blanket slipping to reveal your breasts just a bit.

“you can’t ask me that,” you whine softly, head down.

he leans up, hand pressed on the mattress beside your thigh, his face popping up in front of tilting his head with a knowing smirk. “show me some confidence, pretty girl,” he teases, and earns a hand on his face pushing him away.

“you’re making fun of me!” you huff, face burning.

“I’m complimenting you,” he laughs.

“well stop laughing, then,” you snap.

he snorts, laughing still, “can’t help it. just like you can’t help spraying on my dick.”

“toji!”

he laughs again, as you shove his shoulder back making him fall back on the mattress. he pulls your wrist so you’re falling over him. his hand holding your nape. it took less than five seconds for you both to start making out. his gruff voice coming into small grunts as you hum in pleasure.

“I haveta get back to my room before everyone wakes up,” you say between kisses.

“Mmm,” toji continues kissing, “in a few.” he’s seating against the headboard, holding your face as you continue making out. it was messy and sloppy, but that’s all you would do, your hand holding his wrist that attempted to sneak into your pussy from behind. “a pretty girl should cum every morning.”

“not when she’s working,” you mutter, licking his tongue, salvia mixing with his as he groans. his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers.

his hands continued to wander, allowing him to grope your boobs, twisting your nipple as you sigh in pleasure—

the loud thumping at the door has you pulling away.

“who’s that?” you whisper, glancing at the clock. it was still two hours before everyone needed to wake up.

toji shrugs, unsure too as he pulls you back to his lips. “keep kissing me, pretty.” you follow his pull, lips coming together again until the knocks get louder followed by—

“dad! are you awake!” megumi’s little voice yells on the other side. now both you and toji are frozen, you more panicky than him, as he keeps you on his lap when you try to get off. “dad!”

“mr. toji!” Yuuji’s voice chimes in only adding to your confusion and slight corner you’re stuck in now.

but that’s when the light bulb goes off in toji’s head, “oh.”

“what?” you whisper.

“promised them I’d take them on my run in the morning,” he glances at the clock, “didn’t think gumi would actually get up though.”

you get a little more panicky, but toji easily chuckles. “get in the bathroom, I’ll tell them I just needa change first.”

you nod, sliding off his lap. he slips his sweats on fixing himself in his boxers as you slip on his tshirt and rush into the bathroom earning a gentle tap on the ass by toji as he tries to squeeze when he walks past you to the door. “stop,” you squeal, running away and finally closing the bathroom shut.

he licks his lips, biting a groan before swinging the door open, mind you the knocking didn’t stop.

“what took you so long?” megumi frowns up at him. both boys wearing their shorts, megumi opting for a navy t shirt and yuuji with his bright red tank top.

“it took forever to wake megumi up! but you were the one that woke up late so we get the ten dollars, you promised, you promised!” Yuuji blurts.

toji scratches his hair. “yeah yeah, let me change quickly and I’ll meet you boys in your room—“

“we’ll just wait with you,” megumi easily slips inside his dad’s room followed by yuuji who skips to the large windows.

“woahhh your view is better than ours,” he presses his face to the glass. “And it’s ten dollars each, not together!”

toji licks his teeth, glancing at the bathroom.

“okay stay put, im gonna take piss and come out,” toji subtly pics up your clothes from the floor along with his own change of clothes before slipping into the bathroom.

his brows raise when he sees an empty room. he quietly whispers your name, walking up the shower and pulling the curtains back to see you sitting. “they’re still here?” you mouth. he chuckles, nodding.

“I’ll leave with them and then you can slip back to your room after,” he pets your head all cocky, making you slap his hand away with a huff, to which he laughs and walks to the toilet.

you patiently wait in the bathroom until he finishes changing and grabs your jaw, planting a wet kiss against your lips. you hum in shock, whining when he skillfully plays with your tongue groaning. “we’re still going on that date when we get back,” he says licking his lips and you can just nod.

he gives you one last wink before slipping out.

fuck.

unfortunately for you, sleeping with a student’s parent is exactly how you’d picture it going. him teasing you every chance he gets under his breath. subtle touches when no one is looking, and of course, gentle reminders of last nights events when you’re sitting on the buses back to the school.

“you need to behave yourself,” you scold him, getting up and sitting in the other side of the aisle. he frowns rolling his eyes.

however things weren’t fully realized until you got to the last rest stop. and all the kids flooded out all needing to use the bathroom. toji and you being the first to finish and waiting at the bus when toji decided to corner you against the bus.

his hand gently caressing your waist over your top, while the other tilted your chin to the side.

“you did a good job covering this up,” he rubs the spot where he remembers leaving a dark hickey. “I can leave another one down here,” he drops his hand to the front of your top, pulling the fabric down just a bit.

“toji,” you say sternly, as if you aren’t beyond flustered.

he cracks a smile, glancing over his shoulder before turning back to you, “kidding…so give me a kiss,” he whispers against your lips. “before the kids comes.”

you flush. he’s so needy. it was a pleasant surprise, but also messed with your stomach.

“just a kiss,” he softly coos, eyes half lidded, hands caressing you like you were all he needed to continue another two hours on this god forsaken bus. so you grant him it.

the kiss was soft, innocent, his hand pulling you flush against his body, “so sweet,” he sighs, slipping his tongue in, as he does, you’ve come to realize—

“WHAT!” a loud shout has you and toji flinching and whipping to look at the source and of course it’s the mischievous little Nobara. “you were kissing Miss. L/N!!” she shouts so loudly as more of the kids flooded out of the bathrooms.

yuuji who was standing behind her has his jaw permanently on the ground.

“nobara,” you laugh nervously, trying to defuse the situation, but she’s already chanting you and Mr.toji sitting in a tree. and the other kids follow suite.

yuuji is still sat on the bus with his jaw slack, megumi in a similar state but more of a glare as they surround you both on the seats. toji raises a brow at his kid, almost testing his glare. “have somethin’ to say—“

but yuuji immediately stands up, pointing at you. “why would mr. toji kiss you! you don’t like stinky things and mr. toji is SO STINKY!” Yuuji’s cry has you flushing eyes wide.

“Yuuji,” you start, but nobara is laughing.

“they’re in loveeee don’t doesn’t matter,” she chuckles and this leaves you and toji stunned.

“in love?!” Megumi now shouts. “Miss is super sweet and my dad is—“ he looks back at his dad frowning. toji puzzled raises a brow.

“your dad is what?” he texts him.

your sweating, laughing, “okay guys, this isn’t the time—“

“my dad is grumpy and not sweet,” megumi frowns, not scared at standing up to his dad.

the sixth graders all listening and enjoying the show, ooo at the same time. some were on nobara’s side of gushing over their sweet lovely teacher with a strong man like toji who they’ve spent most of the trip with. and the other side was on yuuji and megumi’s who are in disbelief that their sweet teacher like you could be with a grumpy fighter like toji.

“I’m not sweet?” toji cocks his head.

megumi hums and yuuji agrees along with a few other boys.

“so when I drive you to school? or take care of ya when y’r sick and whining, or drive you both to practice, or go on runs with you slow-pokes, or buy ya sweets, or take care of you—what’s all that then?” toji has the entire bus silent.

megumi and yuuji frown, embarrassed.

“ya that’s what I thought,” toji rubs more salt in the wound and your chest clenches as you look at the boys.

“toji was a big help with all of you guys, and he’s very sweet for volunteering to come along,” you try to reason with your class who all pout while others gush. “and uh—“ you look at the boys who are all upset. “you kids are obviously the sweetest,” a few of them blink up at you. kids love praise. “you all made this year amazing and toji agrees with me too. you all brought us all together and definitely were better than the other classes,” you put a finger to your lips. “but don’t tell them I said that.”

the kids all laugh together nodding.

“I told you we were the better class,” yuuji cheers, stunning his tongue out. “it’s because of your class president,” he slaps his chest. megumi laughs, especially when Nobara starts arguing with him.

“no it’s because I’m CO-President!” she huffs and the two go back n forth immediately changing the subject for the rest of the bus ride.

and once you settle back into your seat toji gives you smirk. you raise a brow.

he shrugs.

you tilt your head. weird.

but all toji was doing was admiring you. simple.

a/n: this was longer than I intended, but hopefully you guys enjoyed it. I definitely spent months coming in and out of this story, haven’t written smut in a few months so I had to find my style again lol!

I may write a much shorter pt2 of this, not sure yet,—but anywaysss I hope you all liked it and I’m sorry this wasn’t very mma centered 😭

[soobiary]

this is the most real thing ive seen all day

⋆˚࿔ IN LUST WE TRUST — geto suguru

you have invited suguru geto (ballswallower69@gmail.com) to join the event: ‘having sex hehe’ from 7:00 to 10:30 pm.

SUM. you’d never so much as gone out on a date before. kissing? not on your radar. but somehow you got the bright idea to go on a dating app—matching with suguru geto.

CONTAINS. 18+ content, MDNI. 6.3k words. x slightly awkward fem! reader. non canon complacent/au. cat dad geto. inexperienced reader. consent checks. dry humping. bit of boob play. oral (f + m receiving). unprotected p in v. missionary. pull out. cum eating. aftercare. stupid humor. use of pet names. scientology visit.

A/N. couldn’t go without reposting my baby, sorry

“you brought cookies.”

you held out the tupperware container filled to the brim with recently baked chocolate chips—the sweet, warm scent wafting through the plastic. "i did, yes. though i wasn't sure if you had any allergies, so don't feel any pressure to eat them or anything. i just thought it'd be rude to come over without bringing anything."

oh great. less than five minutes into this conversation and you were already rambling.

suguru took the container of baked goods from your hands with a wary look, bringing it up to his nose. "you're not a serial killer by any chance, are you?"

you blinked. "if i was, wouldn't it defeat the purpose of telling you now?" not very reassuring.

regardless, he gestured for you to come inside. you stepped inside the apartment and slid your shoes off at the door, taking in the sight of his living room.

the space was bathed in a dark red light accompanied by sonder’s one night only playing in the background and a couple candles flickering from the coffee table—the warm richness of sandalwood permeating through the air.

“you.. uh.. you really planned this out, huh?” why couldn’t you just have said it looked nice and moved on?

now it was just plain awkward.

well, awkward-er.

sure, you knew the concept of sex and how it was supposed to work, but what every hookup guide always forgot to cover was the before. even if you'd talked before this, the two of you were just strangers. what were you supposed to talk about with him?

how were you supposed to skip this part and go to where you were riding him like a pony?

suguru shrugged, padding over to the kitchen to leave the container of cookies on the counter. “did i do too much?”

“it’s just your apartment and all, but the lights seem a little.. excessive.” that was putting it as nicely as possible.

he took the criticism in stride, grabbing a remote from the counter and turning them off before flicking a lamp on, painting the room in a dim orange light. the room was immediately much more warm and welcoming than what’d you first walked into.

you stood at the door, taking a look at the little bits of decoration that you could now see more clearly. a couple figurines, expensive, if you had to guess, a couple books strewn around his coffee table, and a cat tree perched up near the window.

you remembered the small bag in your pocket. digging it out of your pocket, you held it up in between your fingers. “i saw your cat on that one thirst trap,” he didn’t bother protesting—it was a thirst trap, “so i got some treats on the way here. i hope you don’t mind.”

either you were a psychic or you just naturally had a knack for this sort of thing. “they’re her favorite, thanks. take a seat, we don’t bite.”

the previous girls that came over to his apartment usually just gave the cat a little coo or downright ignored her, but you seemed like you wanted to get to know her more than you did him.

suguru wasn't sure if he was amused or if his ego was slightly bruised. (hint: both.)

you took a seat on the black leather couch like you owned the place, patting your lap. “what’s your cat’s name?” you questioned, the cat peering up from her paw at the noise before going back to grooming herself.

“that’s sage.”

you lightly shook the bag of treats, trying to beckon the very uninterested cat with the promise of food and an unconvincing baby voice. your efforts were working. somewhat.

sage lazily trotted her way down from the top of the cat tree before making her way over to you, sitting at your feet. her eyes were calculating, analyzing if you were worth her time. you didn't dare move a muscle when she leaned in to sniff at your socked feet and legs.

just when you were convinced that you'd gotten a big fat F on her evaluation, sage seemed to decide that you were harmless enough. she hopped up on your lap and settled down like the self proclaimed royalty she was, nudging her head against your hand in demand for head pats. you complied.

your fingers ran through the soft black fur while the cat purred like a lawn mower underneath your touch.

"she normally doesn't like strangers," suguru noted, plopping down on the couch cushion next to you.

"do you use that line on everybody that steps foot in here?" well.... yes!

and it usually worked like a charm, thank you very much.

"wait, what, really?" the last girl he'd brought over to his apartment remarked, the very same girl that signed him up for lifelong scientology visits and the army two weeks later after he failed to respond within five minutes, staring at him like he'd hung up the moon and the stars.

"yeah." the cat in question, looked at him with as much disdain as her little body could muster. suguru made a mental promise to reward the cat with catnip and treats for helping him spit out the first bullshit that came to his mind. the girl seemed too happily convinced, going as far as calling herself sage’s step mom.

needless to say, the cat hadn't been all too happy about getting squeezed and cradled around like a baby by a woman she'd never seen before and never saw again after. her displeasure was obvious if the broken flower vases and scratches on his leather furniture were anything to go by.

he'd stopped using that line. or so he thought.

"...no."

you raised a brow, gaze full of suspicion as you stared at him. barely applying any pressure. and just like a rubber band, he ended up snapping within seconds, “…yes, fine, i have. but it’s the first time i’ve meant it.”

you weren't sure if he was full of shit. but the cat seemed to like you decently enough, starting her own biscuit factory on the fabric of your jeans with each ear rub. “how’d you end up getting her?”

suguru looked over to see you and his cat getting along decently well, finding himself a little lost in the scene when your question finally registered and you were staring at him.

“i found her locked up in a cage close to home. her owners called her a devil and all kinds of names, their own negligence, really,” he rolled his eyes, reaching out to pet her chin, “anyways, they were all too happy having someone to hand off the cat to.”

the two of you sat in a comfortable silence after a few questions from one another, getting to know each other a bit better apart from late night conversations. only the sounds of sage’s purring and the outside world filled the apartment.

that was until, "c'mere." suguru lazily spread his legs on the sofa, patting his lap.

“you do realize i’m not your cat right?” as if proving your point, sage got up from her spot on your lap over to his.

“fine, can you please come here?” he gave the cat one last scratch before setting her down on the floor, asking a little nicer. you got up from your spot, standing in between his legs before you lowered yourself onto his lap.

"hi," he murmured once you settled onto his lap, his hands instinctively moving down to your hips.

"hi." you braced your hands on his shoulders to keep your balance, suddenly feeling the reality of the situation crashing down on you. the pretty man underneath you wanted to have sex with you. you were going to have sex tonight.

sex and your first kiss, apparently. (you refused to count the time you'd gotten kissed as a dare in middle school.)

and as if he could read your mind, suguru took a hold of your chin and gently tilted your head up to face him, "can i kiss you?" you didn't miss the way his gaze flickered from your eyes down to your lips every .5 seconds.

you met him halfway, pressing your lips against his own. trying to go with the flow as many people said (what flow? you weren't completely sure yourself).

"close your eyes, i can feel you staring at my soul.” he pulled away, whispering the words against your lips and leaving you chasing behind his.

you let your eyes flutter shut, leaning into the kiss slowly. even going as far as tilting your head a little so you wouldn’t— “ow!” — do exactly what you just did. bump your nose straight into his.

you opened them back up to see suguru was more amused than hurt, a stupid smile on his face as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “try closing them when you’re already leaned in, hm?”

rolling your eyes, you shifted a bit on his lap before giving it one last go. one of your hands came up to cradle his soft cheek, leaning in and shutting your eyes at the last second. he tasted like mint and something else you couldn’t decipher.

his lips molded against your own in a languid kiss, each touch an experiment to know your body better. suguru’s hands moved down your body, each one resting on your ass like he wanted, no needed, you all that much closer. the exchange grew heavier, sloppier, messier.

everything was heightened—you could feel every single little thing. from the slight hitch of his breath when you captured his lip in between your teeth to your own traitorous heart thumping underneath your rib cage.

his lips moved from your own to the corner, down to your jaw, until he finally reached your neck. then that’s where he went ham. sucking, licking, kissing on whatever inch of skin was at his disposal all while taking note which spots had you shivering and squeezing your thighs together.

latching onto the sensitive skin of your collarbone, suguru placed a kiss out of reverence before he started to suck. he was practically in bliss all without taking his clothes off. if he were a weaker man, he would’ve shot his load the minute you’d settled onto his lap and got a whiff of your sweet, sweet perfume.

his hands moved up from your ass up your back, probably going to take your shirt off before his phone got the bright idea to interrupt the moment: want a break from the ads?

suguru had never regretted not investing into spotify premium as much as he did in this moment.

is your girlfriend unsatisfied in the bedroom? your stamina not being what it once was? if these symptoms sound familiar, you might suffering from erectile dysfunction. ask your doctor about levitra—

that was enough to get him up to his feet, crossing over to the kitchen counter in three strides. suguru quickly got his phone from the counter before the ad could continue, deciding that the ambiance was ruined and shutting the music off.

"do these symptoms sound familiar to you?" you teased, resting your cheek on your palm as you watched the scene with mild amusement.

"you could come to my room and find out." not nearly as smooth as he usually was, but good job suguru!

"are you really getting me into your bed with an erectile dysfunction ad?"

suguru tilted his head, "is it working?"

and you really wished it wasn't, but it was. you were quick to get up on your feet, padding over to where he stood and reaching your hand out. "let's go find out then."

his bedroom was much like the living room—a minimalistic design with a couple pictures hung up on the walls. his friends, if you had to guess. he led you over to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

not nearly enough bed-pouncing as you were expecting.

suguru spoke up, his hands resting on his lap, "you're allowed to change your mind, don't feel pressured to do anything you don't want to do. i’m here to please you.”

“i want this,” you responded, moving up the bed to rest against the headboard. he followed, keeping a reasonable distance between you two, “i want to have sex with you, suguru. let’s just take it slow.”

closing the distance, you straddled yourself over his lap, each of your legs next to his own. you lowered yourself down and placed your hands on his shoulders under the guise you knew what you were doing. and then, you started to rock and gyrate your hips against his clothed leg.

you rubbed and grinded your hips harder, faster against his leg in an attempt to feel something other than the friction of his sweats rubbing against your shorts—unsure of what to do other than rut yourself against him like a dog. maybe he was liking this?

should you start moaning?

“o-oh fuck.” a, what you hoped was realistic, moan left your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders to really sell the point. suguru looked at you, wondering if he really looked that stupid.

you weren't sure what you were doing—that much was obvious. you were humping his leg, your rhythm too quick to be pleasurable for either one of you at this point.

"have you ever done this before?" were you really that obvious?

the question had your hips stilling their movement, your gaze falling down to his face. when you shook your head, suguru let out a small tut, holding your chin between his fingers, "that's okay, baby. we'll take it nice and slow, just follow me."

his hands splayed on your hips, slightly moving you up his lap before he started to guide your movements. and oh, now you felt it. his cock strained against the material of his sweats, each ridge rubbing against your warm heat.

well, at least now you knew the ad wasn't meant for him.

"oh yeah, that feels better huh?" he cooed in your ear, his cock twitching in his pants just by feeling how wet you were getting already.

you were dripping, slick stringing and sticking to your panties with each roll of your hips. he wasn’t much better—cock prodding against your entrance like it was begging to be released. “uh huh, better,” a breathy whisper left you, your back arching against his fingertips.

when he kissed you again, it wasn’t soft and gentle like he’d been at first. no, he’d tested the waters already.

now he was kissing you like he needed you, like he needed air to breathe. each breath grew labored like he couldn’t bare being apart. his tongue moved in a synchronized dance with yours, tasting and absorbing everything you had to give.

your lips moved with the same desperation, fingers gripping against the material of his shirt. trying to take it off before he seemed to catch onto your unspoken hint. he reluctantly pulled away before sliding his shirt off in one fluid motion, letting it fall onto the mattress beneath. and… wow. beautiful was an understatement when it came to him.

you let your fingers trail down his abdomen, the muscles tensing underneath your featherlight touch. tracing and poking whatever little beauty marks you found on your way down. he was just so.. pretty.

“you really think so?” his voice brought you out of your reverie, and oh shit, you’d said it out loud?

“like you don’t know it already,” you retorted, trying to downplay the situation.

suguru shrugged, watching your fingers intently as you traced and gently scratched down his pecs, “i like when you call me pretty.”

you rolled your eyes but gave in anyways, “you’re very pretty, suguru geto.” you felt his cock twitch underneath at the compliment. leading his fingers towards the hem of your own shirt, you guided him into taking off the flimsy article. he seemed all too eager to revere your body the same way you had his.

mumbled compliments of you’re so beautiful and so soft left his lips until he looked up at you, his hands gliding up and down your hips, "do you want me to keep going or do you wanna stop here?"

you grabbed his hands, bringing them up to your chest. “i want this, suguru. i want to go all the way with you, i promise.” his fingers tweaked and squeezed at your perked nipples, his lips ghosting above the left before he swirled his tongue around it. latching his mouth onto the sensitive flesh and sucking, working the other with his fingers.

strings of saliva connected his lips to your tits when he finally pulled away—deeming that he’d given them enough attention for now. suguru flipped the two of you over, hovering above you before slowly kissing his way down.

peck. your collarbone.

peck. your tits.

peck. your navel.

peck. the waistband of your shorts.

“you can take it off,” you assured him before he even had the chance to ask the question. suguru didn’t hesitate once he got the thumbs up, hooking his fingers onto your belt loops before sliding your shorts down your legs and shaking them off.

you could’ve sworn you caught a hint of drool once you were all exposed for him.

suguru kissed his way up your leg, each one leaving behind a slippery trail behind him. “so pretty,” he mumbled, sucking onto your calf before moving further up to your knee, “so perfect laid out for me.” each one sounded like a quiet admission to himself.

despite how desperate he seemed, suguru took his time when it came to finally undressing you. his teeth sunk into the lace of your underwear, your hips lifted when he moved down the offending material at the pace of molasses. trying to savor as much as he could.

he let them fall onto the pile of clothes next to you before admiring his meal. your cunt clenched around nothing when a slight breeze came in the room, your slick glistening against your folds, clit practically throbbing his name out in morse code.

but suguru prided himself on having some semblance of patience. thinly veiled patience, but patience nonetheless. he wedged himself in between your legs, his lips hovering dangerously close to your entrance before moving down to your inner thigh. repeating what he'd done earlier on your leg.

he pressed featherlight kiss after another onto the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, occasionally biting hard enough to leave behind a nice lil' memory for tomorrow. your legs instinctively spread, every sensation sending your body through a livewire and yet.. you were lost in thought.

you wondered how many people he'd had in this room, how long this would take, what'd you eat for breakfast tomorrow, and—"focus on me, pretty girl."

immediately broken out of your endless string of questions, you looked down to see suguru already peering up at you. "talk to me, what's going on in that head of yours?"

you shook your head, "just got lost in thought, i guess."

"then we'll just have to make it to where you can only focus on me, angel."

and then he dove in like he was a man starving.

his big hands gripped your legs and spread you apart like a feast, tongue flicking out to taste the slick dripping down your folds and thighs. "taste so good, thank you, thank you," he babbled, swiping his tongue up and down your folds before flicking it inside of your pussy.

your cunt gushed like an open sink against his mouth and chin, the man practically nose deep as he thrusted his tongue in and out of your sopping pussy. his jaw went slack, sucking and tracing your folds with the tip of his tongue before going back to eating you out.

soon, two of his fingers took place of his mouth. two long and thick fingers. your juices ran down to his knuckles while he spread you open, his fingers curling and hitting that one spot inside of you with ease. "fuck, it feels so good," you whined, bucking your hips up to meet his fingers.

"i knoww baby, just needed suguru to take care of you." he didn't let up, much too starved himself to even think about doing so. his lips latched onto your swollen, throbbing clit and sucked lightly onto the nerves. your grip on his hair tightened, a broken moan leaving from his lips.

"just like that," he hissed out, his hips rutting into the mattress underneath. you noticed a dark patch growing in the front of his sweats. "take what you want from me, y'know how to do it." your hips swiveled and thrusted against his eager mouth, spit and slick drenching his chin and dripping down to the mattress.

it was hard to think about anything other than him, you had to admit that much.

your legs shook with each thrust of his fingers, with each swipe of his tongue. just as you were about to press your legs together, suguru pried them apart once more with ease. "don't interrupt my meal, i'm not done eating." and how could he say that when he already sounded so drunk off you?

his tongue swirled against your clit, the tip drawing circles around the sensitive nub. "f-fuck, gonna cum, keep going," you whined out, nails digging into his scalp. the sound of your pussy gushing around his fingers was all you could hear, and yet, all you were focused on was chasing your own orgasm.

it was so close, you felt a knot building up in your lower tummy. "fu-fuck fuck fuck," broken babbles left your lips, your toes curling and legs shaking the more you felt that pressure increase. with one final thrust of his fingers, you came. the knot unraveled all at once, your release washing over you (and his fingers) like a tidal wave.

he'd never been such at bliss before.

each breath felt like it was splitting your lungs open, your chest heaving as suguru slowly pulled his dripping fingers out of you. he didn't mind staring you in the eye when he put his fingers in his mouth, sucking them off as if no drop could go to waste. "mm, wanna taste you forever." his eyes practically rolled back, his tongue swirling against the two digits.

once you finally regained your bearings, you sat up and asked, "do you want me to return the favor?"

suguru let out an indignant scoff like you'd just insulted his very existence. and in a way, you had. "i did that because i wanted to, because i needed to taste you," he retorted, shaking his head like he wasn't reevaluating his degree in munchology, "not because i was expecting anything out of you."

getting up from your spot on the bed, you padded over to where he was sitting and situated yourself right in between his legs. absentmindedly running your fingers up up up the thin material of his sweats, barely grazing your fingertips against the growing tent between his legs. before you pulled away altogether.

you looked up at him like you were sin incarnate, lashes fluttering against your cheek, "what if i really really want to suck you off?"

suguru swore his soul left his body for a minute. he'd gladly let you keep it if you wanted it at this rate.

“then by all means, go for it.”

that was all you needed to slide the flimsy material of his sweatpants onto the floor, his cock slapping up against his stomach once it was released. now it was your turn to nearly drool. you couldn't have imagined that a dick could be this pretty.

a nice tan color at the base with a hint of red at the tip, a curve settling to the right and precum dripping down his shaft just from having you in his mouth. it was fairly long and thick—as thick as your forearm, you could assume.

all the fanfiction you had saved in your bookmarks couldn't have prepared you for the sight of the twitching cock in front of you.

you stared at his dick like it was something out of an anatomy textbook, trying to figure out the best approach to go about this before ultimately deciding to throw it out the window and just try it out.

"a-ah fuck." suguru practically turned into putty the moment you took him in your mouth, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of your head. not pushing, never that; he'd never risk making you uncomfortable.

thick globs of spit dribbled down to your chin and down his shaft from the corners of your lips. "just like that, yeah, please." suguru wasn't afraid to be loud—letting you know what you were doing right. one of your hands wrapped around his cock, your fingers tightening around the base before you started to jerk your hand up and down.

you could hardly take him in fully—your cheeks hollowing out to make more space and it still wasn't nearly enough. "soo good, please don't stop," suguru’s voice drawled out when you tried taking more of his cock in your mouth.

you could feel tears pricking up at the edge of your waterline, blinking them back quickly. his cock was barely a couple inches in your mouth and the tip was already starting to hit your uvula, your saliva coating around the shaft to mix with the precum spurting out. once you were able to, you started bobbing your head up and down his length.

suguru’s fingers dug into the sheets beside him, his chest starting to feel like he’d run a marathon. your tongue, your mouth, just you, everything felt too stimulating, too good. the hand you’d been jerking him off with moved down to his heavy sack, your fingers rolling around his balls.

and just like that, suguru was a goner. he swore he saw the flickering of a white light above. you felt them tighten up underneath your fingertips, growing heavier and heavier with cum. you looked up to see him completely disheveled, mouth agape to let out shaky gasps and broken moans. and right before you swore you almost felt him cum, he pulled you off.

“did i do something wrong?” your question came out innocent, like you hadn’t nearly sucked the soul out of his body.

suguru let out a disbelieving laugh, pulling you up to your feet before feverishly leaning into kiss you. not seeming to care that he could taste himself on your tongue. “just need to cum inside you, can i do that, please? you still want this?”

he sounded completely and utterly ruined. but you nodded into the kiss, your fingers pressing into his shoulders. “i need you, sugu, need you so bad. please fuck me, please.”

he moved at the speed of light, setting you down onto the comfort of his mattress before he settled himself on top of you. his cock throbbed and twitched at the mere contact with your bare pussy, his fingers wrapping around the base as he swiped the tip through your folds. “you sure you want this?”

just one more time to confirm. you nodded.

“c’mon, use your words for me, pretty,” he whispered, rubbing the tip against your swollen lil’ clit. your throat bobbed as you swallowed back an embarrassing moan.

“i want this, suguru, i’m sure.”

"okay, take a deep breath in for me." you complied, filling your lungs with air before letting it out in a deep exhale. he slowly pushed his cock in, your walls tightening and clenching involuntarily against his shaft.

"there we go, that's it baby. takin' me so well." suguru's voice came out akin to a purr he didn't mention how he'd barely pushed an inch in. once he was certain it was okay, he pushed another and another in.

a choked gasp left your lips when he finally seemed to bottom out, feeling like your body had just been split in half. and maybe, just maybe it was, you wouldn’t necessarily doubt it.

suguru wiped away a couple tears that streamed down your cheeks, standing still while you got used to the intrusion. it was hard, he had to admit, when you felt so warm and wet around him. but anything for your comfort, he wouldn’t risk that.

“you can move, suguru,” you spoke up, one of your hands reaching out to take hold of his. his fingers grasped your own, placing your hand on top of your head before he slowly pulled out and thrusted back in one swift motion. your pussy drenched his shaft each time he pushed back in, each thrust smoother and faster.

suguru leaned down to kiss you, hair falling like a waterfall and covering his face completely before he ever got the chance to get close. you bit down on your lip, trying to keep yourself from laughing in his (hair covered) face before reaching out and moving his hair out the way.

so goes the super suave geto suguru.

a small giggle left your lips at the gesture, slowly starting to feel more and more comfortable being around him. (well how much more comfortable could you really get after having him inside you?) suguru let out a small huff, rolling his eyes in faux annoyance before handing over a hair tie.

you managed to make the world’s messiest ponytail in twenty seconds. go you!

“i’m glad my embarrassment’s amusing, but you okay?” he asked quietly, treating you as if you were a delicate piece of glass. long fingers trailed up your sides like he was admiring a piece of art, not at all like the strangers that you were supposed to be.

“i’m fine,” you assured, wiggling your hips and trying to thrust back into him, “you can go faster, though, please?”

suguru didn’t hesitate to follow that command, hips snapping into you almost immediately. your cunt sucked him in with each thrust, squelching with how much you’d drenched his shaft. his heavy balls smacked against your ass TWACK TWACK TWACK!

your legs wrapped around his waist like you were physically trying to intertwine your body as close as you could to him. “ah ah fuck, sugu, faster, faster!” your moans sounded like the best kind of melody to his ears, and well, who was he really to deny?

suguru hoisted a leg up on the bed for a better angle, hitting that spot inside of you with each quick thrust. your walls clenched around him like a vice, like you wanted to keep him trapped while you gushed and soaked around him.

“pussy’s so good, i’m never letting you go,” he babbled, his other hand gripping your hip to move you up and down his shaft as he pleased.

his middle finger rubbed desperate little circles against your clit, your eyes rolling back from just how good you felt. the hair tie was long since forgotten, hair falling onto his face as he leaned forward to capture your lips in what could only be described as a tangle of tongue and teeth.

everything about him screamed desperate and unhinged—and you weren’t any different.

“make me cum, make me cum, please,” you moaned out against his lips, your chest heaving and your breaths coming out in short pants. suguru nodded like it was his only mission in life, pushing his cock in and out sloppier and messier than he was at first. practically gliding with how wet you were.

your orgasm built up more intense this time, your nails digging into the sheets below as the coil in your tummy began tightening. “please please please,” for what were you begging for? you didn’t know. a scream that would probably wake up his neighbors left your lips as you came, dripping and soaking his shaft in your wake.

“so messy, my messy girl, that’s ittt.” he was a broken pussy-drunk babbling mess. suguru continued to rut into you, chasing his own orgasm while working you through your own. his hips moved desperately, balls twacking against you with each sloppy sloppy thrust until he finally choked out,

“w-where do you hic want it?”

you didn’t give it much thought, “my face, sugu. wanna taste you, come for me, need you.” that was all it took for the last bit to snap, barely managing to pull out in time before he was spurting out drops of cum onto your face and your open mouth.

you swallowed every last drop that landed on your tongue, your features contorting into a slight grimace once the taste settled on your taste buds. and just like you'd come out of a damn porno and his wet dreams, you stuck your tongue out.

"fuck, you're gonna kill me." a breathless laugh left his lips. he made sure to push his hair back this time around before he leaned into kiss you again, his tongue prodding into your mouth.

one time fucking awkward and slightly offputting girl pussy and he was ready to get your finger measurements to buy the most expensive ring he could find at the jewelers. maybe he'd start with just a date once he came back to his senses.

suguru plopped down on the mattress next to you, rubbing a drop off cum off your cheek with the pad of his thumb before bringing it up to his own lips. "was that okay? you need anything—water, a bath, your dignity?"

you let out an amused scoff, turning your head to face him. admiring his features in the post sex glow. you had to admit—to yourself mostly—he looked good worn out and panting. "my dignity's still intact, thank you. but some water and a rag would be nice."

he cracked open the water bottle and left it on the nightstand next to you before disappearing into the bathroom. you could briefly hear the sound of water running before he emerged once more, a wet rag in hand.

each swipe of the rag in between your legs was a gentle one, treating you with the utmost care in the world. “you don’t have to leave right away, if you don’t want to. i can make some mean scrambled eggs.”

“how inviting,” you teased, taking a sip of the water as you mulled it over. how bad would it be to stay the night if he’d already been inside of you? “but sure, i’ll stay. if only for the scrambled eggs.”

you weren’t sure how long the two of you spent up talking about nothing and everything in between, from what you did for school to how you got into baking. it was.. refreshing, in a sense.

you could picture yourself doing this kind of routine with him almost too easily. the last thing you remember before succumbing to sleep was his arms wrapped around your stomach.

holding you like he never quite wanted to let go.

loud knocking woke up suguru at ass o'clock in the morning, long before the sun even started to peek its head from the horizon. a groan left his lips as he forced himself to untangle his limbs from your own and get up.

you didn't seem to notice his absence, in fact, you almost seemed to enjoy it. a little too much, if you asked him. you laid in the middle of the bed, sprawling your arms and legs out like a starfish.

the knocking on the door grew more insistent—determined to get an answer one way or another.

"hi, good morning. i'm from the church of scientology." this time they'd sent a middle aged man to stand at his door and spit out the same spiel he'd heard for the past five months in a row, greeting him with a smile that suguru deemed unnatural this early in the morning.

a smile that quickly seemed to fade once the man took notice of the blossoming hickey on his neck, the scratches that ran down his abdomen.

the man grasped his copy of dianetics like he was clutching his pearls.

suguru would have to eat you out later just for this reaction.

the man cleared his throat, eyes averting down to the book in his hands, before he cracked it open to the first page he could find. suguru wondered how long it'd take the man to figure out the book was upside down.

"i'm here because you signed up to receive visits every weekend. for just the small price of ¥73,300, you could learn all about the church and how to reach enlightenment—" the more that the man rambled, the more that suguru was more inclined to start his own cult than join this one.

but regardless, he let the man finish his spiel before he tapped his chin in faux thought. “to join a cult or not to join a cult, decisions decisions…”

the man raised a finger to protest, pushing up the thick rim of his glasses up his nose, "well actually, we're not a cult, we're a religious group focu-"

the man was left rambling to the front door about the difference between a 'religious group' and a 'cult.'

but he relented, suguru had to give him that at least. the man remained at the doorstep, bringing his fist up to the door but never making contact. probably regretting coming over in the first place.

"who was at the door?" you were barely awake yourself, rubbing at your eyes as the bright morning light peered in through the windows.

suguru pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a small groan, "would you believe me if i said scientology?"

"who'd you piss off?" you questioned, standing by the kitchen with your arms folded.

this time, another groan. though he sounded more whiny than anything, “why does everyone always assume i did something?”

"am i wrong though?" you countered.

no, not at all. and suguru knew he wasn’t getting out of this conversation that easily. "come on, i'll tell you over scrambled eggs and those cookies you baked yesterday."

[soobiary]

nerdjo if you hear me...😶‍🌫️

nerdjo’s glasses slip down his nose as he stares at you between his knees, mouth already running even while you’re bobbing on his cock.

“fuckkk, that’s so good—shit, wait, did you know that like… most guys only last like five minutes with head? which is, y’know, kind of embarrassing considering the male refractory period—”

his words stutter when you swallow around his tip, spit dripping down your chin. “ohhh god, okay, yeah, that’s—fuck—that’s definitely less than five minutes for me.”

your tongue presses under his tip and he whines, still running his mouth.

“ahhh—shit, baby, did you also know semen actually has, like, fructose in it? it’s literally nature’s energy drink—ohhh fuck, your tongue—wait, wait, don’t stop—” his whimpers comes out shaky, hand twitching like he wants to push your head down but can’t decide if it’s rude.

you take him deeper, throat tightening, and he slaps a shaky hand over his mouth, eyes rolling back behind his lenses. he tries to muffle a moan but it comes out anyway, high and desperate.

“o-okay, okay, uh—s-science says sucking dick releases oxytocin—hahh, f-fuck—bonding hormone, y’know? so technically, we’re like… getting closer right now.”

you hum around him in agreement and he gasps, words spilling faster. “shitshitshit, baby, you’re—fuck, your throat’s so warm, you’re making me cum—ahhh, oh god, wait, I’m serious, I’m—”

he breaks off with a choked moan, cock twitching as he shoots thick cum across your tongue, still babbling about “increased intimacy” while you swallow every drop.

nerdjo...hahahah.... nerdjo save me...

[soobiary]

this is my shakespeare i love this

don’t bite the hand that feeds you

pairing — yandere gamer satoru x discord kitten reader

synopsis: you thought it was a simple cash grab, playing the perfect discord kitten for a lonely, generous gamer. but his devotion is more than you bargained for, an all-consuming obsession that feels as intoxicating as it is unnerving. the lines of your con begin to blur, and you find yourself tangled in a game where you are no longer sure who is manipulating whom. as he builds a beautiful, gilded cage around you, you're forced to question what will happen when he decides the game is finally over. or: what starts as a simple con to bleed a lonely discord mod dry becomes a terrifying game of obsession when his generosity reveals itself to be a cage.

wc — 21.7k ෆ tags -> f!reader, porn with plot, really filthy and detailed smut, toxic online relationships, no one is innocent, everybody is mentally ill, satoru is neurotic, manipulation, obsessive behavior, stalking, misogynism (from satoru), sadism (from both sides), manipulator gets manipulated, power imbalance, codependency, psychological fuckery, isolation, coercion, moral ambiguity, dubcon elements (forced orgasms), satoru has a big dick, praise kink, degradation, that satoru brand of whiplash, humiliation kink, edging, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dacryphilia, missionary, belly bulge, doggy style, hair-pulling, cervix fucking, squirting, anal fingering, exhibitionism, creampie, loss of identity, art by @/rezi.jellyfish on ig

athy says, hi everyone, thank you for your patience with this! i promise there's a plot in here somewhere, but the smut-to-plot ratio got away from me. like, by a lot. apparently satoru had other plans. enjoy the filth <3 (yes the suguru slander and y/n pun was intended)

the discord notification sound has become pavlovian at this point. your fingers pause over the mechanical keyboard—his gift, cherry mx blues because you’d mentioned once that you liked the sound—and that familiar warmth spreads through your chest. another message from your devoted little ATM, probably with another screenshot of his bank transfer.

satoru is typing...

you’ve been bleeding this discord mod dry for exactly seven days now, and the rush hasn’t dimmed. if anything, it’s gotten sharper. more intoxicating. there’s something delicious about the way he hangs on your every word, the way his messages light up with barely contained excitement whenever you deign to respond.

you’d started this as a simple cash grab—find some lonely loser, play girlfriend for a few weeks, disappear with whatever you could get—but satoru gojo is turning out to be so much more entertaining than anticipated.

satoru: good morning beautiful ♡ i hope you slept well 

satoru: i got us matching keycaps for our keyboards, yours should arrive today 

satoru: also transferred money for that graphics card you wanted

the messages come in rapid succession, each one making your lips curl upward in something that isn’t quite a smile. you let them sit for a few minutes—never respond immediately, that’s amateur hour—while you examine your nails and bask in the knowledge that somewhere across the city, he’s probably staring at his phone waiting for those three dots to appear.

pathetic. beautiful, profitable pathetic.

why_en: aww satoru you’re so sweet 🥺 you really don’t have to keep spending money on me

the lie tastes like honey on your tongue. you absolutely want him to keep spending money on you. the thrill isn’t even about the cash anymore—it’s about the power. the way he throws his apparently endless bank account at you like he’s trying to buy your affection, not knowing he already has it in the most twisted way possible. not love, never love, but something hungrier and more selfish. 

you wonder what he looks like when he reads your messages. does he smile that dopey, grateful smile you can hear in his voice? does he screenshot them like the lovesick fool he’s proven himself to be? the mental image makes warmth pool low in your stomach, not arousal but something more intoxicating—pure, undiluted control.

satoru: i want to!! seeing you happy makes everything worth it 

satoru: you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me

there it is. that desperate, clinging gratitude that makes your pulse quicken with something that definitely isn’t guilt. you screenshot his message, adding it to the collection you’ve been building—a gallery of his devotion that you scroll through when you need a reminder of your own power. each declaration of love, each promise of eternal devotion, each pathetic attempt to prove his worth to someone who sees him as nothing more than a particularly generous wallet with feelings.

the gaming setup around you is a shrine to his devotion. the monitor he bought you—curved, 4k, some ridiculous size that takes up half your desk. the headset with noise cancellation so good you feel isolated from the world. the chair that cost more than your rent, ergonomic and perfect because you’d complained once about your back hurting. he’s building you a temple to worship in, and you’re the cruel goddess who accepts his offerings without giving anything real in return.

why_en: wanna hop on the game? i miss you

another lie wrapped in enough truth to taste sweet. you don’t miss him exactly, but you miss the way he makes you feel. like you’re the center of someone’s universe. like you matter more than anything else in existence. it’s addictive in the way that power always is—once you’ve tasted being someone’s everything, settling for being anyone’s something feels like starvation.

within seconds, your discord pings with an incoming call. you let it ring twice—can’t seem too eager—before accepting.

“hey gorgeous.” his voice comes through your headset, soft and warm and tinged with that barely contained excitement that makes your pulse quicken. there’s something about his voice that doesn’t match the image you have in your head—too smooth, too rich. you’ve been picturing some stereotypical basement dweller, but he sounds like he could be reading poetry or ordering wine at expensive restaurants.

not that it matters. attractive or not, wealthy or not, he’s still just another mark. just one who’s proving to be more generous and entertaining than most.

“hi satoru,” you let your voice go soft and affectionate, the way you know drives him crazy. “how was your day?”

“better now that i’m talking to you.” the sincerity in his tone makes your chest tighten—not with emotion, but with satisfaction. he means it completely, and that level of devotion should be frightening but instead it’s intoxicating. “did your package arrive?”

you glance at the unopened box on your desk, designer keycaps that probably cost more than most people’s cars. you’ve been letting it sit there, unopened, because there’s something delicious about making him wait for your gratitude. about knowing he’s probably been checking his phone all day for a thank you message that you haven’t sent.

“you spoil me too much,” you say instead of answering directly, voice pitched to sound guilty and grateful rather than calculating.

“impossible.” there’s a smile in his voice, genuine and warm. “nothing’s too much for you.”

nothing’s too much. the words settle into your chest like warm poison, feeding something hungry and dark that’s been growing stronger every day. you’ve had men spend money on you before, but never like this. never with this level of worship, this certainty that you deserve everything he can give and more.

the game loads and you fall into your routine—comfortable banter, shared objectives, him carrying you through content while you provide commentary and attention. he’s good at this, stupidly good, and you find yourself actually enjoying the gameplay instead of just enduring it. 

“you’re incredible at this,” you breathe out after he pulls off some complicated combo that saves your virtual life. the praise isn’t entirely fake—he is skilled, precise in a way that speaks to countless hours of practice. but you layer your voice with breathless admiration that you know will make him melt.

“i’ve been playing since beta,” he says, and there’s pride there but also something else. something that sounds almost vulnerable. “most people think it’s a waste of time.”

“most people are idiots.” the response comes out more vehement than you intended, protective in a way that surprises you. where did that come from? you’re not protective of him—you’re protective of the source of your entertainment, your income, your daily dose of worship. “they’re just jealous they don’t have your talent.”

silence stretches between you for a moment, and you can hear his breathing through the headset. when he speaks again, his voice is rougher around the edges.

“you always know exactly what to say.”

do you? or have you just gotten good at reading the hunger in his responses, learned to feed the need you can hear lurking beneath every word he speaks? you’ve turned manipulation into an art form, and he’s your willing canvas.

“maybe i just really believe in you,” you say softly, and listen to the sharp intake of breath on the other end. hook, line, sinker. every. single. time.

the session stretches longer than usual—three hours of shared gameplay punctuated by increasingly intimate conversation. he tells you about his day, his work (something with coding that pays obscenely well), his thoughts on everything from philosophy to his favorite foods. you file away every detail, building a psychological profile that you’ll use to maximize your impact on his wallet and his heart.

but somewhere in the third hour, something shifts. his voice goes quieter, more vulnerable, and you find yourself leaning closer to the headset despite yourself.

“can i tell you something?” he asks.

“always.”

“i’ve never... i mean, i don’t usually connect with people like this.” there’s a pause, and you can hear him adjusting what sounds like glasses. “you’re different. special.”

special. the word hits different than all his other praise, settles deeper. you are special, aren’t you? special enough to have ensnared someone who sounds like he doesn’t fall easily, someone who’s probably had plenty of options but chose to fixate on you.

“you’re special too,” you say, and for the first time in seven days, you’re not entirely sure if you’re lying.

the thought should disturb you. instead, it sends heat rushing through your veins like recognition, like coming home to something dark and familiar.

by the time you log off, it’s past midnight and your head is swimming with more than just the late hour. there’s something happening here, something beyond the simple con you’d planned. satoru gojo is getting under your skin in ways you hadn’t anticipated, and the smart thing would be to extract whatever you can and disappear before it gets complicated.

but you’ve never been particularly smart about walking away from things that make you feel powerful.

your phone buzzes.

satoru: thank you for tonight 

satoru: talking to you is the best part of my day 

satoru: sweet dreams, beautiful

you stare at the messages until your vision blurs, that hungry warmth in your chest growing stronger. tomorrow you’ll push a little harder, ask for a little more, see just how far his devotion extends. tomorrow you’ll test the boundaries of his worship and bask in the results.

tonight, you fall asleep to the sound of notification after notification, each one a small prayer offered at the altar of your manufactured perfection.

the second week is when you truly hit your stride.

you’ve learned his patterns now—when he wakes up (6 AM sharp), when he takes lunch (12:30, always at his desk), when he’s most vulnerable to suggestion (late evening, after he’s been working all day and craving human connection). you time your messages accordingly, each one calculated for maximum impact.

why_en: i had the weirdest dream about you last night...

sent at 6:15 AM, just late enough that he’s had time to check his phone and early enough to derail his entire morning routine.

satoru: tell me everything

the response comes within thirty seconds, and you can practically feel his desperation bleeding through the screen. you let him wait fifteen minutes before responding.

why_en: it’s kind of embarrassing... 

why_en: we were together, like really together 

why_en: you made me feel so safe

three messages, perfectly spaced to build anticipation and plant ideas. you’re not just selling him fantasy anymore—you’re selling him dreams, literal dreams where he’s your protector and lover and everything he wants to be.

his response is immediate and exactly what you expected.

satoru: i want to make you feel safe 

satoru: i want to be everything you need 

satoru: god, i wish i could hold you right now

perfect. absolutely perfect. you screenshot the conversation and add it to your collection, your gallery of psychological victories. there’s something deeply satisfying about watching someone unravel themselves for you, about knowing exactly which strings to pull to get the response you want.

why_en: maybe someday we can make that dream real

the maybe is crucial—never promise anything concrete, always leave room for interpretation. let him build the fantasy himself while you provide just enough encouragement to keep him invested.

satoru: someday soon, i hope 

satoru: i’m falling for you 

satoru: is that crazy?

is that crazy? you almost laugh out loud at the question. of course it’s crazy. he’s falling for someone who doesn’t exist, someone you’ve constructed specifically to exploit his weaknesses and extract his resources. but crazy is profitable, and his particular brand of crazy is more entertaining than anything you’ve experienced in years.

why_en: not crazy at all 

why_en: i’m falling too

another lie that tastes suspiciously like truth. not falling in love—you’re not capable of that kind of clean emotion—but falling into something. falling into the rhythm of his worship, the daily hit of being someone’s everything, the intoxicating knowledge that you’ve become necessary to his happiness.

the week continues like this, each day bringing new messages, new gifts, new declarations of devotion. your bank account swells like a tumor, fed by his desperate need to prove his worth through material offerings. but it’s not just about the money anymore, hasn’t been for days.

it’s about the control. the way he asks permission before making plans, the way he checks in constantly to make sure you’re happy, the way his entire emotional state seems to revolve around your approval. you’ve become the sun in his solar system, and the gravitational pull of that much influence is addictive.

satoru: i’ve been thinking 

satoru: we should meet

the message arrives on a wednesday afternoon, and you stare at it for a full minute before responding. you’d known this was coming—it always comes—but you’ve been living in this perfect bubble where he existed only as a voice in your headset and numbers in your bank account.

meeting means risk. means maintaining the facade in real time, with no delete button, no time to craft the perfect response. means looking into the eyes of someone whose life you’ve systematically infiltrated and pretending to care about what you see there.

but it also means seeing the devotion made flesh. means watching his face light up when he sees you, means being the physical manifestation of his digital goddess made real. the thought sends heat coursing through your veins, anticipation mixed with something darker.

why_en: meet?

play dumb. make him work for it, explain why he needs this, needs you. make him convince you even though you’ve already decided.

satoru: i know we said we’d take it slow but i can’t stop thinking about you 

satoru: i need to see you

need. not want, need. the desperation in that word choice makes your pulse spike with satisfaction. you’ve done this to him, created this need, built yourself into something essential to his existence.

why_en: i want to see you too 

why_en: but what if...

satoru: what if what, beautiful?

why_en: what if i’m not what you’re expecting? 

why_en: what if you’re disappointed?

it’s a calculated vulnerability, designed to make him rush to reassure you, to pile on more worship and devotion. but underneath the calculation, there’s a tiny seed of something that might be genuine anxiety. not about your appearance—you know you’re attractive enough to maintain the illusion—but about everything else. about keeping up the performance, about being worthy of the pedestal he’s built for you.

satoru: impossible 

satoru: you’re perfect 

satoru: nothing could disappoint me about you

perfect. there’s that word again, the one that sits heavy in your chest like a promise and a threat. he’s built you up so high that the only direction left is down, and some twisted part of you is curious to see what happens when the inevitable fall comes.

satoru: tomorrow? i’ll pick you up

and because the alternative is admitting that this has all been an elaborate lie, because you’re in too deep to back out now, because some twisted part of you wants to see the devotion in his eyes when he looks at you—

why_en: okay 

why_en: i can’t wait

you spend the night in a state of restless energy. trying on outfits, practicing expressions in the mirror, rehearsing conversations. you need to be the girl from the game tomorrow, the one who thinks his jokes are hilarious and his interests are fascinating. the one who’s falling just as hard as he is.

but more than that, you need to be perfect. need to live up to the impossible standard you’ve set, need to be worth every dollar he’s spent and every prayer he’s offered at the altar of your digital presence.

your phone buzzes at exactly 2 PM.

satoru: here

you check your reflection one more time—carefully applied makeup that looks effortless, outfit chosen to hit the sweet spot between approachable and untouchable, smile practiced until it looks natural—and head downstairs.

the car waiting outside is not what you expected. sleek, expensive, the kind of vehicle that whispers wealth instead of shouting it. and behind the wheel—

oh.

oh fuck.

satoru gojo is not the basement dweller of your imagination. he’s tall, unfairly tall, unfolding from the driver’s seat like he’s been poured into existence by some artist with a preference for impossible proportions. white hair that catches the sunlight and holds it, pale skin that should look sickly but instead looks ethereal, and—

glasses. wire-rimmed and slightly askew, like he’s pushed them up his nose a thousand times while concentrating on code or game mechanics or whatever it is that’s made him wealthy enough to treat you like a luxury purchase.

but it’s his eyes that stop your breath. blue like winter sky, like deep water, like something beautiful and dangerous. and the way he’s looking at you—

like you’re a miracle he’s not quite sure he deserves.

for a moment, just a moment, your carefully constructed confidence wavers. he’s beautiful in a way that makes your chest tight, beautiful enough that you understand why he has options, why he could choose anyone. and he’s chosen to fixate on you, chosen to pour his attention and resources into someone who’s been systematically deceiving him for two weeks.

the thought should make you feel guilty. instead, it makes you feel powerful.

“you’re—” his voice catches, and he pushes his glasses up with one long finger. “you’re so beautiful.”

the reverence in his tone makes your chest constrict with satisfaction. you’ve been complimented before, but never like this. never like you’re something precious and fragile and worth protecting. never by someone who looks like a fallen angel asking for permission to worship at your feet.

“hi satoru.” you duck your head, letting manufactured shyness bleed into your expression because you can see how it affects him. the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers tighten on the car keys. he’s even more responsive in person, every micro-expression a testament to your power over him.

“hi.” he’s smiling now, soft and genuine and so different from what you’d imagined. “ready?”

the date—because that’s what this is, even though neither of you have called it that—unfolds like a fever dream. he takes you to places that exist in a different tax bracket than your usual haunts. art galleries where the price tags make your eyes water, restaurants where the waiters treat him like royalty and you like his precious companion.

and he’s... charming. actually charming, not just wealthy enough to fake it. he tells stories that make you laugh despite yourself, asks questions that suggest he actually listens to your answers, touches your hand across restaurant tables with a reverence that makes your skin burn.

but more than charming, he’s generous. not just financially—though the black card that appears every time a check arrives is certainly impressive—but emotionally. he gives you his complete attention, hangs on your every word like you’re delivering divine revelation, treats every opinion you offer like it’s the most insightful thing he’s ever heard.

it’s intoxicating. addictive in a way you hadn’t anticipated. you’ve had men try to impress you before, but this feels different. this feels like worship, and you’re discovering that being worshipped is a high unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

“tell me about your childhood,” he says over appetizers that cost more than your weekly groceries, chin propped on his hand as he gazes at you with those impossible blue eyes.

the question should panic you—you haven’t prepared a backstory, haven’t thought about how to make your real life sound interesting enough to hold his attention. instead, you find yourself telling him the truth. or at least, a version of it.

“not much to tell,” you say, twirling expensive pasta around your fork. “grew up middle class, normal family, normal problems. nothing as interesting as your life, i’m sure.”

“everything about you is interesting to me.” the response is immediate and sincere, and you have to hide your smile behind your wine glass. he means it completely, and that level of fascination is better than any drug you’ve ever tried.

“what about you?” you turn the conversation back to him, partly because you’re genuinely curious and partly because you know he’ll love having your undivided attention. “what made you so successful so young?”

his smile turns self-deprecating, and he pushes his glasses up again. “luck, mostly. right place, right time, right skill set for what the market needed. nothing special.”

but the way he talks about his work—the passion in his voice when he describes complex problems and elegant solutions—suggests otherwise. he’s brilliant, genuinely brilliant, and probably used to being the smartest person in any room. the fact that he’s choosing to spend his time and attention on you feels like a victory worth savoring.

“i think you’re being modest,” you say, reaching across the table to touch his hand. his fingers are long and elegant, surprisingly soft for someone who spends his days typing code. “success like yours doesn’t happen by accident.”

the touch is calculated—skin contact always is, with men like him—but the warmth that spreads up your arm when he turns his hand to capture your fingers is entirely unexpected. his thumb traces across your knuckles, and you have to fight the urge to shiver.

“you give me too much credit.” but he’s looking at your joined hands like they’re something precious, something worth protecting. “honestly, work used to be everything. before you.”

before you. two words that carry the weight of complete life reorganization, of someone who’s restructured their priorities around your existence. the power of it is dizzying.

“before me?” you pitch your voice to sound curious rather than satisfied.

“before you, i worked sixteen hour days because i didn’t have anything else worth coming home to. now...” he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles that makes your breath catch. “now i leave the office at five because i can’t stand being away from you any longer than necessary.”

the gesture should feel possessive, controlling. instead, it feels like devotion made flesh, like being precious enough to reorganize someone’s entire world around. you’re drunk on it, higher than you’ve ever been on any substance.

“satoru,” you whisper, and watch his pupils dilate at the sound of his name from your lips.

“i know it’s crazy,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “i know it’s too much too fast, but i can’t help it. you do something to me.”

you do something to him. the admission sends heat racing through your veins, confirms what you’ve suspected for days—that your power over him goes beyond simple attraction or even infatuation. you’ve gotten into his head, rewired his brain chemistry, made yourself essential to his happiness.

it’s the most intoxicating feeling in the world.

“you do something to me too,” you admit, and it’s not entirely a lie. he does do something to you—makes you feel powerful and desired and important in ways you’ve never experienced before. makes you want to be worthy of the pedestal he’s built, even as you’re consciously manipulating your way to the top of it.

the rest of dinner passes in a haze of intimate conversation and lingering touches. he tells you things that feel like secrets—about his loneliness before you, his fears about not being good enough, his dreams for the future that all seem to center around making you happy. you file away every confession, every vulnerability, adding them to your arsenal for future use.

but somewhere between the main course and dessert, something shifts. maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the way he keeps looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, maybe it’s the sheer overwhelming force of his attention—but you start to lose track of what’s performance and what’s real.

when he reaches across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your breath catches without any conscious decision to make it do so. when he smiles at something you say, warmth blooms in your chest that has nothing to do with strategy. when he asks about your dreams for the future, you find yourself giving answers you hadn’t planned, hadn’t practiced.

“what do you want most in the world?” he asks over dessert that’s more art than food.

the question hangs between you like a challenge. what do you want most in the world? money? security? power? all of those things seemed like complete answers a few weeks ago, but sitting across from someone who’s offering them all freely, they feel insufficient.

“to matter,” you say finally, the words escaping before you can stop them. “to be important to someone.”

it’s more honest than you meant to be, more vulnerable than your carefully constructed persona allows. but the way his eyes soften, the way he reaches for your hand again like it’s instinctive—

“you matter to me,” he says simply. “you’re the most important thing in my world.”

and god help you, you believe him. more than that, you want it to be true. want to be his most important thing, want to be worthy of the devotion he’s offering, want to deserve the life he’s clearly planning to build around you.

the realization should terrify you. instead, it feels like coming home.

he drives you back to your apartment as the sun sets, expensive car purring through streets that look different when viewed through the lens of his attention. everything seems prettier, more significant, like you’re seeing your own life through the eyes of someone who thinks you’re worth this level of effort.

“can i see you again?” he asks as he walks you to your door, and there’s vulnerability in the question that sits strangely on someone who looks like he’s never been denied anything in his life.

“try to stop me,” you say, and watch his face light up like sunrise.

he kisses your forehead before he leaves—chaste and sweet and completely at odds with the heat in his eyes—and you spend the evening replaying every moment, every touch, every look. your phone buzzes constantly with messages from him, each one a small prayer of gratitude for your existence.

satoru: thank you for today 

satoru: you’re even more incredible in person 

satoru: i can’t stop thinking about you 

satoru: sweet dreams, beautiful

you stare at the messages until your vision blurs, some emotion you can’t name clawing at your chest. tomorrow you’ll go back to the performance, back to being the perfect girlfriend he’s constructed in his mind. but tonight—

tonight you let yourself wonder what it would be like if this was real. if you were really the person he thinks you are, really worthy of the life he’s offering to build around you.

your reflection stares back at you from your darkened phone screen, and for a moment you don’t recognize the face looking back. there’s something soft there, something vulnerable that has no place in your carefully constructed armor.

you push the feeling down, bury it beneath layers of calculation and strategy. this is a job, a con, a means to an end. the fact that your mark happens to be beautiful and generous and completely devoted doesn’t change what this is.

but as you fall asleep to the sound of your phone buzzing with message after message, each one a small offering at the altar of your manufactured perfection, you can’t quite shake the feeling that you’re lying to yourself about more than just your feelings for him.

the second date becomes a third, then a fourth. he integrates himself into your life with the persistence of water finding cracks, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. your gaming sessions become longer, more intimate. your days start to revolve around his messages, his calls, his presence.

and the gifts keep coming. not just expensive things anymore, but thoughtful ones. a book by an author you mentioned liking, tea from a shop you walked past together, a playlist of songs that remind him of you. he’s building a detailed map of your preferences, real and performed, and using it to craft a reality where you’re the center of everything.

it should be suffocating. it should trigger every alarm bell you have about controlling men and possessive behavior. instead, it’s intoxicating in ways you never anticipated.

“you don’t have to keep buying me things,” you tell him one evening, though you make no move to return the designer bracelet he’s just fastened around your wrist. the weight of it feels like ownership, like being marked as his in the most luxurious way possible.

“i want to.” his fingers linger on your pulse point, and you wonder if he can feel how your heartbeat spikes at his touch. “you deserve beautiful things.”

you deserve. not you want, not you like—you deserve. like your worth is something objective and measurable, like spoiling you is a moral imperative rather than a choice.

“what if i don’t?” the question slips out before you can stop it, vulnerability bleeding through your carefully maintained facade.

he goes still, fingers pausing in their gentle exploration of your wrist. when you look up at him, his expression is soft and serious and utterly convinced.

“impossible,” he says, and there’s no doubt in his voice whatsoever. “you’re perfect.”

perfect. that word again, the one that sits in your chest like a weight and a promise and a threat all at once. you want to be perfect for him, want to deserve the faith he’s placing in you, want to be worthy of the life he’s offering to build around your happiness.

but you also know, with crystal clarity, that you’re not. that everything he loves about you is a carefully constructed lie, that the person he’s falling for exists only in the digital space between truth and deception.

the contradiction should bother you more than it does.

instead, you lean into his touch and let him believe in your perfection a little longer.

you’re three weeks deep when the first crack appears.

it happens during a gaming session—some pvp match that’s going badly despite his usual skill. you can hear his frustration through the headset, sharp intakes of breath and muttered curses that sound nothing like the patient, adoring man you’ve come to know.

“look at this pathetic excuse for a human being,” he snarls after another failed engagement, and there’s venom in his voice that makes your stomach drop like a stone. “CurseGuzzlerSG—probably some mouth-breathing basement dweller who peaked in middle school and thinks button mashing counts as skill. bet his parents are ashamed they wasted eighteen years feeding this waste of oxygen.”

the transformation is jarring, like watching a mask slip off to reveal something predatory underneath. gone is the soft-spoken man who calls you beautiful every morning, replaced by someone whose voice drips with surgical cruelty.

you can hear the mechanical keyboard—the one he bought to match with you—being punished under his fingers, each keystroke sharp and violent. then there’s a crash, the sound of something being swept off his desk, followed by his ragged breathing.

“and this fucking reject with the anime profile picture,” he continues, his voice getting more unhinged with each word. “probably jerks off to cartoon children and wonders why he’s never felt a woman’s touch. look at his gear, look at his rotation—his brain must be smoother than a marble, absolutely no higher cognitive function happening in that empty skull—”

the specific, personal nature of his attacks makes ice form in your veins. these aren’t just frustrated gamer insults. this is calculated character assassination of people he’s never met, detailed psychological profiles built from usernames and gameplay footage.

“hey,” you say softly, trying to recapture the gentle dynamic you’ve built, trying to ignore the way your fight-or-flight response is screaming at you to hang up, to run. “it’s just a game—”

“don’t.” 

the word cuts through your platitude like a blade, so sharp and cold you actually flinch away from your headset. the silence that follows is suffocating—you can hear him breathing heavily, each exhale controlled but violent, like he’s physically restraining himself from something worse.

ten seconds of silence. twenty. thirty.

when he speaks again, his voice has that careful control that’s somehow more terrifying than his rage.

“don’t diminish this. you know how much time i’ve put into perfecting my builds, my rotations, my team compositions. these... people... are ruining something i care about.”

people. the way he says it makes it clear they’re barely that in his mind.

there’s another stretch of silence, punctuated only by his measured breathing. you can picture him behind his setup—probably pushing his glasses up, running his hands through his white hair, recalibrating his mask.

“satoru—”

“i would never talk to you like that.” his voice is soft now, gentle, but there’s something underneath it that makes your skin crawl. “you’re different. you’re special. you understand quality, you appreciate effort, you have standards. unlike these degenerates who probably can’t even tie their own shoes without their mothers helping them.”

the implication hangs in the air like smoke: this is how he talks about people who aren’t special to him. this is the venom he reserves for anyone who doesn’t meet his standards, who doesn’t earn his carefully rationed respect.

“you’re the only person worth my patience,” he continues, and you can hear his smile through the words. “the only person who deserves my best self.”

your hands are shaking. you realize you’ve been holding your breath.

“i could be raid leading for a world-first guild,” he continues, and you can hear him pacing now, his breathing heavy through the microphone. “i could be making guides that actually matter, teaching people who deserve to learn. instead i’m stuck carrying these worthless—”

“satoru.” you interrupt, your voice firm enough to cut through his spiral. “breathe.”

silence stretches between you, heavy and uncomfortable. when he speaks again, his voice is different—smaller, almost frightened.

“sorry. i didn’t mean to... you’re the only good thing in my life, i shouldn’t take my frustration out on—”

“it’s okay,” you say quickly, but something cold has settled in your stomach. the only good thing in his life. not one of the good things, the only thing. the weight of that responsibility sits on your chest like lead, and you’re starting to understand why he treats you like something that might disappear if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

the session ends early, with him apologizing repeatedly—too much, too frantically—and you reassuring him that everything’s fine. but after you hang up, you sit in the darkness of your room and wonder what you’ve built here. what kind of devotion requires this level of emotional maintenance. what kind of man puts all his happiness in one person and then expects that person to carry it gracefully.

your phone buzzes immediately.

satoru: i’m sorry for earlier 

satoru: you bring out the best in me and i never want to be anything less than perfect for you 

satoru: let me make it up to you 

satoru: please don’t be upset with me 

satoru: i can’t stand the thought of disappointing you 

satoru: you’re everything to me

the messages come in rapid succession, each one more desperate than the last. you can picture him on the other end, probably pacing his apartment, pushing his glasses up his nose over and over while anxiety eats him alive. the image should make you feel powerful—and part of it does—but mostly it just makes you tired.

why_en: it’s really okay satoru, we all have bad days

satoru: not around you 

satoru: never around you 

satoru: you deserve perfect

the next morning, there’s a package at your door. jewelry this time, delicate and expensive and exactly your taste. the note attached is written in his careful handwriting, and you can see places where he pressed too hard with the pen, where his hand probably shook: for the most perfect woman in the world. i’m sorry i’m not worthy of you yet.

not worthy yet. like his worthiness is something he can achieve through enough gifts, enough attention, enough complete subsumation of his identity into the idea of pleasing you.

you should feel guilty. you should feel something approaching shame for the way you’ve constructed this relationship on a foundation of performance and manipulation. instead, you feel hungry. greedy. more addicted than ever to the way he sees you as something precious and irreplaceable.

but the cracks keep appearing, spreading like spider webs through the perfect facade he’s built.

it happens at a coffee shop two days later. you’re waiting in line together, his hand possessive on the small of your back, when the barista—young, pretty, probably a college student—smiles at him while taking his order.

“what can i get started for you?” she asks, all customer service brightness and innocent friendliness.

you feel satoru’s hand tighten against your back. when he speaks, his voice is clipped, cold in a way you’ve never heard directed at a stranger.

“large americano. black.” no please, no thank you, just barely controlled hostility toward someone whose only crime was existing while female in his presence.

the girl’s smile falters slightly. “and for you?” she asks, turning to you with visible relief.

“i’ll have a—”

“she’ll have a vanilla latte with oat milk,” satoru interrupts, his voice still sharp. “and make sure the temperature is exactly 140 degrees. she has a sensitive palate.”

you stare at him. you’ve never mentioned having a sensitive palate. you don’t even particularly like vanilla lattes, but you’d ordered one once weeks ago and he’d apparently catalogued it as your permanent preference.

“uh, actually—” you start.

“that’s what you always get,” he says, looking at you with those too-blue eyes. there’s something desperate in his gaze, like your coffee order is a test of his devotion and getting it wrong would shatter something fundamental in his worldview.

“right,” you say weakly, watching the barista’s expression grow more uncomfortable by the second.

“anything else?” she asks, clearly wanting this interaction to end.

satoru’s eyes narrow, scanning her name tag. “no, suzuru. just make sure you get it right. my girlfriend deserves the best service.”

the way he says ‘girlfriend’ makes your skin crawl—possessive, territorial, like he’s marking territory. suzuru nods quickly and moves to start the drinks, probably counting the minutes until her shift ends.

“you didn’t have to be rude to her,” you say quietly as you move to wait for your order.

“rude?” satoru looks genuinely confused. “i was protecting your experience. did you see the way she was looking at me? completely inappropriate when i’m obviously with someone.”

you glance back at suzuru, who’s focused intently on the espresso machine and definitely not looking at anyone. “she was just doing her job, satoru.”

“was she?” his voice drops to a whisper, but there’s venom in it. “or was she trying to get my attention? women like that are always testing boundaries, seeing if they can break up happy couples.”

women like that. you want to ask what he means exactly—college students? service workers? people who dare to exist in his vicinity while female?—but something in his expression warns you off. there’s a paranoid intensity in his eyes that makes you think of conspiracy theorists and reddit manifestos.

“maybe you’re reading too much into—”

“i notice things other people miss,” he interrupts, straightening his glasses with sharp, jerky movements. “i see patterns. the way she tilted her head, the way she leaned forward when she talked to me, the way her voice got softer. classic manipulation tactics.”

your blood runs cold. classic manipulation tactics. you wonder if he’s catalogued your own behavior the same way, if he has mental files on every smile, every laugh, every carefully crafted moment of vulnerability you’ve shown him.

“large americano and vanilla latte!” suzuru calls, setting the cups on the counter with obvious relief.

satoru inspects both drinks before accepting them, checking the foam art on your latte with the intensity of a forensic investigator. “temperature?” he asks.

“140 degrees,” suzuru confirms, already turning away to help the next customer.

as you leave the coffee shop, satoru’s demeanor transforms back to the devoted boyfriend you know. he opens the door for you, asks if your drink is perfect, tells you how beautiful you look in the morning sunlight. but you can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at that barista, like she was a threat to be neutralized.

“you’re quiet,” he observes as you walk to his car.

“just thinking.”

“about what?” there’s an edge of anxiety in the question, like he’s afraid you might be thinking about something—or someone—other than him.

“nothing important,” you lie, and watch his shoulders relax slightly.

but it is important. the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that his devotion comes with a price: the complete elimination of any other people from your life. friends who text you less because you’re always busy with satoru. coworkers who’ve stopped inviting you to after-work drinks because you always decline. family members who’ve started asking if you’re okay because you only talk about your boyfriend now.

the isolation happened so gradually you barely noticed it. satoru never explicitly told you to stop seeing other people—he’s too smart for that. instead, he made himself irresistible.

why go out for mediocre drinks with friends when you could stay in with someone who treats you like a goddess? why maintain friendships that require effort when you have someone who gives you everything you want without asking for anything in return?

except he is asking for something in return. he’s asking for everything. your time, your attention, your entire existence reorganized around the maintenance of his happiness.

the revelation should horrify you. instead, as you settle into the passenger seat of his expensive car and let him fuss over your seatbelt, your comfort, your everything, you find yourself wondering why it feels so much like coming home.

a week later, you’re having dinner at another expensive restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters know his name and treat you like visiting royalty. you’ve learned to navigate these spaces now, learned to let him order wine that costs more than your monthly rent, learned to smile graciously when he explains the menu items like you’re a child who needs guidance.

the conversation flows easily—it always does now, you’ve learned to navigate his interests and opinions like a native speaker—until he mentions something that makes your blood freeze.

“i’ve been thinking about taking a vacation,” he says, cutting into his steak with precise, almost surgical movements. “somewhere tropical, just the two of us. i found this perfect resort in the maldives—private villa, completely isolated from everything. just paradise.”

isolated. the word echoes in your head like a warning bell. 

“that sounds amazing,” you say automatically, but your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears.

“i already booked it,” he continues, and there’s excitement in his voice, genuine happiness that makes your stomach twist with guilt and terror in equal measure. “two weeks, starting next month. i know you’ll have to request time off work, but i figured we could say it’s a family emergency or something. i don’t want your boss asking too many questions about where we’re going.”

the casual suggestion of lying to your employer sits wrong in your chest, but it’s the other part that makes your pulse quicken with alarm.

“you booked it?” the words come out sharper than intended, and you see his expression shift slightly, like a mask slipping. “without asking me?”

for just a moment, something flickers across his face—surprise, irritation, the look of someone who’s been questioned when they expected gratitude. but it’s gone so quickly you almost think you imagined it.

“i wanted to surprise you.” his tone is still gentle, but there’s something underneath it now. something watchful, calculating. “you mentioned wanting to travel, and i thought... i wanted to give you something special. something no one else has ever given you.”

he’s right, of course. you had mentioned wanting to travel, weeks ago, back when you were still thinking of him as a mark instead of... whatever he is now. but the way he’s twisted that casual comment into justification for making major decisions about your life without consulting you feels like a trap closing around your throat.

“i can’t just disappear for two weeks, satoru. i have responsibilities, commitments—”

“what commitments?” the question is quiet, but there’s an edge to it that makes your pulse quicken. his blue eyes are studying you with uncomfortable intensity, like he’s dissecting your objections in real time. “your job that makes you miserable? friends who barely text you anymore? family who only call when they need something?”

the accuracy of the statement hits like cold water. when was the last time you made plans that didn’t involve him? when did your world become so small that he fills every corner of it? and more importantly—when did he become so intimately familiar with the deterioration of all your other relationships?

“that’s not the point,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction and you both know it. “you can’t just... decide things for me.”

his hand reaches across the table to cover yours, warm and possessive, and you notice the way his fingers completely engulf your smaller ones. “i’m not deciding for you, beautiful. i’m trying to give you everything you deserve. when was the last time you did something just because it made you happy?”

the question lodges in your throat like a stone. when was the last time? before him, certainly. before this performance became so consuming that you forgot what happiness felt like when it wasn’t reflected in his adoring gaze.

“this is making me happy,” you whisper, and it’s not entirely a lie. this—his attention, his devotion, the way he treats you like something precious—does make you happy. but it’s a hollow kind of happiness, built on a foundation that’s starting to crack under its own weight.

“then what’s the problem?” his thumb traces across your knuckles, a gesture that should be comforting but feels like a shackle. there’s something in his voice now, a careful patience that reminds you of someone talking to a frightened animal. “let me take care of you. let me give you the life you deserve.”

the life you deserve. not the life you want, not the life you choose, but the life he’s decided you deserve based on his careful observation of your preferences and weaknesses. the distinction sits heavy in your chest as you look at him across the table—beautiful, devoted, dangerous in his certainty that he knows what’s best for you.

“two weeks is a long time,” you say weakly, grasping for some kind of compromise that won’t shatter the careful dynamic you’ve built.

“exactly.” his smile could power cities, bright and genuine and full of love that feels more like ownership with each passing day. “two weeks where you don’t have to think about anything except being happy. no work stress, no social obligations, no one else’s needs to consider. just you and me and paradise.”

just you and me. the phrase echoes in your head with the weight of inevitability. no one else to perform for, no escape routes, no witnesses to whatever he becomes when he has you completely to himself.

“okay,” you say finally, because the alternative is a confrontation you’re not ready for, because part of you wants to see what happens when you stop running from this thing you’ve created. “okay, we can go.”

his smile could power cities, bright and genuine and full of love. “you’re incredible,” he says, lifting your hand to his lips. his kiss is soft, reverent, and completely at odds with the triumph gleaming in his eyes. “i can’t wait to have you all to myself.”

all to himself. the phrase echoes in your head as he pays the check without looking at the total, as he drives you home through streets that feel increasingly like a maze with no exit, as he kisses you goodnight with reverent tenderness that feels more like a brand than affection.

that night, alone in your apartment, you sit on your bathroom floor with your back against the locked door, trying to process what just happened.

the fear sits in your stomach like ice water, sharp and immediate. you’ve seen behind his mask now, witnessed the calculating precision with which he’s been mapping your life. every conversation you thought was casual bonding was actually reconnaissance. every detail you thought you were sharing naturally was being filed away, catalogued, weaponized.

but underneath the fear is something else, something that makes you feel sick with self-recognition. you’re impressed. 

the thoroughness of it, the dedication, the sheer amount of effort he’s put into knowing every facet of your existence—it’s horrifying and flattering in equal measure. when was the last time someone paid attention to you with this level of intensity? when was the last time you felt this important to another person?

he knows your coworkers’ names, your salary, your daily frustrations. he’s been building a detailed psychological profile while you thought you were playing him. the realization that you’ve been outmaneuvered by someone you considered a mark should terrify you.

instead, it makes you feel... special.

not just the object of desire, but the subject of obsession. worthy of this level of investigation, this depth of surveillance. he doesn’t just want to possess you—he wants to understand you completely, to anticipate your needs before you voice them, to become essential to your happiness.

your phone buzzes with a text, and you don’t even need to look to know who it’s from.

satoru: thank you for saying yes to the trip 

satoru: i know it’s a big decision 

satoru: i promise i’ll make it perfect for you 

satoru: everything i do is for you 

satoru: you’re my whole world

his whole world. not part of his world, not an important piece of it, but the entire thing. the weight of being someone’s everything sits on your chest like lead, but underneath the pressure is something that feels suspiciously like pride.

you type and delete a dozen responses before settling on something that feels true enough to pass for honesty:

why_en: i trust you

and you do trust him, in a way that’s probably more dangerous than fear. you trust him to worship you, to structure his entire existence around your comfort and happiness. you trust him to protect what he sees as his with the same vicious intensity he showed that night gaming, the same paranoid vigilance he demonstrated with the coffee shop barista.

you trust him to love you the way a collector loves their most precious acquisition—completely, obsessively, possessively.

the maldives trip looms like a beautiful nightmare on the horizon. two weeks alone with him, no escape routes, no distractions, no witnesses to whatever you become when you stop pretending this isn’t exactly what you want.

tomorrow you’ll put on the mask again. tomorrow you’ll be his perfect girlfriend, grateful for his attention and excited about your romantic getaway. tomorrow you’ll feed the monster you’ve created and pretend you don’t see your own reflection in his hungry eyes.

but tonight, in the darkness of your apartment, you let yourself grieve for the person you used to be before you learned to love the feeling of being devoured.

your phone lights up again.

satoru: goodnight, beautiful 

satoru: sweet dreams 

satoru: i love you more than anything in this world

the words sit on your screen like a confession and a threat and a promise all at once. more than anything in this world—not anyone, anything. like you’re not a person to him but a concept, an ideal, a perfect thing to be protected and possessed and worshipped from a distance that’s growing smaller every day.

why_en: i love you too

and in the silence that follows, you finally understand that some hungers can only be satisfied by being consumed completely. the question isn’t whether you’re ready for that consumption—it’s whether you’re brave enough to admit how much you want it.

the villa is perfect, of course it is. satoru doesn’t do anything halfway, especially when it comes to you. glass walls that dissolve the boundary between inside and outside, infinity pool that bleeds into the ocean horizon, bed the size of your entire apartment back home draped in white silk that catches the tropical breeze.

the air hums with salt and jasmine, the scent clinging to your skin, curling into your senses like a lover’s breath. the teak furniture, carved with razor-sharp precision, glows under the low light, each piece a silent testament to his control, his need to make this space an extension of his will—and of you.

you’ve been here a week and you can feel yourself dissolving.

his presence is relentless: mornings with breakfast on a tray—mangoes sliced so thin they’re translucent, their juice dripping down his fingers as he presses a piece to your lips, watching your tongue dart out to taste it, coffee brewed to the exact temperature you mentioned once, its bitter warmth coating your throat as he studies your reaction with narrowed eyes and a faint smirk.

afternoons on the deck with the sun searing your skin, his fingers tracing slow circles on your thigh, each touch pulling a hitch in your breath, a flush across your chest. nights where he watches you pretend to sleep, his gaze heavy, peeling back your defenses until you’re raw, exposed, your pulse quickening under the weight of his scrutiny.

“you’re so beautiful when you think no one’s watching,” he murmurs now, and you realize your pretense has failed again. his voice comes from too close, and when you open your eyes he’s propped on his elbow beside you, studying your face with those winter-blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses that have become as familiar as your own reflection. 

the sun has set while you dozed, painting the water in shades of amber and rose. the villa’s lighting system has activated automatically, casting everything in a warm glow that makes his white hair look spun from gold, makes his pale skin seem to glow from within. the light catches his glasses, glinting like a predator’s eyes, and the ocean outside hums, a low murmur that fades against the pulse hammering in your ears.

“i wasn’t sleeping,” you lie, stretching like a cat under his gaze. the movement makes the silk camisole—another gift, chosen perfectly for the climate and your coloring—ride up, exposing the soft curve of your hip, and you watch his eyes darken as they track the exposed skin with predatory focus. the fabric clings to your breasts, outlining your nipples as they harden under his stare, and his jaw tightens, a muscle flickering as his pupils dilate.

“i know.” his fingers ghost over your hip bone, light as butterfly wings but searing, tracing a slow arc that sends a shiver through you. “you get this little crease between your eyebrows when you’re really asleep. right here.” he touches the spot with his index finger, gentle but possessive, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch, your lips part in a soft gasp. “and your breathing changes. gets deeper. more trusting.” 

the casual observation makes your stomach flip. he’s catalogued even your unconscious expressions, studied you with the dedication of a scientist documenting a new species. seven days of constant observation, constant attention, and he’s mapped every detail of your existence with the precision of a cartographer claiming new territory.

“you’re staring too hard,” you whisper, but there’s no real complaint in it. you’ve grown addicted to the weight of his attention, the way he looks at you like you’re art in a museum—something precious and irreplaceable that he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to possess. 

“can’t help it.” his hand slides higher, palm flat against your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through silk so thin it might as well not exist. the contact is deliberate, his thumb circling slowly, coaxing your nipple to peak harder, sending a jolt straight to your core. “especially in that. it’s like you were designed specifically to drive me insane.” 

the camisole was waiting on the bed when you arrived, along with an entire wardrobe he’d selected with meticulous care. sundresses that tie at the shoulder with single ribbons that beg to be pulled, bikinis that somehow stay on despite being mostly string and wishful thinking, lingerie that makes you feel like something wrapped for his consumption. everything easy access, everything designed to come off at the slightest provocation. 

“you have good taste,” you manage, voice catching as his thumb traces the curve of your breast, feeling your nipple harden through the silk. the sound makes him smile, sharp and satisfied, his eyes glinting with triumph, his jaw tightening as he watches your lips part.

“i have you,” he says simply, leaning down to press his lips to your collarbone, tongue flicking out to taste your skin. his tongue is warm, wet, tracing a slow path along your collarbone, and the contact burns, soft yet laced with something feral, his teeth grazing lightly. “that’s all the good taste i need.”

his breath is hot against your skin, his lips parting slightly as he lingers, savoring the salt of your sweat, the faint pulse under your skin. the kiss burns, soft and reverent but there’s something darker lurking beneath the surface. something that’s been growing stronger the longer you’re isolated together, the longer he has you completely to himself with no interruptions, no witnesses, no escape routes.

his mouth moves lower, teeth scraping against your pulse point, and you can’t suppress the small gasp that escapes. the sound flips something in him—his grip tightens on your ribs, fingers digging in just shy of painful, his nails biting into your skin, leaving faint crescents. his eyes flicker with dark satisfaction, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he feels you tremble.

“satoru,” you breathe, and his name comes out needier than intended, almost broken, your voice trembling as your core aches with want.

“what do you want, beautiful?” his lips move against your throat, voice gone rough around the edges, a low growl that vibrates against your skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point again. “tell me exactly what you want and maybe i’ll give it to you.” 

it’s a loaded question wrapped in silk, isn’t it? what you want versus what you think you should want versus what he wants you to want. the lines have blurred beyond recognition, especially here in this paradise where the outside world feels like a half-remembered dream. the villa is a cage of glass and silk, the air thick with heat and desire, and every touch of his lips, every scrape of his teeth, pulls you deeper into his orbit.

“you,” you say, and it’s the truest thing you’ve said in weeks. not the performance version of want, not the careful calculation of what will keep him devoted, just pure need that’s been building like pressure behind glass. “i want you.” 

something shifts in his expression, the careful mask of gentle devotion cracking to show the ravenous hunger underneath. his hand moves higher, cupping your breast properly now, thumb circling your nipple through silk with enough pressure to make you arch against him.

his fingers knead the soft flesh, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, slow and deliberate, sending jolts straight to your core. his eyes darken, pupils dilating as he watches your face contort, your lips part in a soft moan, a flush spreading across your chest.

“how much of me?” his voice is lower, darker, a growl vibrating in his chest as he leans closer, his lips hovering over yours, his breath hot against your skin. “because i want to give you everything, but i need to know you can handle it. need to know you won’t break.” 

the question makes your pulse stutter because there’s something in his tone you’ve caught glimpses of before—in game chats when other players frustrate him, in the way his jaw tightens when men look at you too long, in the casual possessiveness that’s grown stronger each day—but never this concentrated, never this focused entirely on you.

“everything,” you whisper, because retreat isn’t an option anymore. you’ve come too far, fallen too deep, let yourself get too addicted to the way he makes you feel like the center of the universe. “i can handle everything.” 

his lips curl, sharp and beautiful and completely unlike the gentle adoration you’re used to. it’s hungry, satisfied, like you’ve just given him permission for something he’s been craving.

“careful what you promise,” he murmurs, but his hands are already moving, fingers finding the silk ribbons at your shoulders. he unties them slowly, reverently, like he’s unwrapping the most precious gift he’s ever received, his fingers steady but his eyes flickering with hunger, his jaw tight as he watches the fabric fall.

the camisole falls away and you’re bare to his gaze, nipples hardening in the warm air as he looks at you like he’s seeing something that belongs entirely to him. the silk pools at your waist, and his eyes rake over your breasts, your nipples peaking harder under his stare, a flush spreading across your chest.

“perfect,” he breathes, and there’s something almost clinical in how thoroughly he studies you, his eyes narrowing slightly, cataloguing every curve, every freckle, every flush. his palms cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples with maddening lightness, just enough pressure to make you squirm but not enough to satisfy. his fingers knead the soft flesh, rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, slow and deliberate, sending jolts straight to your core. “do you know what you do to me? walking around in those little outfits i picked out, looking at me like you trust me completely?” 

there’s something almost cruel in his tone, a darkness you’ve sensed but never seen fully unleashed, and it shouldn’t make you wetter but it does. the careful, worshipful lover is dissolving into something hungrier, more possessive, and your body is responding like it’s been waiting for this version of him all along, your core aching with want, slickness forming as your thighs shift.

“i do trust you,” you manage, even as his hands move lower, skimming over your ribs with deliberate slowness, fingertips trailing fire across your skin, each touch precise, his nails grazing lightly, leaving faint red lines that burn in the humid air.

“you shouldn’t.” his fingers hook in the waistband of your silk shorts, and he pauses, looking up at you with eyes that have gone dark behind his glasses, his lips curling into a faint, predatory smirk. “but god, i’m so fucking glad you do.”

the profanity sounds foreign in his mouth, rougher than his usual careful language, and it sends heat shooting straight to your core, making you clench with need. he pulls the fabric away with agonizing slowness, like he’s savoring every inch of skin revealed, and when you’re completely bare beneath him he just looks for a long moment.

his eyes rake over your body, lingering on the flush across your chest, the way your thighs quiver, the glistening slickness at your center, his jaw tightening, a muscle flickering as his pupils dilate. the intensity of his gaze makes you want to cover yourself and spread wider at the same time, your core aching with need.

he’s cataloguing every detail—the flush spreading across your chest, the way your breathing has gone shallow, how your thighs press together unconsciously, only to part again as your core clenches.

“beautiful,” he murmurs, hands sliding up your legs with reverent touches that feel possessive, his fingers digging into your thighs, leaving faint marks. “so fucking beautiful it makes me crazy. makes me want to do terrible things to you.” 

his thumbs brush the sensitive skin where your thighs meet your hips, not quite touching your center, just close enough to make you squirm, your hips lifting instinctively, seeking contact. “satoru, please—” your voice is raw, desperate, breaking on his name, your hips lifting again, your core aching with want.

“please what?” his voice has gone silky, dangerous, a purr that makes your core clench with need. his thumbs circle closer, grazing the edges of your slick folds, teasing your clit without touching it, and his eyes narrow, watching your face contort, your lips part in a soft moan. “use your words, beautiful. tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.” 

the command in his tone makes you clench around nothing, and you see him notice it, see the satisfied smile that curves his lips as he watches your body betray your need. “touch me,” you breathe, hips lifting unconsciously, seeking contact he’s deliberately withholding. “please, i need you to touch me.” 

“where?” he asks, and there’s something almost sadistic in how he’s drawing this out, like he’s savoring your desperation, his lips curling into a faint smirk, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. “here?” his fingers ghost over your hipbones, barely making contact, his nails grazing lightly, leaving faint red lines. “or here?” 

“you know where,” you gasp, frustration making your voice crack, your core aching with need, your thighs trembling. your eyes flutter, tears pricking at the corners, and your lips tremble, a soft whimper escaping as his fingers hover so close but refuse to touch.

“but i want to hear you say it.” he leans down, lips brushing your ear, and his voice drops to something dark and possessive, his breath hot against your skin, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “want to hear you beg for it like the needy little thing you really are. bet you’ve begged other men like this too, haven’t you?”

the question hits like a slap, unexpected and cruel, and you feel heat flood your cheeks. “satoru—” your voice trembles, raw with a mix of shame and arousal, your eyes wide with desperation, tears pricking at the corners.

“have you?” his fingers stop moving entirely, hovering just above your center, so close you can feel the warmth of them but not the relief you’re dying for, your clit throbbing with need. “answer me. how many others have seen you like this? how many others have you spread your legs for?” 

“that’s—that’s not fair,” you whisper, voice breaking on the words, tears spilling over as your core clenches with need, your lips trembling, your eyes wide with desperation.

“not fair?” he laughs, and the sound is sharp and mean, a blade slicing through the humid air, his eyes glinting with dark amusement, his jaw tightening as he watches your face contort. “what’s not fair is how you probably let them touch you, let them think they meant something. but they didn’t, did they? they were just practice for me.” 

his thumb finally brushes over your clit, just once, and the contact makes you cry out—a broken, desperate sound that echoes off the glass walls, your hips jerking upward, chasing more. he pulls back, watching you squirm with a smile that’s all teeth, his eyes glinting with satisfaction, his jaw tight as he savors your desperation.

“my clit,” you sob, beyond caring about dignity, tears spilling freely, your lips trembling, your eyes wide with need. “please touch my clit, please, i’ll tell you whatever you want—” your voice is raw, trembling, and your core clenches with need.

“good girl,” he purrs, but there’s something twisted in the praise, his eyes narrowing, a faint smirk curling his lips as he watches your face contort. “see how easy it is when you’re honest? when you stop pretending to be something you’re not?”

finally, finally his thumb presses against your clit properly, and the sensation makes you keen—a high, desperate sound that you don’t recognize as coming from your own throat. he starts with slow, deliberate circles, his thumb grinding against your swollen clit with cruel precision, dragging across the sensitive nerves, each motion sending jagged bolts of pleasure through your core.

his fingers tease your dripping pussy, sliding through your slick folds with a taunting drag, collecting your arousal as your hips jerk, desperate for more of his merciless touch.

“oh god,” you gasp, hips bucking against his hand involuntarily. the sound of your wetness is obscene in the quiet villa, slick and desperate, echoing off the glass walls. your cunt clenches, aching for him to fill it, as his thumb shifts to sharp, rapid taps, then slow, punishing drags that make your thighs quiver, your clit pulsing under his cruel attention.

“louder,” he commands, pressing harder on your clit, his thumb scraping across it with a vicious flick, sending a white-hot jolt through your body that makes you whimper, your breath catching in your throat. “want to hear every sound you make. want to memorize exactly how you break apart for me.”

but the touch is gone almost immediately, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing. he’s back to those maddening almost-touches, fingertips trailing through your soaked folds with clinical fascination, teasing your entrance with featherlight strokes that make your cunt ache for more, his movements slow and deliberately cruel.

“so wet already,” he observes, his voice a low, clinical murmur. “soaking my fingers and we’ve barely started. your body just gives you away, doesn’t it? doesn’t even wait for you to be awake to do what it’s made for. it knows who it belongs to, even when you don’t.”

before you can answer, he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with an obscene thoroughness that makes you whimper. his eyes never leave yours as his tongue laps at your slickness, swirling over each digit, savoring the taste of your pussy, and the sight is so filthy and intimate that your cunt clenches, a fresh wave of slickness dripping down your thighs.

“sweet,” he says after he’s licked them clean. “everything about you tastes perfect.”

his hand returns between your legs, fingers sliding through your drenched folds with devastating precision, parting your pussy lips with slow, deliberate drags. the wet sound fills the air, obscene and desperate. he finds your clit and circles it slowly, then switches to quick, vicious taps, building a rhythm that has you writhing beneath him, spine arching off the silk sheets as broken whimpers spill from your lips, your thighs trembling with the intensity of it.

your vision blurs at the edges, the room spinning as pleasure builds like pressure in your skull. you hear yourself making sounds you don’t recognize—breathless gasps, broken moans, words that might be his name or pleas. but every time you get close to the edge he backs off, switching to lighter, teasing strokes, his fingers grazing your cunt with cruel restraint, leaving you suspended in a limbo of need that feels like drowning.

“please,” you sob after the third time he brings you to the brink only to pull back, and your voice cracks on the word, raw and desperate. tears stream down your cheeks—when did you start crying? “please, satoru, i can’t take this, i can’t—”

“you can,” he says firmly, and there’s steel in his voice now, authority that brooks no argument. “you can take whatever i give you, can’t you? my perfect, patient girl.”

he slides one finger inside your aching cunt as he says it, and the intrusion makes you arch with a sharp gasp that echoes off the walls. your body clenches around him involuntarily, desperate for more, as he twists his finger with a vicious grind, dragging against your sensitive inner walls with a cruel, deliberate stroke that sends fire through your core.

the sensation is overwhelming—his finger twisting inside your pussy, grinding against that sensitive spot, while his thumb torments your clit with sharp flicks and slow, scraping drags, the dual stimulation shattering your thoughts. you can feel yourself dissolving, the careful walls you’ve built around who you’re supposed to be crumbling with each merciless movement of his hand.

“look at you,” he murmurs, adding a second finger, stretching your cunt with a slow, forceful thrust, then pulling back to stroke shallowly at your entrance before plunging deeper, making you keen—a sound you’ve never made before, high and broken and completely involuntary. “falling apart so beautifully. is this what you wanted when you started your little game? to end up spread out for me, begging?”

the question cuts through the haze of pleasure like a blade. your little game. he knows. of course he knows. but instead of stopping, instead of feeling shame, you just clench tighter around his fingers, chasing the sensation that’s making everything else fade to static.

“that’s what I thought,” he says, and there’s dark satisfaction in his voice as he works you methodically, building toward something that feels bigger than pleasure, something that feels like complete dissolution. “my perfect little schemer, so good at manipulating everyone else. but you can’t manipulate this, can you? can’t control how your body responds to me. so loud for me. what would people think if they heard my perfect little schemer now?”

the thought should mortify you—the villa is isolated but not soundproof—but instead it makes you moan louder, the idea of being heard, of being claimed so thoroughly that even strangers would know you belong to him.

“you like that idea,” he observes, and there’s dark satisfaction in his voice. “like the thought of people knowing you’re mine.”

he adds a third finger and you keen, back arching off the bed as he stretches your pussy wider than you’ve ever been, the sensation teetering between pleasure and pain, your body trembling as it struggles to take him.

he slides his fingers in deep, then pulls back to stroke shallowly, teasing your entrance with quick, brutal thrusts before plunging back in, grinding against your inner walls with a cruel twist.

“god, you’re so tight,” he says, a note of sharp amusement in his voice. “all those other cocks, and you still feel brand new. did they even count?” the wet sounds are obscene as he works his fingers deeper. “don’t worry. i’ll open you up properly. i’ll make sure you can take all of me, because you’ll have to. this is what you really are when you stop all that clever scheming, isn't it? just a perfect, greedy cunt made for me.”

tears stream down your cheeks freely now, but you can’t tell if they’re from the physical intensity or from something deeper—the way he’s seeing right through you, stripping away every pretense until there’s nothing left but raw need and the terrifying realization that you want this, you want him to see you like this.

your body feels hypersensitive, every nerve crackling with electricity, the silk beneath you damp with sweat, your skin flushed and burning despite the ocean breeze. when you try to close your legs instinctively he forces them apart with his free hand, grip firm and possessive, his nails biting into your thigh.

“ah, ah, ah,” he chides softly, cruel amusement in his tone. “don’t you dare hide from me. look at you—clenching around my fingers like you’re starving, and you think i’d let you shut those pretty thighs and keep your slutty cunt all to yourself?”

he presses you wider, spreading you obscenely open, his gaze devouring the sight of your soaked cunt wrapped tight around his hand. “be a good girl and let me see it. every twitch, every little spasm. i want to watch you disgrace yourself.”

the shame floods your chest hot and heavy, but the words only make your walls flutter tighter around him. his breath catches, a low, hungry laugh breaking from his throat. he’s still fully clothed while you’re splayed naked beneath him, and the imbalance feels deliberate—like a scientist dissecting his favorite specimen, like a god pulling apart something that belongs only to him.

“eyes on me,” he commands when your eyes start to flutter closed, overwhelmed by sensation. “don’t hide it. i want to see every filthy little expression you make.”

you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze as he works you closer to the edge with surgical precision. his glasses have slipped down his nose, eyes dark with hunger behind the lenses, and there’s something almost clinical in how he watches you—like he’s cataloguing every micro-expression, every broken sound that spills from your lips.

your thoughts feel scattered, fragmented. the careful persona you’ve built crumbles with each vicious twist and stroke of his fingers, each brutal tap and drag of his thumb. you can feel yourself breaking apart, but instead of fear there’s only relief—relief at finally being seen, at having someone strip away all your defenses and want what they find underneath.

"are you about to come?" he asks, his voice losing its heat and taking on a cooler, almost clinical curiosity. his head tilts slightly, glasses slipping just a fraction down his nose as he studies your face like a fascinating experiment.

you can only nod frantically, a pathetic gesture because words have abandoned you entirely. your body is wound so tight you feel like you might shatter, pleasure building like a storm in your core that threatens to sweep away everything you thought you were.

but just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he stops completely. he doesn't just pull his fingers out—he draws them back with agonizing slowness, leaving your cunt empty and desperately clenching around nothing as a sob tears from your throat. he holds his slick fingers up in the low light, examining them, and you, for a long moment, a faint, satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

“no,” you cry, reaching for him with shaking hands. “please, don’t stop, i was so close—”

“i know,” he says, and the smirk widens into a smile that’s all sharp, beautiful teeth. there is no mercy in his eyes, only a bright, terrible amusement. “but you don’t get to come until i say you can. until i want to watch it happen. understand?”

you nod frantically, tears blurring his triumphant face, desperate to be good for him, to prove you can follow his rules. when his fingers return, they don’t plunge back in. they slide through your soaked pussy, tracing lazy, shallow circles at your entrance, a cruel tease that makes you bite your lip so hard you taste copper, trying to hold back the whimper that threatens to escape.

“good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise is a cold, condescending thing. he begins working you slowly again, building that familiar pressure, his thumb pressing lightly on your clit just to feel it pulse. “see how pretty you are when you listen?”

but his fingers are so skilled, grinding against that perfect spot inside your cunt with a vicious, practiced twist, and your body betrays you despite your best efforts. you can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, muscles tensing, breathing growing ragged as he works you with relentless precision, his own breathing staying perfectly even. he’s not even close to losing control.

“not yet,” he warns, the words a low murmur, but his fingers don’t stop their devastating rhythm. his other hand comes up to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “hold it. i want to see you try.”

you try—god, you try so hard to be perfect for him, clenching your jaw and fists, your whole body a taut wire of resistance against the rising tide of sensation. but he feels you failing. he knows your body better than you do. he shifts his angle just slightly, grinding his fingers with a cruel, knowing precision against that spot that makes you see stars, and your control shatters completely.

the orgasm crashes over you without permission, a violent, tearing wave that rips a raw scream from your throat. you feel yourself gush around his fingers, a hot, shameful flood of wetness soaking his hand, the silk sheets, your thighs, as your body convulses with a pleasure so intense it feels like a punishment. your cunt pulses wildly, desperately, trying to pull him impossibly deeper.

for a moment you can’t even think, only ride it out, mouth falling open on a strangled, broken cry as your body betrays you completely. your vision whites out, your thighs tremble and knock together, every nerve lit with an unbearable, agonizing release.

then, when it finally ebbs, the horror rushes in—icy, sharp, slicing through the haze. you see the mess, a dark stain on the pristine sheets, feel the way his fingers are still buried inside you, unmoving, and the shame is so thick it clogs your throat.

“oh,” you gasp, voice raw, trembling with a pathetic, panicked energy. “oh no, i—i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to—”

when you finally force yourself to look up at his face, the expression there makes your blood freeze. there’s no anger. it’s worse. it’s a mask of cold, theatrical disappointment, but underneath it, his eyes are glittering with a bright, terrible satisfaction. a tiny muscle is twitching in his jaw, not with rage, but with the effort of holding back a triumphant smile. he is enjoying this. he is feeding on it.

“what did i just tell you?” his voice is quiet, a deadly calm that feels louder than a shout. he doesn't move his fingers, just lets them rest inside you, a heavy, damning presence. “i gave you one, simple rule. what was it?”

“i tried,” you whisper, fresh tears of humiliation spilling over, hot against your skin. “i tried so hard, i promise—”

“clearly not hard enough.” he pulls his fingers out abruptly, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room. he leaves your cunt clenching around nothing, slick dripping down your thighs onto the ruined silk. the sudden emptiness, the cold air on your wet skin, rips a whine from your throat before you can stop it, high and needy, shameful in its desperation.

he clicks his tongue, the sound sharp and deliberately condescending. “listen to you,” he drawls, his gaze dropping to the mess between your legs, then back to your face. “whining like a desperate slut the moment i stop touching you. you’ve gotten too comfortable, haven’t you? too used to me giving you everything you want, following your every whim like some pathetic puppy.”

the words cut deep because there’s truth in them—you have gotten used to his devotion, his willingness to spoil you, to treat you like something precious.

“that’s not—” you start, but he cuts you off with a look so cold it silences you.

“no?” his hand comes up to cup your face, his grip a little too tight, his thumb brushing away your tears with a mock tenderness that makes your skin crawl. “then why did you just disobey me? why did you take what i told you to wait for? you took it from me.”

you can’t answer because he’s right—you did take it, couldn’t stop yourself from falling over the edge he told you to avoid. your body feels hypersensitive, every nerve raw and exposed, the shame of your failure burning almost as hot as the lingering pleasure.

“spoiled little thing,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a soft, almost gentle whisper that’s somehow more terrifying. he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “always so used to getting your way. but that’s my fault, isn’t it? i’ve been too lenient with you.”

his other hand returns between your legs, fingers sliding slowly, deliberately through the slickness you’ve made, spreading it over your throbbing flesh. you gasp at the sensitivity, your thighs trembling, trying to close them, but his grip on your jaw tightens. everything feels too much, too intense, but when you try to pull away his body just pins you more firmly.

“shh, no running,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively gentle, as if calming a frightened animal. “your body is just confused. it wants this, remember? you cried when i took it away from you.” he presses a soft kiss to your temple, a gesture completely at odds with the cruelty of his intentions. “you made a mess by losing control. the consequence is that i have to be in control for you now. just let me.”

he slides two fingers back inside your cunt and you cry out—a sharp, wounded sound. it’s too much too soon after your orgasm, pleasure bordering on a raw, abraded pain as he works you with a cold, clinical precision, grinding against your sensitive inner walls with cruel, deliberate strokes.

but even as you whimper and squirm, he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss that isn’t gentle at all. it’s a bruising, possessive claiming of your mouth, his teeth scraping your lip as he forces your head back into the pillows, his tongue sweeping inside to tangle with yours. he is kissing you to silence you, to own you from both ends at once.

“shh,” he murmurs against your mouth, his fingers twisting inside you with a particularly vicious grind. he feels you flinch. “i know it’s intense, baby. i know it hurts. but you need to learn.”

the contrast is dizzying—his fingers punishing and relentless, twisting inside your pussy until you see spots, while his mouth moves with a soft, sweet thoroughness against yours, tasting your tears and your panic. it’s cruel and loving and completely confusing, making your already fractured thoughts scatter further.

“please,” you sob against his lips, the word muffled and broken, not even sure what you’re begging for anymore.

“please what?” he asks, pulling his mouth away just enough to watch your face as he adds a third finger, stretching your cunt so painfully you keen, your back arching off the bed. his eyes are dark, hungry, fascinated by the tears welling up again. “please stop? please more? you need to be clearer, sweetheart.”

but you can’t be clearer because you don’t know what you want except for this feeling to never end, for him to keep kissing you while he takes you apart, for the terrible sweet contradiction of pain and pleasure and love all tangled together.

“you want to come?” he growls, his voice gone completely dark, the mask of disappointment replaced with raw, unveiled hunger. “then fucking take it. show me how completely you can lose yourself for me. let’s see you break.”

the orgasm slams into you like lightning, so intense that you actually scream, a high, thin sound of pure overwhelm. your body convulses around his fingers, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you, your cunt pulsing wildly, soaking his hand again and again. you’re dimly aware of sobbing, not quietly, but in huge, ugly, gulping breaths, tears streaming down your cheeks from the sheer intensity of it all.

but he doesn’t stop. his fingers keep moving, grinding that spot inside your pussy while your body tries to recover, the overstimulation so intense it borders on a sharp, burning pain, each new spasm a fresh agony of pleasure.

“too much,” you gasp, pushing at his wrist. he answers by bringing your own hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles even as his fingers inside you twist with a cruel, deliberate pressure.

“oh, but there is,” he whispers against your skin, his smile predatory and pleased. “there’s so much more to give you. i love it when you sound like this. you’re so pretty when you cry for me.”

and that one word—pretty—is the final, beautiful nail in the coffin. it takes the shame of your tears, the humiliation of your broken sobs, and transforms it into an offering.

it’s not a sign of your failure to control yourself—it’s a sign of your success at finally pleasing him in the purest way possible. the realization lands not with a crash, but with a quiet, devastating click of acceptance. and the worst part, the most damning truth of it all, is how much you like it. how right it feels to not just be seen in this state of utter ruin, but to be praised for it. to be completely, utterly undone, and to finally be called beautiful for it.

“one more for me,” he tells you, his voice a soft, instructional murmur as his hand shifts, adding a fourth finger that stretches your cunt so wide you can barely breathe, a sharp, burning tear of sensation that makes you gasp. “let’s see if we can get you past thinking. that’s where you’ll be prettiest, i know it. when it’s just pure feeling, and all of it is for me.”

the stretch is intense, almost painful, but your body adapts with a shocking, humiliating ease, your pussy gripping him tightly, slick and needy. like you really were made for this, made to take whatever he wants to give you.

“that’s it,” he praises, but the sound is less a compliment and more a satisfied confirmation as you adjust to the intrusion. he starts moving his fingers again, a slow, deep rhythm. “see how easy it is when you stop fighting your nature? you just needed someone to show you what you were really for. to be taken like this. to be mine.”

his thumb, slick with your wetness, finds your clit again and you’re already spiraling toward another orgasm, body wound so tight you can barely stand it, the sensation spreading through you like molten gold, your thighs trembling, your breath ragged.

“please,” you sob, the word a constant, broken refrain, not even sure what you’re begging for anymore. release, more pressure, for him to stop, for him to never stop—everything blurs together in a haze of sensation.

“please what?” he asks, his voice gone soft again, but it's a terrifying softness, a gentle tone despite the relentless, punishing grind of his fingers. he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “what do you need, beautiful?”

“you,” you gasp, the admission ripped from the deepest part of you. “need you inside me, need all of you, please—”

his groan is a physical thing, a crack in the careful facade he wears, and the sound vibrates right through you, a low, guttural note of surrender that feels like your victory. he pulls his fingers from your cunt and the loss is immediate, a sudden, shocking hollowness that makes you whimper, a small, pathetic sound in the quiet opulence of the villa.

your body, slick and oversensitive, clenches on nothing, a desperate, silent plea that feels humiliating in its intensity. your hips twitch, an involuntary motion, chasing the memory of his touch, of the pressure that was grounding you.

he sheds his clothes with a brutal efficiency that’s almost frightening, each movement precise and devoid of any wasted energy. it’s not seductive—it’s a preparation. he doesn’t look at you as he unbuttons his shirt, his eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance, as if unwrapping a tool for a specific, delicate job. you can only watch, transfixed, as he reveals himself.

his body is an exercise in contradictions—beautiful and terrible, all hard, lean lines and the kind of latent power that hums under the surface. and his cock… it’s a heavy, arrogant thing, jutting from his body with a slight upward curve, thicker than you’d let yourself imagine, the veins a stark roadmap across its length, a single, clear bead of precum glistening at the tip.

the sight of it, the sheer, solid fact of it, steals the air from your lungs and makes the ache between your legs sharpen into a painful throb.

he is finally, completely naked, and he turns his full attention to you. he looks at you, and it’s not with affection, not with the soft glow of romance.

it’s with the hungry, consuming patience of a collector who has finally acquired a priceless, one-of-a-kind piece and is now deciding exactly how to display it for maximum impact. your stomach twists, a nauseating, thrilling knot of want and a deep, primal fear. this is the point of no return.

“scared?” he asks, settling between your thighs. the mattress dips significantly under his weight, caging you, the movement slow and deliberate. his cock nudges against your slick folds, a heavy, promising pressure that makes a fresh wave of wetness leak from you, shamefully visible on the dark silk of the sheets.

“no,” you lie, but the word is a breathy, broken thing, lost in the space between you.

“liar,” he says, and the fondness in his voice is sharp, almost cruel, the indulgent tone one might use for a favorite, slightly stupid pet that has just performed a predictable trick. he positions himself, just the thick, crowned head of his cock, pressing into your entrance.

it’s a torturous hint of pressure, a question and a threat all at once, and you find yourself arching into him, a silent, desperate plea your body makes without your permission. “it’s okay to be scared,” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration that seems to travel from his chest to yours. “it’s okay to want it anyway.”

he pushes in. not with a thrust, but with a slow, inexorable pressure, a deliberate invasion. it’s an agonizingly slow claiming of territory. the initial stretch is a searing, electric burn that makes you gasp, your nails digging into the silk sheets beside you, twisting the expensive fabric in your fists.

he pauses, letting you feel it, letting your body adjust to the first shocking inch of him, his eyes locked on yours, watching the flicker of pain and pleasure in your expression. then he moves again, another slow, grinding inch, stretching you wider. you can feel your inner walls resisting, then yielding, a slow, hot melting around his impossible width.

it’s a process, a complete remaking of your insides to accommodate him, and by the time he sinks himself to the hilt, your breath is coming in ragged, sobbing gasps.

the feeling of him fully inside you is dizzying. a deep, stretching fullness that has finally settled past pain into a profound, grounding pleasure. he’s buried so deep you can feel the solid weight of him against your cervix, a constant, blunt pressure that seems to root you to the bed.

he shifts his hips, a small, grinding motion, and watches, fascinated, as his length creates a slight mound on your lower belly, a visible testament to his possession. his palm comes down to press on it, not hard, but with a firm, proprietary pressure that makes you keen, a high, broken sound. the feeling isn't just fullness anymore—it’s him, a tangible brand on your body, inside and out.

“fuck,” he breathes, the word a rough vibration against your skin as he lowers his weight onto you. “so tight. like you were designed just for me.” his hands find your hips, his grip bruisingly tight, pinning you to the mattress, anchoring you under him.

you can’t answer, can’t think. he starts to move, and the rhythm is a slow, grinding punishment—and with every deliberate, dragging thrust, his other hand grinds against that little mound on your belly.

the sensation is dizzying. you can feel every inch of him, every ridge, every pulse, amplified by that relentless, focused pressure from the outside. he’s fucking you from both sides at once, and it’s too much. he’s not just in your cunt—

he’s in your head, making you hyper-aware of your own body, of how he fills it, of how he is physically altering its shape.

“weren’t you?” he demands, his voice a low growl that seems to echo inside your bones. his thrusts get a fraction deeper, a fraction harder, his cockhead bumping insistently against your cervix.

“yes,” you gasp, the word torn from you on a sob that is equal parts pleasure and surrender. “made for you.”

that’s all it takes. something in him snaps. the slow, controlled rhythm is gone, replaced by a frantic, punishing pace that steals your breath and rattles your teeth. he fucks you like he’s trying to erase everything that isn’t him, his hand a constant, grounding pressure on your belly, a focal point in the beautiful, chaotic storm he’s creating.

a hot wire of sensation is pulled taut in your gut, and you feel yourself unraveling. his free hand slides down between your slick, colliding bodies, his fingers finding your clit with unerring accuracy. he doesn't caress it—he grinds his thumb into it with the same brutal rhythm as his thrusts, and the world dissolves into white static.

you come with a scream that feels ripped from your soul, your body convulsing around him, a hot gush of release soaking his cock and the sheets beneath you. he doesn't stop, doesn't even slow, just fucks you through the aftershocks with a relentless, punishing rhythm before finally pulling out.

your cunt is dripping, leaving you aching and empty, a ruin of sensation. but he gives you no time to recover. he grabs your arm, flipping you over with an efficient brutality that leaves your head spinning.

“there you go, beautiful. up on your hands and knees for me,” he coos, his voice soft and hypnotic. “you fell apart so perfectly just now… i think i need to watch it happen from behind. show me how good you can be for me.”

you scramble to obey, your body clumsy and boneless, limbs trembling. you push yourself up, ass high in the air, cunt leaking a mixture of your slickness and his seed onto the pristine silk sheets. the position is inherently degrading, a silent admission of submission.

he doesn't make you wait. he slams back into you from behind, and the angle is so much deeper, so much more raw. it feels like he’s trying to split you in two. your head hits the mattress with a soft thud, a cry of shock and pleasure torn from your throat. one hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back and to the side, forcing you to look at nothing, to feel everything.

his other hand slides down the curve of your spine, over your ass, and then his thumb presses deliberately against the tight, untouched pucker of your anus.

you flinch, your whole body going rigid. the touch is so alien, so invasive, it’s a jolt of pure shock to your system. it’s not sexual, not at first. it’s clinical. an assessment.

he leans in, his breath hot against your ear, his voice a low, filthy caress. “oh?” he murmurs, his tone laced with a dark, mocking amusement that makes your skin crawl as he notices the untouched pucker of your anus. “what’s this?”

his other hand, still slick with your cunt's juices from moments ago, slides from your hip and deliberately smears that wetness over your ass, making it easy for his thumb to glide over the sensitive skin. “a little bit of unexplored territory?” 

the feeling of your own juices being used to lubricate a place you've never associated with pleasure is a deeply humiliating, confusing thrill. “don't worry," he whispers, his thumb pressing lightly, insistently, against the tight ring of muscle, making you flinch. "at least you saved this little ass-pussy for me. we'll get to it later. i like knowing there's still a part of you i get to be the first to ruin."

the shame is a hot flush that floods your entire body, from your scalp to your toes. but it’s twisted with a sick, thrilling arousal that makes your cunt clench violently around his cock. he feels it, and his laugh becomes a low, cruel rumble against your back as he starts to fuck you in earnest.

his thumb doesn’t try to enter, just circles the sensitive opening, a constant, humiliating reminder of a boundary he could cross at any moment, of a part of you he has now seen and catalogued and commented on. it makes every thrust feel dirtier, more illicit. the sheer wrongness of the sensation, the slick glide of his thumb over a place you’ve never associated with pleasure, sends a confusing, short-circuiting signal to your brain.

your eyes well up with tears of humiliation and overstimulation. a single, hot tear escapes and traces a path down your temple into your hairline. he sees it. you feel the rhythm of his fucking change, becoming harder, faster, more desperate.

“oh, look at that,” he breathes, his voice thick with a strange, new excitement. his hand leaves your hair and comes around to cup your jaw, his thumb roughly wiping at the wet track on your skin. “a different kind of tear. this one’s from shame, isn’t it? it’s even prettier than the others. does it upset you, being treated like this? does it make you feel like the little slut you are? show me how much.”

he fucks you harder with each question, a brutal, punishing rhythm that drives the air from your lungs. the head of his cock slams into your cervix again and again, making you see spots, a dizzying, painful pleasure that’s already pushing you toward an edge you don’t want.

and all the while, his thumb continues its own separate, maddening torment at your rear. it’s no longer just circling—it presses, nudges, a deliberate, insistent question against the tight, untouched pucker of your asshole that sends confusing sparks of sensation through your overstimulated body.

a choked sob breaks from your lips, a sound of pure protest, your body trying to recoil from the sheer sensory overload. “satoru, please—”

“shh, i know,” he murmurs, his voice going deceptively soft, even as his hips continue their punishing rhythm. “it’s new, isn’t it? you’re not protesting the feeling, beautiful, you’re just scared of how much you’re going to like it. is that it? are you scared of the slut i’m about to make you?”

the raw angle, the punishing depth, and that strange, insistent pressure is too much. you come again, and it’s not a release; it’s a rupture. a messy, sobbing orgasm that feels dirtier, more debased than the last. your face is pressed into the silk sheets, the sound muffled to a pathetic, wet keening as your body convulses around his relentless invasion.

you feel him shudder behind you, a deep, guttural groan vibrating through his body into yours, his own pleasure clearly peaking in direct, parasitic response to your distress. he feeds on this.

he doesn’t stop. he doesn't even try to acknowledge your climax. he just keeps going, his pace never slowing, fucking you through the lingering, hypersensitive spasms and beyond. he’s pushing you past pleasure now, into something else, something raw and overstimulated where every nerve ending is screaming in a language you don’t understand. he refuses you any reprieve.

he pulls back just enough for his thumb to slide down, deliberately gathering the slickness that has gushed from you. you feel the wet, humiliating glide as he smears it over your ass, and your breath hitches on a fresh wave of shame. he's using your own arousal to prepare you for a new violation.

“so wet for me,” he murmurs, his thumb now circling the slick, sensitive ring of your asshole. “let’s put it to good use.”

he teases you, the tip of his thumb pressing against the tight entrance, then retreating, again and again. you squirm, a broken whimper escaping your lips. “no, please, don’t—”

“don’t what?” he whispers, his voice dropping into a silky, dangerous purr. “don’t make you feel good? don’t show you what you really want?”

he ignores your pleas. his thumb presses forward, insistent and slow. the shock of it is a white-hot flash behind your eyes. the tight, resisting muscle gives way to his invasion, a slick, intrusive pressure that feels utterly alien. he’s inside you in two places at once, stretching you, filling you, claiming you in a way that feels absolute and irreversible. a strangled gasp tears from your throat, your nails digging into the sheets.

he doesn’t just leave it there. he begins to move it, a slow, grinding rotation inside you that mirrors the relentless pumping of his cock. it’s a dual assault that makes your mind white out. you are nothing but a collection of violated holes, filled and used and stretched for his pleasure.

“god, you’re so perfect like this,” he whispers, his voice a raw, desperate plea against your ear, his breath hot against your tear-soaked skin. “so open for me, so completely broken. don’t you dare hold anything back now. let me have every last beautiful, shattered piece of you.”

and that’s when he pulls your head back again by a fistful of your hair, yanking you up from the sheets and forcing you to look at him over your shoulder.

his face is flushed a dark, mottled red, his pupils blown so wide and black behind his glasses that there’s no blue left at all. it’s an expression of ravenous, almost painful need, his jaw tight, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a faint snarl. he looks like he’s starving, and your tears, your pain, your complete and utter violation—this is the only thing that can feed him.

the sight is terrifying and deeply, addictively flattering. he wants your pain. he wants your surrender. he wants to ruin you.

and seeing that, seeing the raw, desperate hunger on his face that you, and only you, have caused… it flips a switch deep inside you. the fear doesn’t vanish—it alchemizes into a dark, roaring wave of excitement. this is power. making him look like this. a hot, coiling pressure builds low in your belly, sharp and urgent, a pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable. you can feel a different kind of climax building, something deeper and more catastrophic.

your sob changes, the note of protest gone, replaced by a raw, hungry need that matches his. “satoru…”

he sees it in your eyes. he sees the shift. a slow, triumphant, predatory smile spreads across his face. “that’s it,” he growls, his hips slamming into you harder, faster. “beg for it.”

he watches your eyes as he grinds his thumb deeper inside you, twisting it with a vicious skill that makes you cry out, a high, thin sound of pure overwhelm. he fucks into you with a new ferocity, chasing the feeling, chasing your breakdown. and as he hits you just right, your eyes locked with his triumphant, hungry gaze, your body unravels completely.

your orgasm is a deluge—a hot, uncontrollable gush of fluid bursts from you, soaking the sheets, his hand, his cock, the sound of it a shocking, obscene splash in the quiet room. your body convulses violently, a pure, physical capitulation that has nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with surrender.

he finally pulls out, and before you can fully collapse onto the bed, he’s hauling you up by your arms. you’re pliant, boneless in his grip, a doll for him to position. he drags you, stumbling, toward the wall of glass that overlooks the dark, endless ocean.

“turn around,” he orders, his voice flat, devoid of the passion of a moment ago. it’s a command.

you obey, your legs shaking so hard you can barely stand. you press your hands and forehead against the cool, smooth glass. the immediate chill is a shock against your overheated skin. the room behind you is warmly lit, turning the glass into a near-perfect, one-way mirror reflecting the debauched scene, while also offering a terrifyingly clear view into the vast, empty darkness outside.

it feels like being on a stage, lit for an audience that may or may not be there.

he enters you again from behind, one smooth, brutal thrust that has you crying out, your voice muffled against the glass, your palms slapping against the cool surface. he grabs your hips, pulling you back hard against him, and begins to fuck you against the wall. your breath fogs the surface in front of your face, obscuring your own reflection for a moment before it clears.

he leans in close, his voice a low growl by your ear, his words designed to dismantle you further. “anyone could be out there. a boat. someone on the beach of the next island. they’d see this perfect little picture. they’d see the lights of this pretty glass box, and they’d see you, bent over, taking my cock like a good girl.”

your face twists in the reflection, shame and heat colliding—eyes wet, brows drawn tight, your lips trembling around a broken moan you can’t hold back. your thighs clench, betraying the way your body seizes on his words, the humiliating pulse of pleasure sparking even harder at the thought of being seen.

behind you, his form is a powerful shadow, his expression unreadable, his movements relentless and efficient. he’s railing you, the motion hard, almost impersonal, using your body against the wall, the rhythmic, wet thud of your flesh a crude counterpoint to the gentle, indifferent sound of the waves outside. the sound is obscene, a wet, slapping noise that echoes slightly in the cavernous room.

“you love it,” he states, not a question. his hands leave your hips and slide up your stomach, his fingers spreading out possessively over your skin, a brief, almost tender touch before one hand moves down, his fingers dipping into the slickness between your legs. “love being my filthy little slut on display for the whole world.”

he’s not wrong. the thought of being seen, the sheer, terrifying exposure of it, is the most potent aphrodisiac yet. his fingers find your clit, and the touch is no longer teasing. it’s a harsh, demanding friction, a punishment and a reward all at once, perfectly synced to his ruthless thrusts.

“tell me,” he commands, his voice rough in your ear as he fucks you harder, faster, your reflection a chaotic blur of motion. “tell me what you are.”

“yours,” you sob, the word ripped from a place deep inside you, a place that has finally given up fighting. “i’m yours, i’m your slut, i love it, i love—”

you can’t finish. your final climax is upon you, a tidal wave that promises to drag you under for good. your entire world narrows to the feeling of his cock filling you, his fingers on your clit, your own debased reflection in the glass, and the vast, indifferent darkness beyond.

your orgasm feels like a dissolution, a complete coming apart at the seams. you scream into the glass as you come, a long, ragged sound of pure surrender that fogs the glass one last time.

you feel him follow you over the edge, his own guttural roar lost against your back as he floods you with his release, his body shuddering violently against yours, his fingers still tangled in your hair, keeping you pinned against the glass.

you collapse against the wall, boneless and shaking, held up only by his arms still wrapped around you, his cock still buried deep inside. for a long time, there’s only the sound of your ragged breaths, the distant wash of the ocean, and the slick, cooling feel of sweat and glass against your skin.

you try to remember who you were before this night, before him, but that person is a ghost, a stranger you barely recognize. the woman in the reflection, marked and claimed and utterly, irrevocably debauched, is the only real thing left.

“beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice soft now, almost reverent, as if observing a piece of art he has just finished creating. “utterly fucking perfect. look at you. finally looking like what you are. mine.”

he carries you back to the bed, settling you against the silk sheets with gentle hands that are completely at odds with how thoroughly he just took you apart. when he disappears into the bathroom you expect relief, a moment to collect yourself.

instead you feel hollow, incomplete without him inside you, filling you, claiming you. the emptiness where he used to be throbs like phantom pain, your body already mourning the loss of his possession.

he returns with a warm cloth, and the sight of him makes something desperate and pathetic unfurl in your chest. beautiful and terrible in the dim light, moving with the confident grace of someone who knows he owns everything he surveys—including you. his touch is reverent now as he cleans you, worshipful, but there’s ownership in every stroke of the cloth against your oversensitive skin.

“how do you feel?” he asks, settling beside you with that careful precision that never looks calculated but always is. his fingers find your pulse point, and you wonder if he’s measuring your heartbeat like he measures everything else about you—cataloguing, analyzing, filing away for future use.

“broken,” you whisper, and the word tastes like bitter recognition. broken because you built this trap yourself, baited it with lies and manipulation, then walked right into it. you created the monster that’s now devouring you, fed it exactly what it needed to grow strong enough to consume you completely.

the girl who started this con three weeks ago feels like a stranger now—someone so arrogant she thought she could control a man like satoru gojo and walk away unchanged. someone who deserved exactly what she got.

the tears start without warning, hot and shameful as they track down your cheeks. you’re crying for the person you used to be, the one who thought she was clever enough to play this game and win. crying for every choice that brought you here, every moment you chose the drug of his devotion over your own freedom. crying because you know, with crystal clarity, that given the chance to do it over, you’d make the same choices again.

“good broken or bad broken?” his fingers trace patterns on your skin, soothing and possessive, each touch a reminder that he’s mapped every inch of you now. claimed it all. there’s genuine curiosity in his voice, but underneath it something hungrier—the need to know he’s succeeded in rewriting you completely.

“i don’t know yet,” you admit through the tears, voice barely audible. and you don’t, because the person who would have known the difference—the person who started this con—feels like someone you murdered with your own greed.

his expression shifts as he watches you cry, and there’s something almost fond in the way he observes your breakdown. like a parent watching their child finally learn a difficult lesson.

“oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, thumb catching your tears with genuine tenderness that somehow makes it worse. “shh, it’s okay. let it all out.” his voice is pure comfort, warm honey that soothes even as it suffocates. “my beautiful girl, crying because you finally see how perfect this all is.”

the loving condescension makes you sob harder, ugly broken sounds that he seems to find endearing. he coos softly, gathering you closer against his chest like you’re something precious and fragile.

“there we go,” he whispers, pressing gentle kisses to your hairline. “just feel it, baby. feel how good it is to finally stop fighting what you were always meant to be.” his fingers stroke through your hair with infinite patience, like he has all the time in the world to wait for you to break completely.

“you’re so pretty when you cry for me,” he continues, voice thick with adoration that makes your chest ache. “so honest. this is the real you, isn’t it? not the calculating little actress, just my sweet girl who needs to be taken care of.”

his words are a lullaby designed to lull you into surrender, each one wrapped in such genuine affection that you can’t help but lean into the comfort he’s offering.

he pulls you against his chest, arms wrapping around you like he’s trying to hold you together, and for a moment you just exist in the warm aftermath of your own destruction. but your mind feels scattered, thoughts fragmenting every time you try to focus on anything other than the feeling of being held, claimed, owned so completely by someone who saw through you from day one.

“you know,” he says after a while, voice casual but with an undertone that makes your pulse quicken, “we don’t have to go back.”

the words take a moment to penetrate the haze clouding your thoughts, your brain still drunk on the lingering echoes of pleasure and shame. when they do register, they hit like ice water, shocking you into something resembling alertness.

“what?” your voice comes out smaller than intended, already shrinking from the possibility of disappointing him with the wrong response.

“to the real world,” he clarifies, fingers still tracing those hypnotic patterns that make it so hard to think clearly. “we could stay here. in paradise. just you and me, no distractions, no responsibilities. wouldn’t that be perfect?”

there it is again—that word that’s become both promise and threat. perfect. the standard you’re expected to maintain, the role you’re required to perform for someone who’s been directing this entire play from the beginning.

the idea should terrify you—giving up everything, everyone, your entire life—but instead it sounds like relief. like finally stopping the exhausting performance of being a whole person when all you want is to be his perfect thing.

“stay here?” you repeat, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. as if speaking them makes them real, makes the possibility concrete rather than just another move in his elaborate chess game.

“forever,” he confirms, and there’s something dark and satisfied in his voice that makes your stomach clench with equal parts fear and arousal. “let me take care of you completely. let me give you everything you deserve. you’d never have to think about anything else again.”

never have to think. the offer is tempting in ways that terrify you, because thinking has become so difficult lately. every thought has to be weighed against his preferences, measured against his expectations, filtered through the lens of what will make him happy. it would be so much easier to just... stop.

“i...” you start, then stop, struggling to form coherent thoughts when his fingers are doing that thing again, tracing patterns that short-circuit your ability to focus on anything but him. “but i can’t just disappear. people will worry, my job—”

something flickers across his face, fast as lightning but unmistakable. the warmth drains from his expression like someone switching off a light, leaving his features cold and sharp. his hand stills against your skin completely, the loss of that gentle touch feeling like abandonment.

“people will worry?” he repeats, voice flat and emotionless in a way that makes your blood freeze. he’s not looking at you with love anymore—he’s looking at you like you’re a problem that needs solving. “what people? name one person who’s called you in the past two weeks. one person who’s actually noticed you’ve been busy.”

the silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating, because you both know you can’t. the realization hits like a physical blow—you are completely alone, completely dependent on him, and he knows it.

“that’s what i thought,” he says, and there’s something cruel in his smile now. not the loving indulgence you’ve grown addicted to, but something sharp and dismissive. “you’re worried about a job that underpays you? an apartment that’s falling apart? a life so meaningless you had to create elaborate fantasies just to feel important?”

each word is designed to cut, delivered without the gentle cushioning of affection you’ve come to expect. you’re just another disappointment now, another person who’s failed to appreciate what he’s offering. the shift is so sudden, so complete, that you feel like you’re drowning.

“no,” you whisper, the word escaping before you can stop it. there’s still some tiny spark of defiance left, some piece of who you used to be that refuses to be completely erased. “no, i... i had a life. i had things that mattered—”

his laugh is soft and utterly without warmth. “did you? because from where i’m sitting, you spent your whole pathetic existence desperate for someone to notice you. to make you feel special. and the moment someone finally did, you clung to it like a drowning person clings to driftwood.”

the words hit like physical blows because they’re true, every devastating syllable. but that small flame of resistance flickers stubbornly in your chest, making you lift your chin even as tears stream down your face.

“maybe that’s true,” you manage, voice shaking but determined. “but it was still mine. my choice, my life, my—”

“yours?” he interrupts, and now there’s genuine amusement in his voice, the kind reserved for children saying foolish things. “sweetheart, nothing about you has been yours for weeks. your thoughts, your preferences, your daily routine—i’ve been shaping all of it. you just didn’t notice because i made you feel good about it.”

the casual dismissal, the complete absence of the devotion you’ve grown dependent on, sends panic racing through your system. this is what happens when you disappoint him—you stop being special, stop being precious, become just another annoyance to be managed.

“please,” the word falls from your lips like a prayer, desperate and broken. “i didn’t mean—i just—”

and just like that, the warmth returns to his eyes like sunrise after the longest night. his hand finds your cheek again, thumb brushing away tears with infinite gentleness, and the relief is so overwhelming you nearly sob with it.

“oh, my beautiful girl,” he murmurs, voice thick with love and understanding. “i know you’re scared. change is frightening, even when it’s good for you.” his touch is reverent now, worshipful, everything you’ve been craving. “but fighting me only makes it harder. you know that, don’t you?”

“i mean,” you nod quickly, voice getting smaller, more desperate to fix whatever you’ve broken, “maybe... maybe you’re right. maybe there’s nothing really worth going back to.”

“that’s my perfect girl,” he murmurs, his voice overflowing with genuine pride and adoration that makes warmth bloom in your chest despite everything. he’s looking at you like you’ve just given him the most precious gift in the world. “see? a beautiful thing isn’t meant to struggle so hard. you were made to be cherished, to be taken care of. it’s so much easier this way, isn’t it?”

“it is easy,” you whisper, the words feeling both foreign and terribly true at the same time. you lean into his touch, a silent plea for more of that warmth. “it’s so much easier than fighting.”

his breath hitches, and he gathers you closer, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your temple. “of course it is, beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “i’ll always make it easy for you. that’s my only job now.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes shining. “we could extend our stay,” he continues, the idea sounding less like a question and more like a foregone conclusion. “just a few more weeks at first. see how it feels. and if it’s everything i know it will be…” he trails off, letting the implication hang in the air like smoke.

a small, panicked thought about your job, your apartment, your entire life, flickers and dies in your mind. it doesn't matter. nothing matters as much as keeping that coldness out of his eyes.

“if it would make you happy,” you hear yourself say, the words a perfect echo of the person he wants you to be. “then i want to stay.”

the effect is immediate and overwhelming. his entire expression softens into one of pure, unadulterated adoration. he looks completely undone by you. “oh, baby,” he breathes, his fingers tangling in your hair with a devotion that feels like worship. “you have no idea. hearing you say that… it’s all i’ve ever wanted.” he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “my sweet, perfect girl. you always know exactly what i need to hear.”

he pulls back, his fingers now carding through your hair with such tender devotion that you feel yourself melting into his touch, your body going pliant against his. “no more worrying about anything except being happy with me. doesn’t that sound wonderful, sweetheart?”

he’s asking for the final nail. the last little bit of surrender. he wants to hear you say that this gilded cage he’s offering is a paradise.

“yes,” you breathe, turning your face to press a kiss into the palm of his hand, a gesture of pure, instinctual submission. “it sounds wonderful.”

he closes his hand gently, as if capturing the kiss, and brings your knuckles to his lips. his smile is radiant, beautiful, and completely, utterly triumphant. “and i’ll make it perfect for you,” he promises, his voice a low, final vow against your skin. “always. i’ll take care of everything—canceling your flight, extending the villa, handling anything back home that needs handling. you don’t have to worry about any of it.”

handling anything back home. the phrase sends a chill down your spine even as relief floods through you. what exactly will he be handling? how much of your old life will still exist when you finally decide to return to it? but the questions feel distant, unimportant when weighed against the overwhelming comfort of not having to think, not having to make decisions, not having to be responsible for anything except existing in his orbit.

“just rest now,” he says, pulling the silk sheets up around you both with practiced ease. his movements are sure, confident, like he’s done this before—guided someone through the transition from person to possession with the patience of someone who genuinely loves the process. “tomorrow we’ll start planning our forever.”

forever. the word should sound romantic, should make your heart flutter with excitement. instead, it sounds like a life sentence, beautiful and inescapable. but even that thought feels distant, muffled by the warmth of his arms and the lingering understanding that you brought this on yourself.

as you drift toward sleep in his embrace, you can’t escape the recognition of what’s happening—that you’re disappearing, dissolving into his want until there’s nothing left of who you used to be. the girl who thought she could manipulate satoru gojo is gone, replaced by something smaller and more manageable, something that exists purely for his pleasure and entertainment.

you’re becoming his perfect thing, his ideal woman, his masterpiece. and the most terrifying part isn’t that it’s happening—it’s that you want it to. that the slow erasure of your identity feels like coming home rather than dying, like finally accepting what you were always meant to become.

outside, the ocean whispers its endless song, and you let it carry you deeper into paradise, deeper into the beautiful cage he’s built around your heart with such loving patience. somewhere in the distance, you can hear the sound of doors closing, bridges burning, escape routes disappearing one by one.

but you’re too tired to care, too drunk on his devotion to fight against the current pulling you under. tomorrow you’ll wake up a little less yourself and a little more his, and the day after that even more so, until there’s nothing left but the shape he’s carved out for you to fill.

you’re exactly where you belong, and the thought no longer terrifies you. it feels like accepting a truth you’ve been running from your entire life—that you were always meant to be owned, cherished, completely possessed by someone strong enough to see through your games and patient enough to let you destroy yourself.

you close your eyes and let yourself sink into his embrace, no longer pretending you don’t notice how the tide keeps pulling you further from shore. you built this prison yourself, brick by brick, lie by lie, and now you get to live in it forever.

tomorrow he’ll want you again, and you’ll give yourself over just as completely. the day after that too, and the day after that, until there’s nothing left of who you used to be except the vague memory of someone who thought she could play games with a god and win.

but tonight, in the darkness of paradise, you let yourself admit the truth you’ve been avoiding: you don’t want to escape.

you want to drown in the beautiful inevitability of what you’ve become.

the girl who started this con is dead, and you killed her yourself. what’s left is not a grifter or a goddess but a bird who forgot the sky. a creature born to fly, wings sharp and restless, who chose instead to fold herself neatly into the cage she built herself. because the cage is warm. because the cage is soft. because in spite of your nature, you will stay here forever, perfect and broken, as long as he keeps it comfortable enough.

athy says, and that’s a wrap! if you made it this far, congratulations, you’re just as sick as i am and i love you for it. this story is basically my love letter to the works of OrangeButt73, and it was kept alive by the absolutely feral asks from dove anon. (i’m too much of a ball of anxiety and confusion to gift this properly, so if you two see this, just know you’re the fuel for this entire dumpster fire and i adore you both) feel free to absolutely lose your minds and scream in the comments, i will be reading every single one with a glass of wine and a sick, satisfied smile. this fic was a complete and utter passion project, if you know what i mean ;) thank you for reading!! <3

[soobiary]

sobbing this is so cute

five stars, would marry again. ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

drunk satoru can’t drive, and can’t shut up about how much he loves you. wc ᯓ 2.5k.

the second the taxi door clicks shut, it's over for you. satoru is already half on top of you. not in a subtle, polite, let’s-just-snuggle-a-bit kind of way—no. he’s sprawled sideways, long legs tangled with yours, one arm draped heavy around your shoulders like he’s afraid you might get stolen if he lets go for even a second.

you can smell the gin on his breath, sweetened by the syrupy cocktails you warned him about, and under it, citrusy perfume and whatever magic his cologne is made of— warm and clean, even if his hair’s a little messy from the wind outside. It’s a sensory crime.

“mm,” he hums into your hair, sounding both smug and sleepy, “you’re my favorite person.”

you snort. “you’ve told me that four times since we left the restaurant.”

“yeah, and? it's been true four times.”

the driver glances at you in the mirror, the kind of quick, look that look that says, please don’t fuck in my car. you try to smile an apology, but satoru chooses that exact moment to pull back and point—actually point—at you like he’s presenting a trophy.

“isn’t she gorgeous? look at her. my wife.”

he turns, a full-body lurch, and grins at you with the inexhaustible confidence of a man who has never once experienced embarrassment.

you slide down in your seat, resisting the urge to crawl under his jacket. his laugh rumbles through his whole body, so you feel it even where his shirt is soft against your arm.

the driver glances in the mirror, clearly unwilling to be dragged into marital drunk nonsense, and gives a polite nod. “uh, yeah. very.”

“see?” satoru drops his head back onto your shoulder with a satisfied hum. his hair brushing your jaw as if he’s trying to tickle you on purpose. his palm gives your knee a slow, absentminded squeeze, thumb rubbing lazy circles like he’s been doing it for years—which he has. “told you. consensus reached. democracy works.”

you stifle a laugh, patting his thigh, your manicured nails tapping lightly against the thick muscle before curling there.  “sit properly.”

he gasps like you’ve just told him you don’t believe in love. “properly? what am i, a stranger to you?”

before you can so much as roll your eyes, he's already leaning forward to clap the man on the shoulder.

“my wife,” satoru says, as if revealing a secret of cosmic importance. “smartest woman in the room. any room. she’s got this thing—like, she just knows what i’m thinking before i even think it. probably a witch, not gonna lie.” he squints at you, then at the driver, as if expecting applause.

“she can hear you,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face. the heat of your cheeks feels like a sunburn.

“she’s the reason i’m alive, y’know.”

you groan. “don’t—”

“no, listen, this is important.” he leans forward between the seats, pointing toward the driver with all the sincerity of a man confessing to a priest. “you wanna know what’s tragic? to be the strongest, the most powerful, the most—” he lets his teeth snap together for emphasis, “—dangerous, and still be the stupidest man in tokyo, because you fell for someone who keeps you on your knees.”

you let your head thunk against the window. why did you let him drink so much? the city rolls past, smeared and gorgeous. you try to imagine yourself as a normal person, someone who can go out for drinks and not end up in an taxi with a clingy husband and a splitting headache. you can’t. “you’re embarrassing yourself,” you say, but it comes out softer than you mean.

“impossible,” satoru declares, and suddenly he’s pressed so close that his breath pools warmth into your ear. “you’re the only thing i’m good at ruining.” he squeezes you tighter, pressing a kiss to your temple so loud you can hear it.

you elbow him. gently. you’re not that mad. “stop bothering the driver.”

“bothering?” he gasps, theatric. “no, baby, i’m sharing joy. big difference.” then, he whispers because he’s about to tell the man state secrets “she makes eggs. the best eggs. like—perfectly runny yolk, toast just right. and she lets me have the crusts, ‘cause she knows i like ‘em.”

you groan, but your thumb still strokes over his knuckles. “you’re ridiculous.”

he rests his chin on top of your head, humming along. “you ever think about how wild it is that we get to do this?” he says quietly, as if waking from a sugar coma. “just—be here, together, in a car full of snacks, going home.”

there are no snacks. there’s only satoru, whose idea of a snack is you—words, attention, banter. he’s a one-man hunger strike against silence. still, you play along. “yeah,” you say, “real lucky.”

he nods solemnly, satisfied, and falls quiet for maybe four seconds before slumping down so far his knees collide with the seat ahead. dignity is a rumor with him.

his hand snakes slyly down your side and hunts for yours. he finds it, of course, and laces your fingers between his with a deliberate snugness, then sets your hands right in the open, atop your knee, as if the driver needs to witness the hard evidence of domestication.

every few seconds, he’s back at it—scattering tiny kisses across your face, nipping at your cheek or the tip of your nose before nuzzling into your ear with a happy little hum, like you’re his favorite place to be. you can’t stop giggling, cheeks aching, silently praying it’s dark enough that the driver can’t see how flushed you are.

the car ride ticks on, the windows weaving neon and murk into abstract painting. satoru’s head is heavy against your shoulder and for a rare few seconds he grows quiet, as if the movement of the city outside has hypnotized him into stillness.

then, just when you dare believe he might actually drift off and let you pretend to meditate, satoru squeezes your hand and murmurs, “baby, you’re not mad, right?”

you could say, “of course not,” or go for the easy lie, but the words won’t come. you watch buildings blurring in the window, each sign a burst of jagged color.

he shifts, wary in his own lopsided way. “is it because i told the story about the omelet?” he says it low, maybe worried the memory will make you bolt. “because you can’t take that from me. it’s a core part of my personality now.”

you snort, then pull yourself together with a practiced exhale. “i’m not mad about the eggs, idiot.”

“then what?”

you have to think about it, and that almost makes you laugh, because most people just get mad by reflex—like flicking a light switch. for you, it’s more like plugging in a lamp, finding the socket, being careful not to electrocute yourself.

“nothing,” you finally say, but his smile is skeptical.

“liar.” he sounds fond, and a little proud that he’s caught you in something.

you roll your head until your forehead thumps his cheekbone. “i just wish you’d stop embarrassing me in front of strangers.”

“strangers don’t count,” he says, automatic. “that’s the best time to embarrass you. judgment is temporary.”

that makes you laugh, and when it fades, you let your head rest against his. it doesn’t matter, really, what the driver thinks. satoru is impossible, and you love him for it. maybe because of it.

he squirms, one hand braced on your waist as his lips graze your ear, breath warm and teasing. “can i kiss you?” he doesn’t wait for an answer, but you manage to intercept his mouth with your palm, feeling the curve of his grin press against it.

“you want me to humiliate myself in front of the driver even more?” you hiss, voice low, but he just blinks, every ounce a pouty six-year-old denied a treat.

“it’s not humiliation. it’s romance.”

you nod toward the silent man up front. “he’s literally staring at us.”

satoru tilts his head, grinning. “not right now. he’s focusing on the road.”

“absolutely not,” you say, shifting away as much as the seat belt allows, which is about four centimeters. “i’ve still got lipstick on.”

he brightens. “i could ruin it for you.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, but the image—your mouth smeared red, satoru’s lips stained—nearly makes you squirm. “that’s not the incentive you think it is.”

satoru pulls a mock-offended face, then seizes your free hand and tries to steer it toward his own mouth. “just one kiss. i’ll be careful. i won’t even use tongue.”

“that is absolutely a lie,” you say, fighting a smile.

he grins, unrepentant. “i mean, you’d have to find out.”

“no.”

you press your hand to his face, holding it at a safe distance. he looks at you with such open, expectant delight, you almost cave, but dignity demands at least a gesture of resistance. “you’re like a dog who sees an open door and immediately bolts,” you hiss.

he just shrugs. “i like open doors. and you.”

“not happening,” you say, but there’s no heat in it. “sit still.”

he considers this, brows drawn in mock concentration, then abruptly straightens up. “fine. new idea.” he unsnaps his seatbelt—instant seatbelt chime, instant scowl from the driver—and pats his own lap, grinning. “climb up,” he invites, “it’ll be like a throne. you deserve the best.”

you groan so hard the sound practically curls around the headrest. “oh my god.”

“c’mon, just for a second. it’s not even illegal if we’re parked.”

“we're at a red light!”

he slumps dramatically, nearly melting off the seat. his head lands in your lap before you can dodge, face up, staring at you with those beautiful, blue eyes.

he waits, a human question mark.

you stare back.

he’s not moving. he has, in fact, gone limp as a puppet with cut strings.

you poke his cheek, your fingertip sinking into the soft skin. “what are you doing?”

“resting,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the fabric of your skirt. his arms tighten around your waist, holding you there as if you might move. “your lap is the best pillow.” he turns his face just enough to brush his nose against your stomach, testing how far he can push it before you swat him.

as a child, you’d always wondered at the women in love stories who let their men sleep in their laps without ever worrying about their legs falling asleep or a sudden need to pee. now, you understand. with satoru’s head in your lap, the awkwardness evaporates. you thread your fingers through his hair and scratch gently at his scalp.

he makes a noise so contented it almost embarrasses you.

the driver, professional as ever, doesn’t comment. but you don’t care anymore. you let your hand drift from satoru’s hair to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, the faint pulse at his jaw. he looks so peaceful, eyes half-closed, mouth barely curved up.

“i love you,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

you just smile softly, then stroke his hair, letting the city sweep past in blurred, electric silence, and try not to think about how much you need him.

the car slows, the gentle brake almost rocking satoru off your lap. he grips your thighs, holding on like a child refusing to be peeled away from a favorite toy.

“i’ll be quick,” he tries again with all the optimism of a drunk man convinced he can charm his way through a locked door. that door being your mouth. he’s already angling in closer, the top of his hair brushing your chin. “you can fix your lipstick when we get home. or just leave it. i’ll say it’s a new trend—”

you slap a hand over his mouth. “stop it.”

his mouth curves into a smirk against your hand, and then his tongue drags slowly across your palm—warm, damp, shameless—leaving a tingling trail in its wake. you yank your hand back with a yelp, and he’s grinning like a menace, leaning back against the seat. “you love me,” he sing-songs.

you roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the little smile tugging at your mouth. “unfortunately.”

by the time you’re halfway home, he’s leaned forward again, befriending the driver. “you married?”

“no, sir,” the man says cautiously.

“ohh, you gotta get you a her. best thing ever. ten outta ten. five stars. would marry again.”

you hide your laugh in his shoulder, and he kisses the top of your head like he’s sealing some unspoken vow. he’s warm and heavy and clinging to you like he could fall through the seat if he lets go. and when the driver confirms the address, he just murmurs, “don't care where we’re going. home's wherever you are,” you feel it all the way down to your bones.

by the last ten minutes of the ride, he’s convinced the driver to share his name (“takashi! that’s a strong name. we’re friends now.”) and is offering him life advice about love.

“listen, takashi, the trick is—just find someone whose laugh makes you feel like you’re cheating death. and then annoy them until they marry you.”

you give the driver a sheepish nod as satoru straightens up, wild hair waving at odd angles. he looks adorably dumbfounded, blinking like a baby owl. you reach up, tame the worst of his cowlick, and hope he can’t see the smile stuck to your face.

you tip the driver extra at drop-off—half as thanks, half as apology—because god knows he earned it, and haul your drunk, clingy husband out of the car. you thank him one last time while satoru waves like takashi’s driving him off to war.

“thank you, takashi! hope you have great luck at the horse races or whatever.”

the driver grunts—maybe in amusement, maybe in prayer for a better next fare—and peels off before you’ve started up the stairs.

you’ve barely made it through the apartment vestibule when satoru corners you against the elevator wall, hands bracketing your head. the click of your heels echoes up the shaft.

“you’re really not mad?” he asks, lips inches from yours, his hand still warm at the small of your back.

you shake your head. “just mortified.”

he grins, tipping his head to kiss your cheek, lingering just enough for the feeling to settle. “you’re cute when you’re mortified. it’s basically foreplay.” his thumb brushes over your hip as he leans back, eyes flicking down. “your heels aren’t killing you, right?”

you huff a little laugh. “not yet.”

“good,” he says, voice soft but smug, he’d carry you the rest of the way if you’d said otherwise.

you’re too tired to argue, too drunk on him and probably the residual cocktails in your bloodstream to resist. the elevator doors open with a soft ding, and satoru tugs you into the hallway, half-carrying, half-dragging you by the hand.

you barely make it inside before he’s hooking an arm under your knees and scooping you up, grinning at your squeak of surprise. “what? saves time,” he says, already heading for the bedroom because this man never heard of personal space.

[soobiary]

we need more submissive men

[soobiary]

LOVELOVELOVELOVE

literally sukuna and us in cat form !!

OMFGFHFNFJBHS. AHHHHH YESSS!! Lmfao so tea! aweee thats so cute the wild cat napping with cute house cat reader….

wait i got an idea! im cooking~!

Caracal!Sukuna x Housecat!Reader ♡ ft. Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu mdni.18+

Caracal!Sukuna who is nothing but trouble for Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu —a hybrid rescue with an infamous rap sheet for mauling smaller species and instigating near-death scraps with larger predators. Sukuna is passed from nature reserve to nature reserve until he finally lands into Gojo and Geto’s care. 

Caracal!Sukuna who is always alone, kept in his own special section of the Gojo family nature conservation in the back of their huge mansion. Only the small prey animals ment to be his food are allowed in his enclosure and they never last long. Even the other hybrids on the Gojo conservation give his enclosure a wide berth, knowing they would not come out unscathed or even alive should they dare enter.

That is until the day you, hybrid Housecat!Reader, wander in.

You are Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu's favorite hybrid pet. A cute and pampered little Persian who sleeps curled at the foot of their bed when you aren’t nudging them aside to tangle yourself between them. They’ve adorned you with a cute rose gold and pink sapphire studded collar tied on your neck and extravagant pink bow that secured the back.

Signaling to all that you’re spoiled, adored—and absolutely clueless when it comes to just about anything then being 'their cute lil kitty'.

Geto complains it’s Gojo who spoils you rotten, allowing you access to any and everything you’d could ever want before you even ask for it. But Gojo just can’t deny his pretty prized Persian, who’s won many blue 1st place ribbons in hybrid cat shows, a single thing. So when they leave one day to run errands and forget to close the backdoor that leads down to the reserve, your lack of established boundaries has it so you don’t think twice about if you’re actually allowed to go outside.

Never mind that you’ve never been outside on your own before. 

Your biggest solo outdoor adventure thus far has been the Gojo manner’s impressively ordinate screened sunroom.

But you don’t consider any of that.

Especially since a pretty blue jay flutters right in front of you onto the porch railing. Flapping its wings like he's just begging you to play with him as it sings a sweet tune.

So off you go, no shoes and no care simply wearing the pretty pink frilly Chanel house slip that Gojo bought for you last week.

Being outside for once is exhilarating and your tail flicks with excitement as you continue to run after the elusive blue jay that flits just out of reach.

When it lands on sign atop a tall fence, you don't even bother reading it as your eyes never leave the bird. Reeling back, you gear to pounce and in one hop you use the sign as leverage and hop over the fence. Your cute paws hitting the grass of Sukuna’s domain—not even registering the faint hum of the hazardous electric barrier behind you.

Caracal!Sukuna whose senses quickly is alert him to the intrusion. Initially he thinks he's being fed his dinner earlier than usual so he's very surprised to see another hybrid in his space.

Such a kept, pampered thing at that—it's clear you didn't have a clue where you were as you continue to give chase to the bluejay. Sukuna follows you with curiosity. He’s not even trying to hide his presence either, you are in his territory after all, so the fact you don't notice him after a few minutes?

Your ignorance is simply astounding to him.

It’s not until a flash of movement knocks you on your rear and scattered feathers flutter around you do you realize your bluejay friend is gone—and now register the presence of the huge, scarred hybrid now crouched in front of you.

Sukuna swallows and you cringe as you can see a lump you can only guess is Mr. Bluejay traveling down Sukuna’s throat.

Caracal!Sukuna whose imposing presence causes you to shiver in fear as he's starring you down like you’re his next meal.

Another vision blurring flash and Sukuna is right in front of you now.

With a squeaky yelp you scratch him, swiping at his nose on pure instinct—more startled by his quick movements than anything.

You’ve never seen this huge cat before. He’s scary. 

You didn’t mean to hurt him. You just want him to know you’re not happy at him eating your friend.

Still, it’s a big mistake but you can’t even manage to apologize as your voice is frozen in your throat.

Caracal!Sukuna who ears sweep back as he hisses teeth barred in a dangerous grin. Your cute manicured claws aren’t even enough to draw blood which confirms to him how utterly weak and useless you are as a feline. 

Enjoying watching you squirm in terror under his gaze, Sukuna savors your fear he can smell it in the air. 

“Run—I’ll give you to the count of 3 little kitty. If I catch you through—you die.”

You don’t need to be told twice and you’re off fast as your limbs can carry you.

Yet, you are an indoor cat and the chase you gave the bird had already depleted most of your energy. Huffing and puffing, everything from your breath to your clumsy run through the forest tells Sukuna exactly where you are. 

It was futile from the beginning but Sukuna likes to play with his prey circling you in wide arcs. Tsk, you don’t even sense him.

Sukuna takes pleasure in the fact knowing he could kill you at any second, rip that soft fur right off.  His claws are longer, sharper than yours and his muscles are well-honed—trained for a single bone-crushing leap.

Nevertheless, he still allows you to think there’s a chance for escape when truthfully—you’d been running deeper into his territory the entire time.

Caracal!Sukuna who watches you foolishly dart into a cave for shelter—his cave.

His home.

You realize this is Sukuna's lair far too late though when you see his makeshift bed pallet—a pile of bones only cushioned with various animal skins and furs. All in piecemeal as they had been his prey before as well.

Heart racing, you swallow hard as the inevitability of your fate settles over you. Your hormones surges as pure adrenaline triggers a strange molten feeling, leaving your skin hot, your breath shallow. A shiver of terror runs through you as Sukuna's shadow stretches across the lair, swallowing the light.

Blocking the entrance in two strides, Sukuna’s shoulders hunch, eyes fixed on you with something between fury and fascination—he’d killed other hybrids before but never before has he seen one pout in indignation as they were about to die, it's almost comical.

You were interesting. Appraising you once more from head to toe your soft body, even softer fur and pretty collar—you were clearly cared for. Something about knowing that and knowing he was sentenced to sleep in a cold dirty cave pisses him off more and his fierce hisses grow louder.

“Please, *sniff* mister big kitty I’m sworry, I scratched you—

Tears run down your flushed cheeks and as last resort you roll on your back in submission. Paws up and tail curled between your thick thighs, your slip falls back and exposing your plump bare ass to Sukuna.

Caracal!Sukuna who is unmoved by any appeals for mercy, still planning to lodge his claws into your pretty skin—until he senses it.

That smell of yours.

Hot, sweet—and utterly intoxicating that pricks at his senses. The blood in his veins boils red hot and every strand of fur stands up straight to attention.

Nostrils flaring from the assault, his gaze sharpens to the source—the thick slick that's started to wet your bottom and now the floor of his cave.

Fuck.

And in that very moment Sukuna decides your fate.

Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu who expect to see you at the door when they get home. You always greeted them, a sulky pout on your lips when they were gone too long claiming you were bored all day. You didn’t want to make friends with the domesticated other hybrids—you only wanted them. 

Initially, Gojo thinks you are simply hiding. Waiting to pounce on him so he can love on you and give you all the gifts he bought you when him and Suguru were out shopping. But after 10 minutes Gojo you are nowhere to be found.

The other hybrids don’t know either which prompts Geto to pull up your collar’s Airtag to see your location.

The blue dot shows up bright and clear beeping that you are close by—within a mile...

In Sukuna’s enclosure.

Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu who go into Sukuna’s domain armed—tranq darts, stun batons—and Geto even has a pistol hidden in his belt. 

Gojo is hopeful but Suguru is prepared for a bloodbath, knowing all too well the track record of Sukuna’s. 

But the scene inside the den is unexpected as both men freeze.

You're alive to be sure—on your back, legs bent in a vicious mating press, Sukuna’s thick cock drowning in your slick as he pummels into your swollen cunt over and over. 

If not for your coloring it be hard to tell where Sukuna ended and you began, you're both filthy—fur sticky with spit, cum, dirt and lord knows what else. Your expensive Chanel slip in tatters as your tail twitches helplessly under Sukuna's weight, damp and matted with fluids. Your nipples, engorged and leaking, are sore from the bounce back of relentless rutting. Drool glistens at the corner of your mouth, spilling over your bruised lips as your jaw slacks.

More animal than human at the moment, you’ve gone completely non-verbal. You mewl, purr and hiss from the various sensations Sukuna is ruthlessly delivering straight into your guts. 

Gojo thinks sometimes they could be a bit rough with you, but him and Suguru’s teasing nips, firm hands and playful wrestling had nothing on the beastly manner Sukuna was fucking you in. 

Gojo's eyes widen to see your belly is already distended, too full from the amount of seed Sukuna has already pumped into you. Yet it's still not nearly enough for Sukuna to be satisfied as he savagely fucks you, round after round atop his pile of bones and carcasses.

His heavy barbed length drags against every raw, creamy ridge inside you. Cock pulling primal sounds from your throat you didn’t even know you could make. 

Fluffy pampered house cat be damned—Sukuna fucks you like a wild animal.

Exhausted, your head lulls to the side and you finally see them—Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu.

Both stand stunned. Gojo, mouth open in shock sporting a half chub as Geto simply shakes his head and mutters something about installing a moat around Sukuna's perimeter.

You don't know how to feel though, a mix of emotions bubble up.

Perhaps 6 rounds ago you would have called out for your owners, begged them to rescue you from this wild beast ripping through your insides. That you wanted to be praised and petted gently, while given the strong slow strokes you were used to... 

Then it hits you—a high, delirious giggle bubbles up between your moans at the mere thought of it. 

You realize that nothing your owners have ever done compares to being fucked like this—like prey pinned and claimed until there’s no scent left on you but the fierce feline above you—whose name you still don't even know.

Every thrust of Sukuna’s is another brand, another mine-mine-mine! carved into your body. His knot swells full at your entrance, locking you in place while his broad hips keep pumping.

You didn’t know mating could be like this—hell, you didn’t know you even know what the word fully meant until now—to have a mate. But every time Sukuna’s fat round tip slams until your womb the word is seared that much deeper into your brain.

Mate...Mate...Mate! 

Caracal!Sukuna who doesn’t stop either when Gojo and Geto appear. Of course, he senses them way before you do—before they even entered the cave actually. He doesn't give a fuck though and won’t pay them any mind as he’s on a mission to drill a liter of his kittens into your pretty pussy that so brazeningly dared to enter his lair in a heat. 

Sukuna knows they won’t try to pull him off either—both men know enough about feline hybrids to recognize the risk of stopping a knotted wildcat mid-rut.

They would end up hurting you more than him, and Sukuna knew they wouldn't dare.

Fuck, you’re tight though—cunt gripping him harder and Sukuna has to clench his teeth to prevent his own eyes from rolling back into his skull and moaning like a lil bitch.

Sukuna's life up until now was fucking shit but your soft moist heat is so graciously swallowing him til' the hilt each time, squeezing his knot so obscenely as you purr so sweetly beneath him—giving him a true taste of whatever heaven must be like. Having been fed suppressants to temper his aggression all his life Sukuna has many a heat cycle to make up for in the slick confines of your tight cunt.

Caracal!Sukuna who keeps you in his den for 3 days while the worst of your heat passes. You remain glued to his side, his tail always looped possessively around you—your waist, your bicep, your ankle, keeping you tethered to him at all times. 

It’s not like you could leave even if you wanted to, the intense heat between your tender thighs threatening to devour your body whole unless Sukuna and his massive girth extinguished it. Ropes and ropes of his hot milky fluids the only thing in the world that could sate your greedy womb.  

Surprisingly though Sukuna isn’t half bad at aftercare. Grooming you as best he can by licking away your sweat, tears and cum when he’s not fucking you into another limp mewling heap of bones and fur.

Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu who cautiously return on the 4th day to find you naked, happily perched in Sukuna’s lap, licking his ears while he pretends not to thoroughly enjoy it. At their intrusion, Sukuna doesn’t move, doesn’t bare his teeth—just glares murderously at them over your head for having the nerve to interrupt him and his new mate.

You having some sort of attachment to Sukuna was expected, but Gojo and Geto didn’t anticipate you flat out refusing to return to the main house unless Sukuna can come with you—and like the utterly spoiled brat you are, you also refused to stay another night outside in a smelly dilapidated cave.

The feral haze of your heat had worn off and the realization that you had been romping around on carcasses and old bones disgusted you.

Sukuna smirks and holds onto you more posessively, not expecting his cute lil mate to defend him so intensely. You made promises you couldn't keep, saying Sukuna would be a “good kitty” as long as he could be with you.

That wasn’t completely a lie—Sukuna still felt aggression and the instinct to kill in his bones yet the intense gnawing had tapered off immensely since he’d been around you. 

You rubbing your fluffy lil' head underneath his chin could temper the worst of his moods—making him relatively docile as long as you were near. 

In a move that surprises everyone—it’s Geto to who agrees first.

On the condition that Sukuna behaves.

No biting, no scratching, no tearing up the house or harming any of the other animals or hybrids on the property.

“How could you Sugu!?”

Gojo feels betrayed. He wanted to play hardball, not wanting Sukuna anywhere near his precious Persian kitty.

But Geto, the far more practical of the two sees this as the opportunity it is to finally semi-domesticate the wild cat that had caused them so many problems, and so much money, up until now. 

Caracal!Sukuna who ends up moving in that very night—noteably uneventful, aside from the chaos of forcing the two of you into an actual water bath with soap.

The two of you reek.

All is calm until somewhere in the middle of the night, Gojo’s awoken by the shifting weight at the foot of his and Geto’s California king bed.

There’s two extra bodies now—you, curled across Sukuna’s chest, tail looped around his arm and Sukuna, one clawed hand kneading the fat of your hips in slow, possessive flexes.

You’re softly purring, grooming Sukuna with tiny micro licks under his jaw—the same licks you used to affectionately give Gojo when he’d brush you.

Sukuna’s ears twitch, but he doesn’t move, eyes fixed on Gojo with smug, unblinking triumph.

Gojo’s chest tightens. It’s not like there isn’t room—hell, you could fit five more bodies in this bed if you wanted to. But you’re curled up on Sukuna, purring so sweetly, lavishing all that soft, sweet attention on the mangey scarred stray that you should be giving him!

Caracal!Sukuna who, real talk, doesn’t even want to be in this fucking bed right now, he hates the stench of Gojo and Geto. Yet it's you, Housecat!Reader who insisted on sleeping at the foot of their bed on your first night back.

Sukuna sure as shit wasn’t about to let you sleep there alone either and have one of them touching you.

So when Gojo crawls over to pet your back, just to remind you he’s still here—Sukuna’s tail is quick to lash at him in sharp warning, a deep low hiss emanating from his slightly bared teeth. 

“Yeah, sure…” 

Gojo mutters under his breath, pouting.

“…just forget about the guy who bought you the fancy treats and collars, no big deal.”

Awake this entire time due to Gojo’s whining, Suguru cracks one eye open, sighs, and tugs Gojo back down to sleep. 

“Turf wars can wait until after coffee tomorrow—and maybe after we get them their own room.”

You only purr louder as Sukuna squeezes on your ass grow more lustful, utterly oblivious to what just went down between him and Gojo.

Sukuna tips his chin to nose at your hair—mouth curling in an evil grin.

You’re not their pretty lil' spoiled Persian any longer.

You're his.

an: hybrid cat sukuna oml *eyes roll back into head* jdfbchsdbhfcs. this was fun to write. thats all for now but maybe ill revisit in the future!

lmk how u liked it~its my first hybrid fic!

[soobiary]

DATE EVERYTHING OMG

F*CK EVERYTHING! - G.S.

Synopsis. Your all-new, high-powered rose toy can vibrate, suction, and even…turn human? And why is he so hot?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, Date Everything AU, rose toy!Gojo, objects turning human, slight crackfic, oraI (fem rec.), extra long tongue, fíngering, spítting, manhandIing, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, stopping you from escaping, he’s BIG, making it fit, “just the tip” (fails), tummy buIges, chokíng, rough s, p sIapping, GOJO’S POWERS, víbrators, squírting, he lives to please you, creampíes, cúmplay, breaking the bed, marathons, headIocks, overstím, making Gojo whímper, Sukuna cameo, pet names. swéaring.

Word count. 8.2k

A/N. Not sponsored I swear-

It had arrived.

Finally, that cute lil’ toy you’d seen splashed across your social media. It was all the rave reviews, the discreet packaging, and the promises of utmost pleasure that’d reeled you in. And after a long, hard day of much too many shifts, you just couldn’t help but click that ‘Add to cart’ button.

After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

Well, it was too late to regret it now. Because only a day later and suddenly a large, glitzy, hot-pink box was plopped right in front of your doorstep.

You hadn’t even heard the delivery drivers come up- if you had, then maybe you’d have been able to interrogate them on what that second package was…A mysterious, taped, lil’ cardboard box - one you didn’t even remember ordering. 

It had no title, no images, not even an address. Just your name.

Sighing, you quickly carry both deliveries inside before any of your neighbors could snoop. Eyes catching on the toy’s name—‘The Strongest’

At least it sounds promising, you muse. And that second delivery must be a freebie, perhaps something promotional. It’s with that thought in mind that you find your feet heading straight for your bedroom, ready to give your newly-acquired product a little test run.

It was bigger than you thought once the packaging had come off. 

Curved. Lengthy. As vibrantly pink as the box. With the cutest rose petal-shaped features, and an electric tongue that stuck out from between them. Right in the middle was a snug lil’ hole you guessed was for suction, and according to the website this toy also had the ability to vibrate. 

Oh, you find your mouth drying at the thought. You better check whether this alleged ‘strongest’ really lived up to its name or was going to be forgotten in a box under your bed…

Limbs shaky, you’re mindlessly placing the other banged-up cardboard box on your bedside table and sprawling out on the mattress. Stripping down to nothing but your t-shirt n’ panties, thighs squeezing ever-so-slightly, hands holding the toy up to the light. You stick your anticipating thumb onto that power button and-

Nothing. 

“Ah, fuck-” You’re checking the battery indicator - zero charge. Of course. In slight embarrassment you’re chucking the toy towards the foot of the bed and springing back into the pillows. “Should’ve known.”

The charger probably came with the box- and just as you’re scanning your room for any signs of it, your eyes lock onto another little package. The one you’d forgotten on top of your bedside drawer.

What else did you have to lose? And you were quite curious about what promotional products the company might have sent you, so you find yourself picking it up idly. Pushing apart the layers of duct tape and cardboard to find…a pair of rose-colored sunglasses?

Stylish, with the word ‘dateviator’ branded on the frame.

Grumbling, “This definitely wasn’t on the site.” You put on the damned thing. Nothing special, all it did was tint your vision with a slightly romantic filter of pink.

With slight amusement, you’re checking out the difference in your room. The curtains, the desk, the bookshelves, the towering naked man with white hair-

Wait what?

You’re gasping, eyes widening as you take in the sudden intruder. “What the-” In panic, some part of your brain can’t help but think that this must be one of those illusions. One of those…hollographic glasses? Yeah, must be it. So you’re taking them off-

He’s still there.

Putting them on.

He’s still there.

Taking them off-

“-fuck!”

“That is what I’m here for.” The stranger flashes you the brightest grin you’ve ever seen in your entire life. A tiny dimple at the end of it, sapphire eyes twinkling. 

Your bedsprings dip as he plants a - still very, very naked - knee on the edge of your mattress and you have to force yourself to stop from looking…down. 

“Oh, you can look.” He’s chuckling in a teasing voice, almost like he could read your mind. And you should scream- you should possibly even run, but it’s just so hard when he winks at you like that. “You can even- heh, touch.” 

Before you know it, he takes your dominant hand and gliiiides it down the ridges of his washboard abs. Warm. Strong. Humming, “No need to be shy. It’s what you brought me here for, isn’t it?”

Suddenly you throw the glasses at him - and they have the audacity to bounce off of one of his perfectly chiselled pecs. “Wh-who are you- get out!”

The man pushes his angelic, ivory locks away from his face. “Actually, I’m trying to get in.” And you close your opened legs with a snap once his gaze dips between them- fuck, you were still in your panties. “Oh, how rude of me. The name’s Gojo Satoru- AKA Satorose, The Strongest. Pleasure to meet who I’ll be giving pleasure to~”

He sticks out a hand and doesn’t wait for you to grip it before grabbing your own, pressing such a lingering kiss on the back of your palm.

And you can’t pull away, you can’t even breathe because it just registered - The Strongest.

You start, feeling slightly more unhinged with each passing second his lips peck up your arm. “You’re…you’re the rose toy?” To make sure you look over the edge of your bed where it could’ve fallen - nothing. 

“Mhm, and now I’m your toy, sweetheart. You can thank the dateviators for that—”

“I think I’m going crazy-”

“Oh, you will soon.” Gojo’s batting his long lashes with a promise. “So why don’t we skip the small talk and get to business? I know you’re all wet f’me-” Leaning in so close to whisper against your ear, goosebumps erupt at his tangy hot breath. “-I can practically taste it.”

That was enough to leave your panties dripping down your thighs. 

“Oh.” Your mouth parts. What the fuck was in those glasses? None of the reviews had ever mentioned this. 

And yet, your mind still tries to regain all the sense that you’ve lost in the past few minutes. “B-but what makes you think that I want your help?”

And, to that, Gojo only looks at you as if to smugly ask ‘really?’

Then down at himself: pale hair unruly, azure eyes glinting with something dark. A flush creeps across his handsome features, between his pecs, and down each muscle n’ divot of his sculpted body like he’d been crafted by the heavens. Or maybe an expert at a sex toy company. Gojo took up nearly the entirety of your bed and suddenly you’re remembering that you ordered the biggest size online.

To be fair, he was making a very good case.

And then there was that. 

You didn’t want to stare directly at it - but a happy trail of white leads down his abs, between his thick, meaty thighs. It ends in slightly unruly tufts where he was standing proudly erect-

Fuck. 

“Fine!”

It happens before you know it. Before the word is fully out of your mouth, before you can even blink- Gojo has his hands clawed onto your thighs and his brute strength forcing you halfway down the bed.

Like a ragdoll, like he’s about to rip you apart.

Something in his touch quivers- like he’s still holding himself back, kneeling against the frame of the bed. 

As you gape, his capped knees strike the floor with loud thuds - urgent, rapid. And Gojo’s barely even registering the pain before throwing your trembling thighs over his shoulders and pushing, pushing, pushing his face between your pussy—nose-deep.

Greedy. He’s pressing the point of his nose right against your puffy cunt and taking a deeeeeep inhale-

“Oh- oh, fuck. You’re filthy.” Pushing yourself onto your elbows, you can see every lecherous huff n’ puff of him drinking you in like the sweetest fragrance. You swear- once Gojo pries your sticky panties just to the side, his drunken eyes roll to the back of his head at the scent of your oversaturated folds. 

Gojo was starving. 

And he’s not even a shred regretful about it. Already starting to drool at the feast before him, Gojo purses his rosy lips and starts to blow his scorching air on your cunt. “Mmm, you know why m’such a best-seller, sweetheart?” 

Voice octaves lower. Husky.

It makes a bead of sap slip out of you, making him tighten his hold on your thighs and moan. Irises locked on yours. Head leaning closer to where you needed him the most. “Suction.”

It’s practically a frenzied, white blur- Gojo’s head shoves between your legs and he’s taking in every inch. Dragging his textured tastebuds up the sheeny slick that glues to your thighs, sticking the pinpoint of his tongue underneath your panties, first kissing your pussylips and groaning—

“Sweet.” It’s all he can get out through his own gluttony. Open-mouthed peck after peck, the underside of his tongue slurps up the gloss of syrup on your folds. Drag after drag. “So, so sweet.”

“Ngh- oh my, mm—” You half-want to throw your head back at the sheer primal bliss, but Gojo was just so feral that you can’t help but stare at whatever he did next.

Capturing his stare dead-on once he snags his pearly whites on your underwear. Apparently eating you out through your panties wasn’t enough for him anymore - he needed more. 

He’s pulling them to one side with his mere mouth, maw suctioning around your clit like it was his precise target. Gojo wraps his lips over that cute, perky nub and sucks- “Y’know I come with hah- modes, sweetheart?” 

That fuckin’ tease. He speaks directly over your pussy, just so that the vibrations of Gojo’s throaty bass would make zaps of electricity run up your spine. 

“I have a looooow mode.” And suddenly the tip of his tongue swirls over your swollen clit- he’s pushed in so deep that it was like he was trying to swallow you whole. Trying to make you dizzy with each sultry circle he was drawing, salivating. 

‘Round and ‘round. 

Gojo’s nostrils flare right against the top of your pussy, and he’s unfastening his mouth even further. “And medium.” So tough to talk with a mouthful, but he’s immediately back to work.

Faster, the velvety muscle of his tongue comes spanking down on your clit. Enough to send shockwaves, he’s tuggin’ on it just so primally that you can’t even think- “And high.”

“Fuh-fuck!” If you thought he was ruining you before, then you were practically shattered right now. Because Gojo’s suckling on your clit like his favorite candy lolly, so harshly that the insides of his cheeks hollow. 

Teasingly, he’s squeezing down on your sensitive nub and trying to drag that part of you ever-so-slightly. Soft taste buds rolling over n’ over, tickling you sensually. “And-”

Your voice cracks pathetically, “There’s more?”

“A special mode just for you, sweetheart.” And then he’s doing it- with a few loud slurps, some swooping patterns are drawn on your throbbing clit. Only seconds later are you realizing that he’s writing his very own name—your eyes widen, mouth dropping to moan-

Before Gojo winks his half-lidded eyes up at you and bites down gently on your clit. 

Snickering as you trill out shrilly, as your hips buck. Your hand comes slamming down on the crown of his clammy scalp and you find yourself pushing. “Just sh-shut up, and- ngh!”

“Mmm, being used.” Gojo’s crooning out, and if you didn’t know any better than you’d have said he was grinning - you could feel it. From end to end of your treacly cunt, he was grinning, smushing his soft lips over your own. 

The sensation only makes you bully his head downwards even more, making him salivate from the corners of his mouth. Rasping, “Exactly how I like it, sweetheart.”

And his tongue laps at you primally- now zig-zagging all the way from your clit down, down, down to where your puckered hole was. Knocking like he was about to enter through a door. He can only manage to slither in the very first inch of his wet muscle, rutting back and forth three times to slick himself up with all your sap.

That just makes it so much easier for him to keep on swirlin’ your tight hole, “Oh, mmm—” From this angle, you can see the way that Gojo’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs with each gulp of your sweetened syrup. “You got the hah- the one with the tongue attachment, didn’t you?”

Practically in tears at the constant way his tongue was trying to stretch your entrance out. “Y-yes? Why- oh.”

“Exactly.” 

It’s all that’s said- the last time that Gojo Satoru even breathes before he’s thrusting the muscle of his tongue right between your pretty pussylips. 

You were stretching out so wiiiidely open around his prolonged taste buds, scouring every inch of you from the very moment that Gojo can feel your walls. “Sweet here, too.” He’s huffing, mouth overworking to plunge his spit-glazed tongue all back n’ forth at such a rapidfire pace. “What a lucky toy I am—”

Back n’ forth, back n’ forth.

Your toes simply curl at the feeling of him bashing his long, pointed muscle into your deepest spots. Extra, extra long just for you. “Fuck- oh my god, n-never felt anything like ngh- this before, Gojo-”

“Satoru.” 

“Satoru, fuck!” 

“Mm, we’re getting there—” Gojo’s playful lips were practically glued to the front of your pussy, and each sloppy drag itches such carnal parts of you. His tongue was just as flexible as it was lengthy, jerkin’ up into the spots where you were most tender. 

Barely even able to take the stretch, and yet you’re careening your hips up for more. 

“C’mon now, sweetheart-” But that wasn’t enough for him. And you think you see utter fucking stars once Gojo just grazes his textured tip almost near your g-spot. Grumbling, “Ya can use your toy more. Use me more. Harder. I’m ah- heavy-duty, I don’t break.”

You’re all shakin’ and crying out prettily for him, digging your nails into his swerving head. “Like- ngh, this?”

“Moooore—” Pouting, his tongue sloshes inside of you a few more times before reeling back out. “How m’I supposed to do my job- mmm, otherwise.” Your clit gets gifted with a cute squelching kiss, almost like an apology - a warning.

But you’re not ready at all before Gojo’s long, slender middle finger probes your dewy entrance.

 Feeling that tight, tight first ring of muscle, “Oh! But don’t tell the- ngh, manufacturers that m’giving you my fingers, too.” And it’s not just that - you’re suddenly being spearheaded by both his middle and his index finger with a deafening wet slurp. “I just like you a loooooot~”

Your geysering orifice is being filled up to the maximum, and you can barely even clench ‘round his dual digits. Rummaging around your slick insides, “Oh my god- oh, ngh-”

Thrust after thrust. The globular ends of his fingers pry apart your sticky walls so well, snagging against your most sensitive areas. Easily pecking your g-spot with his fingerpads once more, you let off such a sinful cry—

“Oh- I like you, too.” Coyly, Gojo grins whilst looking at you. And at this point you didn’t know whether he was talking to you or your poor pussy. “And I just know you’ll love this…”

Love what?—You want to ask. But you don’t get the chance to.

Because, just then, he’s shutting up every thought in your hazy mind by making the crowned tips of his fingers vibrate. Just like the toy. 

“You- you can do that?”

Giggling, “Anything for your pleasure~”

Such sensual tremors that made pleasure creep across every inch of your body, and Gojo was more than happy to have it filling up your cute innards. Jostling his digits over and over- he shovels himself till he’s knuckle-deep against your folds and rubbing his skin damn raw with friction.

It’s like having two elongated vibrators swabbing your insides, being bullied out and in again and again until your walls are oversensitive. 

“Just like that- ngh!” Angling just so to dig in until you’re sure the area of your g-spot is left with a bruise of his circumferences. “It feels s-soooo good, Satoru.”

“Oh yeah–? Ya like that, hm?” With a hoarse chuckle at the back of his throat, Gojo’s tongue starts to roll over your neglected clit in a repeated rhythm.

But if his tongue was methodical, then his mouth was just sloppy. Because the greedier he became, the messier he was with his sucklin’ kisses. Just wild, primal drags of his open mouth that leave you quivering- Gojo was slobbering over your clit like a man starved, and you were the only meal he’s come across in aaaages.

In loooong, dewy licks that glaze the corners of his sensual mouth with your sap. You could see it dribbling all down the front of his chin at this point, “Yes- mmpf- like it s’much, oh.”

“Ya like my fingers that much, huh?” 

Another bash of those vibrating, electric fingers on your g-spot. Slickly glissading down to tenderize any rare spot inside you that he hasn’t stroked just yet, “So much- so much.”

“That so—?”

“Yes-”

“Really really so?”

“Y-yes!”

His skin was all flushed, lips swollen, bangs sticking to his head with perspiration at just how harsh n’ thorough he was motioning his head. “Hmpf- well now m’getting jealous of myself.” Gojo’s snowy brows furrow, and you’re feeling his lips on your clit- downturning into a slight frown.

Before he unlatches his maw from your dripping wet pussy with a filthy plop! 

You’re lifting your head up in a daze, “Satoru, what are you…”

Only for him to surge his head back mere sultry centimeters and push the fat girth of his tongue back inside your pussy with a sluuuuurp. Licking you all up from the inside out, letting the rovering tip of his muscle battle against his fingers. 

Gojo’s ruining you from the inside, and he’s letting his greed do all the work for him.

“O-oh my god-” From the lewd crash of his jackhammering fingertips, to the way that his tastebuds were all there to soothe the sting. To lap up any ounce of sweet, sweet slick that his hands might have dared to leave behind.

Probing, he has his slicked tongue filling in your every crevice in a way that made your mind spin. Feeling the heat of your high nearing ever-so-closely-

Blearily, he whispers against your swollen folds. “Mmm, this is more like it.” Before the honed edge of Gojo’s tongue scrapes your g-spot once more. 

And his other hand? Oh, you didn’t think that he would just let one hand go resting, did you? 

As Gojo’s left hand starts to creep alongside the inner part of your thighs, you’re almost clawing his wrist to a halt. Scratching at his skin, keening in pure need once his left set of fingers come up to pinch your wettened clit. 

“Y-you’re almost-” You can’t help but buck, so hard that the bed frame sings in synchronization with you. The triple stretch of your hole driving you mad with stinging pleasure- “-almost- hck! too much—!”

“I’m built for your pleasure, sweetheart.”

And he was eating you out exactly like it. 

From three different angles, Gojo’s scouring every inch of you. Stuck to you like adhesive, the thrashing of his fingerpads make you feel a lump in your throat. 

You’re just bawling, “Fuck-” Thighs shaking, you can’t help but clench them around his ravenous face at the heat curdling at the pit of your stomach. Suffocating. Holding on for dear life. “Fuck fuck fuck, I don’t think m’gonna last-”

And it’s exactly what Gojo wants to hear - to feel.

You, with your cunt quivering and your hips wetly humping up to meet him - using him. You, with your pretty hole bawling as much as you were. You, crying out even more like his favorite song when his fingers somehow vibrate even harder. 

He glides his tongue teasingly along your bundle of nerves just to hear you sob out even more, making sure that the next few crashes of his roughened fingerpads are particularly hard. “Mmm, is that so? Must mean I’m doing my ngh- job right, heh.”

The loudest fuckin’ squelches depart at the drag of his knobbled digits, and Gojo’s just salivating alllll over you. Letting a puddle of drool slip below your thighs, where you were gyrating up impatiently. He’s groaning, “I better finish it off then and- oh, make you cum.” Teasing left hand scrawling out his very name on top of your slick-glossed clit. “Better leave my- oh, my girl satisfied then, hmm–?”

“Sa-Satoru! M’gonna-” You’re unable to stop your noises from reaching a fever point- because with a few more thorough strokes of his fingers, he has you tipping over the edge vulgarly. 

You’re seeing white, body taken over with electricity. 

Spurred on by the tickling patterns of his tongue, you’re finding yourself maddened by the way he had you like putty in his hands. To grope. To thrust. To ruin. To shovel all his lengthy inches of his digits inside until you’re thrashing sensitively underneath him. 

Babbling, spittle coats either side of your mouth- “Cumming- cum- ngh, cumming.”

Gojo coos kindly, “I already know, sweetheart.” And he doesn’t falter, doesn’t even slow down as he pummels your softened insides through each peak of your orgasm. “Told you I’m The Strongest for a reason. I’m reeeeeally good- hck!”

Blue eyes glazed, your sap taking over his mouth like a waterfall.

He drags out your high by carnally itchin’ at your g-spot, mumbling. “Really good.” Like a mantra, he’s burrowing his face oh-so-close to your body, letting the tips of his ivory bangs tickle your skin. “Really- hck! really good.” Letting his mouth prattle away little whispers each time he’s tuggin’ on whichever inch of your glistening cunt he could reach. Slick pouring. “Really- oh…”

“S-Satoru-” Somehow, by the time your orgasm’s turning into nothing but a few tingles from your puffy pussylips, you manage to crack your teary eyes open. And oh- oh, the sight below you is enough to nearly make you want to cum again. “Satoru, you’re p-pussydrunk!”

“Haaaah—?” He’s gurgling on a glittery wad of your slick, “How can I be pussydrunk when the- ngh, only thing I can ever even think of is your pussy anyway?”

As if to prove his point, he breaks off from your sultry pussy like he’s about to give you a good word or two about how addictive your cunt is. But it’s exactly that- he can’t part from your cunt.

Gojo Satoru was addicted. 

And he’s plopping his mouth right back down onto your pussy with a treacly sound, muffling out his groans between your folds. Looking just so pretty like this; your syrupy liquids gleaming from the apples of his cheeks and down to his collarbones, glassy eyes looking through his bangs, mouth a puffy red and downturning. “Oh fuck, I forgot to make you, mmm, squirt.” Shoving himself even deeper, “Need to- mmm, squirt-”

Harder. And you can’t help but let your throat rip free a yelp, feeling dizzy at the sudden overstimulation. “Fuck- ngh! But I want something else…”

“What do you want?” He’s begging, “What do you want, sweetheart? Anything- oh, I’ll get you anything-”

“Wan’ your cock, Satoru.” Almost shy at the intensity of his stare, your eyes dip down to where he was leaning over the edge of the bed. Where just the tip-top of his achingly hard bulge was bobbing with each movement, puddling out thick precum onto the sheets like a fountain.

“Oh.” He gasps, head snapping down to where you were looking. “Oh. So you got the wand attachment-”

“Just shut up and come here.”

You don’t have to ask him twice. And in only nanoseconds, Gojo’s gone from lounging at the base of your bed to nuzzling his slick-glazed face with your own, giving you the sloppiest kiss of your entire life. “Heh, come.”

You’re just about to roll your eyes- when you’re hit with the sound of a sudden rip-rip-riiiiip from below. And then you’re hit with the sudden, startling realization that Gojo Satoru had just torn your panties clean off of you. 

“That was- l-limited edition-”

With a cocky smirk, “I am limited edition.” You’re being flipped over so that Gojo’s broad back is pressed against the mattress. Your thighs straddling his toned hips, your pussy sitting on his cock.

And oh- were you looking now. You were ogling. 

Slidin’ back and forth on top of his swollen length, mentally counting one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight-

“N-nine inches!” You gasp, hands scrambling to find purchase on top of his beefy deltoids. You needed it just to stabilize yourself on top of him, and with the way your folds were stretched around his girth- oh, he was just so thick.

Decorated with numerous puffy veins that throbbed and twitched with each of your movements. His sheer size left you so aroused that you were just soaking him in all your juices. 

He grins, “Well, you did order the biggest size. Ya better just hope that it fits- heh.” 

“You’re s-soooo cocky.”

“Well I am the strongest~”

And it’s just then that you’re realizing why exactly the toy’s box was just the most sinful shade of pink- his tip. Big n’ bloated, it was blushing the prettiest color of that exact ruby pink. 

You’re in awe of the correlation when Gojo taps the side of his v-line, dragging your attention to his bulky muscles on one side of his hip - and more importantly, the cursive pink tattoo. Of your name.

“Like what you see? Told ya I belong to you.” Gaping, you can only watch as he twirls the drenched fabric of your panties in his hands. Gliding it down the middle of his abs and using it to jerk his aching erection a few times underneath you. “What? Always clean your toys after use. And…”

You don’t know where to look - that tattoo of your name, or his rock-hard cock. But Gojo makes the choice for you, pushin’ your cheeks together into a pathetic pout. Jostling your head down-

“Spit.”

And you do. 

A big, glittering glob of saliva that hits the globe of his cockhead, trickling down the side of his veiny length. It pools into Gojo’s curly white hair at his base, and he shivers, “Always lubricate your toys, too.”

“Fuck-”

“And then…”

And then he’s fucking up into you. He’s shoving apart your bloated lips to jut the uppermost inch of his cock inside-

“O-oh.” Gojo’s fighting to keep his head from throwing backwards. It was just so hot inside you, feeling like he was melting with each liquidy stream of slick slipping between down to his balls. “Wider, sweetheart.”

Your hamstrings scream as you once you’re spreading them further, “Like this-”

“Wider.”

He was just so big that it was maddening enough for him to try n’ fit inside. Slightly fucking up into you in feverish, needy ruts- half-movements even, just stretching out your entrance enough to take him.

Again and again. Every buck leaves him recoiling at the resistance, feeling like he’s about to fucking pass out at that elastic, clingy sensation of your cunt.

Tight. 

“Shit-” Your breath catches in your throat once you hear a sultry pop! Realizing just then that he’d managed to bully his mushroomy tip inside, it was oh-so-thick enough that the girth of him was swabbing your walls already. Up and up you were being driven. “At this rate s’only gonna be the- mmm, tip, Satoru.”

“Yes- yes, just the tip.” And you’re shocked - Gojo Satoru relents?

Snapping your head down till it hits your chest, you’re realizing exactly why - he was completely and utterly pussydrunk. Agreeing to anything you’re saying, just another inch of his length solidly sinks inside and Gojo’s gasping for air. “Uh uh, just the tip- fuck! Anything you want, just the tip-” 

Clawing your waist still, punching up his muscular hips. 

You’re seeing stars every time he’s squeezin’ his bulging erection inside, the sheer stretch so much that it makes you clench-

THUD!

It happens in split-seconds. 

Your back is being pushed into the mattress, you’re being shoved deep enough to touch the bedsprings. All you had to do was clench your pretty, dewy wet walls and Gojo was folding you neat in half like a lawnchair. 

Into a mating press. Your thighs on his muscular shoulders, his sweaty forehead meeting yours. 

He doesn’t even hesitate before gripping your neck with one hand and usin’ the force to push, push, push you down the prolonged length of his cock. “Just the middle now-” Spitting through clenched canines, you’re handled like a ragdoll. Taking his bulging cock with the most lecherous slurps- “Just a few more inches a few- hah, a few more-”

“Oh, please—!” You’re mewling, your hands clawing down his beefy biceps. You just couldn’t stop staring at them, flexing each time he’s pushing down on your airway to make you take it. 

“Just- fuck.” Before you know it, Gojo’s other hand swats down on the middle of your tummy and presses. Feeling his thick, probing cock inch its way inside your pussy- “Ya reeeeeally had to- hck! order the biggest size, didn’t you, nasty girl?”

The flats of his palm make it feel like his rovering was reaching your very lungs. Just the capped crown of his shaft slipping between your walls lewdly. “I-I- ngh-” 

“I-I-I—” He’s mocking, voice dramatically octaves higher in a way you definitely did not sound. Gojo tilts his head down at you, peering through thick lashes. “Look at you now, huh. Wanted the biggest size and now you can’t even, mmm, take it.”

So long that it was like it’s never-ending. Ever-probing, the sultry tip of his cock swabs into your most tender areas and leaves you squealing. 

And just when you think there can’t be more, there is.

Gojo’s only getting thicker towards the bottom, the most sinful right-leaning curve just like that part of the toy had been. And it’s perfect for fitting inside with scraping strokes, for pushing you up the bed with pap! after animalistic pap! of his hips driving into yours. 

“But m’built to p-please, sweetheart. To please you.” Still babbling away, you’re getting even tighter with each inch he’s stuffing inside. Bigger. Harder. “So don’t you dare hah- hold out on me. Just three inches more, th-three inches more.”

“Three inches more?” Something at the pit of your stomach twists at the way he was talking you through it - or maybe that was his hand pressing down even further. 

Smirking, “Mhmmm– three inches more. Two-” Head throwing forwards, mouth starting to water. “Two inches more.”

“Inches- ngh-” The more you were being filled, the more your throat was clogging. With tears upon whines upon need.

His thighs slam yours particularly hard- “Yeeees—say it f’me.”

“One more-” Until you’re ultimately saying- “M-more!”

Gojo hisses under his breath– before smashing forwards until his hilt pounds your pussylips. 

Until he was bottomed out - and still rutting viciously back and forth, trying to plunge even deeper inside. Your hot innards were exactly like heaven to him, and the slightest saturated clenched leaves Gojo stuttering. “S-say it again?” 

“More- oh.” Just to be rummaged with such a long, teasing thrust.

“Mmm—” Gojo gnaws down on his bottom lip like strawberry bubblegum, looking at you with such a heady stare. “Exactly what a toy like me needs to hear.”

And he’s pushin’ you straight down into the rickety bed frame with looooong, vulgar strokes. Aiming from the crown of his bulging tip to the fat, luscious base of his cock - Gojo was impatient. He was needy. He was pulling out his pulsing cock just to spear you even more rudely. 

And any time you’re moaning in pleasure, that only makes him swell even harder inside of you. 

“Fuck- fuck! Please- more more more.” Like a broken mantra, you shrill. To make him lose his mind and to feel the scalding girth of his shaft get bigger. Snaggin’ on your walls-

“Yes- yeeees— say it like that.” Gojo’s azure eyes are widened, almost crazed. And his hand lifts off of your tummy to hold onto one of your free ones, guiding it to his chasing hips. Right where that lecherous tattoo was. 

The skin around it had turned rawly red by now with the impact, sensitive to the touch. You look on in slight confusion at his sudden movements and he only snickers. “You gotta, ngh, guide me, sweetheart. You gotta- ohhh yeah, use me just like thaaaat.”

Making you hold onto his hips, Gojo thinks he sees the pearly gates just as soon as you’re using what feeble strength you have left to move him ‘round.

To have him angling his flared cockhead, stubbornly mazing past your walls with the target of your g-spot. It only takes a few tries for him to suddenly budge your nerves with his length.

The round, strawberry-colored top of his tip striking your most favorite spot like a bullseye. Kissing. Snogging. “Heh, f-five stars if I do say so myself.”

“Satoru, are you fuck- pussydrunk—?” You didn’t even need to ask that - you knew he already was. And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from nodding along to his nonsensical talking, just as lust-addled as the sopping wet squelches from your pussy. “What do you mean ‘five stars’-”

“I mean…”

And he trails off, leaving you wanting even more. Even though his bulging, pre-glazed cock certainly wasn’t.

So swollen n’ red, he probes his silvery slit along your walls. Making you squirm with each scratch of his cockhead, it’s almost teasing the way that Gojo reaches exactly for your g-spot once more and bashes that tender spot in. “See? One.”

Oh. 

You’re struck with both the realization and a second, primal hammering of his shaft. Into that very same bundle of nerves you love so much. 

“T-two-” 

“Oh my god-”

He’s gruffly groaning, heavy balls tightening at the slamming impact. But that still doesn’t make him stop, still doesn’t even make him slow down. He only scours your treasure trove of walls inside and maps out your exact g-spot again- “Three-” Again and again. “Four- five. Hah! Five stars.”

And now Gojo was fucking you like he hated you. Like he was trying to prove himself to you.

The most reverent worshipper of your treacly pussy, he was making you cry out with each deep-seated kiss to your every weepy orifice. Every nook and cranny. Gojo had been starving since he was out of that box, and he was taking it out on your poor hole.

“That’s m-more than five–!” You’re crying out after a while. 

“Oh? M’more than five stars, huh?” Purring- at least, you thought for a single delirious second that he was purring. Until you’re realizing that it was simply his vibrator-like fingers, once more attaching themselves onto your clit. “Why thank you.”

Throwing your hands over the bulky height of his shoulders, you pull him in close. Trying not to whine simply at the sensation of his firm, beefy abs glissading down your front - he was ripped. 

And he was pummelling into you like he was about to rip you to shreds, sensually dragging the drivelling orifice of his shaft straight down to your womb. You feel Gojo in your very throat, and he’s slowly but surely getting addicted to the spongy touch of your cervix. “Oh- I’m gonna bruise myself into this cunt, sweetheart.”

Bulging your insides like he was trying to prove it, a thick batter of precum slips n’ slides down your thighs as you squeeze them ‘round his waist. “P-please-” Bucking. Grinding. He only draws hearts on your clit harder, “Please it’s so much-”

And that makes mean, merciless Gojo flick your oversensitive nub and write out his damn name straight across it. S-A-T-O-R-U—“What’s that, spell—?”

“Satoru-” 

A light thwack! of his fingertips on your pulsing clit. “Nuh uh, your Satoru.” And you half-wondered whether his wrist might be aching with how fast they were toyin’ with your cute nub.

It almost hurt how good it felt. Forcing you to anchor your feet onto the bed and bow your body backwards in electric bliss-

“Ah ah-” You’re moving so much that Gojo has to dig his fingerpads into the skin of your neck and pin you, pushing you down with the front of his happy trail. No escape. “S-stop running-”

Somehow, he manages to choke out through the sheer pressure of his thrusts - taking such a sultry toll on him, as well. And all he can do is to wrangle you in his arms, folded until your ass cheeks were lifting clean off the satiny sheets. Until he was just drilling into you like he was frenzied, feverish. “Stop running- fuck! You know we sell handcuffs, too?”

The buzzing tip of his finger gently spanks your cunt and you squeal, “B-but I can’t help it-” Clawing red, red lines down his back. “Feels like m’gonna cum any- hngh, any second now.”

Just in that moment, he’s digging his plump, thickened circumference against your walls and you can see your vision shatter with tears. Oh-so-close now that it felt like he was just milking himself on your velvety pussy- 

“Yeah- Oh yeah? Y’know I only live to p-please you, sweetheart.” A wobbly smile graces Gojo’s handsome face, a thin trickle of sweat sliding down his forehead. “So why don’tcha be a goooood owner f’me and do what you have to do?”

Tearily, you blink up at his feral expression. “Wh-what’s that, Satoru?”

Instead of answering, he only increases the vibrato in his fingertips - each zap sending your body shaking, mind spinning. He only slams his hips so hard that your eardrums pop, sponged cervix giving way to his probin’ swabbing shaft. 

He only whispers in your ear, “Cum.”

And in that moment you can’t control it- you do. 

You think you almost might have even if it wasn’t for Gojo’s guttural, greedy voice. 

It’s just about the hardest orgasm of your life, you can barely even think- even breathe. Your walls constrict like they’re trying to hold back his vicious thrusts, g-spot now throbbing with slammed impact.

“Sa—fuck! Toru- I’m-”

“Cum. Cum- cum.” He’s uttering out like a mantra into the skin of your neck. And as if his rough cadence wasn’t enough, you’re being dragged down by the hand at your throat to further ram against his v-line. Ruinous. Reddening his skin.

You’re fisting desperately at the sheets, hips helplessly bucking with each white-hot shockwave of euphoria taking over your body.

Gojo feels you clampin’ away around him, trying to milk each peak of your high. The globular crown of his shaft glissades constantly down your walls and directly against your womb- making you see stars. “Cum- fuck! If you’re g-gonna cum then-”

You’re so sensitive at this point that just the burning intensity of Gojo’s stare makes you shiver, “Then what–?”

He grins sleazily, “Then you better make use of the fact that I’m water-proof.”

Oh, he wanted you to squirt. 

Barely even getting used to the constant adrenaline of your orgasm flooding your fuzzy brain, it’s then that Gojo’s vibrating fingertips slither their way down from the folds of your pussy. Down to hook inside your dewy hole–

“Sh-shit shit shit-” Your entire body shakes, every leftover ounce of rationality in you dissolving. You’re drooling so much by now that it’s forming an ocean of wetness on your pillow, “Wait- m’so- hah, sensitive.”

“I love it sensitive.” He’s giggling, doughy fingerpads starting to pump at the same rude tempo as his cock was. It’s just stretching you out so much, his vibrations making you so stupid. 

You’re just dragging your nails ferally down his back, feet pushing back against the mattress- almost like your body didn’t know whether you wanted to run from the carnal sensations or grind back in for more, more, more. 

To barely even have the chance to catch your breath from your last orgasm before Gojo’s plunging you into your next. Your third of the day - and, this time, you were squirting. 

Just like he’d wanted. 

Just like he’d dreamed of - in big, heaping splashes of your syrupy slick that drenched his tense core. It slipped down his massively rovering cock and almost made him jealous. 

So awestruck with your explosive high, he fucks his furious cock faster. “I can’t believe- hah! can’t believe you made me-” And you’re the one noticing his orgasm first, the fact that he was creaming your bruised insides white. “Toru- you’re cum—ing—”

Gojo looks down with a gasp, “Oh.” Noticing the ring of sleek white that was already starting to formulating ‘round his base.

He’s cumming just from making you cum.

Piling on his seed against your cervix, you can feel him webbing up your innards with all his ivory sap and it drives you crazy. Each buttery heap of cum being shot out with a lecherous sluuurp—“I did it- hah, I did my job well, didn’t I?” Gojo spits out, draaaaaging your pathetically escaping body back once more to dig his vibrating fingers between your pussylips. He sloshes around his slick cum inside like a mixer, “Did I make you feel goooood, sweetheart?”

“Y-ngh, yes- oh.” You can only gurgle out half-formed answers. Body uselessly tremblin’ all throughout your wave of high, it arcs like a crescent and makes you shake with bliss after each wire of cum streaking your walls. “Please- ngh-”

So sensitive. So fucking full. 

It feels like ages of skin-on-skin until you’re finally dropping from your orgasm, spent cunt letting off only a few more pearly beads of juices. 

And you’re mindlessly making to get onto your elbows, ready to have mercy upon your poor body and pull away when-

“Wh-where do you think you’re going?”

“Wha- oh!”

Being dragged back, you’re in the manhandling arms of Gojo Satoru once more. And he was gone- dazed eyes barely open, teeth snarling, pants labored. “Didn’t you read the- the package, sweetheart?” As if you could think of reading - or doing, really - anything right now. Gojo snickers like he already knew the answer to that question, “I can last for hoooooours~”

Oh, fuck.

And he kept his word. 

The packaging boasted about two to three hours of usage- but you’re fairly sure that Gojo was rock-hard and swollen for much, much longer. 

He was dragging you with inhuman stamina through a second and third round after that, until your poor g-spot was so sensitive that it’d brought you to needy tears. Then a fourth, where his sensual fingers were cramping up- but he’d still pumped them inside until you were falling apart on them. Then a fifth, where you’d completely been dumbified on his cock, your high nothing but some zaps of electricity that he was still proudly wrenching out of your overworked body. And finally…

“Ngh- ngh.” Gojo tries to muffle his lil’ whimpers by sucking on your tongue- failing. And it’s creating the most sinful songs, his fingertips weakly vibrating down your teary slope. “S-sooo good…”

Just the fact that you made The Strongest’s voice crack makes you gulp. “Toru- how are you still even going-”

And he doesn’t answer your question- not yet. 

Gojo had you bent on all sloppy fours; his ridged abs melting into your back, hips merely grinding- not even thrusting by now, his chin digging into the crook of your neck. And most sinful of all, he had you in a damn headlock. 

Angling your slobbering mouth into his, he’s urging you to spit between those pretty lips of his. “Because I can always- hah, recharge.” How absolutely filthy.

Gojo giggles - giggles. “Why thank you.” And apparently you’d said that last sentence out loud without even registering it.

And it was driving you mad, making you gyrate your hips back into his. So gone by now that tears were flowing freely down your cheeks n’ adding to the mess of saliva down on your pillows.

You’re fucking him in lecherous strokes, mere drags of your walls down his veiny length. Every zig-zagged line was simply coated in enough slick n’ cum to slosh around inside of you. You let out a mewl, “I don’t- oh please- I don’t think I even c-can cum, ngh.”

“You can, sweetheart- you will. M’making sure of it-” Snarling against the shell of your ear. Even on low battery, the tremors of Gojo’s fingers were fatal. 

Dragging out your clit, syncing with the honed strikes of his bulbous tip against your cervix. Just graaaazing you until you felt all raw. 

“I need to make you cum- need to-” He’s rolling his eyes to the back of his head, “Just get on your knees and I’ll- ngh, fuck, make you…”

“I-I’m already on my knees, Toru—” Crying out at the tightening of his headlock, beefy forearm restraining your airway. 

“Oh.” And by now you had no idea whether it was you or him that was more gone. Because Gojo’s completely drunk on the suctioning, heated feeling of your cunt. Already letting his pitch lilt octaves higher, breathy. You can feel the positively predatory grin on your skin- “Then cum, sweetheart~”

Whimpering, you can’t do anything but throw your head back and let your body listen to him. 

Like he could predict exactly when you were going to fall over the edge, you find white flashing behind your eyelids. Arms shaking, you can barely even hold yourself up as your nth orgasm of the night takes over you- but, luckily enough, you didn’t have to with Gojo’s headlock holding you up.

Keeping you in place for him to rover his hungry cock, thrust after thrust through your high. Just the way you looked so pretty cumming ‘round his length made him flinch, made him start to moan.

It only takes him one, two, three squeezes from your throbbing walls to let go, too. 

Moaning out your name like a mantra, one hand gripping the headboard, hips slamming—

Splat! Splat! Splat!

Something hot n’ wet hits your shoulder, and your breath catches. Looking behind you, you find your heart stuttering at the sight of Gojo Satoru, overstimulated, crossed eyes scrunching as he tears up. He whispers- “Cum- cumming. Did I do good, sweetheart?”

Gojo was crying at the blank bursts from the end of his shaft, you’d just made him cum dry. And he could do nothing but let the sudden bliss take over him, so much so that it was almost painful. 

CRACK–! Only later - hours and hours later - would you recognize that crack to be your poor bedframe. Shattering under his constant, feral strength - he’d broken the bed.

Again and again– by now he’d collapsed on top of you, pushing you so far deep into the bed. 

He looked so cute like this - bottom lip jutting out, eyes shuttered, grunting whimpers leaving his throat after each thrust. Oh-so-sensitive that it was making his entire body shake just to fuck you through your dual highs. “Can’t believe-” Gojo chokes, sounding agonized, “C-can’t believe- I- dry, oh. The thing you do to me.”

By the time you’re clear-headed enough to register his hazy words, the buzzing of his fingertips had died down completely. And he was instead using them to shovel in all the clingy wads of cum spraying out of your hole, overspilling.

As Gojo snuggles up to you from behind, he makes sure that not a single creamy drop gets wasted- sometimes slicking it over his fingerpads like glaze and sucking. 

“Mmm—” You’re hearing Gojo hum from behind you, “F-five stars, huh, sweetheart?”

Rolling your eyes in fondness, “Oh, shush.” 

“Can’t, I’m one of the loud types.”

And once Gojo simply occupies himself with making an even bigger mess of your dripping wet cunt, you find your eyes catching on something you hadn’t thought about in hours.

The glasses - the dateviators, to be exact.

They’d somehow found themselves on your bedside table during all your lecherous chaos. Without thinking much of it, you’re leaning over to grab them. Putting them on and-

“The fuck?”

Both of you snap your heads towards the commotion- the husky, mean baritone commotion. And both your jaw and the glasses clatter to the floor at the sight of a man more towering than Gojo. And somehow even more cocky.

Perhaps seven feet, maybe even taller. He had beady crimson eyes, and tattoos across nearly every inch of his muscular body - and that included all four beefy arms. Crossed rudely, a pink brow arches at the sight below him, “The King ends up in a fuckin’ box under this bed and some pathetic rose toy gets to play with ya, mama?”

Gojo snarls, “Oi- who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“Ryomen Sukuna, or Duomen Sukuna- tch.” Unimpressed, he stares down your other non-human companion, “The Strongest in history.”

“False advertising-”

“I’m going to kill-”

Your eyes inadvertently drop between Sukuna’s tattooed thighs; monstrously big, both long n’ mind-shatteringly veiny with a happy trail of pink. And almost instantly you know just what had just come to life - that one massive, double dildo from Bad Dragon that’d once been gifted to you by your friends as a joke.

A joke.

Though, you weren’t in much of a joking mood when you say-

“How about we settle this-” And they both look at you in curiosity as you grin, “-in bed?”

“We love the way you think…”

A/N. I find myself so amusing for that ending.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[soobiary]

this hoe oh my god

Loved & Lost — chapter two

pairing: gojo x f! reader

synopsis: Your marriage to Gojo Satoru was doomed from the start. You believed in fairytales, he believed in the past. Your futile attempts at gaining your husband’s attention and affection caused more anguish than rapture. And you’re starting to wonder if you can ever survive being compared to a dead woman forever.

tags/warnings: second wife trope, modern au, arranged marriage, heavy angst, smut, fluff, mentions of su*cide, mentions of infertility, pregnancy, societal pressure, elite circles, mentions of classism, drama, cheating (emotional & physical), gojo is an assjole, reader tries her best to make the best of things, character death, talks of mental illness. artwork by mercyerr. dividers by @/cursed-carmine. gojo pov from the past for first half.

wc: 6.1k

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SIX YEARS AGO:

Satoru couldn’t possibly be happier. He was getting ready for his CEO position at Gojo Global Holdings. Everything was looking good. Stocks were high, and the board meetings had only good things to report. People were beginning to show him more respect around the office. 

And of course, he has a wife. A beautiful, caring, astonishing wife that he loves more than anything in this entire world. 

Nothing—no one—could ever compare to Sayuri. 

Round cheeks that he loved pinching. The same ones that would quickly blush a pretty shade of pink from his playful teasing. Luscious brown hair that shone so beautifully under the sun. Green eyes with two long sets of eyelashes to complement them. 

She’s beautiful. Utterly breathtaking. 

His heart stutters just thinking about her. 

They’ve been together seven years already, but married for five. 

Gojo was already looking forward to the next five. He fantasizes throughout his days about what would bless their lives as they grow older. 

Children—naturally—were the first ones. Though he’s been trying to put it on the back burner. 

However, he can’t stop the sliver of hope that shines through whenever he’s alone and looking up at the moon as if it can grant him all his wishes. 

He wants his children to look more like her than him. So even when Sayuri is away, he would always have a little piece of her cradled in his arms so delicately. 

He’s daydreaming again, smiling to himself like a goofy idiot as he pours himself another glass of whiskey. The alcohol has loosened his inhibitions. 

“—will…heir…male or female…by 35…”

“What?” Gojo asks, only tuning into the conversation once he heard the word will. 

Satoru’s grandfather, an old man, sighs heavily. Bald with a greying goatee. Wrinkles on his face, though not too many for a seventy-something-year-old man. The Gojo genes were quite phenomenal, after all. 

“Have you been paying attention at all?” his grandfather scoffs in disappointment. 

“Now I am,” Satoru leans back, jutting his chin. “Continue.”

Satoru’s grandfather shares a look with his son before looking at the youngest Gojo in the room. “Well,” he starts, setting his own glass down, “I was in the middle of explaining the will.”

“Why?” Satoru shrugs nonchalantly. “Nothing we haven’t heard before.”

“He’s rewriting it, Satoru,” his father cuts in, hissing through clenched teeth. 

Satoru jolts up, eyes widening. He disregards the whiskey that stains his expensive shirt. “W-What? You’re rewriting it? Why? To what?”

The old man rubs his temples, clearly weary of repeating himself. “My health isn’t what it used to be. So, I’ve decided to make the terms stricter—more concrete before I pass.” His gaze sharpens. “You must not only be married, but also have a legitimate heir by the time you’re thirty-five in order to inherit the full estate and control of Gojo Global Holdings.”

Satoru blinks, the weight of the words settling on his shoulders. “…Married… and an heir? That’s new.” He chuckles, a sad attempt to ward off his growing anxiety. 

His father’s voice is low but firm. “It’s always been the unspoken rule, but now it’s just written in stone. No exceptions.”

“Besides,” his grandfather crosses one leg over the other. “You and Sayuri have been married five years now. And still no children. Why is that?”

Gojo’s grip tightens on his glass subtly, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat uncomfortably. Of course, they would ask this. Everyone does, especially as their marriage grows older. 

Children. Heirs. Bloodline. Legacy. 

“We’ve…been trying,” he offers. 

“You’ve been saying that since five years ago, Satoru.” His father runs a hand through his thick, white-haired pompadour. “You’re twenty-seven. We all expected children within the first year. Don’t you love her?”

“Of course I love her,” Satoru quickly snaps back, frowning at his father’s implication. 

“Then why no children?”

Satoru’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing at his father. He says nothing in response, too caught up in his own whirlwind of unspoken emotions. Too caught up in the secret he and his wife have been keeping to themselves for years now. 

They’ve been smoothly fighting off the pushy questions of children. But of course, everyone has their limits. 

And that doesn’t exclude elitist assholes like his family, who want nothing more than for their golden child to have his own. 

But he would never air out their dirty laundry, especially when said wife wasn’t even present. 

His grandfather, noting the tension, clears his throat to intervene in the stare-off. “Thirty-five,” he reiterates, “that’s eight long years. Many things can happen in eight years.”

“And if nothing does?”

His grandfather gives him a certain look—one that says that can’t happen. “Then key land titles, properties, and majority ownership, none of that will be passed down to you.”

His heart pounds harder, a deep pit forming in his gut. He sits up straighter to feign a confident facade, despite the fact that his foot is nervously tapping the floor. “That’s—that’s a little outlandish, don’t you think? Besides, that would include the gallery I bought for Sayuri, too. That’s not—”

“—negotiable,” his father cuts in sharply, voice like steel. “Sayuri’s gallery is part of the legacy now. And it’s not exempt from the terms. If you fail, everything reverts to the family trust. No exceptions.”

Satoru’s chest tightens, the room suddenly feeling too small, the air too thick. He forces a tight smile, though it falters around the edges. “You think I don’t want to provide an heir? You think I don’t want to start a family?”

His grandfather’s eyes hardened. “We don’t question your desires, Satoru. We question results.”

“It’s not up for debate, Satoru,” his grandfather emphasizes once more. “That gallery is tied legally to Gojo Global Holdings, which means it falls under the same conditions. No heir, no inheritance. The art house will revert to the company entirely.”

Satoru’s throat tightened. His mind raced, heart hammering against his ribs. The gallery wasn’t just an asset—it was Sayuri’s dream, her legacy, her passion. He had promised her he’d protect it. 

He bought the gallery as a gift for her within just the first year of her marriage. It houses all her prized possessions—her happiness. And in turn, his happiness, too. 

He can’t just let her dreams and passions be a simple pawn in his life. 

But now, it felt like a sword hanging over his head.

His father’s eyes bore into him like a predator sizing up its prey, even if that prey is his only child. “This is business, Satoru. Not some sentimental trinket to be protected out of charity. The board agrees with me.”

Satoru swallowed hard, struggling to keep the desperation from bleeding into his voice. “I… I just need more time.”

His grandfather shook his head slowly, voice grave. “Time is a luxury you don’t have. The will takes effect the day I sign the final document. No exceptions. This is your last chance to secure everything you want—for yourself, and for your wife.”

Satoru felt trapped between two worlds—the love he had for Sayuri and the cold, brutal expectations of his family. He had always believed his marriage was enough. That the future would come naturally, on its own time. He didn’t think things would ever be taken to the extreme like this. 

But now, the weight of a ticking clock threatens to crush that hope.

He looks down at the glass in his hand, the whiskey swirling like a storm inside. He’d have to make choices. Hard ones.

Choices that might change everything.

His head is already starting to hurt once his grandfather says something like how he’ll sign the final document sometime next month. 

All he can think of is his precious Sayuri. She already has so much on her plate. With her own familial issues, and her company most likely going to file bankruptcy, her father’s declining health, and her mother having to be hospitalized again within the last three months, the last thing he wants to tell her is that they need to have a child. 

Sooner rather than later. 

Especially when they’ve already spent thousands in secret on just the tedious processes alone. 

His grandfather is right. 

A lot can happen in eight years. 

And yet—it already has.

Too much has already happened behind closed doors, in sterile clinics under soft fluorescent lights, in quiet moments where Sayuri smiled through disappointment with tears burning at the corners of her eyes. In the aftermath of every failed attempt, every false hope, every silent car ride home when neither of them could say a word.

He wanted that future so badly. A little family. Messy hair and sleepy mornings. A nursery filled with stuffed animals and baby books. He still wants it.

But now, those dreams come with conditions. With ultimatums. With deadlines.

His fingers curl tighter around the glass until his knuckles blanch. The ticking of his grandfather’s old watch fills the quiet again. He’s aware, distantly, that no one’s speaking now. His silence stretches the tension, but no one dares interrupt his thoughts.

“Next month,” he repeats, more to himself than anyone else. “You’ll sign it next month.”

His grandfather nods once. “Be prepared.”

“Try not to let your personal emotions get in the way of business,” his father adds, voice softening as if he can soften the blow that’s already been dealt. “You’re a Gojo. You were raised for this.”

But what about Sayuri? Satoru wants to scream it. What about her dreams, her health, her heart? What about how exhausted she is—how she hides the bruises from hormone injections, how her fingers shake when she checks her phone, waiting for test results? What about them, as human beings?

He doesn’t say any of it.

Because love has no place in this room. Not when legacies are being carved in ink and blood.

“I understand,” he says instead, even though it tastes like ash on his tongue.

His father nods in approval, but his grandfather watches him carefully. As if already wondering what moves Satoru might make next.

As if he knows, deep down, that eventually—love may not be enough.

And as Satoru finishes the last of his whiskey, head pounding with the weight of it all, he realizes the truth in that bitter thought.

He’s damned if he does. Damned if he doesn’t.

And Sayuri—sweet, beautiful Sayuri—may never know what he’s about to sacrifice. Or what it will cost them both.

A lot can happen, he repeats to himself in his mind. 

Maybe a chance miracle. At least, that’s what he prays to the gods above for. 

PRESENT TIME:

“How is Satoru treating you?

The question alone should’ve been an easy one to answer. Most wives would say good, phenomenal, maybe even exceptional.

Though sitting in front of your father, with a hopeful smile on his aged face, you hesitated whether to expose the harsh reality of your marriage to a man he trusted his only daughter with.

“It’s good,” you meekly respond, busying yourself with your cup of iced tea. 

Your father, Haruto, raises his bushy brows. “Oh? Just ‘good’?” He laughs heartily. “C’mon, you can spill the details with your old man. Ah, just not all the details.”

You smile tightly at his attempt to lighten the moment, but the tea in your hand suddenly feels heavier than it should. You stir the melting ice with the tip of your straw, watching the ripples distort your reflection on the surface.

“I mean…” You begin, and the lie sits thick on your tongue. “He’s busy. With work. Late nights.”

Haruto hums, nodding thoughtfully. “Well, that’s expected, I suppose. Being in charge of Gojo Global isn’t a small role.” He leans back in his chair, stretching slightly before fixing you with a pointed look. “But he still makes time for you, right?”

You hesitate again. This time, for a beat too long.

Haruto notices. The corners of his smile falter just a little, but he keeps his tone gentle. “Sweetheart.”

“Of course he is,” you shake your head, meeting your father’s scrutiny with a light chuckle. “Why wouldn’t he be? Don’t worry about it, Dad. You already have a lot on your plate.”

He frowns. “I’ll always worry when it comes to my children. And it’s not worry, I’m just making sure my son-in-law is treating my daughter with the respect and love she deserves. Don’t fault me for that.”

“I’m not faulting you, Dad.” You smile weakly, a forced curve of your lips that barely touches your eyes. “It’s just been… a bit of an adjustment. You know how it is. New routines, new responsibilities.”

Haruto hums, nodding along, but his gaze sharpens ever so slightly. His fingers tap lightly against the rim of his coffee mug. “Adjustment, huh? That boy’s not giving you a hard time, is he?”

You nearly choke on your tea but manage to swallow it down with a dry throat. “No. No, not a hard time,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

Haruto narrows his eyes just a little, not missing the shift in your tone. “Y/N…” His face is open, gentle. But his voice holds that firm undertone that only comes when he's concerned. “You know I’d never let you stay in a marriage where you weren’t cherished, right?”

Your fingers twitch around your glass.

Satoru doesn’t hit you. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even insult you outright.

He just makes you feel like nothing. Like you’re a placeholder. A legal necessity. A shadow in his house.

But how do you tell your father that? After everything he had done just to see you married well? After he walked you down the aisle and shook Satoru’s hand with pride in his chest?

You take a deep breath and force a tiny laugh. “We’re just getting to know each other better. That’s all. It’s quiet sometimes. But I think that’s just him.”

Haruto tilts his head. “Quiet?”

You nod. “Well, he’s just not very…” loving, kind, present— “expressive.”

That was putting it kindly.

Haruto sits back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight as he studies you for a long moment. You drop your gaze to the condensation sliding down your glass.

“I see,” he finally says, voice unreadable.

You wish he didn’t. You wish he couldn’t.

But your father was never an oblivious man. Not when it came to you.

“You know,” he murmurs, “when your mother passed, I promised myself I’d protect you the best I could. Even if I couldn’t give you everything. Even if it meant watching you walk into a life I didn’t fully understand.”

You glance up sharply, surprised at the sudden shift in his tone.

“I gave that boy my blessing,” Haruto continues, “because I thought he’d be the kind of man who’d never let you feel alone. But now…”

He leans forward, lowering his voice.

“You can lie to the world, sweetheart. But you don’t have to lie to me.”

Your chest tightens with a growing sense of panic. Because for some reason, you still feel the need to defend your husband, despite his cruelty. And because you know just how scary your dad can get when something doesn’t go as he planned it to. “Dad, I—don’t worry, everything is fine.”

“He loves you?”

“Of course he does.”

“And he’s nice to you?”

“Yes!”

“Does he hit you?”

“What?! No, no, he doesn’t hit—”

“Does who hit her?”

Oh, great.

As if your sudden interrogation couldn’t get ten times worse. Ren’s deep voice—the kind of tone he gets only during certain situations—hits you first. Hearing two sets of footsteps, you turn around to see Noa striding in beside him.

Both your brothers, tall and extremely invasive sometimes, look like twins. Dark hair, thick eyebrows (though Noa keeps his more in touch), and stony expressions on their faces. It’s almost laughable considering Ren almost always has that idiotic, dopey grin on his face. It’s usually Noa’s job to have a resting bitch face. Their eyes dart between you and your father.

 Once they get closer, Ren repeats himself, looking at you. “Is Satoru hitting you? I’ll beat his fucking—”

“He’s not hitting me!” you shout, throwing your hands up as you abruptly stand. 

Your chair scrapes loudly against the wooden floor as you rise, the noise jarring enough to cut the tension—but not the heat of it.

“He’s not hitting me,” you repeat more firmly, trying to keep your voice steady. “No one’s hitting anyone. Can everyone just—stop? Don’t talk about him like that.”

Ren’s jaw tightens, but he pauses, eyes scanning your face. Noa, quieter but no less intense, shifts his weight beside him. His gaze lingers on you longer—searching, reading between the lines like he always does. Your father doesn't speak either. His hands rest on the table, knuckles pale, waiting for your next words.

You take a deep breath, forcing the trembling in your limbs to still. You don’t even know why you’re fiercely coming to Satoru’s defense, unsure if he’d do the same for you. But you don’t want to bash his name behind his back, especially to your family.

He doesn’t hit you, that much is true. 

 You take a deep breath before continuing. “Satoru’s not… he’s not what you think he is. He’s just under pressure. The company, the board, his family—there’s a lot on his shoulders right now. And I knew what I was getting into when I married him.”

Noa frowns slightly. “Pressure doesn’t give him the right to treat you like—”

“He doesn’t treat me like anything!” you snap, more sharply than you mean to. You glance away, lowering your voice again. “He’s just distant. That doesn’t mean he’s bad.”

Ren crosses his arms, clearly unconvinced. “So what, we’re supposed to pretend everything’s peachy just because he’s got a boardroom to impress? You're our sister. If you’re not happy, we deserve to know.”

You shake your head quickly. “Don’t make this bigger than it is. I’m fine. Really. We’re figuring it out. He’s not a monster, okay? He’s not cruel, he’s just complicated.”

Noa sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t owe him that kind of defense if you’re miserable.”

“I’m not miserable,” you lie, blinking too fast.

Haruto finally speaks, voice low. “No one’s accusing him of anything, not without reason. But you shouldn’t have to explain this hard, sweetheart.”

Your throat tightens. “I’m explaining because I love him. And because I want this to work. Maybe he’s not perfect and maybe we’re not perfect, but he’s trying. We both are.”

That lie tastes even worse than the last one, but it’s the only thing that buys you some quiet.

Do you even really love Satoru? Or is that your malleable mind playing tricks on you, forcing you into a deluded fantasy?

A tense silence blankets the room. Ren sighs and finally backs off, muttering under his breath, “He’d better be trying.”

Noa gives you a long, unreadable look, then pulls Ren by the shoulder. “C’mon. Let it go.”

Reluctantly, Ren lets himself be tugged away, but not before pointing a stern finger at you. “If he ever lays a hand on you, you call me. Or better yet, don’t—because I’ll already know.”

“We all will,” Noa reiterates, looking you up and down as if to tell himself you’re really safe and sound. 

You roll your eyes, but it’s the kind of exasperated affection only a younger sister can give. “Got it, watchdogs.”

Once they disappear into the other room, your father remains still, his gaze fixed on you. He doesn’t say anything, just gently slides your glass back toward you.

You sit back down, hands trembling slightly as they curl around the chilled glass.

You can feel his disappointment without him saying a word.

But he lets it go. For now. Because you’ve always been the one thing in his life that he doesn’t push too hard.

Even if you wish, deep down, that someone would.

Satoru had a particularly annoying time at the office today. His past couple of days have been filled with congratulations on the new marriage and being married to a woman like you.

Board members to secretaries, all wondering how married life has been treating him so far. He can’t fault them too much; they’re simply curious.

Too curious.

And Satoru, to save his own ass and because he’s not a complete idiot, won’t spill his guts to outsiders. And if word got back to your family about anything wrong, it would get back to his father. Then to him.

And he can’t have a domino effect like that.

Satoru is more than convinced he can manage to keep you married to him, despite the way he’s been treating you. He’d overheard from your own father prior to the arranged marriage that you’re the only one of his children who hadn’t been married off yet.

He heard snippets of your father saying that when you were a child, you couldn’t wait to have a family of your own one day.

Truthfully, it sickened him. 

Not because he found the idea of family repulsive. Not because he didn’t think you were capable of having one. But because it made you seem weak. Childish. Naïve.

As if your only ambition in life was to play house and wait for some prince to sweep you off your feet. And now that you had one—on paper, at least—Satoru felt backed into a corner. Forced to wear the crown and wield the sword for a kingdom he never asked for.

He ran a hand through his hair as he stepped through the door to his estate. It was eerily quiet except for the distant hum of the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His tie was already tugged loose, jacket slung over his shoulder.

He toed off his shoes without much thought, the soft thud echoing through the marble-floored hallway. The silence that greeted him was nothing new— reminding himself that your presence in this house is nothing more than ghostlike. Just yesterday, he forgot you even lived here. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

He glanced toward the dimly lit living room. The soft amber glow of a single floor lamp cast long shadows across the couch. A book lay open on the coffee table. One of yours. Probably one of those worn romance novels with cracked spines and folded corners. He didn’t understand how you could still stomach reading about love.

He exhaled a heavy breath through his nose, his jaw clenching as he made his way up the staircase.

His mind was on autopilot the entire way up to his room. Twisting the knob, he stepped in. 

He was suddenly greeted by the scent of something sweet, but floral. It stung at his nostrils, making his nose twitch in disgust. Shaking his head, he tosses his tie onto his bed and undoes the first few buttons of his crisp white button-up.

He instinctively walks over to the frame that’s faced down, fingers skimming the edges in hesitation. After a few seconds, he sighs and pulls his hand back, keeping the frame where it is. 

That lingering, sinking feeling in his gut stays with him as he takes a seat at the end of his bed, eyes flickering from the small, untouched bedside table with memorabilia that makes him force his tears back. Satoru runs his hands through his silky hair, scratching at his scalp.

His head drops, elbows on his knees. 

The silence of a room too big for one person is louder than anything. A deafening noise that even years later, he still can’t get used to. He reaches over to the other bedside table—the one on his side—and flicks on his usual white noise to help him decompress. 

The soft static of the white noise machine begins to fill the room, a dull hiss that drowns out the noise in his own head—if only slightly. It’s the only sound he can tolerate at this hour, the only thing that doesn't ask anything of him. Unlike people. Unlike you.

His fingers hover above the dial, tempted to crank the volume higher until it scrubs out every thought, every memory, every feeling still tethered to this place. But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Satoru leans back, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His white shirt hangs open now, collar slack and sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms. He stares up at the ceiling like it might offer him answers—or absolution. Neither comes.

He thinks about what one of the VPs said earlier that morning. “You must be one lucky bastard to land her.”

He’d laughed. Politely. Played along. Even though the words burned hotter than he’d expected. Lucky? He’s not lucky. He’s trapped.

Because he doesn’t want to need anyone. Least of all you. 

He rises suddenly, agitated by the recurring thoughts. He pulls the door open to his shower and undresses with sharp vigor. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. He steps into the shower, water still cold. 

The freezing water hits his skin like glass. A shock to his system, but he welcomes it. He stands still under the icy stream, not flinching, not gasping—just letting it soak through his hair, his skin, his thoughts.

He needs the clarity. Or the punishment. He’s not sure which anymore.

The water slides down his body, carving paths through tension knotted deep into his muscles, but nothing dislodges the heaviness in his chest. He tips his head back with a small groan, water crashing against his face like rain in a storm he can’t escape. Every breath he takes feels borrowed, like he’s still living in someone else’s life.

A husband.

A future father.

A leader of an empire he’s been molded to inherit, not one he ever chose.

He rests a fist on the tile wall, knuckles turning white. The water grows warmer with time, but it doesn’t soften him. Doesn’t reach far enough inside to undo the bitterness creeping up his spine like frostbite.

His thoughts swim back to you. You were invading his safe space. Again. 

The way you moved so quietly around the house, as if you were trying not to disturb him. The way your eyes lit up when he put that damned ring on your finger. Your soft voice, your gentle presence, they all annoy him. And now, they begin to haunt him too.

And he despised it. Despises you even more for it. 

Because it meant he noticed you, even if barely and reluctantly.

After a while, the heat becomes unbearable, and he shuts off the shower abruptly. The room fills with steam as he steps out, grabbing a towel and running it carelessly through his hair. He doesn’t bother drying off properly—just enough to keep the water from dripping onto the wood floors.

He walks to the mirror and stares at himself, steam fogging the glass around his reflection.

He looks tired.

Not just physically. Deeply, fundamentally worn.

His fingers reach up, wiping away the condensation. His own eyes stare back—blue, piercing, sharp—and yet lifeless. He wonders if Sayuri would even recognize him now, if she’d look at the man in the mirror and see the boy she used to believe in.

He wraps the towel loosely around his waist and exits the shower, leaving wet footprints on the way to his closet.

He flicks the light on and again, that evil scent hits him like a truck. 

Not anything he’s used to, nothing familiar, not Sayuri.

His frown deepens as he ventures further into his closet, steely eyes quickly scanning the clothes in front of him. 

Satoru has been in here enough times to know everything like the back of his hand. He knows how things were placed. He’s spent countless days just sitting in here, looking at his late wife’s side and reminiscing about the times she’d come in here and fuss over what she should wear. As if no matter what she wore, she wouldn’t look breathtaking. 

And so, Satoru would definitely know when something in this room has been touched. 

He gulps hard, stepping closer to a pale blue dress of Sayuri’s that was her favorite. The sleeve of it, once tucked neatly with the rest of her clothing, is now pulled out. It’s small, barely detectable. 

His breath hitches.

It’s a minute detail. One that no one else would notice. But Satoru does. Because he’s obsessive, because grief made him hyper-aware, and because Sayuri’s belongings are the only part of his life he’s allowed to remain untouched.

Until now.

He stares at the sleeve—his late wife’s favorite dress—and something tightens in his chest. Something ugly. Something furious. The silk hangs just barely off the hanger, but it’s enough to pull him out of his controlled spiral and into something volatile. His hand shoots out, grabbing the fabric with more force than necessary.

It’s not torn, not ruined. But it’s not where it should be.

And he knows damn well you’ve been in here because nobody else would’ve dared.

They all know what happened last time someone tried to.

You—the ghost walking his halls like you belong in a life that was never meant for you. You—the woman who smiles too softly and walks too quietly and dares to tiptoe into parts of him no one was invited to revisit.

Why would you come in here?

Why would you touch her things?

The very idea of you trying to “connect” with Sayuri—trying to make this house feel like home by reaching into a grave he hasn’t finished mourning—makes his jaw lock.

You don’t belong in here. You don’t belong anywhere. You never did. 

And now you’re really trying to get him angry, aren’t you?

He releases the sleeve with a harsh exhale and storms out of the closet, towel still clinging to his hips, chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon.

He doesn’t care for the maids who give him a wide-eyed look as he stomps through the halls. He’s laser-focused. 

“Where is she?” he barks out to a younger woman.

She gulps and stammers out. “I–I—umm–!”

The maid’s voice quivers, her eyes darting like a cornered animal’s. But Satoru doesn’t give her the mercy of patience.

“Where. Is. She.” His voice drops to a low, cold timbre—more dangerous than a shout.

The girl flinches. “I-I think she’s in the garden, sir.”

He doesn’t say a word. He just turns, strides down the corridor, and throws open the double glass doors leading outside.

The night air hits him like a slap—cool, tinged with the scent of lavender and jasmine. The estate’s private garden stretches wide and quiet, bathed in the silver wash of moonlight. A place that once brought Sayuri peace. A place he’s avoided like a wound that never quite healed.

And there you are.

Sitting on the stone bench near the koi pond, barefoot, a light shawl draped over your shoulders, your hair pinned loosely like you’d half-forgotten to finish getting ready for bed. You’re gazing up at the stars, knees drawn to your chest, quiet and soft in a world that doesn't make space for quiet and soft anymore.

You don’t hear him approach, not at first. Not until the heavy crunch of his steps on gravel pulls your attention.

Your head turns.

And you see the look on his face.

Stormy. Unreadable. But not blank—not empty like usual. No, there’s fire in his eyes this time. Cold, sharp fire.

Your heart skips.

“Satoru—?”

“Did you go into my closet?” His voice is low. Controlled. Dangerous.

You blink, startled by the sudden intrusion. “What?”

“Did you go into my closet?” he repeats, voice more clipped now, each word a blade.

You bring your knees down, sensing the shift in the air—tense, cold, and ready to snap. “I just went in for a moment,” you admit carefully. “I was only curious. I didn’t know people weren’t allowed in your roo–”

“So you thought going through my wife’s things was appropriate?” His stare sharpens.

You freeze. Both at his level of anger directed solely at you, and the fact that he still referred to her as his wife. Something he’s yet to call you.  

“I didn’t touch anything of hers—”

“The dress,” he cuts in, voice like steel. “The sleeve was out of place.”

Your heart begins to pound. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even realize—”

“Exactly,” he snaps. “You don’t realize. You move through this house like you’re trying to wedge yourself into something you don’t understand. And now you’re digging through her life too?”

“I wasn’t digging,” you protest, voice shaking as you stand to your feet. “I was just trying to understand you better. I wasn’t trying to replace her.”

The words hang in the air like smoke after a fire. You feel a lump form in your throat, blinking rapidly.

His jaw ticks. “You can’t replace her,” he spits out, each word precise and heavy.

You flinch, like the truth itself stings.

“...I know,” you whisper. “I never wanted to.”

A silence settles between you both. One that feels longer than it is. He stares at you like you’re his mortal enemy, hands fisted by his sides. It takes everything in him not to completely snap at you.

Finally, Satoru takes a step back, the fire behind his eyes dimming—but only slightly. “Next time, stay out of my things.”

You nod, but he doesn’t wait for confirmation. He turns on his heel, muscles taut, movements brisk. But just before stepping back into the house, he pauses. His voice returns, quieter, but somehow crueler.

“You want to be a wife so badly? Learn to stay in your place.”

And then he’s gone.

The doors swing shut behind him with a soft click that might as well have been a gunshot.

You stand there, still and silent, eyes burning. After a few more silent seconds, you slowly sit back down. 

The stone feels colder underneath your skin than from before. The stars look duller, the wind howls louder. And suddenly, your face wets with tears. 

The tears had started slow, like a leak in an old dam—one you’d tried so hard to patch up, seal, ignore. But now they stream freely, staining your cheeks, dripping onto the thin fabric of your shawl. You don’t wipe them away. You don’t even move.

The garden is quiet. Too quiet. Even the koi seem still, like the world is holding its breath around you, unsure whether to comfort you or leave you in your silence.

You clutch your arms around yourself tighter, pulling the shawl around your frame as if it can protect you from the way his words are still echoing in your skull.

Stay in your place.

You thought you’d been doing that. 

You’ve been cooking his breakfast, even making him lunch that you find left uneaten on the kitchen counter. You’ve been trying to keep quiet, even despite the fact that you’ve barely seen him around the house since you’ve been married to him. You’ve learned long before Satoru to only smile when you’re supposed to, to not ask too much.

To try not to be too much.

So if this isn't your place, then where is it?

Your fingers grip the edge of the bench. Cold. Smooth. Real. Unlike the dream you used to have about love. About family. About what it would feel like to build a home, not just live in one that looked pretty on the outside.

You think about how his face looked when he said her name—Sayuri. It still holds the only softness he’s capable of.

And his anger for you is just a hollow substitute for the grief he never let himself feel.

But that’s not your fault.

Is it?

A breeze picks up and blows across your bare ankles, goosebumps blooming along your skin. You shiver. You shake your head, exhaling shakily. You’re not that kind of woman. You don’t run.

But you do wonder how much more will be left of you in a month, maybe six, and even a year. Will you still be yourself? Will Satoru finally start being nice and acting like a proper husband to you? Or are you just destined for a loveless marriage?

Eventually, your tears slow, unsure of which part to cry harder for. 

You sit there until the moon rises higher and the wind grows colder and your legs are stiff, eyes raw.

And until you remember that no matter how cruel he is, no matter how little he sees you, you’re still expected to show up at breakfast tomorrow. On time. Polished. Proper.

A wife.

You rise, slowly, legs wobbling like they barely belong to you.

As you turn back to the house, one truth follows you like a shadow clinging to your feet:

You may live here. But you are not wanted here.

Not by him. Maybe not ever.

Still, you walk back inside.

Because even a ghost has nowhere else to go.

a/n: i hope you’re all enjoying so far. i will be writing one more chapter on this so that i have at least 3 out already, then finally finishing killer! toji, then updating my other fics. thank you all for ur patience 😭💕

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[soobiary]

i love love love love this nothing beats spiderman satoru

✶⋆.˚Caught in the Web (Gojo.S)

Summary: Breaking news: Spider-Man has a neighbor problem. By “problem,” we mean YOU. The woman he can’t stop thinking about kissing against walls, rooftops, and kitchen counters….until he does. Oops.

Substance: MDNI!, neigbor!f reader, spiderman!gojo, nerd!gojo, pining, spiderman au, neighbors to lovers, whining, whimpering, semí-public (rooftop), blood mentioned, injuries, dryhumping, cre@mpie’s, making out, reader is suspicious of gojo, gojo is whipped, måsturbation (gojo), thigh-fücking, cosplay (reader), oral fixation (reader receiving), humor, sëx, witty comebacks, gojo will not leave you alone, flirting, fingering (reader receiving), big big DíCK, teasing, reader is just as whipped, happy-ending.

W/C: 13.7k

You’d gotten used to hearing footsteps in the hall late at night, the shuffle of someone coming home just as you were brushing your teeth or scrolling on your phone, and more often than not, those footsteps belonged to Satoru Gojo. 

He lived a few doors down, and you’d fallen into the kind of neighborly routine that never felt forced–small talk by the mailboxes, swapping complaints about the ancient elevator, bumping into each other in the lobby when one of you was juggling grocery bags.

He was the kind of neighbor you couldn’t quite get a read on, somehow both nerdy and charming, always in slightly rumpled clothes, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose whenever he laughed.

He wasn’t what you’d expected when you first met him. With hair so pale it almost glowed and a height that made the hallway lights hit differently when he walked under them, you figured he’d be cold, maybe standoffish. 

But he was the opposite–talkative, a little awkward, always smiling in a way that made you second-guess if it was just friendliness or something else entirely. You told yourself it didn’t matter. He was cute, sure, but he was a neighbor. The kind of guy you traded jokes about bad landlords with, not the kind you let ruin your sheets.

Tonight you found him leaning against the doorframe of his apartment, balancing a grocery bag in one hand as he fiddled with his keys. He looked up as you walked by, adjusting his glasses with a crooked grin.

“Caught you coming home late again,” he teased, his voice light, carrying that warm lilt you’d come to recognize. “You some kind of night owl, or do you just hate the sun?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, hugging your tote bag closer to your chest. “And you’re out here with groceries at ten o’clock because you love the nightlife?”

“Please,” he said, finally getting the door unlocked but not stepping inside yet. “This is survival. You ever tried to make pancakes at one in the morning and realized you’re out of milk? It’s tragic.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re jealous of my pancake game,” he countered smoothly, pushing his glasses up again with his thumb. “Don’t worry, I’ll invite you over one day. Blow your mind.”

“You say that like you can actually cook,” you shot back, smirking despite yourself.

“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” he said, his grin widening just slightly.

You should’ve kept walking, should’ve just waved and left it at that, but something about the way he lingered there–casual, waiting, like he wanted you to keep talking–made you pause in the hallway instead.

The building was quiet, the hum of the lights above the only sound besides the two of you. His eyes, a sharp and startling blue behind the lenses, held yours longer than they should have, and you felt a faint warmth creep up your neck that had nothing to do with the hallway’s poor ventilation.

“You’re weird, Gojo,” you said finally, trying to break the tension.

“Yeah,” he admitted easily, shifting the grocery bag to his other hand, “but I’m your weird neighbor. You’re stuck with me.”

And before you could think of a comeback, he winked.

The hallway smelled faintly of takeout and old carpet cleaner, that signature scent of a building whose landlord had given up somewhere around the Reagan era, but you didn’t mind. It was home, and your neighbor Gojo was leaning in his doorway with a grocery bag like he always had the worst timing, his grin too easy for someone holding what looked like five cartons of eggs and a gallon of milk in one hand.

“Seriously though,” you said as you shifted your tote higher on your shoulder, “what do you even make with that much food this late at night? You’re not feeding a whole frat in there, are you?”

His smile widened as he jiggled the keys in the lock. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Miss Nosy Neighbor.” He got the door open finally, only for the corner of a cereal box to peek out of the bag, bright and childish. “Spoiler alert: pancakes aren’t the only thing I’m good at.”

“You mean you’re gonna eat half that cereal and pass out watching TV,” you teased, arching a brow.

He laughed, pushing his glasses up again when they slid down the bridge of his nose. “Guilty. You caught me. But hey, at least I’m honest.”

You smirked, shaking your head, and turned toward your own apartment door just a few steps down. But you didn’t make it inside before you heard the sudden racket from Gojo’s place.

At first it was just a cupboard slamming, then another, then another, like someone was playing whack-a-mole with his kitchen. You frowned, halfway tempted to knock and make sure he hadn’t collapsed in there, when the sound cut off abruptly. A beat later, Gojo appeared again in the hallway, empty-handed now, as if nothing had happened.

“Everything okay in there?” you asked, brows raised.

“Yeah,” he said casually, brushing a hand through his pale hair like it had been nothing. “Just, uh, reorganizing. Cabinets are tricky.”

You gave him a skeptical look, lips twitching. “Sounded like you were fighting them.”

“Eh,” he said with a shrug, “we came to an understanding.”

Before you could press him, his eyes flicked to the recliner sitting awkwardly in the hallway just in front of your door–the one you’d been meaning to drag inside but hadn’t managed yet. You’d bought it secondhand off a listing and barely managed to get it delivered, but the idea of actually hauling it through your door by yourself had left you putting it off for days.

Gojo didn’t even ask. He just stepped forward, bent, and hefted the entire thing up in his arms like it weighed nothing.

“Wait–what–” you stammered, eyes wide as you watched him carry it smoothly down the hall.

“You were just gonna leave it out here forever?” he asked over his shoulder, adjusting it easily with one arm before nudging your door open with his hip.

Your mouth fell open. “How the hell are you that strong?”

He smirked, setting the recliner down neatly just inside your living room, then straightened without even the hint of a grunt. “I, uh… lift,” he said, so unconvincingly casual you wanted to laugh.

“You lift?” you repeated, following him in and shutting the door behind you.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing around your apartment as if taking it in. “Groceries. Cereal boxes. You know, heavy stuff.”

You snorted, setting your tote down on the counter. “Uh-huh. Totally believable.”

He ignored your skepticism, wandering a few steps further into your space, eyes scanning the cluttered coffee table and the stack of books on the armchair. He looked too at home for a man who had just barged in with furniture, but you didn’t tell him to stop. You just watched as he shoved his hands in his pockets, still grinning faintly, his glasses slipping again.

“So,” you said after a moment, leaning against the counter, “how’s work going? Still running around for the Bugle?”

He hummed in acknowledgment, finally turning his head back toward you. “Fine. Same as always.”

“Do they even give you a day off?” you asked, arching a brow.

“Eh, not really. Crime doesn’t exactly stick to a nine-to-five schedule.”

The words made you blink, but you brushed it off, tilting your head. “So how do you even get those photos of Spider-Man? Every time I see his face in the paper, it’s one of yours. You must have some crazy connections.”

For a second, Gojo didn’t answer. He just looked at you, his gaze flicking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. It took you a beat to realize why. You’d changed into a thin camisole when you got home earlier, the fabric soft and flimsy, and you hadn’t bothered with a bra. The way you were leaning against the counter wasn’t doing much to hide that fact. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes darting away like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

You smirked faintly, heat rushing up your chest, but didn’t move to cover yourself. “What?” you asked, pretending not to notice the way his ears had turned faintly pink.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, clearing his throat as he pushed his glasses up again. “I just, uh–” He blinked, buying himself a second, then smirked, though it was a little forced. “I just know what spots to go to. He’s a creature of habit.”

“Mm,” you said softly, pretending to accept it even as you noticed the way his gaze flicked down again, just for a second.

He was thinking something. You didn’t need to know what exactly to feel it, the weight of it pressing into the air between you. His smirk lingered, but his eyes were heavier now, sharper, like he was fighting himself not to say more.

Gojo had intended to make a graceful exit after dropping the recliner in your living room, maybe toss in one more teasing remark about pancakes and then disappear into his own apartment before you could notice the way his pulse had been hammering since you leaned against the counter in that thin camisole.

But you didn’t kick him out. You just stood there, arms folded lightly under your chest, the fabric clinging to your skin in a way that made his glasses suddenly feel too tight on his face.

From your side, you couldn’t tell how much restraint he was using. He looked relaxed–hands in his pockets, easy grin, casual posture–but Gojo’s thoughts weren’t casual in the slightest. Every time your nipples shifted against the outline of the fabric, every little bounce when you laughed or tilted your head, he felt his cock stir harder in his slacks. He’d been in dangerous situations before–dangling off skyscrapers, dodging bullets, webbing up guys twice his size–but standing in your apartment while you obliviously arched your back in a paper-thin top? That was the kind of danger he wasn’t sure he could survive.

He shifted his weight slightly, pretending to glance around your bookshelf just so he could adjust himself discreetly. His cock was pressing against the inside of his zipper now, thickening with every subtle inhale of your shampoo. He clenched his jaw, dragging his gaze upward when it wanted to linger lower, forcing himself to focus on anything else before he embarrassed himself in front of you.

“Still doesn’t explain how you manage to get the clearest photos of Spider-Man,” you said, quirking a brow. “Like, what, do you camp out on rooftops waiting for him to swing by?”

Gojo cleared his throat, forcing a smile that felt tighter than he wanted it to. “Something like that. I’m good with patterns. Guess I know his schedule.”

“Schedule,” you repeated, smirking faintly as you reached for a glass of water. “So what, you’ve got him clocked in like a nine-to-five? ‘Oh, there goes Spider-Man, late for his shift again.’”

He chuckled, shifting again, subtly tugging his shirt lower over his lap as you turned toward the sink. He thought he was in the clear–until you sighed dramatically and leaned your hip against the counter again, crossing your arms under your chest so that the camisole pulled tighter.

“Honestly,” you said, a playful twist in your tone, “I don’t get the hype. Spider-Man’s overrated.”

Gojo’s head snapped up so fast you nearly dropped your glass. “Excuse me?”

You blinked at him, lips twitching. “What? He’s messy. You see the photos you take of him–dude looks like a kid with ADHD and a Red Bull problem. Always leaving webs on buildings, climbing around like a freaky cat burglar. Half the time the news makes him sound like a menace anyway.”

Gojo turned fully then, his face animated in mock offense, though under the surface his blood ran hotter. “Menace? He saves lives. You know that, right? He’s out there busting his ass to keep the city from turning into a free-for-all.”

You laughed, tilting your head, enjoying the way he bristled. “Wow, someone’s passionate. What, are you in love with him or something?”

The question hit harder than you expected. Gojo blinked behind his glasses, throat tightening, heat crawling up the back of his neck as he shifted his stance again, desperate to hide the growing tent in his pants. His cock twitched at the thought of you saying the word “love” in the same breath as Spider-Man, the irony almost enough to undo him completely.

“In love?” he echoed, trying to keep his voice light, but the smile tugging at his lips was strained.

“You defend him like you’re his lawyer,” you teased, sipping your water. “What’s next? You got a Spider-Man poster hidden in your closet? Maybe a shrine? I should check your apartment for webs.”

He coughed, forcing a laugh that came out a little rougher than intended. “Cute. Real cute.” He turned back slightly under the guise of adjusting his belt, but really it was to shift himself again, the outline of his cock pressing harder against the fabric than he could manage to ignore. He could feel his palms sweating as his mind betrayed him, slipping into fantasies of bending you over the counter, tugging that flimsy camisole down, finally sucking your nipples the way he’d been imagining since you first walked in.

He dragged his focus back to your smirk, clearing his throat again. “I’m just saying, maybe you don’t give the guy enough credit. He’s out there risking his life while you’re in here shit-talking him like he’s a… what’d you call it? A freaky cat burglar?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, leaning closer with that spark in your eyes that always made him feel like you were testing him. “Sounds like you’ve got a crush. Do I need to worry about competition from a guy in spandex?”

Gojo’s cock pulsed so hard he thought for sure you could see it now. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, biting back the urge to groan, and gave you a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Trust me,” he said slowly, gaze flicking down one last time before snapping back up to your face, “the only one you need to worry about is yourself.”

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

The city looked different at night. Not just darker, but alive in a way most people never saw. From twelve stories up, the lights blurred into rivers of gold and red, traffic weaving like veins across the concrete, neon buzzing against the low hum of distant sirens. For Satoru Gojo, this wasn’t the hour to sleep. It was the hour to move.

He pulled the mask down over his face with practiced ease, the sharp lines of blue, black, and white snapping into place as the lenses adjusted, tinting the city with a faint glow. He shoved the window open without hesitation, the cool air rushing against his bare arms, and stepped onto the ledge. For a moment, he just stood there, balancing casually on the narrow strip of concrete like it was a sidewalk. Then he leapt.

The web shot out with a sharp thwip, catching the steel edge of a billboard. The line snapped taut, and he swung low, his body carving through the night air with practiced rhythm. It was a dance he could do in his sleep–legs tucked, torso twisting, hand releasing just long enough to fire another line, letting gravity pull him before the next catch. The rush never dulled. The wind whipped against his body, his heart hammering with that mix of thrill and responsibility that kept him out here, night after night.

The call had come from the police scanner he’d hacked weeks ago: an explosion in the warehouse district, reports of armed men in masks scattering through the alleys. Gojo didn’t bother with the details. He knew the type. Gang rats with more firepower than brains, desperate enough to make noise, careless enough to kill civilians without a second thought. He’d been waiting for this kind of break in the lull of small-time robberies.

The first thing he smelled when he swung into the district was smoke. Black and acrid, spilling out of the gutted warehouse like an open wound. Flames licked at the steel supports, casting jagged shadows down the empty streets. He landed on the roof of a van, crouched low, and scanned the scene. Three men in masks were sprinting down the alley, rifles slung, shouting to each other as they carried something bulky between them.

“Idiots,” he muttered, firing a web that yanked the nearest one straight off his feet. The man hit the ground with a yell, the crate tumbling from his arms. Gojo swung down, landing hard enough to dent the asphalt, and swept his leg in a clean arc that knocked another one off balance.

The third raised his rifle. Gojo’s web was faster. It glued the weapon to the wall, and the man’s hands stuck with it before he could fire.

“You boys don’t play well with others, huh?” Gojo taunted, yanking the first one upright by the front of his shirt. “What’s in the box? Please tell me it’s cookies.”

The man tried to headbutt him. Gojo slammed him back into the van hard enough to rattle the metal, his knuckles cracking against the guy’s jaw before webbing him to the hood for good measure.

The second one scrambled for a knife. Gojo grabbed a chunk of debris from the explosion–half a concrete brick–and hurled it just close enough to make the man flinch. Then he swept forward, webbing his legs together and yanking him face-first into the pavement.

The fight should have ended there. But more footsteps echoed down the alley, heavier this time, and a van screeched around the corner with its headlights off. Gunfire split the air, ripping through the brick where Gojo had been perched a moment before. He ducked low, vaulting over the nearest dumpster, webbing the driver’s side window before the shooter could line up again. The bullet grazed his arm as he twisted, hot pain tearing through his bicep, but he didn’t stop. He swung forward, ripped the gun from the man’s hand, and slammed the van door shut on his arm until he screamed.

By the time the smoke thinned, half the crew was glued to the asphalt, the others trussed up along the wall like grotesque marionettes. Gojo stood in the center of the wreckage, panting through the mask, the cut in his arm burning hotter with each pulse of his heartbeat. He wiped blood on the side of his suit and crouched to check the crate. Not cookies. Explosives. Enough to level another block. He hissed through his teeth, fired a quick signal web onto the lid for the police to track, and vaulted back into the night before the sirens grew close.

By the time he landed back on his own building, his arm was screaming. He crawled through the window into his apartment, ripping the mask off with his good hand, glasses forgotten on the nightstand where he’d left them. The adrenaline was wearing off now, replaced with raw, aching pain as he peeled the sleeve back to inspect the graze. Not deep, but messy. He hissed again as he disinfected it, the sound spilling into the quiet room like a groan.

He didn’t realize how loud he was being until the knock came.

“Gojo?”

Your voice.

He froze, the alcohol-soaked rag pressed to his skin.

The knock came again, sharper this time. “Can you–uh–keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep.”

He blinked, realization dawning a second too late. To anyone else in the hall, his low groans and sharp hisses would sound like exactly one thing: sex. Loud, athletic sex. He bit down on the laugh bubbling in his throat and limped to the door, still clutching his arm.

When he opened it, you were standing there in your sleep shorts and that same thin camisole, brows furrowed, lips pursed like you’d been debating whether to knock again.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral, though your eyes flicked behind him like you half-expected to see some woman sprawled on his bed.

Gojo leaned casually against the frame despite the sting in his arm, forcing a grin. “Sorry, neighbor. Guess I got a little… carried away.”

You blinked, caught between suspicion and embarrassment. “With what, exactly?”

He smirked faintly, ignoring the blood seeping into the rag at his side. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Gojo leaned against the doorframe like nothing was wrong, like the blood wasn’t sticky and warm down his bicep, like the rag pressed to his arm wasn’t keeping him from dripping on the hardwood. He was good at this–at faking normal, at playing the dumb neighbor with the bad diet and the too-wide grin. Usually, you didn’t look close enough to see through it. But tonight, you weren’t buying it.

Your eyes narrowed immediately, scanning him from his face down to his bare torso. He hadn’t had the sense to throw on a shirt before opening the door, and now you were staring at the faint sheen of sweat on his pecs, the defined slope of his abs, and the arm he was trying so casually to keep angled away from you.

“Gojo,” you said slowly, your voice firm despite the way your gaze lingered, “what the fuck happened to you?”

He blinked behind the messy fringe of his white hair, his grin crooked. “What, this?” He waved the bloody rag as if it were nothing. “Just got into a fight.”

“A fight?” you echoed, your tone sharp. You reached forward without thinking, catching his wrist and tugging his arm gently toward you. He didn’t resist. Your fingers were warm on his skin, and his chest tightened for reasons that had nothing to do with the wound.

You tilted his arm under the hallway light, brows furrowing deeper at the angry scrape. “With who? You look like you got dragged across concrete.”

Gojo swallowed, searching for something harmless, something stupid enough that you’d laugh instead of pressing. “Uh,” he said finally, deadpan, “the raccoons in the alley.”

You blinked. “The what now?”

“Big ones,” he added, fighting the smile tugging at his lips. “Mean as hell. Real claws on ‘em.”

You stared at him like he’d lost it. “You mean Mister Muffins and his husband?”

For a second, Gojo just stared back, completely blindsided. Then the laugh broke out of him, low and loud and genuine, curling up from his chest until his shoulders shook. “You named them?”

“They’ve been living out there since last summer,” you said, still serious as you let go of his arm. “They’re practically our neighbors.”

Gojo grinned down at you, his chest still shaking faintly from the laugh. God, he wanted to kiss you. To grab your face and taste the amusement on your lips, to press you back against the doorframe and forget about the blood drying on his arm. But he swallowed it down, kept his hands at his sides, and rolled his eyes instead. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, chuckling. “Mister Muffins and his husband. Guess they didn’t like me stealing their pizza.”

You hummed, skeptical but letting it drop, stepping back just slightly as his grin softened. The warmth in his chest was dangerous, pulling him toward you, and he knew if he let it go one step further, he’d forget the mask and suit lying crumpled on his floor just a few feet away.

You couldn’t stop staring at him. His glasses were gone, and without them, his eyes were sharper, brighter, like shards of the clearest blue sky. His hair was tousled, falling messily over his forehead, and his body… God. 

His pecs gleamed faintly with sweat, the defined ridges of his abs drawing your gaze lower before you snapped it back up, only to be caught by the flex of his biceps as he shifted the rag against his wound. You rubbed your thighs together unconsciously, trying to ignore the heat crawling higher between your legs, cursing yourself for standing here in a thin camisole with no bra, nipples hard against the flimsy fabric.

“You need to go to the hospital,” you said finally, your voice firmer than you felt.

“I don’t,” he said easily, brushing it off with a casual shrug that only made his muscles flex harder. “I know how to clean myself up.”

“That looks serious,” you argued, taking a step closer. “You can’t just patch something like that with a wet rag and a joke about raccoons, Gojo.”

“Relax,” he said, smirking faintly even as he leaned more weight on the doorframe. “I’ve had worse. Trust me.”

You glared at him, but the concern twisting in your chest wasn’t enough to push you past the thick, embarrassing wave of attraction making your thighs clench tighter. “At least let me help,” you insisted.

“Tempting,” he said smoothly, voice dropping a little lower, “but I’ve got it handled.”

And before you could argue again, he shifted back and pulled the door toward himself.

“Go back to bed, neighbor,” he said, his grin too soft for the words to sound smug. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

The door clicked shut in your face before you could think of another protest.

You stood there in the hallway, staring at the wood grain, pulse pounding, cheeks burning, your thighs pressed together harder as you tried to ignore the way your body was betraying you. On the other side, you could still hear him moving–too much noise for a man with “just” a scrape, but you didn’t push. You didn’t dare.

Not yet.

The lock clicked softly behind him as the door shut, sealing away the quiet hallway and the sight of you standing there in your thin camisole, your nipples pressing against the fabric, your lips parted like you had a dozen more protests ready to spill out. Gojo leaned back against the door, exhaling hard, the rag still clutched against his arm. For a long moment he just stood there, listening to the faint echo of your retreating footsteps, imagining the sway of your hips, the faint curve of your ass under those sleep shorts.

He dropped the rag finally, letting it fall to the hardwood with a wet slap, and dragged a hand down his face. His cock was already stiffening in his pants, the arousal that had been simmering ever since you leaned against the counter now impossible to ignore. Spidey senses–hell, tonight it felt like nothing but arousal senses. He could still smell you, the faint trace of your shampoo lingering in the air like a ghost. His body was strung too tight to resist anymore.

With a sharp huff, he shoved his sweats down just far enough, his cock springing free against his stomach, long, thick, the mushroomed tip flushed an angry red and already leaking. The sight of it made his breath catch–not because he hadn’t seen it before, but because the thought of you seeing it, of your fingers wrapped around it, had his stomach clenching in need. He curled his hand around the base and groaned low, his head falling back against the door.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the word breaking on a moan as his fist slid up the thick shaft.

His strokes were slow at first, deliberate, the pad of his thumb dragging over the slit where precome already gathered. The wetness made the glide easier, slick, obscene, his hips twitching up into his grip as his cock throbbed harder. He squeezed, groaned again, and shut his eyes–and there you were.

Your tits in that flimsy camisole, nipples so hard he could see the outline through the fabric. The way your thighs pressed together, subtle but not subtle enough, when you told him to go to the hospital. The concern in your eyes as you grabbed his wrist, your touch softer than he deserved, your mouth tugging into that little frown that made his chest ache.

He stroked himself faster, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he imagined you looking up at him while on your knees, lips stretched around his cock, cheeks flushed from effort. He pictured your thighs spread across his lap, your tits bouncing in his hands as he fucked up into you, the same frown twisting into desperate pleasure as you whimpered his name.

His head rolled back, sweat beading along his temple as his chest rose faster. The sound of slick skin filled the room, obscene and raw, his hand working up and down his length, squeezing just below the head before dragging down again. He could almost hear you–the soft gasp when you realized how big he was, the breathless laugh when he teased you, the moan when he finally pushed inside.

“God, sweetheart,” he groaned, hips thrusting shallowly into his fist, “you’d feel so good around me.”

The image of your thighs wrapped around his waist slammed into his mind, your cunt clenching as he bottomed out, your nails digging into his shoulders as you begged him not to stop. His cock jerked in his grip, precome smearing down the thick vein as he fucked into his hand harder now, faster, chasing the edge of a release that had been gnawing at him since the moment you leaned over the counter earlier.

His abs tightened, his biceps flexing as his strokes grew rougher, breath coming in sharp pants that echoed through the quiet apartment. He imagined your tits bouncing against his chest, your thighs slick against his hips, your voice breaking as you cried out his name – and that was it. His head slammed back against the door with a ragged groan, his cock pulsing as hot ropes of cum spilled over his hand and stomach, thick and messy, his body shuddering with the force of it.

He stayed there, chest heaving, hand still lazily stroking through the aftershocks as his cock twitched against his palm. Cum smeared warm across his skin, sticky on his abs, and the thought of you licking it off made his cock twitch again despite the release.

When his breath finally steadied, he dragged his hand up to his face, smirking faintly even through the haze. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, imagining the way you’d looked at him tonight, concerned and flushed, completely unaware of how close he was to snapping.

And on the other side of the wall, he had no idea you were lying in bed, thighs pressed tight together, thinking of him in almost the exact same way.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

The city always looked different at night when you weren’t seeing it from behind your apartment window. The neon signs bled against the slick pavement, every puddle on the street reflecting a smear of light like paint dragged too far across a canvas. You hadn’t meant to stay out this late– a work thing that ran longer than expected, a drink with a friend that turned into two–but now it was just you, the click of your heels on uneven concrete, and the distant hum of traffic echoing up from the main avenue.

You tugged the hem of your short black dress down as the breeze caught it, teeth pressing into your lower lip as you thought back to earlier in the evening, when Gojo had leaned in your doorway with that easy grin, glasses slightly crooked, acting like the whole world revolved around his jokes. 

You shouldn’t have been thinking about him, not while walking alone at midnight through streets that weren’t exactly friendly, but your mind kept drifting to the way his chest looked without his shirt, the way his arm had flexed when you grabbed his wrist. You rubbed your thighs together unconsciously as you walked, shaking your head to clear it.

You were halfway down the block when you heard it–footsteps behind you. At first you ignored it, telling yourself it was just another late-night straggler heading in the same direction. But then there was a laugh. Low. Male. And before you could quicken your pace, a voice called out.

“Hey, sweetheart. You lost?”

You turned just enough to see two men falling into step behind you, their grins too wide, their eyes too hungry. You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder, fingers sliding into the pocket where your keys were tucked between your knuckles.

“No, thanks,” you said curtly, facing forward again.

They didn’t take the hint. Their footsteps sped up until they were flanking you, one to the left, one to the right. The taller one leaned closer, his breath sour. “C’mon, don’t be like that. Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t falter. “Touch me, and I swear to God–”

The one on your right smirked, his hand brushing against your bare thigh. “What, you’ll stab me with those heels?”

You had the keys in your palm already, ready to jam them into his wrist if he tried again, when a sharp thwip split the air. The man’s arm was yanked backward so fast he stumbled, a thick white strand of web pinning his hand to the brick wall.

“What the–”

Another web shot past you, catching the second guy’s jacket and slamming him against a lamppost. They both cursed, thrashing, but it was no use–the webs hardened in seconds, holding them tight.

You blinked, breath caught in your throat, as a figure dropped from the building above with effortless grace.

Spider-Man.

His suit was nothing like the red-and-blue plastered on the city’s billboards. This one was sharper, darker: matte black panels broken by streaks of deep cobalt blue, white lines cutting across the chest in a sleek, angular design. The spider emblem was painted in silver, its legs stretching long down his ribs. His mask was a seamless fit, lenses glowing faintly as they narrowed toward the men he’d just strung up.

“Wow,” he said cheerfully, straightening from his crouch. “Can’t even let a lady walk home without drooling on her shoes? You guys are giving chivalry a really bad name.”

One of the men snarled, jerking against the web. “The fuck are you–”

“Sticky,” Spider-Man interrupted, cocking his head. “Kinda like duct tape, but cooler. You’ll be fine. Unless you sneeze. Then it’s gross.”

You stood there in stunned silence as he dusted off his gloved hands, then sauntered over like this was all part of his nightly routine.

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his head toward you.

You blinked once, unimpressed despite your racing pulse. “I was handling it.”

He let out a laugh that crackled through his mask speaker. “Oh yeah? With what, that little set of house keys? Adorable.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “You done?”

“Saving your life?” He pretended to think. “Yeah, I guess.”

You turned to leave, brushing past him with a shake of your head. “Great. Thanks. Bye.”

But before you could take two steps, he moved, a line of web shooting out to block the narrow alley ahead, his tall frame stepping in front of you. He leaned casually against the brick, head tilted, arms crossed.

“No thank you?” he teased. “Not even a little one?”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Oh my God. You did your job. Congratulations. Do you want a cookie?”

He chuckled, lenses narrowing as he leaned a little closer. “Depends. You baking?”

You stared at him flatly, unimpressed. “You sound like you’re in love with yourself.”

“Someone has to be,” he shot back smoothly.

You huffed, stepping sideways to try to slip past, but his arm shot out, barring your path again. “C’mon,” he said, his tone still playful but softer now, more curious. “Just one thank you. You’ll make my night.”

You looked him up and down, from the glowing eyes of his mask to the sleek, muscle-hugging suit, then back up to meet his gaze. “Fine,” you said dryly. “Thank you for tying up two drunk idiots and interrupting my evening walk.”

He hummed like it was good enough, though you swore you could feel the smirk beneath the mask. “See? Was that so hard?”

You rolled your eyes, heels clicking as you moved past him when he finally dropped his arm. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” he called after you, his tone warm and teasing, “but you’ll remember me.”

And damn it, you already knew he was right.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

You hadn’t planned on staying in Gojo’s apartment that morning. You’d only stopped by to drop off the package the landlord had left at the wrong door, but somehow, twenty minutes later, you were still sitting at the edge of his counter while he moved around the small kitchen, glasses perched on his nose, hair still damp from the shower. He’d thrown on a white button-down that was currently hanging open over a black undershirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the muscle in his forearms, and you were trying very hard not to stare.

Gojo, of course, noticed anyway. He always did. He leaned casually against the fridge, sipping his coffee, his eyes sparkling faintly behind the lenses as you recounted the insane night you’d had.

“…and then he just shows up,” you were saying, gesturing with your hands for emphasis. “Out of nowhere. Webs those guys up like they’re nothing. Doesn’t even break a sweat. And then–” you rolled your eyes dramatically–“he wants me to thank him. Like I owe him or something.”

Gojo hummed softly, biting back the grin tugging at his mouth as he set the mug down. On the surface, he was every inch the attentive neighbor, nodding along, but inside his chest, his heart was thudding. He hadn’t expected you to bring it up so soon–though he should have, knowing you.

He wanted to laugh, to tell you right then that the man in the suit had gone home with your face burned into his mind so vividly he’d had to jerk off against his door to the thought of your tits under that flimsy camisole. But instead, he pushed his glasses up and said lightly, “Sounds like he saved your ass.”

“Please,” you scoffed, crossing your legs. “I could’ve handled it.”

Gojo tilted his head, letting his eyes linger on the smooth stretch of your thigh before forcing them back up. “With what, those heels? Don’t get me wrong, you’d probably make a decent mark with ‘em, but…” He shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt having a little backup.”

You gave him a look, sharp and unimpressed, which only made him want to smirk harder. “You sound like you like him,” you teased. “What, are you secretly a Spider-Man fanboy?”

The comment nearly made him choke on his coffee. He swallowed, masking it with a faint laugh. “Me? Nah. I just think the guy gets a bad rap.”

“Uh-huh,” you said dryly, turning back to the package you’d brought as if to signal the conversation was over. But then you added, far too casually, “He does have a nice body, though. You can see everything in that suit.”

Gojo froze.

You didn’t notice at first, still fiddling with the box, your tone completely nonchalant. “I mean, I get it now. All that swinging around, climbing buildings like a cat–of course he’s built. And the suit? Zero imagination left to the eye. Couldn’t help but notice the… bulge.”

His cock stirred immediately. Heat shot straight through him, so sharp it made his throat tighten. He forced his expression neutral, though his grip on the edge of the counter had whitened his knuckles.

“Damn,” he said finally, his voice lower than he intended. He coughed once, masking it. “You really don’t like the guy, huh?”

You looked up, smirking faintly at his tone. “Didn’t say that. Just said he’s overrated. Doesn’t mean I didn’t notice he fills out that spandex.”

Gojo shifted subtly, turning back toward the counter to pour himself more coffee, mostly so you wouldn’t see the way his cock was already pressing against his slacks. He hummed, feigning casual. “So you were checking him out.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, swinging your leg idly. “Anyone would notice. Suit like that? It’s practically obscene.”

He almost groaned, biting down on the inside of his cheek. Inside his head, his thoughts weren’t neighborly at all. He was picturing you staring at his cock through the suit, lips parted, thighs rubbing together. He imagined pulling the mask up just enough to kiss you, your tits pressed against the chest of his suit, your nails dragging down his shoulders as you realized how right you’d been about the bulge.

Out loud, he only said, “Guess you’re more observant than you let on.”

You smirked, sipping from the mug he’d slid across the counter for you. “Guess so.”

Gojo watched the way your lips wrapped around the rim, and he nearly had to excuse himself to the bathroom right then.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

It started as a once-in-a-while thing, Spider-Man appearing in your path on your late-night walks, leaning against a lamppost or crouched on a fire escape like he’d been waiting. At first you told yourself it was coincidence. The city was big, but maybe your paths just crossed. Then it was every night. You’d step out of the corner store, the plastic bag in your hand still warm with groceries, and there he’d be, mask gleaming faintly under the lights, waving like you were old friends.

By the third night in a row, you crossed your arms and told him flatly, “You stalking me?”

“Stalking?” he gasped, hand over his chest like you’d wounded him. “I prefer the term dedicated escort service. I only charge in smiles.”

“Overpriced,” you muttered, walking past him.

“Brutal,” he said, falling into step beside you as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “But worth it.”

And that’s how it continued. Every night. Him showing up, you pretending not to be impressed, him cracking jokes while you tried not to stare at the way his suit clung to every line of muscle.

Tonight was no different–except it was.

You’d dressed in a short black skater skirt that swished with every step, thigh-high socks hugging tight against your thighs, and a cropped turtleneck that left a strip of your stomach bare. No bra. You hadn’t expected to run into him–not really–but the way his head snapped toward you when you rounded the corner told you he noticed every detail.

“New outfit?” he said casually, though Gojo behind the mask was already fighting the twitch in his cock. The way the fabric outlined your breasts, the way the socks cut into your soft thighs–it was killing him.

“Don’t get used to it,” you said, brushing past.

“Too late.” His voice carried a grin, but his body was already tense. He followed close, closer than usual, and you could feel the heat of him even through the fabric of his suit.

When you reached the quieter part of the block, he stopped suddenly.

“Come on,” he said, and before you could argue, his arms were around your waist.

“Wait–what the–”

The thwip of his web was the only warning before your feet left the ground. You clutched at his shoulders instinctively as he swung you upward, the city dropping away beneath you, wind whipping your hair back as you gasped. He landed smoothly on a rooftop, setting you down gently but keeping one arm snug around your waist as you staggered.

“See?” he said, his voice smug. “Better than a cab.”

You blinked, still catching your breath, but quickly covered it with a scoff. “You’re insane.”

“You’re welcome,” he countered, still close enough that his chest brushed your back when he leaned forward.

You stepped away, arms crossed, looking out at the skyline. The view was breathtaking–golden lights spilling across the city, the river glimmering like a vein of silver–but you weren’t about to admit that to him.

Instead, you muttered, “How do you even breathe in that mask? Looks suffocating.”

Behind you, Gojo’s cock twitched so hard it hurt. You looked so fucking cute, standing there unimpressed in your little skirt, thighs pressed together like you didn’t realize how much that tiny shift made his brain short-circuit.

“I manage,” he said lightly, though his voice was rougher now.

You turned halfway, catching the subtle way he shifted his stance. “Do you save ‘damsels in distress’ just so you can fuck them after?”

The question was sharp, mocking, but your tone sent a shiver through him. He huffed a laugh, though his cock was already swelling thick and hard, straining against the spandex.

“That’s not true,” he said, too quickly.

You raised a brow, smirking faintly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He wanted to protest, but then you shifted closer, brushing against him without even realizing it, the swell of your ass grazing the hard outline of his cock. His breath caught behind the mask. You felt it–the heat, the pressure–and your thighs squeezed tighter, a faint tremor betraying you as you shifted again, deliberately this time.

Gojo nearly groaned, his gloved hands curling into fists at his sides. He couldn’t help it when one slid forward, brushing against your hip, and you startled but didn’t move away. Instead, you grabbed his wrist and guided it higher, pressing his palm against the front of your cropped top.

“Over the clothes, Spidey,” you whispered, your breath shaky despite your bravado. “Just this once.”

His cock throbbed, precum already dampening the inside of his suit, but he nodded, his voice cracking slightly. “Yeah… yeah.” He almost said your name–the syllables caught behind his teeth–but he bit it back just in time.

His hand cupped your breast through the thin fabric, squeezing gently, his thumb brushing over the hard peak of your nipple. You gasped softly, arching faintly into the touch, and his cock jerked again against your ass.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing slowly, deliberately, savoring the feel of you even with the fabric between you.

You pressed your thighs tighter, your body trembling as you leaned back against him, your breath catching when his other hand slid down to rest on your hip, holding you steady as you rocked slightly against him.

The heat was unbearable, his cock firm against your ass as you rubbed back, your skirt riding higher with each subtle grind. He let out a shaky groan, his head dropping to your shoulder, and you bit your lip, your hand curling around his wrist to press him harder against your breast.

“Spidey,” you whispered, the word breaking into a gasp as his thumb flicked over your nipple again.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He turned you gently, lowering you onto the rooftop until he was sprawled beneath you, your thighs straddling his hips. His cock pressed hot and heavy against your soaked panties through the spandex, and you ground down instinctively, moaning softly at the friction.

He gripped your waist, guiding your movements as you rocked against him, the sound of your thighs sliding and the faint squeak of fabric mixing with your uneven breaths.

You leaned forward, fingers brushing the edge of his mask, trying to tug it up, but his hand caught yours. “Not that,” he said hoarsely, panic lacing the arousal in his voice.

You smirked faintly, leaning closer anyway, your lips brushing against the fabric over his mouth. “Fine,” you whispered. “This’ll do.”

And you kissed him–through the mask, hot and desperate, your hips grinding harder against his cock as his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, deeper, until the rooftop felt like it might swallow you both whole.

It was maddening, the slick heat of your panties growing wetter with each grind as you swallowed soft, helpless moans against his masked mouth. Gojo’s mind was unraveling beneath the mask. Every whimper you made went straight to his cock, every shift of your hips had him biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep from begging. 

He’d meant to keep it innocent–just teasing, just banter–but the way you looked on top of him, thighs spread, skirt riding higher to bare the tops of your thighs… he was gone.

One of his gloved hands slid down from your waist, fingers brushing the edge of your panties through your skirt. He didn’t even wait for permission this time–you were already grinding so desperately it was answer enough. His palm cupped you firmly, the heat of your cunt soaking through the fabric as he pressed slow, steady circles against your clit.

You gasped, arching into his touch, your nails dragging over his chest through the suit. “Fuck–”

“Shit,” he groaned, his cock twitching violently beneath you. “You’re so wet. I can feel it through the gloves.” His voice was rough, cracking in your ear, but his tone still carried that cocky edge. “I swear, I’m never washing this hand.”

You let out a breathless laugh between moans, smirking faintly even as you ground down harder against him. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

“Hot, though,” he countered immediately, rubbing harder against your clit, the friction making your thighs shake as you bit your lip to hold back another moan.

Your hands slid up his chest, tracing the hard ridges of muscle beneath the suit, down over his abs, and then back up to grip his shoulders. He groaned again, his hips bucking up to meet yours as he muttered, “God, you’re killing me.”

The rooftop was filled with the wet sound of your panties sliding against his suit, your gasps mingling with his rough groans as his cock throbbed, leaking inside the spandex. He was so close–too close–twitching with every grind, his mind spinning with filthy images of tearing that skirt off and burying himself inside you.

“Spidey–” you moaned softly, breathless, your body trembling as his thumb pressed harder against your clit.

He bit back a groan, the words almost slipping–your name on his tongue, his mask nearly lifted–when it hit him. That sharp, electric jolt down his spine.

His Spider-sense.

Gojo froze, the sound of your ragged breaths still in his ears as his body tensed. He knew the feeling too well: danger, close, immediate. His cock throbbed angrily at the interruption, but adrenaline surged hotter, overriding even the need pulsing in his lap.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, sitting up so fast you fell backward off his lap, your thighs spreading instinctively as you hit the rooftop with a soft gasp.

“Are you kidding me?” you snapped, glaring up at him, your chest heaving. “What the hell, you asshole?”

He was already on his feet, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet with restless energy, scanning the skyline. ADHD energy mixed with the rush of instinct, his body practically vibrating as he muttered, “Shit, I’m sorry–”

“Sorry?” you shot back, pushing your skirt down with a flush. “You don’t just–ugh!”

He glanced back at you, his chest tight at the sight of your legs still open, thighs trembling, your lips flushed and swollen. He wanted nothing more than to drop back down and finish what he’d started. But the distant boom of an explosion cut through the night, orange light flashing against the buildings several blocks away.

His jaw clenched behind the mask. He crouched low in front of you, hands on your waist, and before you could shove him off, you were in his arms again, the world spinning as he leapt to the ground below with one clean swing.

He set you down gently, his voice hurried and hoarse as he backed away. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear–”

“Asshole!” you yelled after him, breathless and flushed, as another thwip launched him back into the night.

Gojo’s cock ached as he swung toward the fire, the memory of your heat grinding against him still burning in his nerves. He muttered under his breath, voice rough inside the mask, “God, you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

And you stood on the sidewalk below, thighs pressed tight together, still trembling from the way his gloved hand had touched you, cursing yourself for wanting him to come back already.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

The storm had rolled in fast. The city’s usual hum was drowned in the crash of rain against the streets, the wind whistling between buildings with enough force to rattle your window frames. You hadn’t seen Gojo since the morning before–a quick exchange at his door, his glasses fogged from the shower steam, his grin lazy as he told you not to work too hard. Then nothing. No sound through the thin walls. No telltale slam of his cabinets. Just silence.

By the time night fell, the storm was in full swing. You tugged on your thin nightgown–the one that barely brushed mid-thigh–and shoved your feet into slippers, grabbing the trash bag before it started to stink up the whole kitchen. The hallway was empty, the air faintly damp from the rain sneaking through the old building.

You shoved the bag into the bin behind the complex, hugging your arms against the chill, and tilted your head at the sound of something above. Not thunder. Not rain. A thud.

Your gaze snapped up, hair plastered against your cheek as the downpour blurred your vision. And there–on the fire escape leading up the side of the building–a figure. Crawling. In the storm.

Your breath caught, heart thudding as the figure moved toward a familiar window. Gojo’s window.

And the suit–black, blue, white–clung tight to every muscle as the man climbed inside.

Spider-Man.

“What the actual fuck,” you hissed, your shock boiling into rage before you could think.

Without hesitation, you bolted back into the building, your bare legs slick from the rain, your nightgown clinging to your body as you pounded up the stairs. Your slippers slapped against the steps, your breath coming fast, fury drowning out the thunder.

By the time you reached Gojo’s door, your pulse was roaring in your ears. You slid in front of it, nearly tripping, and slammed your fist against the wood.

“I know you’re in there!” you shouted, breathless, your hair dripping onto your shoulders. “Don’t you dare ignore me!”

Inside, Gojo cursed under his breath.

He was soaked through, the rain making the spandex cling uncomfortably tight, his muscles burning from the night’s patrol. He’d only just crawled through the window, mask dragged halfway down, sticking to his skin and refusing to come off fully with the water plastering it to his face. His pale hair was plastered to his forehead, dripping into his eyes, and his chest heaved as he tried to pull the fabric off.

Then he heard you.

He froze, eyes darting to the door as your pounding rattled the hinges. “Shit,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Not now.”

The door slammed open before he could bolt the lock.

You stepped in, soaked nightgown clinging to every curve, eyes blazing as you slammed the door behind you. Your chest rose fast, your breaths ragged from the sprint up the stairs. And then you saw him.

White hair plastered to his forehead. The mask dragged past his nose, still covering his eyes. Suit clinging to his chest and arms, droplets of rain dripping down the sharp lines of muscle.

You stopped dead, your whole body going cold despite the storm.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” you said, your voice low, sharp, deadly serious.

He froze, mask halfway off, lips parted, caught like a kid in headlights.

“Satoru!?”

Gojo swallowed hard, chest still rising fast, every excuse he’d ever crafted evaporating from his mind as your voice cut through the thunder.

“Uh,” he said finally, voice cracking under the weight of the silence. “Surprise?”

You stared at him, fury and disbelief swirling in your chest so fast you could hardly breathe. Your fists clenched at your sides as you took a step closer, the storm hammering against the windows behind you.

“Surprise?” you repeated, your tone rising with every syllable. “That’s what you’ve got? Surprise!?”

He dragged a hand through his soaked hair, grimacing as the mask clung to his cheek. “In my defense,” he muttered, “you weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

You laughed. Sharp. Bitter. “No shit.”

He looked at you then–really looked. Your nightgown clung translucent to your thighs, your hair dripping against your flushed skin, your eyes lit with fire. And despite the mess, despite the panic, his cock twitched against the cling of the spandex.

Gojo’s throat bobbed as he forced a grin, though it was weaker than usual. “So… guess you’re not a Spider-Man fan after all, huh?”

You glared at him, heat rushing up your neck even as your thighs pressed unconsciously together.

“Don’t you dare try to joke your way out of this,” you snapped, your voice trembling with adrenaline.

And behind the mask, Gojo’s mind was a mess of panic, desire, and the quiet, sinking realization that there was no taking this back.

The rain was still pouring when you stepped closer, your bare feet soaking against his floorboards, the thin fabric of your nightgown clinging wetly to your skin. Your pulse was wild in your chest, your anger and adrenaline and the raw shock of what you’d just walked into mixing until your hands were already on him before you realized what you were doing.

“Are you hurt?” you demanded, palms sliding over his soaked chest, down his arms, searching for cuts, bruises, anything. Your fingers skimmed the hard lines of muscle beneath the clinging spandex, water dripping between your knuckles as you shoved at him to turn his body.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Gojo muttered, his grin cocky even as he winced when your thumb brushed a tender spot on his ribs. “You trying to cop a feel, or is this the world’s angriest check-up?”

“Don’t,” you snapped, your hands sliding up to his face, gripping his jaw. His mask was still dragged halfway down, covering his eyes, but you could see his smirk curving beneath it. Your chest heaved as you shook your head. “You left me high and dry yesterday. Do you even–do you even know how humiliating that was?”

He flinched at that, the grin faltering for the first time. “I–yeah. I’m sorry about that.”

“You’re such a prick,” you hissed, your nails curling against his cheek. “Showing up every night, getting under my skin, and then just–”

He cut you off before the words could spiral further. His gloved hands came up, framing your face with a gentleness that didn’t match the pounding storm outside, and then he kissed you.

It wasn’t a soft kiss. It was hot, deep, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his soaked chest pressed hard against yours. You tried to protest, tried to push him back, but your hands betrayed you, clutching at his cheeks, pulling him down as his mouth devoured yours.

You gasped into the kiss, your fingers sliding up into his damp hair, tugging at the white strands as he groaned against your lips. The sound was filthy, desperate, his body thrumming with pent-up hunger as he pressed you backward until your spine hit the wall.

His mouth trailed down your jaw, hot kisses dragging to the base of your throat, and then further, teeth grazing your collarbone as he shoved your nightgown up and over your head. You gasped as the soaked fabric hit the floor, leaving you bare in the storm’s cold air, your nipples tightening instantly in the chill.

Gojo groaned like he was seeing the sun for the first time, lips closing greedily over one hardened peak. “Fuck,” he mumbled against your skin, tongue flicking, teeth nipping just enough to make you arch. “Dreamed about this.”

Your hands clutched at the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his damp hair as he lavished your breasts with open-mouthed kisses, groaning softly with every taste. He palmed your ass with one large hand, squeezing firmly, grinding his cock against your hips as his other hand shoved between your thighs to feel the heat of your soaked panties.

“Over the clothes,” you gasped, echoing the rooftop, your thighs trembling as he rubbed hard against your clit through the thin fabric.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, groaning again as your body arched into his touch. “God, you’re soaked, baby. You’re gonna ruin this suit.”

“You already ruined it,” you hissed back, moaning as his teeth tugged at your nipple.

“Not ruined enough,” he growled, rutting harder against your hip, the outline of his cock thick and throbbing through the spandex.

The storm cracked outside, thunder shaking the windows, and you nearly cried out as he lifted you suddenly, slamming your back gently against the wall as he held you up effortlessly, your thighs wrapping around his waist. His mouth claimed yours again, desperate and sloppy, as he dry-humped you hard, each thrust rubbing his cock against your soaked panties, the friction maddening.

You gasped against his lips, trying to breathe. “You–you really save damsels in distress just to fuck them, don’t you?”

He pulled back enough to smirk against your mouth, breath hot. “If that’s the job description, I’ll take the overtime.”

You rolled your eyes even as you moaned when his fingers pressed harder against your clit. “You’re disgusting.”

“Yeah,” he groaned, biting your nipple again, “but you love it.”

Your thighs squeezed tighter around his waist as his gloved hand rubbed rough circles against your clit, your wetness soaking through the fabric. You were trembling, your voice breaking as you gasped, “Satoru–”

He kissed you hard again, whispering against your lips, “Say it again.”

“Satoru,” you moaned, hips grinding desperately.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his cock jerking as precum leaked inside the suit.

Without another word, he carried you into his bedroom, dropping you gently onto the bed. The storm raged outside, lightning flashing against the walls, but his attention was only on you. He crawled over you slowly, deliberately, his mask finally tugged off with one hand.

You froze, breath caught.

Satoru.

His face was more beautiful than you’d ever let yourself imagine. Sharp cheekbones, jawline strong and wet with rain, mouth flushed from kissing you raw. But it was his eyes–that impossibly bright, crystalline blue, now bare without his glasses–that made your breath stutter. They were electric, alive, drinking you in like he’d been starved.

You didn’t get a chance to speak. His mouth was back on you, kissing down your neck, biting lightly at your collarbone, trailing lower. He licked and nipped at the curve of your breasts, groaning like a man possessed, before dragging his tongue down your stomach. You whimpered, your thighs pressing together, but he pried them apart, kissing along the soft skin until his mouth was at your hips.

He tore your panties down your legs in one quick motion, groaning when the scent of your arousal hit him. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been dreaming about this pussy.”

He pressed his face between your thighs, groaning loudly as his tongue licked a slow stripe over your folds. You gasped, your hands flying into his hair, tugging hard as his mouth latched onto your clit. He moaned like he’d been starved, rutting his hips against the mattress beneath him as he ate you out, tongue sliding deep inside, nose pressed against your clit.

“God–” you moaned, thighs trembling as his gloved fingers gripped your hips, holding you down. “Satoru–”

He groaned into your cunt, rutting harder against the bed, his cock straining as he inhaled the slick heat of you. His hands slid down, pushing your thighs up, locking them against his head until you were practically suffocating him.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned, pulling back only long enough to slide a gloved finger against your entrance. “Gonna finger you open, sweetheart. Wanna feel you come on my hand.”

You whimpered as his finger slid inside, thick and deliberate, curling just right. He added another, stretching you slowly, his tongue circling your clit as your back arched. The storm roared outside, thunder shaking the glass–until a sharp thwip sounded, and the window slammed shut, his web sealing it tight.

“Need to hear you,” he muttered against your clit. “Can’t miss a single sound.”

You moaned louder, your hips rocking helplessly into his mouth as his fingers pumped deep, curling against your sweet spot while his tongue worked your clit mercilessly. Your hands clutched his hair, pulling him deeper, and he groaned against you, rutting harder into the mattress, lost in the taste of you.

“Satoru–” you gasped, thighs squeezing around his head, your body trembling violently as the pressure built.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your cunt. “Come for me. Wanna drown in it.”

The wave hit you sharp and blinding, your orgasm tearing through you with a cry as your thighs shook around his head, your cunt fluttering around his fingers. He groaned like he was coming with you, his cock rutting desperately into the mattress as he licked you through every spasm, every aftershock, refusing to let you go.

When you finally collapsed back against the sheets, panting, your hands still tangled in his hair, he pulled back just enough to look up at you. His mouth was wet with you, his eyes burning with hunger, and his grin was wicked.

“Not bad for a prick, huh?”

He was still panting against your thigh, lips wet with your release, when he shifted back, fumbling with the edge of his suit. You propped yourself up on your elbows, sweat dampening your flushed chest, your breath uneven as you watched him struggle.

“Fucking–” he muttered, yanking at the fabric. “Piece of shit–sticks like a goddamn–” He growled, tugging harder, the wet spandex clinging stubbornly to his chest and arms. His abs flexed beautifully as he twisted, muscles rippling with every frustrated movement, and you bit your lower lip without meaning to, heat curling in your stomach again as his cock twitched visibly beneath the suit.

“You good over there, hero?” you teased softly, smirking despite your breathlessness.

“Shut up,” he hissed, jerking at the zipper that refused to budge. “I swear this thing’s cursed. Who the hell thought full-body spandex was a good idea?”

You laughed, low and teasing, until his growl deepened and he yanked so hard the seam popped. “Fucking–dammit!” He cursed louder, finally collapsing half-off the bed with a grunt as he fought the top half down.

Your laughter bubbled out before you could stop it, the sound bright in the storm-muted room. But it didn’t last long.

Because when he finally shoved the wet fabric down his hips and his cock sprang free, long and flushed and heavy against his abs, you forgot how to breathe.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, eyes wide, lips parting as heat licked sharp through your veins. “It’s always the nerds.”

Gojo’s grin was feral as he shoved the ruined suit down the rest of the way, kicking it off impatiently. “Yeah? Still laughing?”

You swallowed hard, thighs pressing together instinctively as you shook your head faintly. “Not even a little.”

“Didn’t think so,” he muttered, wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking once, slow, his head tipping back with a low groan. Precum glistened at the tip, sliding down the thick vein as he pumped lazily, his eyes hooded as they fixed on you.

Your thighs clenched tighter, your breath shallow as you watched his hand glide up and down, his cock twitching in his grip. He climbed back onto the bed, his body looming over yours as he captured your mouth in another searing kiss, your moan spilling against his tongue as the blunt head of his cock brushed your soaked entrance.

He groaned your name, broken and needy, his lips trembling against yours. “God, baby–”

You gasped as he pushed in, the stretch sharp and overwhelming, your back arching off the bed as his cock slid deeper, inch by inch. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your mouth falling open as the fullness robbed you of words.

“Fuck–” he whined, the sound raw, his hips trembling as he sank fully inside, buried to the hilt. “You’re so–so tight, I can’t–”

You cried out, your legs bending instinctively as he sat back on his knees, bracing his hands on the tops of your thighs. He pulled back slowly, then slammed forward again, the wet slap of his hips echoing through the room as you arched and moaned.

“God, yes,” he groaned, his head tipping back, his cock driving deep inside you. “So good–so fucking good–”

Your thighs quivered as he pounded into you, the stretch burning, perfect, your walls fluttering helplessly around his thick cock. He was whining now, shameless, his voice breaking as he thrust harder, faster, his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to bruise.

When he leaned forward again, your knees bent up toward your stomach, his thrusts went deeper, sharper, your breath catching with every snap of his hips. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, his chest pressing against your shins as he pounded harder, his lips dragging against your neck.

“Fuck–I can’t stop–” he groaned, teeth grazing your skin as he kissed hard against your throat. “You don’t know–don’t know how many times I–fuck–fucked my fist thinking about you in those little tops. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

You gasped, nails raking down his back. “You–you perv–”

He laughed breathlessly against your skin, the sound breaking into a moan as your cunt clenched tight around him. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. And you love it. Don’t even try to lie, baby.”

Your body betrayed you, your hips lifting to meet his thrusts, your moans spilling shamelessly as his cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you.

“God, you feel–so good,” he whined, his thrusts growing erratic as his body trembled. “So fucking perfect–I’m not gonna last–”

You gasped, the tension coiling tight in your belly as his pace quickened, his cock slamming deeper with every thrust, the sound of your wetness filling the room.

“Come with me,” he begged against your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours as he pounded harder. “Please, baby–want to feel you–fuck–want to feel you break on me.”

Your orgasm tore through you with a cry, your body arching violently, your walls clenching tight around his cock as you shook beneath him. He groaned loud, desperate, his hips slamming forward one last time as he spilled inside you, hot and messy, filling you until it leaked around his cock.

He collapsed against you, chest heaving, his lips brushing your ear as he muttered, breathless and grinning, “Guess that’s not the only thing white that shoots outta me.”

You smacked his shoulder weakly, still trembling. “Shut the fuck up.”

He laughed against your neck, his still cock twitching inside you even as he kissed your jaw, grinning like the menace he was.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

It didn’t take long for “neighbors” to stop being the right word.

Every time Gojo saw you now, he couldn’t resist. In the hallway, he’d press you against the wall, kissing you so hard your knees went weak before you could even fumble for your keys. On rooftops, after swinging you breathless above the city, he’d land with you straddling his lap, your thighs squeezing against his hips as his mouth devoured yours, his cock straining inside the suit until he had to pull away before he ruined it. Even in his apartment, when you came over under the flimsiest excuse, he’d corner you in the kitchen, lifting you onto the counter just to kiss you until you forgot why you’d come in the first place.

It wasn’t casual anymore. It wasn’t just banter. Every time, it was hungrier, filthier, his lips tasting of desperation as if every kiss was the last he’d ever get. And every time, you let him. You wanted him. You needed him.

So by the time Halloween rolled around, you decided to test him.  It was a perfect mimicry of his – the same sleek black, blue, and white design, the same silver spider emblem across the chest. Only yours was paper-thin, clinging to every curve, the high cut of the legs revealing the swell of your thighs, the zipper undone just enough to frame the valley of your breasts.

The second his door swung open, you knew you’d nailed it.

Satoru stood there barefoot in pajama pants and a loose tee, his glasses perched low on his nose. He was mid-yawn, hair sticking out in messy tufts, looking every inch the lazy neighbor you’d always pretended he was. But then his gaze landed on you, and the yawn died in his throat.

His jaw went slack. His glasses slid further down the bridge of his nose as his eyes widened, and you saw it–that split-second flash of hunger that told you he wasn’t seeing just a Halloween costume.

You tugged the flimsy hood back, letting your damp hair spill out as you smirked faintly. The black, blue, and white spandex clung skin-tight to every curve, the silver spider stretched taut across your chest, the thin material leaving little to the imagination. The zipper dipped just enough between your breasts to make your nipples push faintly against the suit.

“Trick or treat,” you said softly, trying for smug, but your voice came out a little breathless.

Gojo didn’t answer. He grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside, slamming the door behind you so hard the frame rattled.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. He crowded you against the counter, eyes raking over your body in the clinging fabric, and his cock was already swelling against his pajama pants. “You–fuck. You’re in my suit.”

You arched a brow, feigning nonchalance even as your pulse stuttered. “Relax. It’s Halloween. Last-minute costume.”

“Uh-huh.” His grin was feral now, wicked and knowing, his hand already tugging his pajama pants down just enough to free his cock. It sprang heavy and flushed against his stomach, the blunt head glistening as precum smeared over the soft fabric of your suit when he pressed forward. “Last minute, huh? Then why’s it so… fucking accurate?”

“Coincidence,” you muttered, bracing your hands on the counter as he slid between your thighs, his cock gliding over the thin spandex covering you. The heat of him seared through the fabric, the pressure of his thickness undeniable, and your breath hitched despite yourself.

Gojo groaned, his head tipping forward to rest briefly against your shoulder as he thrust again, rutting slow and heavy between your thighs. “God–this suit’s so thin I can feel everything. You’re not wearing a damn thing under it, are you?”

You bit back a whimper, pressing your thighs tighter together as his cock dragged with delicious friction over your covered cunt. “Maybe I like the breeze,” you whispered.

He groaned loudly, grinding harder, his cock smearing precum into the flimsy fabric. “You’re fucking soaked,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with disbelief. He rocked his hips again, faster now, every thrust sliding his cock perfectly between the squeeze of your thighs, the heat of your pussy beneath the suit. “Gonna ruin this suit before the night’s over.”

You gasped, bracing yourself against the counter as your legs trembled. “You’re–unbelievable.”

“You’re a fan,” he groaned in your ear, biting lightly at your neck as he rutted harder, his cock twitching violently with each pass. “Don’t even try to deny it. You came here dressed as me, sweetheart. That’s obsession.”

You rolled your eyes even as a soft moan broke free. “You’re delusional.”

“Delusional and about to make a mess all over your thighs,” he shot back, his breath hot as his hips snapped faster, rutting between your covered legs like a man possessed. His cock slid against the damp patch spreading between your thighs, his precum soaking through until the spandex clung wetter, tighter.

“God, you feel–so good,” he groaned, his hand sliding to your hip to hold you still as his cock fucked harder between your thighs. “So soft–even through this fucking suit–fuck, I can’t stop.”

Your breath stuttered, your thighs squeezing tighter as the friction built, your body trembling as he groaned in your ear.

“Tell me you’re not a fan,” he muttered, his cock jerking against you as his pace grew ragged. “Say it. Say you don’t think about me when you wear this.”

You gasped, head tipping back against his shoulder, and whispered, “You’re insane.”

“And you’re dripping through this fucking suit,” he countered, rutting harder, groaning when your thighs clenched helplessly tighter around him.

The room was filled with the wet, obscene sound of his cock sliding through the soaked fabric, his breath hot against your ear as you moaned softly despite yourself. He smirked, teeth grazing your jaw as he thrust faster.

“Yeah,” he panted, “you’re a fan.”

Gojo’s cock was still sliding between your thighs through the damp fabric when his restraint finally snapped. His groans were ragged, his hips snapping harder against you, but the suit was too thin, too teasing. He needed you–bare, wet, wrapped tight around him.

His gloved hands slid up your ass, squeezing hard before dipping between your thighs. You gasped when his fingers pressed against the slick heat beneath the spandex, his breath hot in your ear as he growled, “Fuck this.”

The sound of fabric tearing split the air, sharp and obscene, as his fingers ripped through the seam between your thighs. The flimsy material gave way easily, splitting wide to reveal the wet heat he’d been rutting against.

“Toru–” you gasped, your hands clutching the counter, your back arching as his cock brushed bare against your folds.

“Couldn’t wait another second,” he groaned, lining himself up and thrusting inside with one hard, desperate push. You cried out, your back bowing as the stretch filled you, his cock sliding deep, thick, splitting you open as your body clenched around him.

“God,” he panted, his hair sticking damp to his forehead, the nape of his neck tingling as his whole body trembled. “So tight–fuck, baby, you’re perfect.”

His hand slid up your body, gripping your jaw to tilt your face back. You gasped as his mouth claimed yours from behind, his kiss deep and messy, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his hips slammed forward. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass filled the kitchen, wet and sinful, mixing with your moans as he fucked you harder.

“I’m so–fuck–I’m so in love with you,” he groaned against your lips, his words broken by the force of his thrusts. His other hand slid up to squeeze your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple through the stretched suit as you whimpered against his mouth.

“Ah, hnngh Toru–” you moaned, your body trembling with every deep stroke.

He growled low, kissing you harder, rutting into you like he couldn’t get close enough. “You drive me insane–every little thing you wear, I can’t stop–fuck–I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The noise was obscene, the wet slap of his hips, your slick dripping down your thighs, his grunts and your breathless moans echoing in the storm-muted apartment. Your knees buckled, but his arm wrapped firm around your waist, holding you steady as he pounded deeper, each thrust rougher, needier, his cock twitching violently inside you.

“Shit–” he gasped, teeth grazing your neck as he kissed down hard, leaving marks against your skin. “I’m not gonna last–”

You gasped his name, your nails clawing at the counter as your walls fluttered around him, the pressure coiling tight in your belly. His hips snapped faster, desperate, his cock slamming deep as his hand clutched your breast tighter.

The orgasm hit you hard, your body arching violently as you cried out, your pussy clenching down around him. Gojo groaned loud in your ear, his hips jerking as he pressed deep, his cock pulsing hot inside you as he spilled, pressing his seed as far as he could with each ragged thrust.

He nearly tore the whole suit off you in the frenzy, his fingers clawing at the spandex, but stopped himself, panting, before tugging you around. His lips found yours again, swollen and desperate, kissing you harder, deeper, like he couldn’t let you breathe without him.

When he finally pulled back, both of you panting, sweat and rain dampening your skin, you glared weakly. “That was a fifty-five-dollar suit.”

Gojo smirked, still catching his breath, brushing his thumb along your swollen lower lip. “I’ll make you a new one. One that doesn’t tear.”

You scoffed, still trembling, cum dripping down your thighs. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, kissing you again with a grin. “We’ll cosplay. Take some cute couple photos.” His grin widened, wicked and smug. “Next Bugle headline: Spider-Man Has a Spider-Woman?”

You smacked his shoulder, still panting. “You’re ridiculous.”

He only laughed, kissing you again, his cock still twitching inside you.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆

Daily Bugle – Special Halloween Edition “SPIDER-MAN: HERO OF THE CITY… OR JUST WHIPPED?”

The grainy-but-clear front-page photo said it all.

Spider-Man, clad in his sleek black, blue, and white suit, hung upside down from a thick strand of webbing, his mask tugged down just past his lips. His body was taut, muscles visible even through the spandex, his arm bent to steady himself as he dangled with the effortless balance only he could manage.

Below him, standing firmly on the slick pavement of the city street, was you–in a sapphire-blue dress that clung to every curve like it had been painted on. The plunging neckline drew the eye, but it was the way you cupped Spider-Man’s face, tilting him toward you for a kiss, that had every reader double-taking.

Your lips met his with shocking tenderness for such a scandalous scene, the city lights glowing off the sheen of rain on your dress. His hand gripped your waist through the webbing’s swing, his cocky posture only half-masking the intensity of the kiss.

The caption beneath the photo read:

'Caught in the web of romance? Spider-Man spotted locking lips with mystery woman in midnight sapphire. Sources say the hero’s heart might finally be as captured as the criminals he webs up.'

And in smaller print at the bottom, a snide add-on from Masamichi himself:

'Is Spider-Man putting his love life before saving lives? Find out on page 3.'

A/N: okay who the hell REPORTED this post :( also need tonycries to notice me lmfao

Do not plagiarize my work. Do not translate or reupload on any other sites. Reblog. Follow. Like. Support your local writers. Check out my other work.

[soobiary]

aw i love this

⋆˚࿔ DOG DAYS— single father! toji fushiguro x fem! vet reader

PART ONE — THE VET VISIT

PART SUM. waking up to dog vomit wasn’t how toji envisioned his morning. much less seeing you.

CONTAINS. no nsfw in this part but MDNI. 3k words. 5 year old megumi being too grown for his age again. mentions of vomit and feces. mamaguro mention. some light angst (?)

A/N. i apologize for the slow updates but i hope you all enjoy :3

series masterlist main masterlist playlist

<- the prologue

there were few things that toji fushiguro still cherished after losing his wife.

winning numbers on the lotto.

eating a large bowl of offal after coming back from a job.

getting in his full eight hours of sleep.

he liked to think that he was a simple man, not really bothering to ask for much.

but even so, apparently it was still asking for a lot, it seemed. the digital clock beside him read 7:45 a.m., the early morning birds barely starting to warm up their vocals to start their chirping melody. and yet, megumi seemed awake as ever, determined to get him to wake up.

"psst, papa."

nothing.

that only fueled megumi's determination. "papa, wake up." the boy's chubby fingers clutched onto the material of his shirt, lightly shaking the man from his sleep.

toji cracked one eye open, "better be important. what?"

the boy stopped shaking him but the grip on his shirt didn't lessen. "the dogs aren't feeling too good, they threw up."

admittedly, the first few weeks of the dogs being home had been a work in progress. from teaching them not to do their business inside to stop using his (nice) shoes as chew toys despite the many toys cluttering the living room floor, it'd been a learning curve for him and the dogs. toji had become the slightest bit more patient.

and while he wasn't as attached to the fur balls as megumi was, he'd grown to appreciate their protectiveness towards his son and himself. the last thing he wanted to hear at crack of dawn was that they weren't feeling well.

"i'll be right there." the boy gave him a small nod, but remained at the doorway. inconspicuously (in his five year old mind) waiting for him to come out.

toji rubbed a hand over his face, a groan leaving his lips before getting up from the comfort of his bed. he slid into a pair of house slippers before making his way into the living room, megumi trailing closely behind. he was immediately welcomed by the overwhelming stench of vomit permeating the small space.

he could've gagged himself.

the two dogs in the corner didn't raise an ear or wag their tails when the two of them stepped in the room, not even bothering to appear the slightest bit bashful like the time they'd knocked a plate on the floor. they simply looked... tired and weak.

the food bowls were exactly the same as yesterday, a couple kibbles spilling out onto the hardwood like they'd tried to eat but couldn't bring themselves to go through with the motion. even for him, the sight was nothing short of disheartening.

an early visit to the vet was not how he'd planned on spending his morning today. but nonetheless, toji turned to look over at megumi, "go ahead and get ready. i'll clean up this shit."

the boy gave the dogs a short pat on the head before walking back into his room, getting changed out of his pajamas. toji let out a sigh, grimacing at the sight tainting the floor, taking a few moments to stare at the vomit and mentally prepare himself for the cleanup.

once the floors were clean again, toji made his way into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of yesterday's coffee. making megumi a quick bowl of cereal before he started to scroll through facebook groups labeled 'dog moms in tokyo!' and 'doggy care 101!' (it's fine, he's under his wife's name), trying to find a cheap emergency vet nearby.

megumi walked out of his room fully dressed and with his stuffed piggy bank in hand, the bulk of coins clinking against the ceramic with every step the little boy took. proudly putting it up on the kitchen table before he sat down to eat his cereal.

toji's brows raised, giving him a quizzical look, "what's that for?"

"to pay for their visit," megumi responded like it was the simplest thing in the world. as much as the kid tried to act like a smart ass, it was little moments like these that reminded toji of just how young megumi truly was.

regardless, he played along. toji tapped a finger against the ceramic, receiving a dirty look from megumi before he asked, "and you think we got enough for those two?"

that seemed to get the boy thinking. he tapped his chin, staring at the piggy bank intently. "i've been saving up for months, i think so." megumi flipped the piggy bank, struggling to get the lid open for a couple seconds before he managed to wedge it open.

¥1000 and 2000 notes poked out as soon as he managed to crack it open, a couple coins spilling out of the tight confines. how long were months exactly? and then toji saw it. a small envelope poking out with a 10,000 note inside, the last gift that his wife had left megumi.

"go put it away," toji spoke up suddenly, looking back over at megumi, "i got it. you don't need to be spending your money."

the boy looked like he was about to protest, but ultimately decided to stuff the kid back inside and take the piggy back to his room once he finished eating.

toji ended up finding a vet office that seemed promising enough—katy on facebook had called it 'the best place to get your dog's shots!' and well, who was he to doubt katy?

"hi, welcome in," the receptionist at the front greeted him with a smile, looking up from her desktop, "do you have an appointment or is it your first time here with us?"

"first time, i need emergency care," toji responded, signing his name up on the paper in the front. though he supposed almost everybody in here needed emergency care. wait.. did he put his name or the dogs' name? he ended up scribbling both on there for good measure.

at eight in the morning and the vet's office was already filled with an assortment of different patients—from a lethargic cat glaring at toji from its cage to a lizard in a plastic terrarium.

"okay, go ahead and fill these papers out, we'll call you in a bit." papers was a severe understatement. the stack of papers was about ten pages long front and back, thicker than some of megumi's dog guide books.

he took a seat at the far back, the dogs sprawling out on the open space in the floor before he started to get to work. trying to guess when their birthday was, occasionally turning to ask megumi a question or two.

and the boy must've had enough of the questionnaire, getting the clipboard and writing (albeit messily) down the answers to the forms. finishing all ten pages in less than five minutes before handing it back to his father with a satisfied look on his face.

"pavement and driveway fushiguro?" the nurse called out, looking up from their clipboard to scan the room. the two of them stood up, each one with a leash in hand as they followed behind the nurse to a room in the back.

"someone will be in here shortly." the nurse left them alone in the room, seated in uncomfortable plastic chairs.

the room was similar to being a doctor's office, he had to give the clinic that at least. a couple diagrams of a dog's body were displayed up on the wall, the fluorescent lights dimmed down just enough to provide a semblance of a cozy atmosphere.

and out of all the people in tokyo that could've walked into the room, the last person he was expecting was you.

you, in all your french bulldog scrubs glory.

where did he know you from?? he knew he probably looked like a crazy person gawking at you from a distance (he did).

but all the neurons in his head fired off, attempting to figure out where exactly he'd seen you before.

a job? no way.

the casino? you didn't seem like the type.

one of his failed dating app attempts? the more that he stared at you, the more that the idea seemed reasonable.

oh, right. the date he never ended up calling after. damn katy for bringing him here. and damn him for listening to a random woman off facebook.

"hi guys, what seems to be the problem today?" if you recognized him, you seemed determined not to let it show.

megumi instantly took charge, "my dogs are sick. they threw up this morning and they haven't eaten anything."

you looked down to see that the dogs hadn't even acknowledged your presence. you kneeled down, extending your hand out to them, trying to get to know them before you were probing them, "have they had any other symptoms other than the vomiting? like blood in their feces? diarrhea?"

driveway lifted his head up, sniffing at your hand before plopping back down on the cool floor. you took that as a sign to continue, lightly running your fingers through the soft, white fur.

"i don't think so, he hasn't eaten anything yet." you gave pavement a couple pets, noticing a couple bumps underneath the mountain of fur. moving away any time your fingers got too close to touching them. easing them onto the table, you took notice that they immediately plopped back down.

like standing up was too much of a strain.

you grabbed a sheet, ready to start taking their vitals—from temperature to heart beat. "okay, well, before we started: do you have any insurance or are you paying out of pocket?" looking up from your clipboard, you were met with a very confused man staring back at you. and an equally confused kid.

toji didn't even know pet insurance was a thing.

you moved across the room to grab two pamphlets from a drawer, walking back over to the fushiguros. "these are the ones that cover medical care at our clinic. if you're not interested or if you're unsatisfied with your visit today, then you're free to do your own research."

he'd never even bothered to look into his own health insurance, much less a dog. but still, he opened up the pamphlet. trying (and failing) to hide just how much his eyes were bulging at the prices listed.

"i'll go ahead and do their labs then." you wrote down their heart rate— 65 and 83– no cause for concern just yet on that part. what you did find yourself concerned was with their breathing, 30 shallow and rapid breaths per minute.

however, you decided to keep quiet about it—not wanting to worry the kid without having anything confirmed as of right now. even if suspicion was gnawing and brewing in the back of your head. but before you had a chance to take the dogs for their blood work and fecal samples, toji decided to speak up.

"i need to talk to you." he didn't even give you a chance to process the information before he was already moving, walking out of your office.

you looked down at the kid, his face mirroring the same confusion you felt, before you followed after the man.

the two of you stood in silence for a few seconds, waiting for a nurse to pass by with a sick parakeet before he got straight to the point, "look, i know you and i didn't work out all that well. but don't let that affect how you're treating my kid's dogs."

you blinked. so that's why he was staring at you all crazy earlier. now you were the one staring at him, trying to figure out where you had seen him from (you'd been running off spite and several packs of celsius) before you finally came to the same conclusion he did.

a pregnant silence ensued. you waited for the punchline—this had to be some kind of joke, right? but the man looked at you seriously and you almost had the nerve to laugh in his face. and then you were offended. how unprofessional did he think you were?

you rubbed your temples, a scoff leaving your lips. "you think that because you weren't man enough to tell me you weren't interested in me after our date that i would jeopardize your dogs' health?"

so you did recognize him. and he really regretted opening his mouth now.

"...yes."

a groan left your lips before you begrudgingly spoke again, "i can promise you that just because we had one date that i already forgot about doesn't mean i suddenly hold a vendetta against you and your dogs."

"doesn't seem like you really forgot though." your glare shut him up immediately, the cheeky smile on his face morphing into a glare of his own.

"i'll be right back with the test results." you gave the boy a small smile before leaving the room with the two dogs in tow, heading over to the examination room. they were surprisingly still throughout the process, only fidgeting a bit when they felt the cold lather of gel over their belly.

after you left, the room was too quiet. the sound of iv's played in the background and there a kid's show playing on a small tv in the room that megumi found himself immersed in, but toji's mind was in another place.

it was almost like stepping into a time capsule. of doctor visits after doctor visits, seeing a hospital bed more than he often did his own.

memories of being stuck in a hospital waiting room, anxiously waiting and dreading for test results to come back. the scent of antiseptic still lingered deep within toji's subconscious, a scent he couldn't quite get rid of no matter how many times he scrubbed and rubbed his skin raw.

the room felt too small. the walls were closing in. he couldn't breathe, he forgot how to breathe. his chest heaved with each ragged breath that entered his lungs, foot bouncing against the linoleum flooring with the hopes it'd open a hole and he could escape through it.

megumi only came to notice a few minutes later, when his father was panting like he'd just run three miles of a marathon.

"papa?" his voice came out like the boy was underwater. or maybe toji was. he really couldn't tell anymore. megumi clutched onto his shirt the same way he had this morning, trying to shake toji out of the stupor that he found himself in. "this isn't funny."

just as megumi was about to walk out to ask for someone, you stepped foot into the room with lab results in hand. and all toji found himself focusing on was the brown stain on your pants. coffee? probably. you hadn't looked up yet, unaware of the scene going on in front of you as you spoke,

"after the results came back, we found that the dogs have an infection caused by a parasite. you brought them in at a good time-"

"we just got the lab results back, mr. fushiguro. your wife's breast cancer has metastasized, it's spread to her lungs—"

it all sounded the same in his head. a static noise he couldn't quite make out no matter how much he wanted to. toji thought he was over this—he really did. over the whole feelings thing, of caring about something else other than megumi.

but he found himself growing anxious about having to buy two more coffins.

you'd stopped speaking, listening to megumi babble about how his father had been acting strange. toji didn't notice. but you'd taken notice of the man's panic attack, how the large man was almost shrinking within himself.

he was brought back when he felt a hand on his knee, suddenly remembering where he was. "here, have a cup of water." you held out a small, goldfish print paper cup out to him. the water was warm, but he didn't care.

he gulped down the water, crumbling the cup in his palm before tossing it off to the side. "thank you," he spoke up, his voice coming out more hoarse than he'd expected. toji looked over to see megumi staring intently at him, practically seeing the gears turning in his little head to figure out what exactly just happened.

"i'm fine, don't worry about it," he shrugged it off before megumi had a chance to ask, turning to look back over at you. and he instantly regretted it.

toji almost wished you were still looking at him with the annoyance from earlier instead of the concern that marred your features. he knew what to do with annoyance, but he didn't know what to do with someone.. caring about him. even in this minimal display.

"what's wrong with the dogs again?" toji decided to speak up, looking for any sort of distraction.

you cleared your throat, looking back down at the papers in front of you, "so, after doing a fecal test, we found out that the dogs have an intestinal parasite that's causing their infection. i want to keep them at least until tomorrow just to monitor and start a deworming treatment."

"and they'll be okay?" the slightest bit of worry tinged into his voice, as much as he was trying to desperately hide it.

you nodded, "we set them up on an iv where they're getting their nutrients—they're dehydrated which is normal with their nausea, don't get me wrong. but you brought them in at a good time."

you printed out the two page invoice, handing it over to toji. "obviously, you're not expected to pay it all up front so just talk to the receptionist at the front and she'll set you up with a payment plan that works best for you."

his eyes nearly bulged out for a second time in a span of less than an hour. ¥148,160 for the check up and treatment. he'd have to ask shiu (i.e. beg) for a short term job as quickly as possible. "alright, thanks."

before the two of them left, the little boy turned around and waddled over to you. extending out a small, brown teddy bear. "driveway can't sleep without it. please give it to him." you took the teddy bear, giving megumi a short nod.

that night, megumi didn't sleep all that well either. he was alone in the house, with a stuffed bear resting next to him and a warning from his father before he left, "keep the doors locked, i'll be back in a few days. you know how to take care of yourself."

while i did do some research (and saw some nasty ahh worms), please don’t hesitate to correct me if anything’s wrong :3

TAGLIST. @lily-bisque @muliwamm @evergyeom @cutesytwt @keijimilk @levifiance @tsuma-senju @yanelis-world @chilichopsticks @satorupied @planetxella @hellovanie @jkslvsnella @p1nkfl0wers @humeysaga @evii1e @kamuihz @emoedgylord @megumuro @chlosology @jheneea @fushiguroooozzz @zoebella30 @stargirl-mayaa @surgikull @chosos-prettyprincess @murakamisblog @erenspersonalwh0re @heliumshorns @katsukigetsmewetter @personally4runa @mikemsmm @rurumissesk @alyssasblogthings @arminsxseaxshell @dreamingoftomorrow @sophiethelesbian @fandomlover1235 @moonlitreveri3 @yellowmooncat @probablynotleahhhh @nanamisss @nialovessatoru @prosypepper @gradmacoco @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @saltypuffin1040 @lovemelovemeppl @reree22222 @soobiary @aiicpansion @serenadesvt @vicravluv @mortallyshadysoul (if you want to be removed, please let me know)

[soobiary]

In which your husband, Toji, is a marine

Would totally fuck you with his dog tags dangling and scraping against your soft, sensitive skin, clammy and sticky with the evidence of the hours of hard and rough fucking you two have been getting up to. You’d look up and see a smirk on his plump, scarred lips. He’d wink, grunting out, “Like the view, ma? ‘Cause I sure fucking do.”

Would wake up in a cold sweat and reach for you instinctively. If you’re there, he releases a breath of relief and cuddles up behind you, kissing your shoulder and inhaling your scent, reminding himself that you’re here, that he’s home, and you’re both safe. If you’re not, he sits up, rakes a shaky hand through his hair and searches for you. Practically naked, unarmed, but wide awake, he’ll scour the whole house, even the whole city, if he needed to. Toji cannot sleep without you. When you’re out with friends, he’ll stay up all night, waiting for you to walk through the door. Might even patrol the neighbourhood around in his car if you take too long to respond. 

He’s not trying to rush you or be controlling – he just knows the darkness of the world and has vowed a long time ago to not let it consume your light. 

Would be devastated if he accidentally hit you, whether it was because he moved too fast or he didn’t know you were near. You’d see the realisation drain the blood from his face, the panic set in his wide eyes, and the digging of his nails into his palm, veins popping. Toji wouldn’t go near you for days after. No matter how much coaxing, how many words of reassurance you give him, the number of smiles show. A man like him needs to find that trust in himself. He needs to know the brutal strength that courses through his body would never be exerted on you. That he’d never mark your body with the violence, the depravity, the hopelessness that marked his. 

Would eat up every letter, picture, text, and phone call from you he receives whilst deployed. The worst times of his job are when he has to distance himself from you, to shut off the humanity in him, and be a faceless man in uniform. So, the reminder that he has a home waiting for him keeps him alive. Toji's greedy eyes read over every. single. thing. Over and over again, memorising every word, every curve, every smile. He engraves it in his brain, in his heart, in his very soul.

Most of the other guys show off the messages they get from their girlfriends and wives, parading any intimate pictures and declarations of undying love. Not Toji. No, he holds each one dear to him. He’d shrug off every grabbing hands, tell the losers ‘fuck off’ when they ask, and hide it all away. Who gives a shit that he gets called a ‘simp’ or ‘pussy-whipped?’ 

He owns that shit.

Would jack off in the showers to the picture you sent him of your fingers buried deep in your weeping cunt. Does everything he can to remember your scent, your taste, the tightness, the heat, the love. He imagines it’s your hand wrapped around his red-hot cock, envisions you on your knees looking up at him, and desperately pretends his cum is being swallowed by your throat and not the drain. No orgasm on tour compares to a single kiss from you.

Would never entertain any of the women in the bars who saddle up to his side, squeezing his meaty biceps, and offering a full night of fun. Toji shrugs them off, points them in the direction of a single friend of his with the bottle of his beer, and looks straight ahead at the basketball game playing on the TV. When his buddies ask why he rejected the smoking hot girl in an exotic land, he doesn’t bother answering them, but they all know: she isn’t you.

Wouldn’t let go of you once he gets home. He washes away the dirt, the grime, the shame, guilt with you in his clutches. He eats with you in his lap, spoonfeeding him. Washes the dishes up whilst you’re caged in his arms, face buried in your hair. Not a single drop of the horrors ever makes it into your homes. You live in bliss, and so does he. 

Even though the very real promise of him never walking back in through the door hangs over your heads. 

Let's pretend I know anything about the military lol if there's inaccuracies here, shhhh no there isn't :)

[soobiary]

sweet boy choso calls a phone sex operator when he’s feeling lonely!

choso’s room is a dim mess of flickering screens and crumpled tissues, the glow of his laptop casting shadows across his flushed face. he’s sprawled on his bed, shirt rucked up to his chest, sweat beading on his forehead. he’s too hot to be this pathetic, all sharp jawline and dark eyes, but here he is, a virgin in his twenties who’s spent more time with his hand than actual people. porn’s his escape, his dirty little ritual, tabs open to every depraved thing he can find.

but tonight, something’s different. an ad pops up on his usual site, bright pink and tacky: a phone sex hotline with a sultry voice promising to make his night.

‘stay home and have fun! 1 on 1 calls, sexting & even emails!’

he hesitates, thumb hovering over the phone number. he’s lonely, aching, and fuck, that voice in the ad sounds like it could melt him. ‘such a loser’, he thinks but he dials before he can overthink it.

“hey, sugar,” your voice purrs through the line, smooth and warm, like honey dripping slow. “what’s got you up so late? need a little help unwinding?”

choso’s breath hitches, his grip tightening on the phone. he’s already hard, boxers tented, and your voice is doing shit to him he didn’t expect.

“y-yeah,” he stammers, voice cracking like he’s sixteen again. “i just…needed to hear someone, ya know?”

you hum, low and teasing, picking up on his nervousness. “oh, baby, i’m right here. tell me what you want. you sound so tense.”

he’s whimpering already, hand slipping under his waistband, stroking himself slow to the sound of you.

“fuck, your voice,” he mutters, almost to himself. “it’s so good. so pretty—fuck—keep talking, please.”

you lean into it, painting a picture for him. “you’re touching yourself, aren’t you, sweetheart? bet you’re so hard right now, stroking that pretty cock, wishing it was me, huh?”

choso groans, head tipping back, his hand moving faster. he’s not used to this—someone talking to him, making it feel real.

“yeah, shit, i am,” he gasps, voice shaky. “i’m—fuck, i’m so hard. wish you were here, riding me, or…or or sucking me off.”

you laugh softly, the sound sending a jolt through him. “oh, you’re real naughty, huh? i’d have you pinned down, baby, my mouth on you, tongue swirling around that tip till you’re begging.”

he’s whining now, high-pitched and desperate, hips bucking into his fist. “please—please, fuck, keep going,” he begs, voice raw.

you describe every filthy detail—how you’d spread your legs for him, how wet you’d be, how you’d take him deep until he’s losing it.

he’s a mess, panting, moaning your name—or well, the fake one you give him—his free hand clawing at the sheets.

“you close, baby?” you murmur, hearing his ragged breaths. “gonna cum for me? let me hear you, be a good boy and cum for me, yeah?”

choso’s practically sobbing, the wet sounds of his hand loud through the phone. “fuck, yeah, i’m—i’m gonna—”

he cuts off with a choked moan, body shuddering as he cums hard, ropes of it spilling over his stomach, thighs shaking. he’s loud, too loud, gasping and whimpering like he’s falling apart. you coo at him, guiding him through it.

“that’s it, gooood boy, let it all out. you sound so fucking pretty, baby.”

he’s panting, spent, but doesn’t hang up. instead, he mumbles, voice soft, “can you…stay? j-just for a bit?”

you pause. this isn’t part of the job. guys usually hang up once they’re done, but there’s something in his voice—raw, lonely, almost pleading. against your better judgment, you stay.

“sure, honey,” you say, softer now. “what’s on your mind?”

choso hesitates, then spills, voice shy. “i don’t… talk to people much. i’m kinda…alone, ya know? this was…really nice.”

your heart twinges. he’s too sweet for this, too real. you settle back, tucking the phone against your ear.

“yeah? well, i’m here now. what’s your deal, mystery guy?”

he laughs, a quiet, nervous sound. “choso. my name’s choso. i’m…i dunno, just a guy. i don’t go out much. too much porn, probably.”

you snort, liking his honesty. “choso, huh? i’m y/n. and trust me, i’ve heard worse. you sound like you’ve got a story.”

he opens up, bit by bit. tells you about his shitty job, how he’s too awkward to talk to girls in person, how he’s never even kissed anyone.

“i’m such a loser,” he mutters, but there’s a smile in his voice, like he’s half-joking.

you grin, leaning into the pillow. “nah, you’re just…selective. gotta find the right one to break you in.”

he laughs again, bolder now. “yeah? are you volunteering?”

you roll your eyes, but there’s a warmth in your chest. “maybe i would, if you weren’t worlds away.”

he’s quiet for a second, then asks, “where are you, anyway?”

you dodge, keeping it vague. “somewhere with lots of smog and too many people. you?”

he tells you he’s in tokyo. turns out he’s actually a couple countries away. just him and his laptop. you talk for an hour, then two, about nothing and everything—music he likes, games you play, the way he blushes when you tease him about his porn habits.

it’s late, way past your shift, but you’re still on the line. he’s different, this choso. not just another horny caller. he’s sweet, awkward, real. you bite your lip, staring at your phone.

“hey, choso?” you say, voice soft.

“yeah?” he sounds sleepy, content. “you ever wanna talk again…n-not through the hotline…i mean, just us?”

he’s quiet, and for a second you think you fucked up. then he says, “wait— are you serious?”

you laugh, nervous. “yeah, dumbass. i don’t do this for everyone.”

you rattle off your personal number, heart pounding. “don’t make me regret this, okay?”

he’s stumbling over his words, shocked. “i—fuck, no, i won’t. i promise. i’ll text you, like, right now.”

you smile, curling up in bed. “good. now go clean up, you’re probably a mess.”

he laughs, warm and shy. “yeah, i am. night, y/n.”

you hang up, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell you just started.

and across the world, for once in his life, choso didn’t feel like such a loser anymore.

© j3llyc4kes

:3 please check out my other works! here’s the master list! <3

a/n: something from the drafts while i work on a sukuna fic! heh

taglist: @raveszn @lisafrankgojo @ha1lstorm @bistrocatxx @1stqueenofhell @spacebabe02 @desirehorizon @satorupi @besidesjustmyamour

[soobiary]

big fan of whatever this is...

Early morning cravings with Husband Kento <3

Tw - stuff with piss. Don’t read if that’s not your thing. And no I don’t condone any of this irl and I know this could end very bad and harmful if it was to be tried irl!

The rustling of the sheets woke you before the sun fully rises. You hear the telltale sound of fabric shifting, a soft grunt and one side of the bed dipping away from you. You don’t open your eyes—you just reach out blindly and grab for the body that’s already getting up.

“Nooo,” you whine, your voice rough with sleep. “Where’re you going??”

“Work, baby,” Kento murmurs softly, already half-dressed in his slacks and a sleeveless undershirt. He leans over and presses a kiss to your hairline, gentle and apologetic. He always gets up early and showers before spending the rest time he has to cuddle with you before he leaves. “Didn’t mean to wake you”.

You latch onto his arm and pull him close. Acting really pathetic and needy and it’s not even 6:30 am yet. “Don’t wanna be alone…”

He chuckles softly. “You say that every morning”.

“I mean it every morning”.

You’re not even fully awake, but your body moves on its own—following him as he pads toward the bathroom. You’re slow—dragging your feet with your oversized shirt slouching off one shoulder, panties crooked under your oversized tee. You look like you got hit by sleep itself.

He doesn’t comment when you trail behind him. You always do this when you’re clingy, especially in the morning when he has to leave.

But this time, instead of perching on the counter like usual, you stay close. You hug his back while he lifts the toilet seat. Your cheek’s pressed and nuzzling against his spine, arms wrapped around his waist, and he just lets it happen like he always does.

“You’re gonna watch me pee?” he asks calmly, already unzipping his pants.

“Mhm”.

“Not exactly glamorous”.

You shrug behind him. “It’s hot”.

That makes him huff. But he doesn’t argue.

You lean your head sideways, cheek pillowed against his hard back as you watch him pull his cock out. There’s something mind-melting about the routine of it—about how casual he is, how easily that thick, golden stream spills into the bowl. He doesn’t aim with two hands. Just one. His other hand rests on your arm while you hug him like a gigantic teddy bear.

And fuck he’s so sexy like this. Big, slow-moving, and warm with lots of patience. You can feel the heat of his piss rising with the steam from the bowl, the sound of it splashing echoing through the quiet bathroom. You watch the heavy head of his cock pulse at the end, even after the stream dies down, still a little damp and drippy.

He shakes it off. Not even looking down, like it’s nothing.

But you’re staring with your thighs rubbing together.

His tip is still glistening—smeared with the last remnants of his piss and your mind’s already sliding into the gutter, your pussy involuntarily flutters just thinking about what it’d feel like, all warm and sticky while pressing up between your folds.

“Kento…”

He hums.

“Can I have it…?”

He pauses. Not because he’s shocked. But because he’s making sure you really mean it. He looks down at you with those patient, attentive eyes—his sweet little wife, clinging to him like a sleepy parasite, with heavy lids and needy eyes and no shame whatsoever.

“I haven’t washed it yet,” he says.

“I know,” you breathe, lips parting with your body leaning forward a little.

He stares for a second longer. Then kisses your temple like he always does.

“Sink,” he murmurs to you.

You turn without hesitation with your chest fluttering. You brace your hands against the edge of the sink, the cool porcelain waking you a bit as you bent over and he moves behind you. You feel him hitch your shirt up—he doesn’t even bother taking your panties off, just tugs them aside with a knuckle, exposing your excited pussy to the air. And then—

Then you felt his cock lay heavy against your slit, damp and heavy, the swollen tip dragging through your folds like it belonged there—parting your messy pussy lips with every slow, sticky pass like he was teasing the hole he already knew was his.

“Oh my—,” you moan softly, instinctively wiggling your ass back at him for more. “Fuck Kento, feels good”.

It’s wet and warm, smeared with more than just your arousal. It’s sooo filthy but that’s why you love it so much. You can feel the residue of it—the faint scent of his morning piss, the heat of it lingering on your folds. Your clit throbs when his tip bumps it, and you swear you feel a droplet smear against you like he’s marking you with it.

He exhales through his nose behind you. Completely calm and unbothered. “You’re something else,” he murmurs, still moving his cock back and forth slowly between your now sticky folds, coating himself in the wetness blooming between your legs. “Getting off on this”.

You nod, your whole body twitching. “It’s dirty…”

“Mm. real dirty,” he agrees, now rubbing your messy clit with the wide head of his cock, letting the piss and your slick mix into a warm mess that makes your thighs shake just by the feeling of it. “You’re such a little perv, darling. You like that I didn’t clean it for you?”

You nod faster, mouth falling open into a low whimper. “Y—Yes, love it s’much Ken”.

He lets a quiet laugh slip out—disbelief and fondness—and presses his palm against your lower back to keep you balanced against the sink as his other hand cups your tit from behind, kneading it lazily through your shirt.

“Can’t believe this is how I’m starting my day,” he mutters with a chuckle. “Grinding my piss-covered cock on my wife’s sweet cunt”.

“Y-Your fault,” you whimper, hips bucking back against him, your clit catching perfectly every time he rocks forward. “You’re too sexy in the morning”.

That earns you another slow drag—more harder and rougher than before. Your pussy’s soaked now, cum sticking against his cockhead as it slides and rubs through your folds again and again. You’re panting, thighs shaking and your clit pulsing every time he nudges it with pressure.

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear.

“Want me to rub it on your little hole too?” he says calmly. “Spread your pussy open and make it messy down there too?”

You nod like you’re drunk. “Uh-huh…please!”

He pulls back just a little then spits into his hand and smears it over his length, already wet, already messy, and then slides the fat head back down—this time letting it kiss your entrance. He doesn’t push in. Just presses and circles it. Smearing more of his warmth and slick over your hole until it’s fluttering open and begging to be stuffed.

“Fuuck,” you whisper, gripping the sink like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“You gonna cum just from this?” he asks, rubbing it harder and applying more pressure, spreading everything everywhere. “From daddy’s messy cock on your pussy?”

You moan so loud you’re sure the neighbors heard it. He kisses your temple again. “You’re unreal, baby”.

And he keeps going—rubbing it slow and nasty, letting you rut back against him like a dog in heat. His free hand tweaks your nipple while the other keeps you steady, and your thighs are clenching, your whole body arching for more of your husband.

You cum like that—crying his name while pressing your face into your arm, trembling as he indulgently smears your cream right back on himself.

And when it’s over, when you’re still bent over and panting, he leans down and kisses your lips.

“Happy wife,” he murmurs, tucking himself away with a quiet zip.

“Happy life,” you finish weakly, dizzy with bliss.

He brings you a warm towel after.

Because he’s the best husband in the world even when you’re a freak.

[soobiary]

this is so good omg

TEENAGERS SCARE THE LIVIN' SHIT OUT OF ME

Summary : After ten years in prison, Sukuna returns home. Unfortunately for him, with time comes change. And the worst change he has to deal with is the fact that his kids have become full blown teenagers. Warnings : inaccurate prison and police related stuff probably, exposition , and teenagers, awkward-ness

You slowly drove down the street, letting Sukuna take in the scenery of what was once a familiar home. “Anything changed ‘round here?” Sukuna asked, frowning as he spotted one of the houses with a lack of a chair on the porch. 

“A lot,” you nodded, watching as he held the bag of KFC close to his stomach. “But let's take things one at a time. First, the kids.” 

Sukuna sighed, nodding, turning dead silent as you quietly drove into the driveway of your home. As you took out the keys, turning off the engine and shutting off the radio that had been quietly playing in the background, Sukuna slumped in his seat. 

“They probably don’t wanna have a weird reunion at twelve forty two in the morning,” Sukuna said, his voice gruff. “I’ll just stay in the car.” 

You scoffed, taking the bag of KFC from his hands, and opening the door on your side. “I bet they’re still waiting for you, ‘Kuna.” Unbuckling your seatbelt, you looked at him pointedly. “And you know they’ve been waiting a long time.” 

Sukuna appreciated that you stepped out of the car, gently closing the door behind you, so as to not alert the kids that you were here. Sukuna took his time, taking a deep breath and checking the mirrors in the car to look at himself. He had always been a scary looking guy – his tattoos and his larger figure didn’t help him look all that gentle – but prison had somehow made him look even more gruff. 

He had shaven, trying to make himself look cleaner, but nothing could really hide the fact that he had aged in ten years. He pulled at his eyes, trying to make them less tired-looking… but Sukuna just looked like that. He couldn’t help it. 

He bit his cheek, trying to keep himself from frowning, or having any sort of resting annoyed face on him, but it just made him look more pissed off. 

Tap, Tap, Tap. 

Sukuna turned his head to the side, to see you looking through the window, waiting outside the car patiently. Sukuna opened the door, but stayed seated. You smiled awkwardly. “Need more time?” 

Sukuna huffed. “I need all the time in the fucking world.” 

You chuckled softly, rubbing your hand soothingly across his large arms. “Well… sitting here won’t give that to you.” 

“I know,” he huffed. “But if I go in there…” Sukuna swallowed, staring down at the glovebox. “There’s a chance that I’m gonna ruin everything before they even give me a second.” 

Your hands stopped at his words. Chewing your lips, you contemplated your next words. 

When you decided on them, you put down the bag of KFC in his lap again. Your hands reached out to rest on his jaw, tilting his face slightly so he had to look at you. You looked up into his eyes, smiling softly. “‘Kuna… they’re teenagers. At this age, they’re not even going to give you a millisecond.” 

Sukuna’s eyes slightly widened, before he decided to scoff, looking away from you. “Nice to know you haven’t been cheating – no way you could’ve kept a man with these comforting skills.” 

You giggled. “I’m being honest. I thought after being married so long we could tell each other everything.”

“Never meant I wanted to hear about your intense diarrhea when you came to visit me. Even the guards gave you dirty looks over that, ya know?” 

“‘Kuna,” you giggled even more, lowering your head as you tried to compose yourself. “I’m trying to be serious here.” 

Sukuna sighed, placing his hands over the KFC bag, the crinkling sound much louder than the faint sound of crickets in the night. “Should just get it over with before this goes cold, huh?” 

You nodded. “The stomach is the way to teenagers’ hearts.” 

“Isn’t it a womans’ heart?”

“Same thing,” you huffed, moving away and looking over at the house. You peered into one of the windows upstairs, that had the blinds slightly ajar. For some reason, when you had narrowed your eyes onto it, it went back to normal. “Okay,” you looked back at Sukuna. “Do you need more time?” 

Sukuna shook his head. “Quit babyin’ me. Those three aren’t gonna be as nice as you are and you’re not properly preparin’ me.” 

“Okay,” you grinned, stepping back as Sukuna got out of the car. “Imagine three of you, at different temperament levels – and that’s what you’re dealing with!” 

Closing the door behind him, Sukuna rolled his eyes at you, walking away, towards the door. You gasped, lifting up your keys to lock the car, as you followed after him. 

“You’re still so sassy at your old age, huh?” 

“All three of them get that, too?” 

You groaned dramatically. “You’ll finally get to see what dealing with you is like.” 

Sukuna scoffed, lifting up his fingers to ring the doorbell. 

But your hand quickly slapped his away. 

Sukuna turned his head, to see you, with your eyes wide and your stance rigid. The sound of the slap felt like it echoed in the silent, cold night air. Even the crickets went quiet. “What?” Sukuna asked, breaking the silence with a quiet voice. 

“We…” You moved forwards to take his hand, rubbing it softly to silently apologize for hurting him. It didn’t do much besides leave a slight sting for a moment, but that was probably just because of the shock. “We don’t ring the doorbell.” 

Sukuna’s breath stilled. 

“Right.” He lifted his hand away from yours and held it at the door, ready to knock. “You guys have a pattern or something?” 

You shook your head. Sukuna went ahead and knocked, trying to let the sound be as soft as possible. It took a few moments before he heard hesitant footsteps at the door. Slowly, he heard the click of the lock, before the door was opened. 

Kita was the one to open it. He was used to seeing you, he barely spared you a glance. His eyes were locked in on Sukuna, and his giant frame. Kita had shot up in height over the past year, and while he stood taller than every other first year in the area, he was nowhere near the height of his father. 

As Kita scanned Sukuna, Sukuna did the same to his son. The last time either had seen each other was Kita’s fifteenth birthday, when you had dragged him to visit Sukuna. Kita had been very upset, and his attitude hadn’t pleased Sukuna in the slightest. Both of their grumpy attitudes had you close to tears, when it was supposed to be a nice visit. 

So, to avoid your tears (and each other), Kita hadn’t come to visit. 

Kita had very dark hair, slicked back in the style that Sukuna also had it in. He had a small scar under his left eye, one he’d gotten when he had tried climbing the counter that the TV was on top of – after that sharp corner had almost ‘gouged’ his eyes out (according to you), Sukuna had to buy a bunch of baby proofed furniture for his two year old troublemaker. 

When he looked at the kid, he saw an almost carbon copy of himself. Kita just had a few softer features than he did. But, that was something he would probably grow out of, with age. 

“Hey…” Kita said hesitantly, leaving out the ‘pa’ he’d been much more comfortable saying over the phone. He glanced down at the KFC in Sukuna’s hand. “You got it.” 

Sukuna shrugged. “It’s not that hard to win a fight against your ma.” 

Kita’s lips almost twitched into a grin, and he looked at Sukuna knowingly. “I’m sure she let you have this one.” He held his hand out for the KFC. 

Sukuna, letting out a grunt, handed it over. You slid past Kita, stepping into the house and taking off your shoes. “Where are the other two?” 

As Kita stepped back inside, his hands already digging into the bag, Sukuna hesitantly took his first step into the house. You and Kita were so natural. You hung the keys without even looking at the key holder, and then you turned while you took off your coat, to hang it up in the closet. 

You moved with instinct, and Sukuna had to think to just step inside. 

“Suiko’s sleeping, Kagu is still up, I’m pretty sure.” 

“He’s still studying?” You asked, brows furrowed. 

“Nah,” Kagu replied. “He’s playing video games or something. Suiko told him to be asleep before you got here but…” Kita just shrugged, moving away from the front door, to the kitchen. 

You looked back at Sukuna, who was leaning against the door he had closed and locked, taking in the house. You looked at him carefully, speaking quietly. “We’ve moved some stuff around over the years but… never really bought anything new. Furniture’s gotten real expensive.” 

Sukuna’s eyes slowly went over everything. Where it was. Where it used to be. Pictures on the wall. Many old, but many new. Well painted walls, covering up the chips that used to be there ten years ago. It was clean, much cleaner than it used to be when young children took up the house. The only mess he really saw was a bag of chips on the couch, but that was for sure Kita. 

Wordlessly, you tugged at Sukuna’s coat. He leaned forwards, helping you take it off of him. Before you could hang it up for him, Sukuna just shook his head and pulled his coat away from you, walking over to the closet himself. 

He opened it and his eyes immediately caught onto a specific coat. Sukuna hung his own, before pulling out his leather jacket from high school. With a slight grin, he looked at you. “You still have this?” 

“It’s technically Suiko’s now,” you hummed, coming closer to get a feel of it. “It’s vintage.” 

Sukuna grinned, leaning down to get closer to you and eyeing you knowingly. “Does she know what we did with this back in the vintage days?” 

You covered your mouth, holding back a snort, and using your free hand to push him, making him put the jacket back in the closet. “She’d burn her skin if she found out,” you answered. “Do not tell her.” 

“What?” Sukuna asked, raising a brow at you. “You painted yourself as a saint while I was gone? You know you’re far from that.” 

“And our teen aged children don’t have to know that until they are…” You tapped your chin, pretending to be in though. “Twenty five.” When Sukuna sent you a flat look, you giggled, shoving his shoulder. “What?” 

“Twenty five? What stupid book did you get that from?” 

“It’s when the brain stops developing,” you replied. 

Sukuna scoffed, kicking his shoes off. “Is that what they’re saying nowadays?” 

“Yeah,” you said, crossing your arms and tilting your head at him, teasing. “Keep up with the times, old man.” 

Sukuna grinned, curling his arm around your waist, about to pull you close when a voice from upstairs called out. “Mom?” Sukuna’s head immediately turned to the meek voice that called out. You pat his back, while pulling away, looking up the stairs as you called back.

“Hungry?” 

“Yeah,” he replied. 

“Come on down,” you said. “Dad bought you KFC.” 

Sukuna sensed some hesitance, but Kagu came down the stairs, slow as to avoid making eye contact with his father, probably. When Sukuna could see his son entirely, he saw the careful, wide eyed expression on his face. 

Very unlike Kita. 

“Hi…” Kagu said, clearly unsure, as he came down the stairs. 

Kagu used to visit much more often when he was young, basically attached to your side. But as he got more praise for his academics at school, you said it began to take over his life. He started to refuse to come visit Sukuna because the trips took too long, and he would lose precious time that could be spent doing something ‘actually productive.’ 

“Hey, Kagu,” Sukuna nodded at him. Kagu also differed from Sukuna and Kita when it came to looks. While Kita and even Suiko had very much gotten Sukuna’s genetics, all of Kagu’s face was just a carbon copy of yours. It wasn't something to complain about honestly, but it was weird to get used to in person.

“Go get the food from Kita,” you said. As Kagu walked away, clearly in a hurry to get away from Sukuna, you called after him. “You’re getting up before noon, okay? We’re having guests over tomorrow.” 

Kita, from the kitchen, groaned. Kagu just shrugged and said a quick, “Okay,” before walking to the kitchen to get some chicken. 

You didn’t even acknowledge Kita’s complaint, and instead, tugged at Sukuna’s clothes while calling out to the boys. “Pa and I are going to bed! The two of you better be asleep in the next hour.” 

“It’s bad to sleep right after you eat,” Kita argued. “Right, Kagu?" You were sure Kagu just nodded his head, more focused on the chicken, but that was enough confirmation for Kita. “Kagu agreed!” 

“I’ll make sure you two don’t get fast food for the rest of the month if you don’t sleep,” you threatened, before fully dragging Sukuna up the stairs with you. The boys halfheartedly agreed, knowing you wouldn’t care to hear them out anyway. Sukuna was in his head about Kita barely acknowledging his presence, letting you pull him around, until you began to give him a little updated tour of the house. 

“The bathroom hasn’t really changed,” you said, leading the way down the hallway that was upstairs. You pointed at the doors, explaining the room arrangements. “This is Kagu’s room – Kita used to sleep here, too, before high school.” 

“Right, he lives at the fancy private school now?” 

You nodded. “Visits for weekends, though,” you explained, before gesturing to another room, with a large ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign taped on the door. “That is Suiko’s room.” 

Sukuna scowled. “Who does she think she is?” 

“The boys have a bad habit of just storming into rooms,” you huffed, passing by and flicking the sign. “If anything, she saves them from her wrath by doing this.” The door next to Suiko’s room was the bathroom. “The kids all share this one,” you said, opening the door to it, and wincing once you saw the mess inside. 

Sukuna looked over your head to look as well, and almost gasped. 

“The fuck are all those things?” 

“Suiko’s a girl–” 

“And she needs all that shit to stay that way?” 

You scoffed. “Teenagers are just like that.”

“You weren’t like that,” Sukuna pointed out. 

“I could barely afford my uniform,” you argued. “And anyways, you were like that. Kita is just like you, that drawer right there is just filled with hair gel.” 

“I didn’t use that much–” 

“I remember trying to run my hands through your hair once, and it was just rock solid.” 

Sukuna glared down at you. “I think you’re confusing me for one of your exes.” 

“Oh, because I have so many,” you replied sarcastically, closing the bathroom door. 

Sukuna huffed. “Why don’t we check out some of your other old jackets?”

You grinned up at him. “One time! One jacket, I kept from an ex! And we literally gave it away!” 

“Do you see me with my exes hair ties?” Sukuna replied, brows furrowed. He began to walk toward the master bedroom. The room that you were most excited about when Sukuna had been the one to show you around the house when he had bought it. The room that you had shared with all of your kids, with their little crib in the corner, making the largest bedroom in the house just a little more cramped. 

You followed after him. “A hair tie is like two cents, that jacket was probably the most expensive thing I’ve ever worn,” you huffed. “Why are we even arguing over this? It was like twenty years ago. I barely remember it.” 

“Sure,” Sukuna huffed, opening the door to the room and stepping inside. “Do you remember crying because I smelt like some womens’ perfume after I was trapped in an elevator with some group of bachelorette party girls?” 

“I was pregnant and sensitive to smells,” you quickly sniped back, as you usually did whenever he brought this up to counter you. “And I was worried for your safety.” 

Sukuna grinned. “Kita was right. It’s harder now, winnin’ against you.” 

You simply rolled your eyes at him, shutting the bedroom door behind you, as you pointed to the bathroom. “Please do not shit on the creams that I have in there – I, uh, stocked up on the gel that you use for your hair.” 

“Ha ha,” Sukuna huffed, going to the bathroom. “What else you got in there for me? A bubble bath?”

You frowned, genuinely regretting not having thought of that. “I would’ve but the day just came so quickly, I didn’t have time to restock on bath bombs.” 

Sukuna’s brows furrowed. “The hell is a bath bomb?” 

You shook your head, waving him off. “Not important. I have clothes for you in there, I’m guessing your old clothes don’t fit you as well, ‘cause you’re all…” You gestured to his body, tight in the clothes that you had brought up to the prison. “You know.” 

Sukuna smirked, crossing his arms. “What?” 

You bit your cheek, holding back a grin. “You know.” Walking closer, you raised your hand to lazily punch his stomach... which felt rock solid. “Jeez. Maybe I don’t know,” you muttered. 

“Wanna find out?” 

You looked up at him, as he raised a brow at you, that stupid sleazy look on his face. Sukuna saw as, instead of contemplating the idea, you began to take his face in. You had kind of just ran up to him and brought him into a hug the second you were allowed to touch him at the prison. And since then, while you’ve been watching his expressions… you hadn’t really looked at him. Taken him in.

And seen how he’d changed. 

You brought your hand up, brushing your fingers over his ear. “They closed.” Sukuna was almost taken aback by the sudden switch up, but he knew how easily your mood could be swayed, by just lingering thoughts in your head.

“You knew that,” Sukuna hummed, bringing his hands up to rest on your hips. “You were all sad. Tears in your eyes and everythin’.” 

“You don’t think I was crying over my husband being in prison?” You asked, pressing your lips together as you focused on his ears for another moment. Sukuna didn’t answer that, and let you continue the conversation. “Wanna get them pierced again?” 

“‘Course,” Sukuna hummed. 

You looked up at his eyes. Eyes you used to love looking at, intimidating, rare, red. The eyes you had only been able to see every day through your eldest two kids, who sometimes refused to come out of their rooms as they got older. 

Your hands moved from his ear to above his eyes. His left eyebrow, on your right, where he usually had two slits, was gone. “And the eyebrow slits? You think you’re too old for that, yet?” 

Sukuna squeezed your hip, his nails digging into your skin playfully. “I’m not gonna shut up when you turn forty.” 

You frowned. “Yeah, you will,” you said, your hands coming up to run through his hair. “You’ll be long dead by the time I get to that age.” 

Sukuna smirked, bringing his hand up to pinch your cheek. “You know what, you’re right. Living with my almost forty wife who still acts fourteen, will kill me.”

You giggled, pulling your face away from his hands. “Okay, okay, listen, ‘Kuna.” As Sukuna kept trying to pinch you, you still laughed, but brought your hand up to cover his and keep them away. “Listen,” you whined. “Serious, it’s about Suiko.” 

Sukuna relented, bringing his hand down, watching you carefully as you looked up at him with hopeful eyes. 

“I think you could connect with her well, if you get everything – your piercing and eyebrow slits, and stuff – with her.” 

Sukuna’s brows furrowed. “What do they allow at school nowadays?” 

You groaned. “After graduation, ‘Kuna. Seriously, though,” you said. “She’s just like you. The pink hair, piercings, the eyebrow slits, she wants it all – if it wouldn’t kick her out of school, I would let her, but I’ve been telling her 'just wait for after graduation and you can go with your pa' … and you’re here now.”

Sukuna still frowned. “I don’t want her being all… what if she gets caught up with the wrong typa people?” 

“She’s smarter than that,” you huffed. “She understands the consequences of looking all intimidating. She’s lived with that her whole life – she has your face." Sukuna pinched your cheek again and you laughed. "Your adorable, loveable face," you giggled, trying to pull off his hand again. "Just… don’t be all traditional and against it when she brings it up, okay? You did all this at her age, too.” 

“And I got a girl pregnant around this age, too,” Sukuna argued. 

“The girl you got pregnant didn’t do any of that and still got pregnant, so, no correlation, really,” you bit back. 

Sukuna narrowed his eyes on you. “Have I gotten rusty, or have you gotten really good?” 

You grinned up at him cheekily. “I haven’t won an argument against these kids in ten years – if you can’t handle me, good luck with them.” 

“Oh, I’ll handle them,” Sukuna scoffed.

He didn't know what he was in for.

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three

Taglist : @illuzminate @matcha-kitty13 @seellove @getosh0e @dovey-quacks2332 @dreamingoftomorrow @universal-s1ut @ane5e @jungkookswifeeeeeee @womenlover4eva @maidofking123 @angelcake999 @sinyaaa @evnyy @1-rxse-1

[soobiary]

kfc breakup

my take, on the apple art trend....heehee

[soobiary]

HELLO SAILOR 👅👅

bimbo!reader just wanted to hold it while nerdjo peed

warnings: smut, oral m!receiving, crack, dumbification

“why aren’t you peeing?” you look up at him through your lashes. making sure to pout your glossed lips a little extra, not missing the way his eyes flick from them back to your finger trailing the vein along his cock. 

he lets out a deep sigh, pushing his glasses up in the process. “i’m erect,” you watch from your knees as he stares back at you. his hands balling up against his thighs. 

your finger swirls around his tip, slowly. he lets out a stream of air through his nose. 

“so?” you giggle, watching the pencil behind his ear fight to stay in position. “is it like… stuck?” you go back to studying his cock — it’s pretty like him. big, slightly curved at his red tip, a protruding vein that you really like running your tongue along — it gets him all stuttery and whiney. 

“the erection is adding pressure to my uret-,” he closes his cerulean eyes, rubbing his palm against his jean clad thigh. you are very much aware of what you’re doing. you usually are when it comes to him, everything else… topic for a different hour. “i am not explaining this to you in a bathroom.” 

“if you paid attention in anatomy you’d kno-“ 

“‘toru, you know i’m a cancer sun with a leo moon,” you roll your eyes. your finger now running from the white hairs at the base of his cock, up along his vein again. 

his head falls back, the pencil slipping from his ear and making a small sound as it falls against the porcelain of the sink. “that’s as-astrology..” his adams apple bobs and you clench your thighs at the sight. 

“whatever,” your grab his cock with one hand, not adding pressure, barely moving — just to feel the weight of it. his cock twitches against your palm, and you grin. “i just wanted to hold it while you tinkle.”

“don’t say that,” he deadpans, his eyes focused on your unmoving hand. 

“should i help you?” you tilt your head, innocently but your thumb starts to rub circles against his tip — spreading his precum. he slightly juts his hips towards you. smiling to yourself, you continue. “do i like squeeze it or something?” 

you don’t wait for an answer. you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to the head of his cock. your eyes still on his, watching every huff of a breath he’s sending out. then you place another kiss, almost feather like. then you take him completely in your wet mouth, your tongue gliding along the underside of his heavy cock. 

that earns you the whine you’ve been searching for since you’d entered the bathroom in the guise of holding it while he pees. 

now both hands wrap around the base of his cock — his abs flexing with the contact. you bob your head, your mouth wrapping around his tip sucking softly. 

you pull back with a pop. your lips glistening with spit. “don’t like pee in my mo-“ 

“fuck, stop talking,” his hands leave his thigh and thread through your hair. “stop talking and suck my dick.”

“so mean,” you pout, batting your lashes as you look up at him. your hands are still wrapped — slightly twisting at the shaft and jerking up 

he groans, his hands pushing your head back towards his waiting cock. this time, you take more of him — your cheeks hollowing, drool pooling, your hands twisting just beneath where your lips stretch around him. 

"fuck," he whines, all high pitch and shaky. his hands pull at your hair a little harder as you continue to bob your head — taking him deeper, tasting him on youtube tongue. 

his knees buckle, and you moan around him — cause him to twitch against your tongue. 

you pull back once again, a string of spit and his precum keeping you connected to his throbbing cock. he looks down at you — pupils blown out, checks flushed pink, sweat dampening his frosty hair. 

you lift his cock, your tongue running along his vein and you watch him become slack jaw.

with his hands still in your hair, your lips barely inches away from his dripping tip — you look up at him, all wide eyed and questioning.

"what is an ureth-something?"

i wanted to make my nerdjo all smug 🤭