#can you really blame him for lashing out??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cumironi · 15 days ago

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we were just one breath too late. . .

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

sum. what’s the worst thing someone could say to you before you die? “i don’t want to see you again. . .” is that worse enough? will they feel guilty? sorry? or relief? maybe your boyfriend can answer that. . . maybe not.

wn. non-sorcerer au, angst no comfort, themes of death, fatal accidents, emotional and verbal arguments, intense grief, survivor’s guilt, and heavy angst. it includes depictions of emotional trauma, blood, physical injury, and reunion in the afterlife. there are also mentions of alcohol use, self-blame, and spiritual imagery. reader discretion is advised.

GOJO SATORU

it started like every other argument.

small.

stupid.

avoidable.

but tonight, something inside both of you snapped.

you stood under a streetlight, the flickering bulb overhead casting harsh shadows on gojo’s sharp features. the city buzzed around you — car horns, footsteps, laughter in the distance — but between you two, it was silent. thick. suffocating.

“you forgot again,” you said quietly, arms folded across your chest. “my presentation. i told you about it three times. you promised you'd come.” gojo tilted his head back with a heavy sigh. he looked tired. not just physically — but in the bones, in the heart. “i got caught up at work,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes. “it was one meeting after another—”

“you always get caught up!” your voice cracked. “it’s always ‘meetings’ or ‘clients’ or some emergency that somehow always matters more than me.”

he flinched. “that’s not fair.”

“no, what’s not fair is being in love with someone who’s never here!” you shouted, tears brimming at your lashes. “i come home to an empty apartment. i fall asleep alone. i eat dinner alone. i show up to events alone. i’m starting to forget what it feels like to be in a relationship, satoru.”

he looked at you like you had physically struck him. his mouth opened, then closed. then he laughed — not out of amusement, but disbelief. “you think i don’t feel like shit about it?” he said bitterly. “you think i like missing everything? i’m doing this for us, dammit! so we have a future—”

“a future doesn’t matter if there’s nothing left of us to share it with!” you screamed.

silence.

your chest heaved as your words hung in the air between you like shattered glass. “god,” gojo muttered, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t even know who i’m talking to anymore.”

you took a step back. “what the hell does that mean?”

he looked at you with eyes that had stopped shining. “you’re not the same. you’re not the girl i fell in love with.”

you went still.

your mouth parted, breath catching in your throat. “and you’re not the man i thought you were.”

he exhaled, long and low, like he’d been holding it for years. then he turned — really turned — like he was walking out of your life. “maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “maybe it’s better if we just stop pretending.”

then —

“i don’t want to see you again.”

you stood frozen, heart cracking open like a dam, pain gushing out too fast to stop. “don’t say that,” you begged. “satoru, don’t walk away. please—”

but he did.

without looking back.

and you, like an idiot, chased him. just one more step. one more call. one more plea to make him stop.

you never made it past the street.

the screech of tires.

a horn.

then nothing.

just blood. just broken bones. just cold

when gojo got the call, he laughed. he thought it was a sick joke. he even yelled at the nurse for wasting his time. then they said your name again, and it broke something in him. he drove faster than he ever had, broke every law just to get to the hospital. burst through the ER doors. his eyes scanned for you, desperate, deranged, refusing to believe—

“sir,” the nurse said gently, “she didn’t make it.”

his heart stopped.

he stumbled into the room where they kept your body, untouched, still, and when he pulled back the sheet—

he collapsed.

“no,” he whispered, gripping your cold hand. “no, no, no, no, no. this isn’t— this isn’t how it ends. wake up. baby, please—” he shook. sobbed. screamed into your chest like it would bring you back.

but you never breathed again.

six months later

he didn’t touch his apartment. not even your toothbrush. your shoes still sat by the door. your coffee mug still rested on the windowsill. your scent — faint but present — still haunted the sheets. he refused to let anyone clean anything.

he quit his job.

what was the point?

he started walking at night. hours and hours, mind blank, waiting for exhaustion to swallow him whole. he talked to you. out loud. sometimes on street corners. sometimes at the cemetery, where your grave sat covered in your favorite flowers. sometimes on the balcony, where you used to watch sunsets.

he stopped laughing.

stopped smiling.

stopped seeing color.

“i didn’t mean it,” he’d whisper to the wind, voice breaking. “i didn’t mean any of it. you were everything. i was just scared.”

he stopped answering friends.

he deleted your number, but memorized it anyway.

he called it sometimes, just to hear your voicemail.

“hey, it’s me,” he’d say to the beep, voice trembling. “i saw that commercial you liked. you would’ve laughed so hard. i— i miss you. i’m sorry. i’ll always be sorry.”

he kept a picture of you in his wallet.

folded, creased, worn from fingers that touched it every night. some days he’d imagine what life would’ve been if he just turned around that night. if he hadn’t said those words. if he had listened. if he had held you. if he had said sorry.

you haunted him.

not the ghost kind.

the kind that lingered in quiet moments.

in the smell of your shampoo.

in the old voice memos.

in the way his heart still reached for you, even now.

he never dated again. never loved again. never even tried. because you were the only person he ever wanted to see. and he’d told you he didn’t want to. and fate, cruel and exact, listened.

GETO SUGURU

the air was heavy with the smell of early rain and city smoke, the kind of evening that felt unfinished — like something was waiting to be said. you stood under the gray sky with your arms crossed tight to your chest, and suguru stood across from you with that tired, worn expression, like he was already bracing for the worst.

“you forgot again,” you murmured, barely louder than the hush of cars passing behind you. he blinked, slow and distant, like he hadn’t quite heard. “forgot what?” you looked away, jaw tight. “my art show. it was today. i waited for you.”

there was a pause — long enough to bruise.

“shit,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, “i thought that was next week.”

you laughed. hollow. sharp. “you always think it’s next week.”

he looked at you then, really looked — and for a moment, he looked ashamed. but the wall went back up too quickly. it always did with him. he was too good at protecting what hurt. “i’ve been swamped with work,” he said, like it explained everything. “you know that.”

you turned to face him fully, eyes glinting beneath the streetlight, damp lashes trembling. “you’re always working, suguru. always somewhere else. i feel like i’m dating your shadow.”

he exhaled hard, ran a hand through his dark hair, gaze falling to the pavement. “i’m doing my best. this job— it’s not easy.”

“neither is loving someone who’s never really here.”

those words hit something. you saw it flicker in his expression — that small crack in the foundation. he looked up slowly, his voice a little sharper now. “so what, you’re blaming me for trying to build something stable? for trying to give us a future?”

“what future?” you asked. “one where i’m always waiting and you’re never coming home?”

“don’t twist it.”

“i’m not twisting anything. i’m lonely, suguru. i miss you even when you’re in the room.”

he went still.

then he laughed — bitter, tired, wrong.

“maybe we’ve outgrown each other,” he said softly. you stared at him, stunned silent. his next words were a whisper, like he hated them as they left his mouth. “maybe we’re better apart.”

you took a step forward, your voice trembling like wind-blown glass. “you don’t mean that.” he met your eyes. and this time, there was no anger. only something worse — resignation.

“i think i do.”

you swallowed hard, breath catching. “say it, then. if you want this to end, say it.”

and so he did.

“i don’t want to see you again.”

your heart cracked like the world had tilted.

and just like that —

he turned his back to you.

and walked away.

and you, still so foolish in love, stepped forward. just one step. just one more call of his name— you never made it across. the screech of tires split the quiet. a scream. a sharp thud. and then only silence.

he didn’t cry right away. not at the hospital. not at the funeral. not even when he kissed your forehead for the last time and felt the coldness seep into his bones. but he cried three days later, standing in the kitchen with two mugs in his hands — one yours. instinct, maybe. or hope. but your lips would never touch that cup again, and he crumbled right there, on the floor, hands shaking.

the grief did not come all at once. it came in waves.

in the quiet.

in the morning light that poured through your empty side of the bed. in the sound of your laugh from a video he couldn’t bring himself to delete.

he lived like a ghost of himself.

quiet. strange. slower.

he started talking to you like you were still around. “morning,” he’d whisper to the air, brushing his fingers over your pillow. “i saw someone today who looked like you.”

“i keep thinking i’ll see you walking home with that lopsided tote bag.”

he kept your lipstick on the windowsill.

your earrings in a dish by the sink.

your jacket still hanging by the door.

people told him he needed to let go. he never listened. he went to work. did his job. smiled when needed. but something in him had been buried with you. he stopped writing music.

stopped painting.

stopped dreaming.

and every year on the day he lost you, he would sit on the sidewalk where it happened. a small bouquet. your name whispered like a prayer. eyes searching the sky, as if you might still be in the clouds, watching.

“i didn’t mean it,” he says to the wind, year after year. “those words. that moment. if i could trade places with you, i would.” his heart, once full of poems and possibility, now only echoes with what-ifs and empty promises.

and true to his word—

he never saw you again.

not in dreams.

not in visions.

not even in passing strangers.

because sometimes, the cruelest part of love is that we don’t get to choose our last words. we only live with the ones we never got to take back.

NANAMI KENTO

you stood outside the station, the rain coming down like broken glass, your bag slung over your shoulder, and your heart barely stitched together. nanami stood in front of you, tall and tired, the collar of his coat soaked at the edges, eyes dim with something he refused to let show.

“you didn’t call,” you said quietly, voice catching in your throat. “you promised you would.”

he looked at you, unblinking. “i was working.”

“you’re always working, kento.”

“i have to.”

“no, you choose to.” you hugged yourself tighter, knuckles pale. “you choose your job. your schedule. your clients. you don’t choose me.” his jaw twitched, and he looked away for a moment. “you know it’s not that simple.”

you took a step closer, rain seeping into your shoes. “then explain it to me. help me understand why loving me always comes second.” he sighed, deep and worn. “i’m not young like you. i don’t get to drop everything for romance. i have responsibilities. deadlines. expectations.”

“and what am i, nanami?” you asked, voice breaking. “a weekend hobby? a luxury you squeeze into your planner when there’s nothing left to do?”

his silence hurt more than any answer.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, your hands trembling. “i waited for you at that little italian place. sat there like an idiot with a candle burning out.” he closed his eyes, rain dripping from his lashes. “i didn’t forget. i couldn’t leave the meeting. it was important.”

“more important than me?”

he didn’t answer.

and god, that was the answer.

“say it, kento. if you’re done, say it. if i’ve become another chore, say it and let me go.” he opened his mouth, hesitated—then, with a voice that cracked the world in two, “i don’t want to see you again.”

you flinched like he’d struck you.

he looked away. “you deserve someone with more time,” he added, quieter now. “someone who doesn’t disappoint you.” you shook your head slowly, eyes stinging. “but i don’t want someone else. i want you. even on your worst days. even when you’re tired. even when you forget.”

he turned his back.

and he walked away.

just like that. no final touch. no glance over the shoulder. and that’s when it happened.

you stepped off the curb too fast, still staring at the place where he used to be.

a shout.

a horn.

a metallic crash.

and the world blinked to white. they say it was instant. no pain. no time to speak. just silence and rain.

nanami got the call the next morning. his hands trembled, the receiver pressed too tightly to his ear. his coffee had gone cold on the table. he didn’t finish getting dressed that day.

at your funeral, he stood like stone. still. quiet. his eyes rimmed red, though no tears fell. he wasn’t the kind of man who cried where people could see. but he broke in the quiet. after that, everything dulled.

he went to work.

he ate his meals.

he paid his bills.

but he never bought another book. never returned to the coffee shop where you used to sit across from him, reading aloud the funny lines. never smiled without guilt biting at the edges. your number stayed in his phone. your toothbrush remained untouched. your side of the bed—cold. he would talk to you sometimes. in the mornings. in the silence. softly, like you might answer.

“you’d scold me for how much takeout i’m eating.”

“you always hated this tie.”

“i should’ve told you to wait. should’ve told you i didn’t mean it.”

his apartment became a museum of you. photos. receipts. your scarf on the coat hook. he couldn’t let go, because letting go meant accepting the truth. that his last words to you were a mistake. that he’d chosen work over love, and the cost was never seeing you smile again. he read the letter you left on the fridge a hundred times. “don’t forget about dinner tonight, love you.”

and he whispered to the quiet, every night before sleep—

“i’ll never forgive myself.”

because he didn’t just lose you. he buried the part of himself that believed love was enough. and true to his words, he never saw you again. not in dreams. not in crowds. not even in memory the way he wanted to.

only in the echo of your name, spoken too late, to the dark.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

the city never really slept, not this side of it anyway.

it was almost midnight when you finally caught up to him — the sharp sound of your boots echoing through the back alley behind the bar, neon lights flickering against the wet pavement. his motorcycle stood parked just beyond the fence, engine still warm, helmet hooked on the handlebar like he hadn’t decided whether to leave or not.

he turned when he heard you, cigarette hanging from his lips, jaw clenched like he’d been waiting for this — or maybe dreading it.

“you said you’d stop disappearing like this,” you said, voice steady despite the storm in your chest. toji exhaled slow, smoke curling upward. “figured you’d be asleep by now.”

“you said you’d be back by dinner.”

“yeah, well. i didn’t wanna argue.”

“so you just don’t come home at all?”

you stepped closer, arms wrapped around yourself like armor. the scent of gasoline and cold air clung to him. his eyes, always sharp, softened for half a second before hardening again.

“you know how i am, baby.”

“no,” you said quietly. “i don’t. because you never let me in. you disappear, you fight, you come back like nothing happened, and i’m supposed to just… smile? play house?” he shifted his weight, grinding the cigarette under his heel. “you knew what you were getting into with me.”

“i thought i did,” you whispered. “but i didn’t know it’d hurt this much.”

toji looked away, jaw ticking. “you deserve better.”

“don’t say that.”

“it’s true.”

“then be better, toji!”

the words echoed into the night, your voice trembling with all the weight you couldn’t carry anymore. “i can’t,” he said, and it was the quietest you’d ever heard him. “i don’t got that in me.”

“you do. you just won’t let yourself have anything good. you think you ruin everything, so you leave before it happens.”

“maybe,” he said, shrugging like it didn’t crack your chest in half. “but if i stay, you’ll hate me anyway.”

“i’ll hate you if you leave,” you said.

“because you keep choosing the easy way out. and i’m always the one left bleeding.” he moved toward the bike then, reaching for the helmet, eyes not meeting yours. “i don’t want to see you again,” he said.

you froze.

“…what?”

“i said i don’t want to see you again,” he repeated, harsher now, like it was the only way he knew how to kill something softly. “it’s better for both of us.” you stood still, eyes stinging. “you don’t mean that.”

“yeah,” he said, slinging a leg over the seat, engine purring to life. “i do.”

he didn’t look back when he pulled away.

he didn’t see you run after him. he didn’t hear your voice break behind him. he just turned the corner, disappearing like smoke.

and that’s when it happened.

your breath hitched as the headlights blinded you — a car, fast, too fast —

tires screeched. a sickening thud. then silence. like the whole city held its breath. your body lay still on the pavement, your phone still clutched in your palm.

he found out an hour later.

sirens. flashing lights. a phone call from a stranger who found your emergency contact. he dropped the helmet. sprinted through red lights. blood on the concrete. your name already fading into past tense. he wasn’t allowed to see you at the hospital. not until you were already gone.

his hands shook. he hadn’t cried in years, but that night, he did — loud and ugly in the hallway, fist through drywall, the taste of iron in his mouth. he’d told you he didn’t want to see you again. and now he never would.

toji never went back to that alley again.

he avoided the bar. he stopped sleeping in the bed you once shared. your picture stayed folded in his wallet, worn at the edges from the way his thumb kept brushing it. he still kept your old hoodie — the one with the faded print on the front and your perfume in the sleeves. on some nights, he wore it to sleep.

he started carrying a helmet for two. never used it. just kept it. sometimes he talked to the empty seat behind him on long rides.

“you’d laugh at me if you saw me now.”

“i should’ve stayed.”

“i didn’t mean it. fuck, i didn’t mean it.”

toji fushiguro, who never begged, now whispered your name like a prayer. but prayers don’t bring people back. not even the ones we love most. and just like his words, he never saw you again. and it ruined him forever.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

you stand just off the gravel path, arms crossed tight around yourself, breath visible in the cold air. the red and gold leaves have long since fallen. the trees are bare now. and so is the truth.

sukuna leans against his black car, cigarette half-lit in his fingers, eyes on the fading sky. the sunset paints him in fire — but none of it reaches his chest. “you lied,” you say softly. no venom. just a hollow ache. a hurt that’s been carved into your ribs like a name on stone.

“i didn’t,” he says flatly.

you blink. once. twice. “you said you’d stay. that we were… building something. something real.” he exhales smoke and looks away. “things change.”

“no,” you shake your head, taking a step forward. “you changed. you started pulling away. you stopped coming home before midnight. you stopped talking to me unless i begged. is that what you wanted? for me to chase you like some pathetic girl hoping for scraps?”

“stop,” he mutters.

“i’m not going to stop,” you snap, voice finally cracking under the pressure of holding it all in. “you say you’re tired of me? well, i’m tired of feeling like a ghost in my own relationship!”

his jaw clenches, the fire in his eyes flickering like the fuse on a bomb.

“i never asked you to stay,” he says.

“you didn’t have to,” you breathe. “i wanted to. i chose to. and you— you took every piece of me and turned it into something disposable.”

silence. just the wind brushing against the trees. and the slow, cold collapse of everything you thought you could survive.

“look,” sukuna finally mutters, pushing off the car, voice low and lethal, “i don’t want to keep doing this. if this is what we’ve become, if this is what you’ve become — someone who wants to scream and cry and throw shit every time something gets hard — then maybe we shouldn’t keep pretending this is love.”

your throat tightens. “so you’re giving up.”

he doesn’t answer.

“say it,” you whisper. “don’t walk away this time, don’t leave without saying it.” he looks at you, then. really looks. and for a second — just a second — you see it. the ruin in his chest. the heartbreak he’ll never name. because if he does, he’ll fall apart.

“…i don’t want to see you again,” he says.

it’s almost gentle.

you step back, your world crumbling under your feet. “if you leave now,” you warn, voice trembling, “this is it. i won’t chase after you. i won’t call.” he lights another cigarette with a flick of his thumb, eyes hollow.

“good.”

then he turns. gets in the car. engine starts.

he doesn’t look back.

not even once.

you stand there long after the sound of tires fades. you wipe your tears before they freeze to your skin. you step forward, legs shaking, heart pounding like it’s screaming not to go—

you never see the other car. bright headlights. no time. a shattering crunch of metal. then quiet.

then nothing.

he finds out in the morning.

he hadn’t slept. he never does when he fights with you. not really. but he hadn’t turned around. not until someone called. not until the world stood still. they told him you died instantly. that there was a ring box in your coat pocket. he hadn’t seen it before.

now he wishes he had.

after you, sukuna doesn’t date. doesn’t smile. doesn’t laugh the way he used to. his apartment is cold. silent. like a museum for a life that never got to finish.

he buys your favorite tea. never drinks it. he leaves your contacts in his phone. never deletes them. on your birthday, he drives to the road where you died. sits on the edge of the cliff with a cigarette and stares down at the curve of the road below. he keeps asking the wind, “why the fuck didn’t i stay?”

he dreams of your voice. he dreams of the way you laughed with your whole body. he dreams of how you’d lean into his chest at night like he was safe. like he was someone worth loving.

and every morning he wakes up, it hits him all over again. he said he didn’t want to see you again. and now he never will. and for someone who never believed in punishment, he lives every day like it’s hell.

SHIU KONG

he’s never one for public scenes. not shiu kong. always measured, always cold with his kindness — like a man who keeps even his warmth under lock and key. but tonight is different.

you’re standing outside a high-rise bar in roppongi. past midnight. your heels ache. your throat’s raw. the city’s pulsing behind you — full of strangers who’ll never know the ache of your name in his mouth.

the rain’s just started, soft and unhurried, like the sky can feel the ending too. “you don’t even look at me anymore,” you say, voice trembling as you hold your coat tighter. “it’s like i don’t even exist unless i’m behind your door or in your bed.”

shiu sighs. slow. practiced. his hands stay in his pockets like he’s afraid of what he’ll do if they don’t. “you know how i work,” he says, eyes flicking to the ground. “you knew from the beginning. this job, this life— it was never going to be simple.”

“i never wanted simple,” you spit, stepping closer. “i just wanted you.”

he doesn’t flinch. just exhales, tired.

“you’re young,” he says quietly. “you still think love means burning the house down just to feel the heat.” your jaw clenches. “and you? you think love is pretending it doesn’t hurt to watch the person you care about beg for scraps?” his silence is louder than traffic.

you laugh bitterly, blinking against the rain. “i loved you, shiu. i loved you. and you— you loved your job. your image. your goddamn quiet.” he looks up finally. and for a moment, something falters in those sharp, tired eyes.

“don’t do this,” he says lowly. “not here.” you shake your head. “why? because people might see you crack? because the big, composed man might fall apart over some girl who loved him too hard?”

he swallows. hard. “you don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“no,” you whisper, voice breaking. “you just don’t understand what you’re losing.” he says nothing. just stands there, like he’s frozen in place, like he knows that if he moves — even slightly — he’ll say something he can’t take back.

but he doesn’t move. he never does.

and maybe that’s the problem. you take a step back, shaking. the ache in your chest doesn’t feel like heartbreak anymore — it feels like finality. “say something,” you plead, voice barely there. “say anything.”

he hesitates.

“…i don’t want to see you again.”

he says it with no venom. no hate. just that quiet, cold steel he always wears. and he turns. just like that. into the streetlight, into the mist, into the part of your life that will never come back. you watch him walk away. you don’t follow. you cross the street blindly, barely seeing the headlights, barely hearing the tires screech—

a sudden flash.

a dull crack.

and then, stillness.

you don’t even feel it when your body hits the pavement.

shiu doesn’t sleep that night.

he pours himself a drink in his high-rise apartment, watching the lights of tokyo bleed into the windows. he thinks about calling. about saying sorry. but he’s not the kind of man who apologizes for being exactly what he warned you he was.

the call comes at 4:16 a.m.

the voice on the line is grim. he doesn’t speak for a long while after they hang up. he just stares at the window, at the half-empty glass in his hand, at the last message you sent hours before — still unread.

“just let me in.”

he keeps reading it.

again.

until his eyes blur.

he doesn’t go to the funeral.

he sends flowers — white lilies, with no name on the card. but he keeps your photo on his desk. he keeps the voice message you once sent when you were drunk and laughing and calling him “your grumpy old man” like it was the sweetest thing in the world.

he never deletes it.

sometimes, when the nights are too quiet, he plays it just to hear you laugh. and every time he closes his eyes, he remembers your voice in the rain. you loved him like it was a promise. he left you like it was a habit. and now the rain never quite feels the same. because he said he didn’t want to see you again.

and he got his wish.

HIGURUMA HIROMI

the argument starts in his office. glass walls. cold lighting. your reflection shaking in every polished surface. you came to bring him lunch. again. like always. you always come. and he always forgets to eat. and that’s how this began — with your love, simple and ordinary, clashing against the weight of his silence.

“you’re not even listening to me,” you say, placing the paper bag down harder than you mean to.

hiromi barely looks up from his desk. “i am.”

“no,” you whisper, “you’re hearing. not listening.”he sighs, finally leaning back in his chair, dark circles under his eyes like bruises. “what do you want me to say?”

you shake your head, stepping away from the desk. “something. anything. do you know how hard it is to be in love with someone who’s always somewhere else? always buried in cases, in guilt, in the past?”

his jaw clenches. “this job isn’t something i can just leave at the door.”

“and i’m not someone you should treat like a ghost,” you snap, eyes glassy. “i’ve been here. showing up. loving you through your silence. and you… you just disappear into it.” he rises slowly, suit perfect, eyes unreadable. “i never asked you to stay.” and the room drops into coldness. so sudden. so final.

“what?” your voice cracks.

“i didn’t ask you to stay,” he repeats, slower this time, quieter. “you chose this. and now you want to make me feel guilty for not being the man you built in your head.”

“no,” you whisper, breathless. “i wanted you. all of you. not a fantasy. not a perfect man. just you. and you can’t even give me that.”

he doesn’t answer. you wait. nothing.

so you laugh, soft and broken, backing away toward the door. “i hope your court never stops needing you, hiromi,” you say bitterly, “because i’m done waiting for a verdict that’s never coming.” you leave before the tears fall. you leave before he can see the way your hands shake. and he lets you. he watches the door shut and tells himself he’s doing the right thing.

he always tells himself that.

the accident happens two hours later. just outside the train station. wrong place. wrong time. someone running a red light. a body thrown too far. a phone crushed in your hand with your last unsent message:

“can we talk?”

when hiromi gets the call, he’s reviewing a case file. he thinks it’s a mistake. thinks it’s a sick joke. he keeps reading the sentence on the paper in front of him five times before realizing he hasn’t understood a word.

he doesn’t cry.

not that day.

not the day after.

he doesn’t attend your funeral either — says it’s to avoid attention. but the truth is simpler: he can’t face what he did. he can’t look at the hole he left in your life and pretend it’s just grief. it’s guilt. and it eats him from the inside.

weeks pass.

he stops shaving. stops replying to his colleagues. stops arguing in court the way he used to.

they say he’s changed. that something cracked in him. he doesn’t correct them. every night, he comes home to silence. he pours two glasses of wine out of habit, but always drinks alone. your toothbrush is still in the bathroom. your jacket still on the hook.

he never moves them.

he reads your old texts like scripture. listens to a voicemail you left one rainy evening, laughing about some café you wanted to take him to. he never got to go. he never said yes.

and every time he sees the empty space beside him in bed, he thinks:

“i said i didn’t ask her to stay.”

but god, he wishes he had. he wishes he had told you — that he loved you. that he was scared. that you made the world bearable.

but he didn’t.

and now, the only verdict left is this; you never saw him again.

just like he said.

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hyckstarz · 2 months ago

Note

can i plzzz request bimbo yn and nerd! mark 🥺🥺🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

of course!! this was a fun request to write ♡

my little nerd | l.mk

pairing. nerd!mark lee x bimbo!reader

word count. 2k

genre. smut

warnings. 18+ minors do not interact, use of pet name (baby), choking, oral (m. receiving), degrading language (slut, whore), unprotected sex, bimbo reader, shy/dom Mark, breast play/fucking

Mark didn't know how he got here. Maybe it was her honey, dewy voice that spoke pretty little words, or her manicured nails that drummed along the desk as she peered sexily up at him through her lashes. Either way, he found himself agreeing to tutor her, at her home, in the evenings of every weekend. He groaned out in frustration and disbelief, clutching the healthy locks of his hair.

Y/N giggles at his weird antics, placing a hand on his leg as she rubs circles on his inner thigh, which immediately has his eyes snapping to her, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, "What's got you so worked up? Is it because I don't get what meiosis is? It's just sex, is it not? I'll ace it after you give me a demonstration."

Mark really doesn't know how he got here. But he finds himself leaning in, blaming it on her intoxicatingly cheap, soapy perfume and her words that get increasingly quiet, drawing him in like a siren's call. He snaps out of it, however. His leg bounces under the table in an attempt to get her hand off of his thigh before he loses it again, "It's not sex exactly... not in the way you're thinking of, at least," he grumbles, trying desperately to distract himself from her plush, glossy lips that puckered cluelessly. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he turns to his study notes, "Besides, I'm only here to tutor you, you said you needed to pass science."

She pouts obnoxiously at him. Yet, when his gaze catches a glimpse of those perfect, god-crafted tits, he really feels like he should be paying a thousand thank yous to the man above, expressing his immense gratitude for having them press against his arm as she continues to whine with that sugary voice, "But I learn through hands-on experience! And sex is sex... how is it any different?"

Maybe Mark should take back his gratitude. There was no way his tutoring alone could save her from failing science in only two months and, he was starting to believe even miracles weren't strong enough, "No, it's different with cells. You'd know this if you paid attention yesterday. We went over this during class."

She scoffs, pulling back and fixing her top whilst looking at the mirror on her desk, pushing her breasts together which has Mark reeling, "Who cares about class when I have such a cute tutor?" She grins at him, leaning in enough for him to feel her warm breath brush against his lips, "What about you?"

"W-what about me?" Mark squeaks, his voice cracking at the close proximity.

She giggles, "Do you think I'm cute?" Her hand comes up to cup his jaw, thumb grazing his bottom lip as she watches it jutter out, entranced.

Mark squirms in his seat, cheeks a bright red under her intense gaze, "Yeah... you're cute."

He doesn't know what came over him, but fuck was she perfection. Sure, all of God's works were perfection, but when she pulls back to unzip her top, exposing the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra this whole time, he'd come to the conclusion that she needed a word that went beyond perfection itself.

"Fuck," he kept his eyes locked on the soft mounds and perky nipples. He wondered how they'd fit in his hand and whether they were as soft and plush as they looked.

"Surprised I wasn't wearing a bra? Well, it's one less garment to fiddle with," she giggles dumbly, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "that includes underwear. Wanna find out if I'm wearing any?"

But Mark, being the barely experienced, book nerd he was, forces his eyes to bore into the textbook in front of him. He tries to make sense of the words on the page, but it's hard when he can see her pretty, perky tits in the corner of his eyes. He desperately shifts in the chair, trying to calm his raging hard on. He hated how easily he was turned on by her. She was an air head. A gorgeous, sexy, air head that drove him insane despite being used by hundreds of men for being a cumslut.

She pouts, "You're gonna ignore me?"

Mark swallows thickly, eyes fluttering shut as if to drown out the pretty voice from the pretty woman next to him, "We-," he clears his throat, "We need to study... I need you to pass-"

Suddenly, she swivles his chair to the side, planting her knees to the carpeted floor as she lodges herself between his legs, "We can study after, Mark. I need your cum... need you to paint my mouth white, I can't focus otherwise. Not when you're so cute," she bites her lip, doe eyes pleading as she looks up at him.

It felt like Mark had experienced whiplash with the way she fit so perfectly between his legs. He was starting to believe her middle name was indeed... perfect. He moaned, clutching onto the armrests as she licked over his clothed crotch, yanking him back towards reality. Another lick, and he swore he could see stars, "Fuuuck, Y/N... w-we can't."

Mark clutched desperately onto the armrests, knuckles turning white out of fear that, if he were to let go, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from going all the way with her.

"We can't or you won't?" She slowly starts to unzip his jeans, giving him the option to pull away. But, when he doesn't, she feels the anticipation start to throb between her legs, and she has to rub her thighs together when his cock springs free from the confines of his boxers, "Gonna make you feel so good, my little nerd. Wanna taste you so bad."

In a heartbeat, she leaves kitten licks along the raging red head of his cock. Each lick causes him to shiver, "S-stop teasing..," Mark groans, peering down at her through hooded eyes.

She swipes her flat tongue up his length before swallowing him whole. He bucks into her mouth, desperately grasping at her long hair, bunching it up and shoving her down on his cock, "Fuck... your mouth... so pretty wrapped around my dick..."

She hums, sending shivers through his body. Her tongue swirls around his length, sucking and bobbing her head with a vigour that leaves him breathless and, the erotic sight of her drool dribbling down his length, has him panting. When she pulls away with a pop, a string of saliva connecting between her lips and his dick, Mark can see the whore beneath the pretty exterior, and his dick twitches at the sight. He stops her before she goes back in, "Tits... wanna fuck your tits."

That alone has her clenching around nothing. She sits up, wrapping her breasts around his dick, "Go ahead, make a mess of them, baby."

Mark groans at how pliant she is. Slowly, he ruts into them, loving how soft they feel, and he can't hold back anymore. He picks up the pace, rocking his hips between her breasts and he swears this is better than any fantasy he could cook up about her. At the same time of his thrusts, she rubs her breasts around his length, spreading the wetness from having sucked him off, watching his dick twitch and the skin tug with every drag.

But Mark forces himself to pull away before he reaches his orgasm, and Y/N starts to complain "Mark, why did you stop?"

He sends her a lazy chuckle, one that has her swooning. Sure, she could get with any man without a care, but Mark was attractive in a subtle, cute and sexy way, as she now realises with the look he sends her. She swallows hard, his heavy gaze raking over her smaller frame. She swears if he continues to look at her like this, she'd come on the spot and stain her favourite rug.

Mark grabs at her waist impatiently, yanking her out of her thoughts and manhandling her as he hoists her up onto the desk without much gentleness, "Look at you, you'd sooner bend over for any dick than pass your exams," his hand cups her cheeks, squishing them roughly, "If you're gonna act like a whore, maybe I'll treat you like one."

Without warning, he reaches under her skirt, feeling the cloth of her panties, "So, you were wearing one." His lip twitches into a smirk, tugging her underwear to the side as he thrusts into her, and it's a feeling she found herself addicted to — getting filled up, used and fucked until she couldn't form coherent thoughts. Sharp moans pushed out of her throat, echoing in the room as she rocked her hips against his, spreading her legs wider for him.

Mark's hand moves down to her throat, applying enough pressure to have her gasping, "You're just a slut. Say it."

"I-I'm a slut," she moaned, her eyes rolling back and jaw going slack. She could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it stretched her out, pulling back just enough before slamming back in. He was the perfect size, and she swears she lucked out after perfecting her dick radar. That little nerd tucked away in the corner of the library, unsuspecting and easily flustered... who would have thought he'd be so... commanding and intense. It made her clench around his dick, earning a groan from him as his glasses slipped further down the bridge of his nose, already fogged up from their coupling.

Mark leant in, his hot breath tickling her neck, "That's right... my filthy slut," he nips at her skin, trailing open-mouthed, sloppy kisses along the column of her neck, biting into her skin as he ruts into her, "So... so sexy..."

Her fingers tangle in his hair, tugging with each thrust. She loved the feel of his soft lips against her skin and the cool metal of his glasses bumping into her jaw, "Your f-filth... filthy slut..."

But it wasn't enough. It never was enough. Mark pulls out of her, flipping her over so that her ass presented itself to him tantalisingly under her mini skirt. He groaned at the sight, spreading her apart as his dick rubbed along her folds, teasing her entrance, before pushing back in. This new angle had her knees buckling, gasping as her clit brushed over the desk with every hard thrust. Her manicured nails dug into the desk, gripping as spit dribbled down her chin. She hadn't been this fucked out in so long, and it was none other than a nerd who had the slut seeing stars.

She cries out, and Mark leans over, tilting her face to meet his lips, kissing her lazily, swallowing her wanton moans and smearing her spit along her cheeks, "So dirty."

Y/N rocks her hips back against his and Mark grabs a fistful of her hair, pressing her face to the desk, free hand splayed out on her lower back to hold her firmly down as he picked up the pace, feeling his climax approaching, "Fuck, I'm close... wanna cum on your tits though, like I was supposed to."

She concluded he was a tit-obsessed nerd, but she loved every second of it. She nods her head eagerly, "I don't care where you cum as long as it's on or in me," she begged, desperation eating away at her as she came, shuddering under him, "please... please..."

Mark smirked, yanking her head back enough so that she lay on her side as he pulled out, cum spurting on the side of her face and along her breasts. He leans in, suckling on her cum-coated nipple before moving up her body to kiss her. She tasted sweet, mixed with the saltiness of his release, and he swore again that she was perfect. Perfect just like this; fucked out and smeared with his cum as she babbled pretty, incoherent words.

#mark lee smut #mark x reader #mark imagine #mark lee #nct mark smut #nct smut #nct x reader #nct #idol au #kpop au #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #mark smut #mark drabbles #꒰ hyckstarz ꒱

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hischierhoney · 7 months ago

Text

Someday ⊹₊⟡⋆

Nico Hischier x reader // masterlist

summary: an overheard comment at a team party has Nico spiraling about the future- in the best kind of way. 2.9k

or: stache!nico looks like a dilf so I wrote a breeding kink fic. nobody perceive me.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, breeding kink but like. in a for fun way not an actually trying to get pregnant way, unprotected sex, strong language, mentions of future pregnancy

i blame cece & sabrina carpenter

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” Nico asks, his voice ringing out through the softly lit kitchen.

You hum, shaking soapy water off your hands into the sink. “Gonna have to be more specific, babe.”

You figure he’s probably talking about something you said when you were at the Lazar’s house for a football game watch party. He’s been a bit pensive ever since you got home, a bit lost in his own head. Not in a bad way- you know the man well enough to know he’s not upset. He’s just been thinking. When you turn to face him in the kitchen, his bottom lip is pink, like he’s been biting at it, and his brows are slightly furrowed. But his eyes are soft. Warm.

He leans on the island, hands splayed against the granite. He’s studying you. You wrack your brain for what you might’ve said earlier to make him spiral like this. Was it the chilli you asked for the recipe for, or the team you decided to cheer for? Was it your comment about the summer in Switzerland, how you missed it already? Was it-

“You were in the kitchen,” he says. “You were helping feed the baby.”

You blink, your heart fluttering slightly. It’d been one of his teammates’ wives, and she’d been trying to juggle the baby and her toddler, trying to soothe both of them. You’d offered to help, willingly tucked the baby into your arms and gave them a bottle. She’d smiled at you, eyes alight with mischief.

“You’re a natural,” she’d said. “You want one of your own someday?”

You’d nodded, without even thinking about it. “Someday,” you’d agreed. “Nico would make such a good dad. Especially with the mustache, my god.”

She’d laughed. You had, too. And then you’d moved on. You hadn’t even realized Nico had heard it.

“You were eavesdropping,” you tease, gently.

He grins sheepishly. “You looked pretty. With the baby.”

He’s treading lightly. You are, too.

“Had to try and match your DILF energy,” you tell him. When he cocks his head, you continue. “You know. Dad I’d like to-“

“I know,” he interrupts, his cheeks going pink. “You- I… you meant it, though?”

You blink. “Yeah, Neeks. We’ve talked about that, remember? Said we were both open to kids, eventually.”

He nods, swallows. “Yeah. In general. We- when we talked it was so… early. But today you said-“

He pauses. You take a good look at him- really look. The flush on his cheeks, the spread of his palms against the counter. His dark, wide eyes. And suddenly, you think you know.

“Today I said you’d make a good dad,” you fill in, and he blinks, slowly. “Especially with the mustache.”

He rumbles out a laugh, his thumb rubbing against the counter. You push yourself away from your spot and round the island, so you’re within arms reach of him. You can practically feel the heat radiating off his body. Warm like a sunny afternoon.

“I meant it,” you add. His shoulders shake, almost imperceptibly. “Did you like that, baby?”

His eyelids flutter, lashes tangling against his cheeks. “I like you.”

He’s deflecting. You laugh, and without any real effort, you slip under his arm to stand between him and the counter. He’s bracketing you in now, one arm on each side, staring down at you. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. You can feel the weight of his gaze. You can feel the tension rolling off of him- good tension. Like a late summer storm, waiting to break.

You reach up and wind your hands around his neck. He shivers, then repeats the motion when you toy with the ends of his hair where they brush against his neck.

“You can tell me anything, you know,” you say. “I wanna know.”

He leans forward and brushes a chaste kiss to your forehead before he speaks. “I liked it. You saying that.”

You hum and tug on his hair, just slightly. “Yeah?”

He swallows and nods. “Yeah. Maybe a little too much. I mean. I know, someday, you know. Now isn’t the time for… for a baby. But…”

You can feel your face grow warm, feel your own pupils grow wide, feel the way you’re leaning into him already. The tension crackles underneath your skin.

“There’s always time to… practice,” you tell him.

That seems to be all the permission he needs, really. His hands fly from the counter to your hips, cold from the granite but warming up quickly. He leans down to capture your mouth in a heady kiss, one that has you feeling desperate within seconds. He presses you close against the island, then presses himself close to you, close enough that you can feel how hard he is underneath his sweatpants. You gasp against his lips, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, hot and insistent and needy.

His hands on your hips slip lower, lower, lower, until he’s cupping your ass, hauling you up and away from the counter. You squeal against his lips when he lifts you up, pulling at your legs to wrap around his waist. It changes the angle, lifts your head higher than his, and you cup his face in your hands to kiss him again, relishing in the soft groan he lets out.

He carries you to the bedroom by memory alone, and you bite back a laugh when he bumps into the wall slightly on the way. You’re not laughing much longer, though, when he stumbles his way to the bed and tosses you down onto it. You yelp, landing with a slight bounce, eyes suddenly wide open as you stare up at him. His shoulders are heaving, eyes wild, mustache sitting proudly above his kiss reddened lips. He’s hesitating.

You reach for the hem of your shirt. “You’re gonna make a hot dad, you know. Mustache and all.”

The groan he lets out is deep and ragged. He lurches towards the bed to lean over you, his hands braced on either side of your head. You grin up at him, happily. He has a smirk on his lips when he reaches down and rips your hands away from the hem of your shirt, pinning them above your head easily, both wrists between one hand. You sigh, flutter your eyelashes at him, and arch your back towards him.

“Let me,” he says. “Let me take care of you.”

You shudder beneath him as the smirk turns to a full on grin. He keeps your hands pinned above your head, but his other hand skates down your body, replacing yours at the hem of your shirt. He toys with the fabric before he slips his hand underneath to brush over your skin. His hands are heated, now, as he shoves the shirt up your body, leaving you exposed to him. You feel yourself growing hazier.

“You take good care of me, always,” you tell him, grinning up at him. “Gonna take such good care of us.”

He groans at that, a guttural sound that has fire licking up your spine. You whine, squirming on the bed beneath him, trying to reach for him, to hold on, to pull him close. He lets out a laugh, keeps your hands pinned, and his other hand slips over to lay flat against your stomach. He holds you down against the bed. Your breath hitches.

“Gonna feel me right here,” he says- promises. “Gonna make you mine.”

He gets your clothes off quickly after that. His clothes follow yours into a pile on the floor. The moment of distraction lets you shift on the bed, wiggling your way up towards the pillows. You roll over, half onto your stomach, reaching towards the headboard to pull yourself farther. Nico doesn’t seem to like that- his hands land on your now bare hips, and he yanks, leaving you yelping and giggling as he pulls you back down towards the end of the bed. There’s laughter on his lips when he finds you again, when he climbs up onto the mattress with you, when he engulfs you, his lips meeting yours again, hot and wet and intoxicating.

He’s more rushed than usual, more frantic. His hand slips between your legs to cup your cunt, groaning at what he finds there. You know you’re soaked- how could you not be, when he looks like that and talks like that and kisses you like that. His fingers drift toward your center, his thumb brushing against your clit, and you whine. You reach up to hold onto him, your hands clawing at his shoulders as he teases you.

“Just want you to fuck me,” you admit, voice high and breathy. “C’mon, Nico-“

“Jesus,” he mutters, dragging his lips against your jaw, his mustache scraping against your skin. “Gonna be the death of me.”

He takes his time, touching you until you’re a whining mess beneath him. When he finally gives in, finally takes his cock in his hand and leans close, you’re practically begging him for it. You can see the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks- he’s feeling it too. He brushes the head of his cock over your center and chews on his bottom lip. The noise he lets out when he sinks into you is close to a sigh. Like he’s relieved. When you look up at him through half lidded eyes, he’s watching you. Watching your face. His brow ticks, and you wonder what he sees there. If he can see the way you’re already falling apart.

He splays his hand across your stomach again- you whimper and squirm beneath him, if only to test the way he’s pinning you down. He sighs, again.

“You take me so well,” he coos.

You keen, your eyelids fluttering shut at the words. When he bottoms out, you hear the groan that leaves his lips, and then you feel it when he ducks his head to mouth at your collarbone. He stays put for a moment, the stubble on his jaw brushing against the sensitive skin of your chest.

Then, he starts to rock his hips, and along with that, he starts to run his mouth.

Nico’s always been a talker, at least towards you- outside of bed and in bed. It’s one of your favorite things about him. On a bad day, he can take your mind off things with a long winded ramble. In bed, he can keep up a running commentary of dirty talk that sends you careening towards the edge far faster than you ever have. But if you’d thought it was something good before, now…

“That’s a good girl,” he groans, grinding against you on the end of a roll of his hips. “Gonna take me so well, huh? Gonna let me fill you up, yeah?”

You cry out beneath him on the next thrust, arching off the bed again, trying to wrap your legs around his waist to keep him there. It’s no use. He keeps you pinned, his hand pressing into your thigh to hold you open for him, his other hand still pressed against your stomach.

“Fuck,” he mutters, panting openly against your chest. “Oh, fuck. Good girl. So good for me.”

You reach up and bury your fingers in his hair, to tug and pull and hold. He groans, again, rolling his hips against yours slowly. You pull, again, with a whine.

“Please,” you mumble, into the open air above you. “Need it, Nico.”

He huffs. And then he really starts to talk, punctuating his sentences with lazy but pointed rolls of his hips. He tells you how good you looked that day, how you’d made his imagination run wild. He tells you how he pictured this. He tells you how someday, he’s going to have you like this for real, take you like this over and over again until it works, until you make him a dad. He cradles your face in his palm and kisses you, lets his hand slip down to hold your throat, and tells you how good you’ll look when he’s finished with you, when he’s left his mark.

You don’t realize the repeated pleas that hang in the air are coming from you until he’s shushing you, gently.

“Please what, baby?” He asks, voice soft and sweet, bordering on patronizing. “Tell me what you need, anything you need.”

He rolls his hips again, shuddering when he presses deep. You bite back a wail, your skin on fire. Your hands have found anchor points now, one twisted in the duvet beneath you, the other clinging to his shoulder, sure to leave marks there. The same way he’s going to leave marks on you. The way he’s going to bury himself deep and come inside of you and-

“Please, Nico,” you cry out, cherishing the way his breath stutters in his chest. “I need it. Need you. Need you to fuck me and fill me up and take me- any way you want, just- please, please-“

He smothers the rest of your words with another kiss. You whine into his mouth, let his tongue twist against yours as you melt into the bed. And, as he’d said, he does exactly as you asked. His thrusts pick up speed, pick up intensity, pick up a new edge. He plants his hands beside your head and takes. When he breaks the kiss, gasping for air against your cheek, you open your eyes to look up at him. His pupils are dark and wide, a feral grin on his lips.

You can feel it coming, can feel yourself teetering on the edge. “Oh, Nico,” you whine.

“I’ve got you,” he promises.

He reaches for one of your hands and pulls it to your stomach. He presses his hand over the back of yours, using your own palm to pin you to the bed. You choke on your next breath-it all feels so intense, so heady, so overwhelming.

“Gonna fill you up,” he promises through a groan. “nd then m’gonna do it again. And again. As many times as it takes. And you’re gonna be good for me, aren’t you-“

“Nico,” you gasp,clinging tightly to him. “M’gonna-“

“I know,” he coos. “Just let go, baby. M’right there with you, just-“

When you come around him, he buries himself deep and follows suit. The coil snaps for both of you, and the air is filled with a mix of your sounds. The shockwaves of your orgasm roll through you, and you can feel him coming deep inside you, pulsing and twitching, the way he promised he would, while your vision goes white.

You collapse back onto the bed, utterly spent. He follows quickly after, blanketing you with his body, his face buried in your neck. Your ears ring, loudly, and leftover stars dance in your vision. When you finally come back around, you realize he’s mumbling words into your skin. A mix of English and Swiss German, barely coherent-

“So good for me, schatz, so- verdammte hölle. Take me so well. My good girl. Gonna knock you up. Someday. Someday I’ll do this for real. Eines tages, baby.”

“Nico,” you gasp out, again, and he lifts his head, resting his chin against your collarbone, atop his hand.

“There she is,” he says. “You okay?”

You nod frantically. “So good. That was so good.”

He nods in agreement and rests his cheek against his hand, blinking up at you softly. “It’s like your song.”

You blink, frowning at him. “Huh? My song?”

He nods, drumming his fingers against your collarbone. “You know. The Sabrina one. I might let you make me Juno. That song.”

You blink wildly, your heart twisting, squirming beneath him. Because yeah, you know the song. The one about being so in love you’d let him get you pregnant. One of me is cute, but two though? You’ve had it stuck in your head for days, have been humming it nearly nonstop. Of course he noticed.

“I would, you know,” you tell him. “I’d let you.”

He rumbles out a laugh, eyelids fluttering against his cheeks again. “Good. Stop squirming. Stay put. Gotta make sure it takes.”

You shiver. “Nico.”

You know he knows you’re on birth control. You know he’s not really being serious. But god, it’s hot to think about it. To hear him say it. To feel him pin you to the bed with one hand, his other hiking your leg over his hip.

In response, he rolls his hips against yours, still buried inside of you. You quiver, your hands flying up to his shoulders, nails already scraping at his skin.

“Nico,” you sigh, though you have a feeling it’s no use. “S’too much. Can’t.”

He hums against your collarbone and repeats the motion. Then he reaches up, grabs your wrists, and pulls them down against the bed. He intertwines his fingers with yours, hands next to your head.

“Yes, you can,” he says. “You always take me so well, you can give me one more.”

You whine, but you’re nodding, too.

“Someday,” he adds. “I’ll do this for real. And I’ll do it over and over until it works. M’never gonna get enough of you. Could never get enough.”

You whine his name again. He shushes you, soft and warm.

“I’ve got you,” he says. “Always do, always will.“

His thrusts are lazy, rhythmless. He’s in no hurry this time. He’s got all the time he wants. You melt into the bed and dream of someday.

…..

a/n: thank you for reading! come scream about mustache!nico with me in the inbox!

#nico hischier x you #nico hischier oneshot #nico hischier fanfiction #nico hischier fic #nico hischier x reader #nico Hischier smut #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl smut #hockey fix #hockey fanfic #hockey smut #x reader #fanfic #honey writes

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obxsummer · 8 months ago

Text

leave me again // jj maybank

pairing: ex!jj maybank x routledge!reader

request: Routledge reader and JJ broke up during the 18 months and now she watches him with Kie? 🫢👀

summary: based on the song by kelsea ballerini; after two years together, you return to outer banks only to lose jj to kiara in a blink of an eye.

warnings: minor szn 4 spoilers, angst hehehe

navigation

You didn’t understand. You really didn’t.

How could you go from such a beautiful relationship and one of the happiest times of your life to watching your best friend get together with your ex-boyfriend? It seemed like such a cruel joke to watch people who had been with you your entire life turn against you in this way.

It took less than a week for JJ to cut things off after everyone came back from El Dorado, claiming he needed to reevaluate everything and take time for himself. Apparently, that didn’t last long, because three days later, you caught Kiara sharing his bed in Sarah’s rental condo, looking like the happiest he’d ever been.

"I can explain, just-"

The scene in front of you was sick. You'd heard JJ yell out in his sleep, something that was more common than not with his nightmares. Instincts had you in front of his door before you knew it, wanting to comfort him in case he needed someone. You didn't expect to find this.

JJ, shirtless, next to Kiara, of all people, who was wearing the boy's shirt. In bed. Together.

Whatever JJ wanted to say, you didn't give him a chance to hear it. Lips tucked in a thin line, you gave a nod. "Sorry for interrupting, hope everything's okay."

And with a smile on your face and no room for explanations, you closed the door.

“Are you still avoiding them?” Sarah’s voice came from behind as you watched JJ and Kie prep the boat for the upcoming dive.

You huffed, “Do you blame me?”

She stopped to stand beside you, her eyes watching the duo on the boat move together. “There’s no chemistry.”

“Not a bit.”

Sarah watched you carefully as if she was waiting for the dam to break. In the almost three weeks JJ and Kie had been ‘together’, you hadn’t cried and you hadn’t lashed out. You’d told her the second you found them in bed and they started spewing excuses, you just apologized for interrupting and dismissed yourself with a smile.

John B was concerned. As your older brother, it was his job to defend you and watch out for you, no matter the circumstance. When the two of you first got together, John B made JJ swear that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, swearing there would be consequences. While you’d kept your cool, he did not and JJ managed to catch himself a black eye and swollen cheek as a result.

“Has John B talked to them?”

“Has John B what?” Your brother interrupted your question as he joined the two of you in the shop, hauling a hefty backpack. He reached out to grab your shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “You okay?”

You nodded in response, clamping your mouth shut and looking back at the water. Kiara was going down on the dive with JJ, something about not leaving him alone which made your eyes roll. Pope and John B were going on the boat, leaving you, Sarah, and Cleo on shore to be lookout.

“Are you lying to me?”

You’d lost so many pieces of yourself in the moments shared with JJ, allowing the vulnerability you had believed he would never take advantage of. It was no surprise John B could see through the cracks you’d inevitably let form. You sighed, head dropping between your shoulder blades as you let out a steady breath. “I’m fine, Bee. Promise.”

John B was unconvinced by your words but didn’t push. He heard your almost silent crying at night. It was obvious you were hurting by the way you closed yourself off and hid in your skin. He hated that his so-called best friend was the one to treat you this way and cause you to feel like this.

“You can take a break,” He reassured as his backpack dropped to the ground as he pulled you into a full hug and placed a kiss on your head. “Nobody would blame you.”

You hugged him back and fought off the tears that burned your eyes. There would be a point and time to talk about all of this, but it wasn’t here and now. If you were being honest, there was nothing you’d rather do than run away from Kildare right now, but it wouldn’t be the best option by any means.

“You guys ready up there?” JJ’s voice echoed around the morning air as he called out to John B.

You hugged your brother tighter before letting go, forcing a smile on your lips. “Be careful, please?”

He rubbed your head lovingly, smiling when you tried to shove him away. “Always.”

You stepped away to give him time with Sarah and started to head back toward the house when someone called your name. JJ’s shoes stomped against the new wooden deck, the sound getting louder as he got closer. You froze in your spot as he rounded to stop you from walking away. “Can we talk?”

You stared at him for a moment, wondering how someone you loved so incredibly much could make you feel this way. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

When you moved to pass him, he grabbed your elbow gently to prevent it. “Please, I just want to get this out before… in case I don’t-”

“You’ll be back.” It was hard to avoid the instinct of reassuring him. He swallowed thickly and met your gaze. He would be back, you just didn't know if you'd be here to see it. The two of you hadn’t been alone since everything went down and there was plenty of awkwardness to show.

“I just… I’m sorry. About everything. I should’ve told you, but it all happened so fast and-”

“Did you ever love me?” The question came out of your mouth before you could think about it. You wanted to ask it for a while, to find out exactly what went through his head when he let Kiara climb in bed with him that night.

The opening and closing of his mouth was enough of a response to shatter you. Tears formed faster than you liked as you nodded.

“Figured," You breathed out, "Goodbye, JJ.”

You left him on the dock and didn’t look back as you walked away. From him, from Kie, from the friends you considered family until they made you feel like anything but. You swore then and there that you would never fall for someone in that way again.

After all, staying only made you get real good at pretend.

Coming back from the dive had been a mess of chaos. Kie and JJ were at the hospital recovering from nitrogen in their blood while the remainder of the group came back to the house with the amulet, hoping to figure out what was inscribed inside.

John B called your name as he entered the house, practically bouncing in excitement to tell you what they’d found. You’d opted to stay back after speaking to JJ on the dock, which they didn’t fault you for, knowing you needed time alone.

When silence followed JB’s call, he frowned. Something wasn’t right. The main floor was empty, not a sign of you or your relative presence in the area. Room empty too, leaving John B to question where the hell you went. They had the Twinkie and the dirt bikes were outside which meant if you went anywhere it would be on your own two feet.

“John B.”

The tone in Sarah’s voice told him his intuition was right. She met him in the doorway of your room with a piece of paper in hand, holding it in his direction. He didn’t even need to read it to know the answer to his question.

You were gone. And you weren’t coming back any time soon.

part two here :)

a/n: i hate this i'm so sorry

navigation

#obx4 #outer banks x reader #obx #outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x routledge!reader #kiara carerra #sarah cameron #john b routledge #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x you #outer banks x you

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semperama · 1 month ago

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Sorry, still thinking about this post and my tags on it, and if you think about it, Eddie has been acting like a sheepdog, guiding Buck into the most comfortable, close-enough-but-not-too-close spot in his life from pretty much the very beginning. They are established as partners early on, with them literally promising to have each other's backs, and then proving it when Buck starts helping with Chris in 2x04 and introduces Eddie to Carla. And pretty much starting then, you can see Eddie begin doing this dance. During the tsunami arc, Buck has started to pull away because of his injury, so Eddie drops Chris off with him. And afterward, Buck is blaming himself and prepared to pull away again, and Eddie knows this and shows up and hits him with a, "There's no one in this world I trust with my son more than you."

Then there's the infamous grocery store fight, the first time their partnership is really threatened, and Eddie lashes out and reminds Buck where his place is. ("Do you know how much Chris misses you?" and "I couldn't even call you to bail me out of jail.") Then Buck gets it, and we get the kitchen scene, but while we're all focused on the flirting (for good reason!) what's also happening is that Eddie is deflecting all the real questions. Buck pushes, "If you can't be honest with Frank, at least be honest with me," but Eddie just keeps cracking jokes, and they never really do get to the heart of the matter. Eddie's content that he has Buck back where he needs him; they don't have to actually talk about what happened or why in a real way.

But of course the most obvious time it happens is with the will. And the fact that Eddie puts Buck in his will a year before he tells him about it. He anchors Buck into his and Chris's life, but he only tells Buck when Buck has started to doubt his place during the shooting arc. It's actually an insane choice to put your best friend in your will without even having a conversation about it first, but Eddie can't face that conversation. Not until Buck is trying to place himself farther outside the "Buck Zone of Comfort" that Eddie has drawn in his mind, and then he has to just carefully nudge him riiiight back over the line. You're not expendable, not to me.

(Adding a cut, because this is getting long.)

The reason he's getting all snarly now is because leaving for Texas exposed this dance Eddie's been doing in a way that can't be ignored, because this is the first time Eddie himself has pushed Buck away, rather than some circumstance or NDE or Buck's own issues. If things were normal between them, Eddie could have involved Buck from the beginning, but he couldn't do that without deciding once and for all, is Buck just my friend, or is he more than that? Because if he's just a friend, then he can just help me move and be happy for me. But if he's more than that, then I don't think either of us can handle being apart, but I have no choice. But of course Eddie can't deal with thinking about any of that, so he just puts up a wall between himself and Buck by not talking to him about it at all until Buck finds out, and even then he keeps it minimal (ex: Buck tries to help him pick a house, but in the end Eddie picks one out and puts a down payment on it without consulting Buck at all).

I don't think either of them really gets what's behind it yet. Like, they know that it feels bad for Eddie to leave, but they don't fully understand why. Eddie won't let himself think about it, and Buck I think can't even conceive of the idea that Eddie might care about him that way, mostly because of his own trauma and lack of self-esteem. Eddie probably realizes they've reached a point where he can't position Buck back inside that Zone of Comfort, but I'm not sure if he knows that the only way to do it would be to put a label on what they are to each other, which he will NOT let himself do.

He does still try to do the push-and-pull thing again while he's in Texas with all the FaceTiming. He knows he's made Buck feel expendable again, so he tries to undo that by consulting him on all these big things he crucially did not consult him on before leaving: his job, Chris, his relationship with his parents. He feels more comfortable being emotionally close to Buck when there's all this physical distance between them.

But now, he's back, and Bobby's dead, and everything's more fragile than ever. Buck is closed off to him, so Eddie tries to remind him of his place again by bringing Chris back. But it only sort of works, because what now? They are living in the same house, but they both have this knowledge now of what it feels to be 800 miles apart, and what it feels to not share their grief with each other, and what it feels to not be a family, so they can't really just go back to how things were.

So Eddie does the exact wrong thing. He still plans to go back to El Paso. Even after it seemed like he came back--maybe even came back FOR BUCK--as soon as they're back to the fire station, he pulls out his phone and starts looking for flights. I don't know if we'll see this on screen, but I believe this is the moment that Buck gets it. Eddie has been trying to have it both ways, to keep Buck close but not too close. I doubt either of them really know what that means for how they feel about each other, but I do think Buck gets that he's going to be miserable unless he "lets Eddie go" in some capacity, which is why he starts looking for a new place to live.

I highly doubt Eddie is going to deal with this well, but for the first time, it's going to be basically impossible to fix this without acknowledging how he feels. Looking forward to finding out what it's going to take for him to do that!

#911 meta #911 show #buddie

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fgojous · 2 months ago

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silver springs ( satoru g. )

satoru's life was planned down to the very last detail. every clinical rotations, every exam, especially his future—laid out carefully like a surgical procedure. but then you came along—loud, sarcastic and seemed to have no remorse when your ice cold coffee was dripping down his white coat—and into his perfectly planned life. and now? he can't stop thinking about you. everything he had planned? yeah, that went sideways.

med student!gojo x pre-med student!reader

tags. romance, fluff, light angst (hehe), hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, slow burn, medical au, college au, age gap, banters (a lot), sexual tension, use of profanities, explicit sexual content, kissing/making out (like a lot too i think? lmao), unprotected sex (pls always use protection), little hair pulling, fingering, p in v, creampie, overstimulation (?), pillow talks | eighteen plus only!

word count. 13.4k

status. completed (one-shot)

note. i know! 13.4k is crazy but i love satoru sm can u blame me. anyway, i can't get enough of med student satoru, he drives me insane. this is kinda self-indulgent (cos yn is a pt student, and me too hihi). btw, satoru is 25 and yn is 20! <3 i think that's all i wanted to say. anyway, i love u <3

Satoru was—safe to say, pissed.

He hasn’t slept for hours. There’s his clinical instructor breathing down his neck. He’s still got to study after this.

Then you, wide your eyes wide, jaw slightly dropped, are just staring at him. Like you were sent by the heavens above to add to his problems today—maybe they said, it wasn’t enough, you had to come.

Fuck this day, really.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” his voice was low, irritation unmistaken.

You blinked, frozen in place, your caramel macchiato—wasted, dripping down his white—very white coat. Does this day get any better than this? You think not.

You stared at the man in front of you. His jaw was clenched and his specs are slightly askew, and there’s obvious irritation dancing in his sharp sapphire eyes, his long white lashes fluttering. Goddamn, he’s tall.

And you are pissing him off.

“Uh—what—you bumped into me!”

His figure was towering over you—his white messy hair caught a glimpse of the fluorescent light.

“Because you weren’t looking. You’re on your phone.”

Well, sorry, if you were stressing about your upcoming long test—but you were here in the hospital instead of studying, accompanying your mother. Maybe she thought it’d be better to string you along in the hospital on the weekends.

“And you’re walking too fast.” you retorted, your chest was brewing. “Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

His lips twitch, almost smirking. You’re so fucking… irritating. “Wow. Was it your mission to irritate me today?”

You scoffed, my god, you hate him already and you don’t even know his name yet.

You reached for a napkin from your purse, attempting to ‘alleviate’ this situation but you know that there is nothing you could do anymore. You were about to dab on his coat when he stepped back.

“Are you seriously going to dab it in?”

“Wow. You’re so grumpy.”

“And you are irritating.”

Yes. You get it.

“Then maybe you should get some more sleep?”

He paused, for a moment, before he laughed. He actually laughed.

Not that loud, but enough for you to ease a bit. He can’t believe that you still have something to say—and yet to say the one thing that he’s waiting for you to say.

“You’re unbelievable.” he muttered, he adjusted his glasses before peeling the coat off. “You owe me. Dry cleaners.”

You blinked, he’s only wearing his dark navy scrubs now, you see his badge clipped on his breast pocket.

Gojo Satoru | Clinical Clerk

His name lingered in your mind longer than it should be. Where have you heard that name again?

But you didn’t have any time to rack your brains out when he handed his white coat to you with care, like it’s something so fragile it almost makes you scoff. But you took it anyway, because taking it to the dry cleaners was the only thing that you could do now—and you know, it’s kind of your fault too.

“Don’t put bleach on it. I’m serious.”

“I know how laundry works.” you rolled your eyes, folding his white coat carefully in your arms.

“Really? You’re not just a spoiled brat who spills coffee on someone’s coat?”

You deadpanned, not bothering to answer him because seriously, you can’t argue with him anymore. You handed him your phone and his brows furrowed, “Your number. How could I give this back to you if I can’t contact you?”

He snatched your phone from your hand, “For once you were actually thinking.”

Oh my god, give me the strength not to wipe his coat on the floor right now.

You just watched him type in his number, he called his phone from yours so he could save your number.

“There.” he says, handing you your phone back. “I expect my coat to be sparkling clean.”

“Yeah, fine.”

He didn’t answer you anymore and just turned to walk away. But before he disappeared into the hallway, he waves over his shoulder.

“Talk about dramatic.”

Three days have passed before he reached out to you.

You had honestly forgotten about the coat—well, you blame the myriad of long tests and practical exams for the past three days. You’d gotten immersed in studying that you forgot that you had to actually give his coat back.

But it was already clean and hanging neatly in a garment bag, just forgotten for a bit.

And honestly? You didn’t know how to face him again without getting embarrassed. You may have been too much of a brat that day.

[grumpy med student | 6:57 PM] where’s my coat i need it

[grumpy med student | 6:58 PM] you’ve thrown it away, didn’t you?

You rolled your eyes, typing on your phone.

[You | 6:59 PM ] i can bring it to you right now, my classes have just finished.

[You | 7:00 PM] i had it cleaned, don’t worry. u asked for bleach, right?

[grumpy med student | 7:01 PM] stop fucking with me. meet me at the ER entrance in 20

You stared at the screen for a bit too long. How in the hell did he manage to annoy you with just a text?

But still, you were there twenty minutes later with his coat draped over your arm. You’re still wearing your white uniform, your ID badge hanging on a lanyard embroidered with the hospital’s name—you’re scrolling through your group chats to read about the practicals that were coming up.

“Huh.” you looked up at the voice, his face etched with surprise as he looked at you, “ You actually look so miserable.”

Your eyes fell on him and there he was with his navy scrubs with a stethoscope slung around his neck and the only thing missing was his white coat that was hanging from your arm.

“Thanks. I just came from a six-hour lecture.” you say, voice laced with sarcasm then you handed him his coat. “Here. We’re even now.”

“Didn’t know we study in the same university,” he says.

How could he even know when you’re in different buildings? And he’s already in med school?

“So, what are you?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer when he reached for your badge, “Physical Therapy, huh?”

You snatched it from his hand, “I’m leaving.”

He smirks, “Don’t trip and spill some coffee on someone else now, YN.”

“Try opening your eyes while you walk, Satoru.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and turned away. God, he was so annoying.

Your mother’s rounds were running longer than usual.

She keeps on insisting you wait for her at the hospital so you could have lunch together. With you, living in the dorms and your long, grueling classes eating up most of your days, this was the only time you get to spend together.

And she’s late. And you’re hungry.

Now, you’re in the hospital cafeteria, eating the chips that you got from the vending machine.

This is the only place you could think of where you could spread your books and notes. You can’t afford not to study right now.

Your mind was full of some terms you’re not even sure you’re understanding. You were muttering words, teaching yourself like it actually helps. You didn’t even notice a group of med students passing by your table until a voice cut through the noise going on in your head.

“Hey, Miss PT.”

You looked up at him.

He looked the same. Glasses perched on top of his nose, same navy scrubs except he was the one holding the coffee now.

“Are you planning to get back at me?”

Satoru stared right at you, eyes flickering between you and your notes, “As much as I’d love to stain your white uniform, fortunate for you, I’m not as clumsy as you.”

“Aren’t you too busy to irritate me right now?” you retorted, looking back down at your notes to… read?

Anything.

Just so you could look away from him.

Then you hear him laugh lightly—annoyingly, before turning away. You stare at his back as he walks away then you see him talk to a dark-haired med student who looked just as tired as he is before disappearing.

Then you look down, something caught at the side of your eyes.

Then you see a small chocolate bar on top of your open notes.

Huh.

You muttered a curse under your breath. How else are you going to go to your dorm when it’s pouring?

A heavy breath escaped your lips as you tuck your arm in your chest, watching the rain splatter down the pavement. The rain was cold, loud—and seemed like it would not stop any time soon.

“Let me guess, you’re trying to catch a cold to miss clinical exams?”

Your head tilted to the side quickly. That familiar voice grazing through your ears.

It has been almost a week since you saw him. He wasn’t wearing scrubs anymore. He’s just wearing his white uniform just like you are, a university hoodie for med students draped on his arm.

“Let me guess, you’re going to annoy me to death now?” you gave him a sarcastic smile, “What are you doing at our building?”

“Had to drop off something. Why? You thought I was looking for you?” a menacing grin tugging on his lips.

Does he really have to be this annoying? And unbelievably good looking?

You ignored his comment, “I don’t suppose you have an umbrella?”

“Nope.” he answered, you just sighed and looked away—you frown a bit as you saw some of the students from different programs were looking your way, you just shrugged it off, trying to wait the rain out.

Satoru stared at you, really stared at you like you’re a mnemonic that he was memorizing—you were hugging yourself, teeth clattering slightly, your hair strands stuck in your cheeks.

“Here.” you glanced back at him, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

“Take it. Don’t want you dying from hypothermia over there.”

It’s his hoodie.

You looked at him and back at the hoodie again. You blinked once trying to comprehend what he’s offering you right now.

Is he really? This grumpy, annoying med student is offering you his hoodie?

“Are you going to take it or not? My arm is killing me.” he says, nudging it closer to you.

You sighed, taking it from him with slight hesitation, if you weren’t so cold right now—but you are, so you swallowed your pride, “Thank you.”

“Huh?” he leaned closer as if he didn’t hear what you said, but you know he did because there’s a smirk pulling on his lips right now. “Didn’t hear what you said. Come again?”

You leaned closer, whispering in his ear. “I said, fuck off.”

You slipped on his hoodie, it was annoyingly soft and smelled like him. That’s actually the first thing that you noticed—and you suddenly realized, you actually know what his scent is.

You actually know what Satoru Gojo smelled like even if you’re not around him that much.

And it pisses you off just a little how nice it felt around you.

“You know you’d have to return that to me, right?”

It’s been two days and you still have his hoodie.

You told yourself you’re going to return it. That’s why you’re here again.

In front of the emergency room entrance, in the middle of the day.

If anyone sees you, maybe you could say that you were going to see your mother.

Or, maybe because your professor had canceled his lecture for today and you had nothing else to do.

You’ve got about two hours before your next subject and you got time to kill. Your friends had already gone to the nearest mall and you had no energy to walk around right now.

That’s why you’re here.

That’s what you’re telling yourself because you’re seeing him so often these days, it’s almost becoming a routine and it weirds you out in a way that you can’t explain.

“Hey.”

You turned and there he was again, tall as ever, just a few steps from you..

“Your hoodie.” you say, lifting it. “Thanks.”

His eyes just flickered to the fabric on your arm then back to your face again. “You busy?”

“Not as busy as you.” you say with a mischievous grin.

He almost rolls his eyes, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No.” you answered, a teasing smile escaping past your lips. “Why? You want to eat with me?”

“You like hospital food?”

And that’s how you ended up in that cafeteria again, except you’re sitting across from him now and his hoodie was still on your arm. So, you set it down on the chair beside you—it’s just sitting there, waiting to be brought up.

You’re twisting the pasta with your fork, and stared at it like it hurt you—how could it look this… bland?

But that’s not what concerns you the most, it’s the fact that the silence between the two of you was more comfortable than it is awkward.

Like you had done this before—or, like this isn’t going to be a one-time thing.

Satoru was about to bite on his sandwich when he looked at you. “Do you always stare at your food like it has done you wrong?”

“Do you always sound this irritating when you’re chewing?”

“Yeah. There’s actually a class in med school for that.” he bites on his sandwich, not shying his blue eyes from you.

You stare back at him, sipping from your cup. “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

“I know I am.” his smugness didn’t escape past you. Annoying.

You huffed a breath, “Should’ve gone with my friends.”

“Uh-huh.” he agreed, nodding his head. “Then I wouldn’t have to sit here and endure this torture.”

You scrunch your nose, glaring at him and he just gives you a sheepish smile.

Isn’t he the one who invited you here? And now he’s acting like you’re the one who interrupts his peace.

You didn’t answer—but you glared at him enough to let him know that he’s an exhausting little prick.

When is the bickering ever going to stop?

You bite back your breath before finally bringing it up, “Aren’t you going to take your hoodie back?”

You couldn’t take the way his hoodie just stares at you. It’s too weird—like it’s really meant for you when it’s not.

It shouldn’t.

“You keep it.”

“Why?”

Satoru looked at you, “So you’ll have to return it again.”

So here you were, in your next class, wearing his damn hoodie because the air conditioning in this lecture hall was on full blast.

“Medicine.” you hear Maki say.

“Huh?”

She pointed at the back of the hoodie with her lips, “You’re wearing a hoodie from the college of medicine and surgery. You’re a med student now?”

“It’s not mine.”

“Then why are you wearing it?”

Yes.

Why?

Why are you wearing it?

It has been two weeks since you last saw him.

Not that you were counting.

Well, maybe, it’s because your mother hasn’t been begging you to eat lunch with her and you had no business being at the hospital.

Not that you were hoping for him to drop something off at your building again. My god, why are you even thinking about him now?

It’s because you were staring at his hoodie right now, just sprawled across the backrest of the seat of your study table. You looked away, reaching for your phone to check if he had messaged you—

No, what business does he have messaging you? You tossed your phone away and buried your face on the pillow.

This is so goddamn embarrassing.

The next day, you were about to finish your last class for the day when your mother had texted you and wanted you to come.

And, fuck, you couldn’t get out of your building fast enough. You were almost sprinting to the hospital.

Then you slowed down… why in the hell are you this excited? Isn’t he annoying to you?

So you walked—tried to walk normally, but you were clearly searching for that white hair as you walked through the hallway.

And then you paused, your heart gradually pounds inside your chest, until the only thing that you could feel was your heart trying to claw its way out of your ribs.

There he was, standing just outside the exam room, reading something on the charts when you sneaked behind him.

“Hey, annoying.”

Satoru pauses for a fraction of a second before looking at you, your eyes met, and he looked like he hasn’t slept for about a year.

“Hey.” he greeted you back, his voice was flat—tired.

You blinked, letting out a faint smirk. “Wow, don’t get so excited now.”

You could almost see that grin tugging on his lips but… none. He just adjusted his glasses and scratched the back of his neck. “Just had a long day.”

You searched his face. Yeah, he looked so tired like he hasn’t slept—which, really he hasn’t. But there was something else.

“Oh, you okay?” you swallowed thickly, clutching on your bag—where his hoodie sits heavy just like that feeling creeping up on you.

“Fine.” he says, “I gotta go back.”

Satoru didn’t give you any chance to answer, he walked past you—not a single grin or snarkiness. He didn’t even give you a second glance.

So, you stood there, words still stuck on your throat, standing there a few more seconds than you should have.

[grumpy med student | 11:58 PM] u still up?

You stared at your phone. The bright light from your laptop screen illuminating the frown etched on your face.

[You |11:59 PM] what do u think

[grumpy med student | 11:59 PM] studying?

[You | 12:00 AM] how else am i supposed to answer the long test tomorrow

[grumpy med student | 12:00 AM] what topic

[You | 12:01 AM] orthopedic conditions

You hated how much you stared at your phone, your conversation still open as if you’re really anticipating everything that he’s going to say.

Then three minutes passed and he still hasn't answered and you thought that he had vanished again. And that was it.

It was three days since he gave you the cold shoulder in the hospital, you were supposed to be mad at him for reasons that you don’t even know—or if you even had the right to, and now you’re just waiting for him to respond—

The shrill ringing of your phone cuts off your thoughts.

You looked at the screen and there was his contact.

grumpy med student Calling…

Don’t answer it, you say. Why is he even calling you this late?

Your fingers hovered over the screen, thinking it over, debating yourself if it’s a good thing that you talk to him right now.

But then you sighed, your finger clicking the answer button.

“Hi.”

You heard him breathe on the other side of the phone, “Sorry.”

“For what?” you were almost whispering, like you couldn’t believe that you were talking to him right now.

“Three days ago. I wasn’t in the mood.”

You didn’t say anything right away.

The silence filled with quiet breathing from either of you.

Why is he saying sorry, even though it wasn’t a big deal?

It really isn’t.

Right?

“Okay.” you say softly, and then it was his turn this time to stay quiet. Then you hear him shift, maybe from his bed.

“You still have my hoodie?”

Then your heart pounds. Because you were wearing it. You’re fucking wearing it. It’s wrapped around you, clinging on your skin along with his scent that still lingers in it.

“No, I threw it out.” then you heard him laugh, a breathy laugh that made you slightly insane. “Cause you pissed me off.”

“I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?” he paused for a bit, “Are you still mad?”

You huffed, “Am I allowed to?”

You hold your breath waiting for his answer. What kind of question is that?

“You are.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. So instead, you say, “I’m hanging up. I’m studying.”

“Wait.”

“What now?”

“I’m studying too.” he says, you can hear shuffling on the other side, “Don’t hang up.”

An irritated groan came out of your mouth, refusing to lift your head up from your desk. If you could get just a minute of sleep you’d be fine.

But there’s someone pissing you off by nudging your arm. Repeatedly, to say.

You haven’t had the chance to sleep, thanks to a certain someone who called you at midnight and kept you talking until your brain turned to mush.

And the nudging doesn’t stop.

You finally lifted your head, your eyes stinging from the lack of sleep. “What?!”

Then you froze, just seeing who it was.

Satoru was standing there, looking down at you with an infuriating smirk on his lips—his eyes flickering down briefly to his hoodie that you were wearing. “Now, you’re the grumpy one.”

“And who’s fault is that?” your brows furrowed as you narrowed your eyes.

Then you suddenly realized, he’s in your building.

In your lecture hall.

Right in front of you—in front of your entire block.

You blinked—a little stunned as he placed a coffee on your desk, with a chocolate bar just like the one he left you last time.

Did he just come all the way here to give you a cup of coffee?

Your eyes darted around slightly, your block mates were already watching—whispering like you’ve brought someone famous. Because how often do you see a third year med student in his scrubs, dropping off some coffee for a second year pre-med student?

Exactly. Never.

Then all of it clicked into place like a perfect puzzle.

Satoru Gojo.

You’ve heard his name before. From all around the campus—from the whispers, he’s that med student your block mates were all talking about.

You just didn’t realize it was him. Took you a month.

“Now we’re even.” he says casually, “Bye.”

Then he left you there, with your mouth slightly open—and with the knowing looks that your block mates were giving you.

Especially the one beside you.

“Oh.” Maki smirks, “So, that’s Satoru Gojo.”

You blinked at her, mouth shut tightly.

“Didn’t know you were dating the med school’s golden boy.”

Dating?

Is she kidding right now?

Your eyes gaze upon the coffee he left for a little too long.

“We’re not—he’s… not—”

“Uh-huh.” Maki nods, now staring at the hoodie that you are wearing. “Sure.”

The one thing that you were wishing as of now was for the ground to swallow you whole.

“You’re being weird.”

There you were, elbows propped on the table, cheeks resting on your palm as you shamelessly stare him down.

It didn’t matter that he was famous in your university and everyone was talking about him, blah blah. It bothers you that it took you this long to realize.

Well, you really don’t pride yourself on engaging in senseless gossip, much less about some handsome someone you don’t even know—well, now you know.

Because you’re eating with him side by side, at the hospital cafeteria, with the shitty food.

“You know they call you the ‘golden boy’, right?”

Then he groaned, poking on his food. “So?”

“How come I didn’t know?” you murmured, “I mean, I always hear them talk about you, I just didn’t realize it was you. I just felt stupid?”

“It’s because you are.” and he said that with a straight face, you glare at him and he smiles, “Can you just eat?”

“Okay, golden boy.”

“Can you stop?”

You scrunch your nose and give him a little smile before snatching a fry from his plate, “Make me.”

“Ah.” he laughs—adjusting his specs before leaning in, “You really want to go there? I don’t think you can handle it if I do.”

It was safe to say that you’re flustered, you tried to hold your ground but something in the way he stared at you made your stomach churn in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“Shut up.” that’s all you could say before pushing his forehead away using your index finger. “Just eat your food.”

─── MONDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 5:45 PM] i’m outside your lecture hall

[You | 5:46 PM] why? u miss me?

[grumpy med student | 5:46 PM] no. i’m just not irritated enough today, maybe seeing ur face would fix that

You purse your lips, trying so hard not to let a smile slip past your lips. Your professor was still on the last slide of her lecture, wrapping things up.

While you were already shoving things in your bag rather hastily for someone who ‘doesn’t care’ whether he’s there or not—and when your professor said the class was dismissed, you said a quick goodbye to Maki before stepping out the hall.

He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed—hair messy, specs looking unfairly good on him.

He looked up from his phone, “Took you long enough.”

You raised your brows, “Well, I’m sorry if my studies are a bother to you having your need to be extremely irritated today.”

“Apology accepted.” he says, pushing off the wall to step beside you. “Library?”

You started walking, side by side—not minding the looks coming your way. “Uh-huh.”

Maybe you could see now why they called him the golden boy.

It’s not just his looks, but the way he’s so focused—head dipped down on his books like his eyes were glued on the paper. He was scribbling notes, tapping his pen lightly—his lips parted slightly.

You could see why they’re talking.

He’s like an all-in-one package—the looks, talent, skills… the way his face looks intent but calm while he’s studying.

But for you, he’s just the grumpy med student who bumped into you and made you spill your coffee on him.

─── TUESDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 3:12 PM] i think my legs would fall of if i moved

[You | 3:12 PM] why

[grumpy med student | 3:13 PM] they made me stand for 6 hours straight. fuck it, i’m never moving from this gurney

[You | 3:14 PM] aw, poor baby. want me to carry u home? );<

[grumpy med student | 3:15 PM] yes baby

[You | 3:16 PM] fuck u

─── WEDNESDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 6:17 PM] bring highlighters, forgot mine. not YELLOW

[You | 6:17 PM] what’s your beef with yellow

[grumpy med student | 6:17 PM] hurts my eyes

[You | 6:18 PM] you know what hurts your eyes? lack of sleep

He looked up at you when you laid out a bunch of highlighters in front of him, “Don’t worry. Not one of ‘em is yellow.”

“Did you go around and ask a bunch of people for highlighters?” his eyes followed you as you sat in front of him.

You just shrugged your shoulders, opening your own notes—hiding a grin behind the paper.

─── THURSDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 6:45 PM] where are u? some freshmen stole our table. the fuck

[You | 6:46 PM] our prof is still wrapping up

[grumpy med student | 6:47 PM] get here fast

You roll your eyes as you read his text. Your professor ended the class and you stood up almost immediately.

“Going on a date again?”

You glanced at your friend, brows furrowing. “It’s not a date.”

Maki doesn’t know why you’re still fooling her, maybe because you don’t know yourself what this is.

“Oh. Okay. Say hi to Gojo for me.” she says, laughing before stepping out the door. And you just huffed out a breath before picking up your bag.

You walk slowly—just to spite Satoru, and to think about what really is this.

Well, you’re just studying together. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?

─── FRIDAY───

[grumpy med student | 4:45 PM] i forgot to tell u earlier, someone just came up to me and asked if MI stands for mild infection

[You | 4:46 PM] my god

[grumpy med student | 4:46 PM] haha right.

[grumpy med student | 4:46 PM] what time’s your out? lecture just finished

[You | 4:47 PM] i'm here at the 2nd floor lounge w my friends. why?

He didn’t respond after that, you didn’t think much about it. Maybe he got pulled into a case, or he thought it’d be better to annoy his friends other than you.

Not until Maki nudges you with her shoulder, looking at the figure walking up to your table.

And there he was, Satoru Gojo, gracing your building with his presence—still in his lecture uniform, his hands were in his pocket like he’s a walking drama that’s about to happen.

“I don’t think you belong here.” you say as soon as he sat beside you, in front of your friends who’s just looking at him with their jaw slightly dropped.

“Yeah? I was told I could find the most irritating person here. And, yeah. Here she is.”

Your eyes were flickering in between your notes and him.

Because for the past ten minutes, he’s been blinking slowly—nodding off just a little before snapping his eyes back open.

You try not to stare at him but it’s really hard not to.

Satoru shifts in his seat, his cheek dips down on his folded arms—and then, poof, out cold.

Seriously?

You pressed your cheek against your palm and let yourself stare at him. His white hair was messier than usual, his specs almost out of place—his lips are parted slightly, small huffs of breath shuffling out.

He looks so exhausted.

This is so stupid, my god.

Your eyes darted around the library to see if someone else is looking—but they’re caught up in their own world, so you extended your arm, reaching out for his glasses before removing them slowly and placing them neatly on the table.

You should’ve stopped there.

But your fingers lightly grazed his hair strands, brushing it gently out of his face.

It doesn’t make sense why—you’re here tucking his hair like you’re meant to do it. You don’t know why you keep meeting up with him when he’s just supposed to be a stranger you accidentally spilled your coffee to.

It’s like suddenly you’re looped in each other’s orbits and you can’t go on a single day without even talking to each other.

This is so stupid.

You sighed, leaning back on your chair and focused on your notes again.

Twenty minutes later, maybe more, he stirred.

You look up just in time to see him squinting his eyes against the light, he looked at you still a bit disoriented.

“You didn’t leave?” he mumbled—voice hoarse from sleep, now sitting up and stretching his arm.

“No.” you replied, “I’m afraid the librarian might kick you out.”

He lets out a soft laugh before rubbing the back of his neck. His eye catches yours—neither of you says anything for a moment.

You coughed a bit, handing him his glasses. “Here. I thought you might need it.”

[grumpy med student | 6:30 PM] cafe’s too loud

[grumpy med student | 6:30 PM] someone got our table in the library again

[You | 6:31 PM] find another place, we’re almost finished here

[grumpy med student | 6:32 PM] it's all packed

[You | 6:33 PM] are u sure

[grumpy med student | 6:34 PM] ?

[grumpy med student | 6:34 PM] yes im sure, u wanna go check it yourself?

[You | 6:35 PM] ugh so maybe next time?

[grumpy med student | 6:35 PM] how about my place? it’s quiet

You were having a staring contest with your phone again.

His place and quiet didn’t quite add up to you. Your brain was reeling its wheels trying to conjure every possible way going to his place for the first time ever might entail.

It’s not like this is the first time you’re going to be alone together. It’s just that—this feels different, too different.

[grumpy med student | 6:37 PM] unless you don’t want to, it’s fine we can study tomorrow

[You | 6:37 PM] no it’s okay

[grumpy med student | 6:37 PM] okay, i’m outside your lecture hall

And that’s how you ended up in his place, at the living room floor with your notes and books splayed on the coffee table and on the floor—just anywhere near.

His place was surprisingly clean. Not too clean, but enough to surprise you considering he’s too busy. There were a lot of medical textbooks near the coffee table, some takeout containers but that was it.

And there’s definitely his scent that lingers around the air.

It was silent between you two—it’s always like that, not awkward silence but comfortable. You were both flipping through books, handouts and whatnot.

You were scribbling left and right and sometimes mumbling mnemonics like you’ve lost your mind.

Sometimes he’d ask you some questions about anatomy because he needs to recall something—or when you’re spacing out, he’d nudge your knee with his and you’d flick your pen or a yellow highlighter to his direction.

Yeah, well, it was a mix of peaceful yet chaotic.

Satoru looked up from his book, arching his brow when you sprawled on the carpet, your handouts placed above your face.

“If I read the word vertigo one more time, I swear I’ll jump off the balcony,” you say, your voice a little muffled due to the papers that were covering your face.

“Neuro?”

“Uh-huh.” you replied, groaning.

“Okay, I get why you’re being so dramatic now. Take a break?”

You pulled the papers out of your face as you sat up, “Yes. Please.”

You lean the side of your body against the couch, elbows resting on the cushion as you look at him. “So, were you like this when you were in college?”

“Like what?” He removes his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Uh—annoying?”

“Yeah, it’s innate.” and you both snorted, “It’s a gift, don’t you know?”

You waved your hand off, “But seriously, what were you like?”

He turned, mimicking your position. “Just like this but minus the parties. Kinda reckless. Uh, handsome?”

Then you threw your handouts at him.

“And you, after college are you going straight to med school?”

You hummed, because that was always the plan. It never changed.

“Yeah. That’s always the plan.” you answered, “So, you partied in college, huh? I could see it.”

He raised his brow, a smirk appearing on his lips. “Oh, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” you narrow your eyes, looking at him carefully like you are analyzing him. “You’re wearing a backwards cap and oversized long sleeves with the first few buttons unbuttoned, probably holding a red cup—then there’s girls hovering over you, while you give your number left and right, did I nail it?”

Satoru blinked for a bit, then he suddenly laughed. “That’s oddly specific. What are you, a witch?”

You snorted a laugh, pointing at the small picture frame on his TV console. It’s a picture of him with his friends at a party—and he was wearing exactly what you had said.

Satoru blinked, looking at the photo then back at you.

Then he suddenly flicks your forehead—not too strong, but enough for you to glare at him. “You saw it earlier, didn’t you?”

“Ouch?!” you winced, a menacing smile slowly creeping up to your lips. “Even if I didn’t, I know you were like that.”

“Okay, miss psychic. But you were wrong about one thing.” he stretched his arms, and you could almost see the electrical field of smugness around him.

“And what is that?”

“I never gave my number to anyone.”

You raised a brow, “And why?”

“Because they wouldn’t stop texting.”

“But you gave your number to me.”

He stops for a bit.

“Yeah, because you have my coat. I was afraid you’ll throw it out of spite,” he smirks.

“You’re so annoying.” you roll your eyes, your lips trying to twitch into a smile. “So you never dated anyone serious?”

He hummed, like he’s trying to think of every girl that he dated and you almost threw a pillow in his direction. “Just the one. But we broke up after a year.”

You were about to speak when he did it first. “How about you? You ever had a boyfriend?”

You shrugged, “I had a boyfriend. First year. For just a few months. But it’s fine, we’re just friends now.”

You swore you saw his grin falter a bit—his jaw clenched slightly before speaking, “Ah. Dark-hair, looks like he hasn’t slept in quite a while, that guy?”

You blinked, “How did you know?”

“That day in the lounge,” he paused, “He was staring at you and he looked pissed when I sat beside you.”

Your brows furrow a bit then you laugh, “He always looks like that.”

“Right.” he paused, he was smirking but his eyes told a different story. “Totally normal.”

Both of you just stared at each other until you looked away and he cleared his throat like there’s something stuck in there that he couldn’t quite say.

“Okay. Break’s over.” he says, and just like that he’s got his specs on and a book on his lap again.

“Yeah.” you mumbled, and reached for your handout then you turned away.

The silence envelops the two of you again. All you could hear was his AC unit humming, his shallow breaths and the papers rustling. You were tapping your fingers on the carpet over and over again while you tried to read what was on the paper.

But all the letters all seemed mushed as you try to comprehend the look he gave you earlier.

What the fuck.

It was ten minutes until you spoke again.

“Satoru.”

“Yeah?” he answers, gaze not leaving the book.

“Let me try the Dix-Hallpike maneuver on you.”

Then he looked up—you were holding the book up to show him the illustration, his eyebrow creased. “You really think you could pull me down without dislocating my neck?”

You thought about it. He’s taller than you, probably a bit heavy. But, hey, there’s no harm in trying, right?

You squint your eyes, “Come on. I just want to practice. It’s for the sake of medicine and my future patients.”

He groaned, removing his glasses, then he stood up to sit on the couch. Thank god his couch is L-shaped, you have plenty of space for him because he is freakishly tall.

You had him on the couch in a long sitting position, then you stood in front of him. Your hands shake a bit when you hold his face on each side, tilting it gently.

Your heart was pounding, how can it not when this six-foot tall med student was staring at your face like you’ve got all the answers in the world—

“You’re shaking.” his voice was low.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“It’s because you’re annoying, put your weight on me.” you say a little bit pissed, and he just laughs. “I’m going to lean you back now.”

And you tried, like, really tried but his muscle mass and gravity weren’t on your side. He leaned a little bit too enthused, his shoulders were also hanging because you hadn’t calculated the size of this couch.

This maneuver isn’t meant for this couch, really.

He burst out laughing and you did too, “You broke your patient.”

You were still laughing, hands clutching your stomach, he sat up. “Let me try it on you.”

“You don’t even know how.” you say, still giggling.

“I saw you did it, didn’t I? And lucky for you, I’m a fast learner.” he reached out to your book and read the section for a bit.

You just watched as he read for a while, a smile creeping up on your lips. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Don’t break my neck.” you say as a warning.

“Yeah, yeah.” he says, tapping the couch for you to sit on. Then it was your turn.

Your breath hitched when he placed his hand, his palm on your jaw—his thumbs placed on your cheeks, and his fingers were supporting your neck.

Then he leaned you back, your head hanging from the couch—you didn't realize that he was too close until you felt his breath on your cheeks.

“So, tell me,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “What signs to look out for when your patient is positive for this maneuver?”

“Uh—” you paused, your voice was close to cracking. “Nystagmus.”

“Good.” he mumbles, his breath getting heavy. “For how long?”

Then you tilt your head to look at him, he was still holding you. His thumb was brushing your cheeks.

“For… uh—seconds to minutes…”

My god, this felt like hours.

You could feel the air shift and all the nerves in your body had awakened.

Your gaze locked into each other and it just clicked.

Then he pressed his lips onto yours, not a sliver of hesitation like he was sure he wanted to do this.

The kiss felt inevitable.

Your eyes widened before you closed them, tugging on his shirt to pull him close—his hand moved to the back of your neck before pulling you up without breaking the kiss.

You could feel your body warm up despite the air conditioning being on low temperature—the nerve endings on your skin were working full-time as his fingers grip the back of your neck a little.

Then his back hits the cushion with a soft thud.

His hands settled on your hips—your weight hovering over him as you straddle his lap—he deepened this kiss, biting your lower lip—pushing his tongue in, making you whimper in his mouth.

Your hands travelled to his hair, grasping the locks in between your fingers. His hands were circling in on you now.

He was kissing you like he was being starved—like he wanted to devour you whole.

Then the kiss turned deeper, messier and louder—teeth clashing, lips biting, tongue delving inside just to taste every inch of your mouth—none of it was neat, he was kissing you sloppy.

Satoru groaned into your mouth when you moved your hips a little. You could feel him bulging underneath your clothed sex, he gripped your hips trying to keep you steady.

Then he pulled away—his eyes lidded, lips were swollen as you looked down at him, both your breaths uneven.

He didn’t say anything—just looked at you like he was memorizing the way your lips quiver as you breathe.

“We should stop.” he finally says, his voice rough.

“Why?” you ask softly, chest heaving—your hand still tangled in his hair, your fingers combing his soft locks.

“Because if we don’t,” he swallowed thickly, gripping your hips like he’s holding to what restraint he has left. “I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back anymore.”

Your ears pulsate, your face warms up as you stare at him.

God, you’re making him crazy.

The walk back to your dorm was silent. Not the tense silent kind of thing, where someone is about to throw a fit or cry.

It’s a ‘we-just-full-on-make-out-and-don’t-know-what-to-say’ kind of silence.

The kind that made your footsteps heavy on the sidewalk—you can’t even look at him, and you know he can’t look at you too.

Because he hadn’t said much since he offered to walk you back to your dorm—just took your bag without even saying a word, his skin brushes against you a bit and that was all, that was the last contact that you two ever made.

You were asking when the bickering would stop, and here it is. It stopped.

You used to walk like this together all the time. To the library, to the hospital cafeteria, to the café—bickering, nudging each other, making stupid jokes and annoying the hell out of each other and now it’s just… all gone.

You have no idea what else to do now. It’s like an itch on your brain that you can’t scratch. How are you supposed to act now? How do you even walk normally? How do you even breathe normally?

You swallowed hard, your brain was starting to irritate you. It’s screaming at you over and over again. You kissed him.

Nuh-uh, not just kiss, you made out with him. On his couch. With his hands gripping your waist. His fingers tracing your spine. Your lips clashing, molded into each other like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

You pursed your lip, huffing out a small breath that you wish he didn’t notice. Your thoughts were scattered, you couldn’t even think straight. You couldn’t find any right words to say.

And yet, you caved.

Your eyes looked forward, “You’re awfully quiet.”

“So are you.” he replies, then you look at him and he is staring at you.

And there he was calm. He always looked like that. Like this didn’t shake him.

Was he spiraling too? Is he pretending right now? You don’t know. You can’t even tell.

What now? What are you going to say? Are you going to ask him now what that kiss meant?

You looked away again. Wouldn’t it be better if he said something—maybe joke about it a little or annoy you, tease you—like he always does. But none of that was happening.

He stayed silent. And so did you, until you reached your dorm building.

“This is you.” he finally says, handing your bag to you.

You took it, and his fingers brushed into you again.

You open your mouth to say something but none of the words come out. Your throat felt like something big was stuck in it and you couldn’t spew what you wanted to say.

“Good night,” he said, and you just gave him a faint smile then you nodded.

What even is this? Why can’t you say something—

“Is this going to be weird now?”

He blinked, frozen in place but then he gave you a smile. Not that annoying, smug, teasing smile of his—it was a genuine smile, the kind that makes your heart squeeze.

“Only if you want it to be.”

You wanted to scream because how does he do it? How does he say it so casually while you’re here, like a ticking time bomb, about to explode?

Your fingers tightened around the bag that you were holding.

No, of course, you wouldn’t want it to be weird.

“I don’t want it to be.” you said, almost whispering.

Because that’s the truth. You didn’t want anything to change. Even if you’ve crossed that line. Even if you didn’t know what it meant for the two of you.

You don’t want to lose whatever this is.

He nodded, then stepped forward—placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, YN.”

You just swallowed hard. Your eyes followed his figure while he walked back to his place that was just a few blocks from yours.

Your heart was pounding inside your chest. It’s funny you realize this now—but you know, it’s the truth.

That he’s either going to be the one… or the one you’ll never recover from.

You just didn’t know which is which.

You both said you were just taking a short break.

But now you have no idea how long you’d been like that on the couch.

Your back on the armrest, while he’s above, pressing his body against you—your legs curled up beside him and the other, slightly on him. It was getting kinda hard to breathe—from the kiss but also from the fact that whatever this is, there’s no coming back from this.

Your grip on his hair tightens when his lips trailed down to the side of your lips, to your jaw down to your neck—sucking and licking, “Satoru—don’t… don’t put—mhm!”

Then he presses his lips on yours again, and you could feel him smile—his teeth grazing on your lower lip.

“You know we should be studying, right?” he says in between, breathing heavy, then he was on you again—biting and nibbling on your lips.

“Mhm—hmm.” you hummed into his mouth, pulling him closer, like there’s any space left in between. Your lips were probably swollen—wet, from all the sloppy kisses that he was giving you but you didn’t have any care in the world.

Your notes and books were long forgotten on the floor and on the coffee table.

Your hair was probably a mess, a few buttons on your white uniform were unbuttoned—his white shirt was wrinkled from all the tugging that you did.

His hand moved to your hair, gripping on it a bit to angle your head—you moan into his mouth, and he pushes his tongue, swirling it around then sucks your tongue in—

“Yo. You weren’t answering—oh. OH.”

You both froze, eyes now open and you’re becoming painfully aware that he’s still above you. Then you heard another voice coming in.

“Hey! We brought—my god, we’re so sorry!” Then you heard a soft thud on the floor.

You pushed Satoru off you so fast that you almost hit your head against his. You sat up, fixing your hair and buttoning your white uniform again—while Satoru, this dumbass, was groaning—his back leaned on the couch now.

“For the record,” the tall guy with a dark-hair tied loosely into a bun—the one you saw in the cafeteria, started speaking, “We knocked.”

Satoru was about to speak when a voice cut into the conversation. “Hey, what’s up?”

“What’s happening in here?”

And another.

Now, there’s four of them. Looking back and forth at you and Satoru.

“Hi. I’m Yuki!” the tall blonde girl cracked the awkward silence, she walked towards the couch where you were sitting, then she pointed at her friends. “That’s Choso. Shoko then, the one who interrupted you first was Suguru.”

You smiled at them, still catching your breath—pulling your uniform down slightly, “I—uh… I’m YN.”

Then her eyes widened, “Oh! You’re YN?! The YN?”

Was he talking about you to his friends?

“The YN that spilled a coffee on his coat then he bitched to us about it like a fucking baby?” Shoko—the short-haired girl nudges Satoru to move so she could sit beside you.

Satoru glared at her but he moved anyway. Then slowly they were placing the food here and there, Suguru even handed you a soda.

“He was so dramatic about it,” Choso says, “We almost kicked him out of the group chat.”

You whip your head to look at Satoru, “I can’t believe you told them.”

“What was I supposed to do? I was pissed off.” he says, groaning. “And you didn’t even say sorry!”

“Uh—what? Cause you’re the one who bumped into me like you’re walking with your eyes closed! And I did say sorry!”

Did you? That memory was kind of a blur now.

Satoru laughs, “Uh. If I could remember, the only thing you said to me was I needed to get some sleep.”

And just like that the whole room burst into laughter—they were watching with amusement as you bicker back and forth with their friend, like they haven’t caught you making out with him on this very couch.

They were very loud—but funny, and so comfortable with each other and yet, you didn’t feel left out. Not even for a bit.

Now you’re all on the floor, your back leaning on the couch and Satoru was seated beside you.

Yuki was looping you in on the jokes. Shoko was asking you how pre-med is now and then, Choso and Suguru were asking you a bunch of questions about anatomy like you were in a trivia game.

They like you.

And that made you feel overwhelmed—in a good way, maybe? How are you supposed to feel in this position anyway?

You didn’t even notice the embarrassment gone out of your body like it was nothing. The room was filled with jokes, banters—and god, Satoru’s laugh. His laugh was annoyingly good. It was driving you insane.

You were still laughing when you looked at him and he looked back at you with a faint smile etched on his face.

Then your eyes landed onto his, he was looking at you like there’s something brewing on his mind—like there was something that he wanted to say but he couldn’t.

“You okay?” you asked him, nudging his knee slightly.

“Yeah.” he slung an arm around your shoulder, “Good.”

You smiled and looked away because you can feel something shifted. You can feel something tiny—an ache, pressing onto your ribs that was supposed to be protecting your heart.

You just didn’t know what it was.

Your days felt the same but at the same time it wasn’t.

You were still talking.

He was still messaging you.

You were still studying together—not at his place, but at the library.

And he was quieter than usual.

He wasn’t nudging your knee, flicking your forehead or grumbling about his back-to-back rotations where they made him stand for hours again.

He was just… there. Reading. Writing something in his notebook. Not even sparing you a single glance.

“Are you okay?” you asked and he just hummed, you took a deep breath, “Am I annoying you?”

He stopped for a bit, still not looking. “No.”

You were expecting that his answer would be ‘yes, you’re annoying me. you always do.’ because… that’s how he’s supposed to answer you, right?

With a cocky grin and a teasing tone. That’s how.

Maybe he was just too tired. Maybe his instructor was too much. Maybe he was just… you don’t know what reasons you could come up with anymore just to justify him acting like this.

But still you brushed it off. Holding onto some stupid reason that you don’t even know.

But the next day came. He canceled lunch, saying he was backed up. Rounds were taking too long.

He said he’ll see you later at the café, that he’ll text you once he gets there.

But he didn’t.

But you let it slide, maybe it slipped his mind. Come on, he’s a third year med student, of course, he’s busy.

And for the next two days, he was silent. He wasn’t messaging—and how you hated that every single time you stepped out the lecture hall, you were wishing he was there, leaning on the wall—waiting for you.

But he wasn’t.

So, you’re staring at your phone for the whole lunch break. Contemplating whether to send him a text. Typing then erasing, then typing again—and the cycle just continued until you had the guts to press the send button.

[You | 12:32 PM] u still alive? haha

So, you waited. Until the lunch break finished. Until it was time for your one pm lecture.

None.

Then you check your phone.

[grumpy med student | 4:45 PM] just busy

It took him four hours.

Four. fucking. hours. It was starting to piss you off. Why is he acting like this? Why is he avoiding you like you’re some plague?

Was it something that you did? Was it the kiss?

Your mind can’t comprehend why he’s acting this way. You were good, right?

You were so good. Not just good. Everything felt right, everything was into pieces like a puzzle locked in together and now it shattered, and the pieces were missing.

You already felt like you belonged.

And suddenly, it’s just… this?

[You | 4:55 PM ] okay

And that was the last thing you sent him.

Then a week passed by agonizingly slow—just like this elevator ride up to your mother’s office.

There were days that you found yourself staring at your phone—reading the old texts, and his damn hoodie wrapped around you while you slept, just to fill a large chunk of space that he left.

You hated how much you noticed the space where he was supposed to be. You hated all of it because he wasn’t just ignoring you—he’s making you feel his absence, and no matter what you did—you can’t escape this raw, aching feeling that’s clawing its way to your chest.

Like it wanted to rip your heart and lungs out.

Maybe it was all too much for him? Maybe he regretted it now.

Maybe.

You looked at the elevator door when it opened—

Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart stopped beating for a short while before screaming inside your chest.

There he was—Satoru, standing in front of you, his hair was messy like he ran his fingers through it a lot of times, his specs still perched on top of his nose and a stethoscope was hanging around his neck.

You could see the look on his face—like you’re a ghost that he was trying to avoid. But then he stepped in and stood up a few inches away from you.

You knew this was going to happen if you went to the hospital. You know you’re going to bump into him—the problem is, you didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know how to act anymore.

This was the kind of silence that you hated—it was heavy with the words that you couldn’t utter. Words that you don’t know how to get out.

You wanted to say something.

Open your mouth but all you could do was look straight ahead.

Like he’s just some stranger who you share memories with.

You know he was about to say something by the way he breathed but then the elevator door opened again.

But you didn’t wait—didn't look back, didn’t spare him a glance and just walked out until you were out of his sight.

And that was the moment you realized—it was all gone.

The bickering, the coffee, the waiting outside your lecture hall so you could walk side by side to the library—the mnemonics, the late night calls and—the kiss.

It was all lost.

Just like that.

The cafeteria was just the same. It was a little more crowded than usual but it was just the same.

But instead of him, you sat across from your mother, quietly eating her food while her phone was buzzing nonstop, and she kept looking at her watch while you just poked on your food like it done you wrong.

“Sorry we can’t eat outside,” she sipped on her coffee, “The surgery took longer than I expected and I still have a consult after this.”

“It’s okay.” you answered softly, absentmindedly poking. You hadn’t said much since you saw him earlier.

You hated him for doing this to you.

“You alright?” your mom asked, staring at your face and you lift your head, giving her a faint smile.

You nodded, but something caught the side of your eye and it darted past your mother’s shoulder—to the table at the corner of the cafeteria, why is the universe playing with you today?

There he was, sitting with his friends, and he looked how he was earlier—except he looked like the skies fell on him.

She followed your line of sight, furrowing her brows a bit before turning to you.

“You know Gojo?”

Your ears pulsate with just a mere utterance of his name.

You looked away, “No.”

“I hear he’s a bit popular in the university,” she continued, giving you a look like she was looking out for your reaction, “Even here. One of the top students. Brilliant.”

You just hummed, and she just kept on talking about him—and you just wished she would stop. “He’s in his third year, right? His mom and I were residents together.”

You blinked, looking at her. “Okay. Tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing.” you puffed out a small breath, and you avoided her gaze. “It’s really… nothing.”

She looked at you, gaze softening as she watched you push your food around. “Hm. Okay, you don’t have to tell me what happened.”

“It’s really nothing, Mom. It’s fine.”

She just chuckled, her hands cupped yours above the table. “If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be looking at him like that.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what he’s doing.

He bought food but he was barely touching it. It was hard to breathe when he knew that you were there—just a few tables from him.

He hated this. He hates himself—he always does this, when everything feels too good—too real, it terrifies him that he turns away.

Except, when he had done this before—he didn’t get hung up, he had protected himself before it got real, before everything went too deep.

He doesn’t just let anyone in, but then you came, you invaded his space—and this barrier between him and his emotions just came crumbling down.

“Satoru,” Suguru called him, tossing a crumpled tissue his way, “You good?”

“Yeah.” he just nodded, a bit distracted.

Yuki was ranting about her rotations when she suddenly stopped, squinting across the room, to the table where you were sitting. “Wait. Isn’t that Dr. LN?”

Shoko and the others followed her gaze, “Yeah. It is.”

“Isn’t that YN with her?” Choso says, turning away and suddenly, all of them were just staring at him—Satoru, like he had done them wrong too.

“What?” he asked, his eyebrows creased.

Yuki waved her hand first, “Wait. Before we get to Satoru’s stupid ass, why is YN eating with Dr. LN?!”

Satoru lifted his head—he couldn’t help but look in your direction, your chin was resting on your hand, you were looking at the food again like it said something that offended you.

He muttered, “Dr. LN’s her mom.”

“Whaaat?” Yuki shrieked and Shoko was taken aback too.

“You’re kidding?”

But he didn’t answer them. He wasn’t surprised at his friends’ reactions because Dr. LN is one of the top surgeons at the hospital, maybe it just shocked them that you’re her daughter.

Well, it wasn’t a surprise. You’re smart—just like her. You’re…

Fuck. Why can’t he look away? He made his decision, right? Why can’t he get you out—

“The fuck was that for?” his train of thoughts vanished when he felt Shoko smack his head. “Are you—”

“You’re a dumbass.” she hissed, and the other three hummed in agreement. “She’s the only girl that we liked. Like, ever.”

“I mean,” Suguru started, “No offense to your past trainwrecks.”

“She just clicked, you know?” Yuki said, sipping on her juice, “I mean, she didn’t even look nervous around us. She laughed with us, she never had that awkward silence, you get me? Like, you could feel her—ah, I’m rambling. Bottomline, you’re fucking stupid.”

He knew that—and that’s what terrified him, you fitted in so easily. You slid so easily in his life like you really belong there.

The problem was never with you.

He used to be content with what you two had—the endless bickering, the studying together quietly—all of it was enough for a person like him. Enough for him who didn’t have time, who couldn’t offer anything more.

Because what if he couldn’t give you what you wanted? What you deserved?

And it scared him when you two kissed for the first time. Because it felt like whatever you two had, could be something more.

But he wasn’t ready for more.

Not when his life was already hanging on a balance with the endless responsibilities, pressure, expectations—he couldn’t bring you into this.

He was hunched into the desk when Suguru placed a paper bag in front of him. He looked at him and frowned. “What is this?”

“Nurses said someone dropped it off. It’s yours.”

Satoru sighed then reached for the bag.

And his heart stopped.

It was his hoodie.

The one that he gave you so that you could have something of his, that you could return—so you could—he could see you again.

He knew what this meant. He knew why you gave it back.

Because he wasn’t going to see you again.

He just stared at it, barely moved, afraid that if he touched it, it would explode. It didn’t smell like him anymore—it smelled like you.

“You know, it’s the first time that I saw you like this.” he looked at Suguru who was leaning on the wall, staring right at him as if watching him come to his senses.

But he didn’t speak, he just looked away as if scared that the truth would hurt him. And it did.

It does.

“She was really good for you,” Suguru added, “I mean, granted that you ditch us for her like an asshole but still, she made you breathe just for a bit.”

Suguru didn’t say this just to be cruel. He was just telling the truth. Because that’s what he saw.

Satoru’s fists clenched, “I didn’t mean for it to get this far.”

“It’s too late for that, you know that, right?”

“And I told you before,” Satoru muttered, “I can’t do this. I don’t have enough time, space—”

“And yet you did.” Suguru pressed, “You made time. You brought her into your space. You let her in, man. She even met all of us. And I know you, you don’t do that.”

Satoru’s breath caught into his throat.

“And it was a mistake.” he says quietly, like he was trying to convince himself. But he’s too smart for that.

They both know it wasn’t. He never regretted it once. He’s just too terrified.

Because you weren’t supposed to matter. But then you started showing up in places where he was. Everywhere he went you were there. Everywhere he looks, he sees you.

Even in his thoughts—you were there.

You were in every goddamn thing that he touches.

And now all of it is just… just.

There’s no more lunch breaks where you kick his leg slightly under the table, no more yellow highlighters flying to his direction just so you could annoy him.

He would never see the crease in your brows again whenever you were muttering mnemonics like the world would end if you didn’t memorize it all.

He would never get irritated now that you’re not here to pester him about practicing something on him—and he’ll say yes anyway.

Now, there’s no more pretending that he wasn’t falling for you. Because he did, he fell hard and he crashed.

There’s no coming back from that.

He really fucked up, huh?

You were about to drift off to sleep when you heard a knock on your door.

You groaned, clutching the paper that was on your face. You hadn’t slept properly in days and of course—of fucking course, just when you’re about to, someone decides to knock on your stupid door.

Great. Just fucking great.

You removed every paper that was on you and set it aside.

You drag yourself up pulling the blanket over your shoulder to cover up the fact that you were only wearing your cami top and shorts—meaning, you’re not to be disturbed, god, it’s late.

You walk to the door, barely awake, cracking it open just to see who it is.

And it’s like a cold bucket of water was splashed onto your face.

Sleep? Gone.

Your heart? Gone. It exploded.

“What are you doing here?”

He was staring at you like you stole all air from him.

You looked around the hallway before pulling him in—shutting the door behind you. You don’t even know how he got in your dorm building—but here he is, interrupting your sleep, your life.

You turned to him, clutching the blanket around you, waiting for him to speak.

“The hoodie,” he whispered, breathing heavily, “You gave it back.”

“That’s what you came here to say? That I gave you your hoodie back?”

He parted his mouth like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at you like he’s afraid that you were going to slip away.

So you did, “I gave it back because it’s pointless. I gave it back because I know you weren’t going to talk to me anymore. I didn’t want to hold on to something that… that you clearly don't want.”

His heart dropped when your voice cracked.

“YN—”

“What?” your tone was sharp, like you were protecting yourself. “What do you want, Satoru? Are you going to show up again, act like I fucking matter to you and the next few days, ignore me?”

You laughed bitterly, tears cascading down the side of your eyes. You said you weren’t going to cry.

You didn’t cry in the past two weeks that he didn’t talk to you.

But seeing him here, in front of you, it’s like a dam broke inside of you.

“It’s not that—It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to you,” he muttered, trying to step closer but his feet wouldn’t move. “I fucked up.”

“You did!” you snapped, wiping your tears hastily, “So what was it? You were busy? You forgot I existed?”

“No.” he paused, “Because you weren’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to happen—I don’t fucking do this, YN. I don’t stay up late with someone, I don’t just eat lunch with someone because I want to—I… fuck.”

“So you just pushed me away? Because life didn’t go the fucking way you want it to?”

He just looked at you, every word that you were saying sits heavy on his chest.

“Because, God forbid, you feel something real?” your voice shatters, “You made me think, I mattered. Then you just up… and leave. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

And that’s what hurt the most. How easily he walked away like none of it meant anything to him.

You buried your face in your palms, sobbing—the blanket that was hugging you pooling on the floor.

“YN.” he stepped forward, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I fucked up. I’m sorry I was such a fucking jerk—”

“You are!” your voice was muffled, your shoulders shaking as you cried. Then you feel him—his arms circling around you to pull you close, the side of your head resting on his chest.

“I didn’t know what to do.” he almost choked, resting his cheek on your head. “I didn’t know how to deal with something like this. You weren’t just a distraction, you weren’t just a girl who flirted with me at a party—you were, you.”

You could feel his hand tremble by the way he held you, but you let him speak. “You were there almost every day. God, you were the first person I think about whenever I hear something funny or someone irritated the fuck out of me.”

“Then I got scared when I saw how easy it was for you to slip into my space, into the people I care about.”

You pull away from him, your hands wiping your tears. Your gaze finds each other.

“When I was watching you laugh with them… I realized that I care so much about you. And that scared me because I don’t want to lose you—I didn’t want that moment to end, and if I said the wrong thing or did something stupid then I would lose you for good? I could not let myself do that.”

“What changed?” you paused, “So, what? You’re not scared now?”

“No. God, I’m scared.” his eyes didn’t leave yours, “But I’m scared of not being with you at all—of walking away, then spending the rest of my life wondering what we could’ve been.”

You didn’t know what else to say.

Or if there is something else to say.

You were just standing there, his hands trembling on your hips—his lips flutter every time he took a breath.

“Kiss me.”

You say but you didn’t even let him react when you tugged on his shirt, pulling him close to press his lips against yours—your teeth grazing his lower lip to let you in.

And he did, he let you in.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breathing heavily before letting you jump into his arms, he carried you to your bed—pushing everything on the floor, the sheets under you rustles as he set you down along with the sound of the papers scattering on the floor.

And just like that, he was all over you again—on top of your body, pressing himself against you.

“I missed you,” you let it slip in between the kisses, in between the whimper into his mouth. “I miss you, Satoru.”

His fingers trail inside your shirt, skimming your waist up to your ribs until he reaches the underside of your breast.

He groaned into your mouth before pulling away, his kisses trail down to the skin of your neck, peppering you with desperate—hungry kisses, “You have no idea how hard it was to stay away.”

“Then don’t.” you gasp as he bites the skin just above your collarbone, “Just stay… with me.”

God, you’re driving him insane.

Then he was back on your lips again. His kisses getting frantic—desperate, he pushed his tongue past your lips—hot and heavy, swirling his tongue inside your mouth like he needed to taste every inch of you.

Because he does. Satoru needed you, he craved you.

You moan against his mouth, his fingers tracing the strap of your camisole before pulling it down—the strap falling flawlessly from your shoulders.

His hand gripped your shoulder—like he was making sure you were okay with his hands all over you, but you reached for his wrist almost immediately and placed it on top of your breast yourself.

Then he froze for a bit, both your eyes opened—until a startled laugh broke out of him—and next, you.

“I thought you were getting shy or something,” you say breathlessly, laughing softly.

“I was being respectful,” he brushed the tip of his nose against yours and yet his hand was still on your breast.

“Don’t you think that went out the window when you stuck your tongue down my throat?”

“Point taken.” he says before his mouth crashes on you again, licking your lips as he starts to knead your chest—he presses soft kisses against your jaw until he is down to your chest, pulling your cami top down with his teeth.

Fuck, he’s so hot.

You catch your breath as he takes your breast into his mouth, his tongue swirling on your nipple while the pad of his thumb brushes over the other.

Your fingers find their way to his hair—gripping it desperately, like you were aching for more, more touch, more of him.

He lets go of your breast with a pop, his eyes staring at you like he was burning your skin.

“Satoru,” you look up at him, your fingers tightened on his hair, “Fuck, please…”

“I know.” his breath stutters when he sees you part your swollen lips, “I got you, baby.”

His lips were back onto yours—greedy, breathless as his hands roam everywhere, he grips on your hips like he’s melding his hand onto your skin. His fingers trace the waistband of your shorts before pulling it down in a swift motion, throwing it on the floor.

His fingers dug into your thighs, coaxing them apart before moving his hands up, his fingers drawing the fabric of your underwear to the side.

You whine against his lips when he slid his finger up and down your folds, his fingers slick with your juices before sliding one finger in, “Mhm—fuck.”

“You like that?” he murmured, his voice was almost reverent—but the smirk tugging on his lip betrays him, your lips part—breathless moan leaches out of your mouth when he adds a finger.

Then he moves his fingers in then out—hooking it just enough to make you tremble and grip his wrist when he moves it fast.

His fingers coated with your wetness creates a hungering sound, he watches as you arch into his hand—and it makes his stomach curl in an animalistic way. He couldn’t even think straight, he was just watching your every gasp and shiver like he was memorizing it.

“Sa—toru! Mhm, fuck, more—please.” you moaned, tugging him close to pull him close just so you could feel him more, it wasn’t enough that his fingers were inside you—you needed more. “I want you. Please.”

“Ah.” he half laughs, breathlessly—almost moaning, his fingers still pumping in and out of your cunt, “You’re driving me crazy.”

“I know.” you lift your head a bit to reach his lower lip, you graze your teeth into the wet skin of his mouth, “Let me—ngh—drive you even crazier.”

“Yeah?” he groans, and you nod, your fingers reaching out for the waistband of his pants, until you reach the button of his pants—your hands reach inside cupping his hard dick with your palm, moving your hands agonizingly—slowly.

“Ah—fuck—” you whimpered when he stopped pumping his fingers—you didn’t even know how he rid himself of his clothes that fast, then he was on top of you again.

Maybe he was just that desperate—and fuck, you know you were too.

His body was hoisted slightly as he stroked his cock above you while pressing sloppy kisses on your mouth.

Then you pulled away, you watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he tilted his head back slightly—your fingers tracing the line of his abs—guttural moans came out of him like he came straight out of porn, his hand still pumping his cock.

You loop your legs on his waist, pulling him close—you both gasp as the tip of his dick almost dips in your cunt. “Impatient, are you?”

“Mhm.” you pull him more—his jaw clenches, eyes darkening at how maddeningly desperate you are.

“Fuuuck. You’re killing me.” he slides his tip up and down, just to tease you—and it loses his mind how you're faltering with even a small touch. He’s ruined.

You ruined him.

“Please—Satoruuu—OH.”

You both gasp when he suddenly pushes in, slowly—deliberately, like he wanted to relish in the way that you clench around him, walls hugging his dick so tight he might’ve come right there and then.

“Shit,” he groans, voice cracking while pushing in deep—until you take all of him, “You’re so—tight, ah, fuck. So good.”

You dip your fingernails into his shoulder, lips apart—your head tilted back slightly. Your eyes flutter shut as you take the abrupt stretch—the pleasure.

“Satoru—mhm, please. Need you to move, baby.”

He groans into your neck—the pet name added to the things cutting into his restraint, he gripped your hips trying to keep you still—god, he couldn’t move. He was getting overwhelmed with the way you feel soft and tight around him.

There was a hitch in your voice when he started moving, slowly—then deeper, faster—harder.

The shaky, uneven—heavy breathing fills the air. The sheets rustle just below you as the bed starts creaking but all you could focus on was how delicious his hips slaps into you—wet, sloppy thrusts fills your ear, making your body ache in ways you didn’t even know.

Your moans grew louder, air catches on your breath with every thrust that he makes.

“Satoru—ah. Fuck!” you close your eyes from the hundreds of pleasure coursing through your body.

He pulls back just a bit, to see your face.

“Look at me,” he breathes, and when your eyes meet his—he loses it. He was all over you—on your mouth, on your face, neck—pressing wet kisses while he rams you into oblivion.

And fuck, how it drove you insane when he gripped your hair and tilted your head just so he could lick your collarbone up to your jaw—then it suddenly hit you like a wave, his name left your mouth broken.

The muscles on your abdomen contract, toes curling into the sheets.

Your grip on him tightens as your thighs quivered, hips arching into him. “Sat—nggh—toru! Feels so good,”

“Fuck, you came?” he groans, his grip on your hips tightens as he fucked you into overstimulation.

You make him crazy. So crazy—he’s losing his mind—you’re going to make him lose his mind until there’s just a scintilla of sanity left on him.

Satoru cursed under his breath—hips curving slightly as he pushed in deep. Your name leaves his lips, strained—low. His hips stutter a bit before he collapses on top of you.

You could feel his chest rise and fall against yours, your breathing in sync.

“You’re heavy.” you muttered, and he just hums—sinking himself deeper against your body.

“I think I just went to heaven.”

You laughed, swatting his back lightly. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”

“Well, I’m sorry—but you ruined me.” he groans—you let out a whimper when he shifts slightly, aware that he’s still inside you. You both winced when he pulled out, but still not getting off of you.

“I ruined you?” you arch your brow, he places his head on your chest—listening to your heartbeat like it was the only thing grounding him.

“Hmm. Completely ruined—like my coat was.”

You groaned, your fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

He lifts his head and greets you with a smug grin, “No. I’d be annoying you with that forever.”

Forever, huh?

598 notes · View notes

atxchiphxbix · 11 days ago

Text

I WANNA BE YOURS

synopsis: Caleb has always been difficult to surprise, and in the days leading up to his birthday, that proves to still be true. Luckily for you, he can never deny you of anything.

Content. mdni afab + f! reader, established relationship, caleb and reader are both kinda switchy? oral (m! receiving) fingering, mutual masturbation, riding, praise, swearing, pet names (good girl, pipsqueak, honey etc.) gege is used flirtatiously, p in v, unprotected sex, caleb comes inside, reader bites caleb, reader sucks on a dildo, reader also throws a dildo at caleb. This is just inspired by 'no-return night' since i haven't played through the card yet and this was written before his card.

a/n: the only reason why this came out today is bcs i’ve been working on it for 2 months, and it was supposed to be posted at 6:13 but my productivity is bad so...

Ever since you and Caleb began dating, specifically getting more intimate, you've discovered more sides to him that you've never seen before.

Not just how much stamina or libido the colonel holds, but rather how much restraint he has — and how much you lack said restraint.

Simply put, you want to suck Caleb off and he won't let you.

You've tried every trick in the book; begging, whining, pawing, deals, hell you've resorted to straight-up asking him. To which he replies, in a smooth honeyed voice, “I just wanna make you feel good instead, pipsqueak. I feel good when you feel good.” It's absolutely infuriating in the most endearing way possible.

He must have been a robot in his past life to refuse such an eager request from you, out of all people.

It honestly makes you upset, frustrated to the point that you're positive he’s just a cruel man who enjoys seeing you tear up, tugging his shirt, begging for a small taste of him. The most you've gotten of his taste is the tang of his sticky cum off your fingers or an intoxicating cocktail of your shared climaxes, mixed between your tongues.

You want to feel him, all of him. You want his hot length between your lips, to feel the ache of his cock as it throbs on your wanting tongue. You want his dick, glossed in your gooey saliva and his pre-cum, to angle until the blunt tip bullies the back of your throat. You want to look up at him through your lashes, drops of tears collected on your waterline, and see the prettiest flush on his face as he looks down at you on your knees, worshiping him as he does for you. Internally, you want him to make you take all of him.

It's upsetting too since he's such a hypocrite, a man who understands your position exactly. Caleb could spend hours between your thighs, suckling and lapping at the soft folds of your twitchy pussy until his mouth and chin drool with your addictive wetness. He begs for it and you give in, every single time.

Can you blame him? He’s been waiting for years to get a taste of you. He just can't get enough of the way you whimper out his name, fingers pulling and tugging at the soft strands of his dark mahogany hair, writhing from the pleasure he gives you. But he also doesn’t seem to understand the brevity of your current situation; what’s so difficult about letting his lover suck him off!?

And so your final plan begins, one you’re certain will work: you will definitely achieve your dream of having Caleb's cock down your throat on the night of his birthday. Specifically, taking him in all the way until he bruises the back of your mouth and leaves your throat sore and voice hoarse the next morning. You figured it’d be a nice surprise along with all the other gifts you’ve spent days planning. After all, this is a birthday meant only for him.

Unfortunately, it’s always been difficult to surprise Caleb.

Ever since you two were young, he’s been difficult to surprise. The man simply knows you too well, every action out of order you make causes him to increase an inkling of suspicion that he immediately snuffs out of you through devious means. It really can’t be helped though, he has known you for your entire life, lived an eternity in your own skin.

And there’s another problem you figured would throw a kink in your plans. Everything about Caleb is big, his height, thighs, biceps… and especially his cock.

You can still recall the first time you two slept together, you were sore for days. The satisfying ache of your burning thighs always served as a reminder of your time together. And even now, no matter how much you took him or how much time he spent trying to stretch your tight cunt to accommodate his thick length, he always felt so full inside you.

So it'd be difficult (and unwise) to try and immediately have him balls deep in your throat, fucking and rocking his hips into your warm mouth until you're drooling and gagging.

But if Caleb had a match in determination and perseverance, it'd be you. You're willing to do anything to get that man in your mouth, you'll make him see what he's been denying himself of.

That's how you find yourself perched on your knees, the night before Caleb’s birthday, licking your lips while your eyes are locked onto the daunting purple dildo plastered on your wall. It’s out of place in your room. Honestly, the ridiculous item shouldn’t be here when you have a lover perfectly willing to go along with whatever you wish, all except for your deepest desire to give him head.

It's certainly no Caleb. The toy lacks his intoxicating warmth, his sensual musk that clings, and the satisfying thickness of his cock that stretches your pretty pussy so well, reaching into the deepest parts of you.

As you run your tongue along the cold underside, feeling the blunt ridges of the plastic veins pressing down onto your wet muscle, you can only dream that it's Caleb instead. You envision that it's his pulsing veins, throbbing for the warmth of your soothing tongue like a balm for his arousal, his cock that weighs heavily in your mouth.

Your eyes flutter shut, trying your best to take the toy in deeper until it fills the warm cavern of your mouth completely, jaw slack and drool dripping from the corners of your lips, stretched wide around the purple plastic. The tip barely teases the back of your throat but you find yourself gagging, saliva sticking to the toy in webs as you pull off.

You imagine that it's Caleb panting above you, cheeks flushed with the prettiest shade of crimson, looking down at you with a gentle hand threaded into the strands of your hair, guiding you back to his aching cock that leaks with the tang of his pre and your spit, eagerly feeding his girth to you. His eyes would be glazed with the familiar look of want and need, hips bucking sloppily into the warm wetness as you allow him to fill up the space of your throat, setting the rhythm however he pleases.

And fuck, the thought of him like that soaks you. You want him to use your mouth, claim it as nothing but a hole for his pleasure. Maybe it's his devoted personality or the contrast of his usual composure, but you want him to lose control, to fuck into your mouth without restraint, using you for all the pleasure he gives you.

Quickly, your fingers slide down your body. The soft pads of your digits tweak at your sensitive nipples and your back curves into a beautiful arch, searching for your own touch. Your free hand slithers down even lower, gliding down the expanse of your stomach, further past the waistband of your shorts, diving below the sopping fabric of your panties.

The sweetest gasp is elicited when your middle and forefinger find your clit, shivering and moaning around the plastic in your mouth as you caress in slow circles, trying your best to mimic the familiarity of Caleb's movement if he were here. It's almost absurd how sensitive you feel, like your nerves are shot, already feeling overstimulated even though you're barely gracing yourself with the wisps of euphoria.

Gradually, your slow rotations turn faster, collecting globs of your heady slick to rub tight circles around your wanton clit. The wetness allows your finger to slide into your fluttering pussy with ease, stroking along the gummy walls that clench greedily, angling into the sweet spot that has your moans vibrating onto the dildo.

But it shouldn't be this stupid toy you're moaning around, shouldn't be your fingers you're fucking yourself stupid on, it should be Caleb. It should be Caleb's heavy cock you choke on, his fingers that pump into you, pressing against that spot that has your toes curling and the tight knot bubbling in your stomach.

Even if this is his surprise, you want him here, watching you. You want his eyes to look at you like he always does, hungry and wanting. You want him to touch you, to feel his warm palms as they slide down the expanse of your body, groping at your tits, and playing with your sensitive clit. You want him here.

"Pipsqueak?"

Shit.

Before you can help it, your orgasm barrels through your traitorous body, shocking into your nervous system like igniting sparks of lightning. It's a matter of split seconds before you jump away from the toy, your body heaving with heavy breaths and your cheeks burning red. Your eyes snap up to him and the expression of shock set on his beautiful features, you look away, around the room before you realize the position you're in.

What the hell do you even say? Shouldn't he be in Skyhaven? You’re supposed to meet at his house tomorrow, so why the hell is he here?

It feels like a million beats of your heart passes by before you start hesitantly, eyes flickering up to him. "Cal-"

"What are you doing?"

He cuts you off, eyes baring down on your kneeling form, pupils roaming over your body. For a second, you wonder if he's upset, but as your gaze migrates down his body, settling on the bulge hidden in his pants, it doesn't seem that way. Rather, quite the opposite.

Well, better now than never. Your surprise is already ruined anyway.

"Just…" You trail off, swallowing the built up saliva in your sore throat. An excuse fails to rise in your mind, too far gone in the moment to even think about denying what he's just witnessed.

Heavily, you sigh, heat creeping up your neck before you find the words quickly spilling from you, created in a rush of flustered anger before even processing what you’re saying.

"I just wanna give you a blowjob and you won't let me, Caleb! What am I supposed to do but suck on this stupid toy because you won't let me give you head!? You wanna eat me out every time we have sex and I always let you, but you won't let me give you head! You're a hypocrite!"

Rather indignantly during your haphazard flurried spew of words, you reach for the wet dildo that's still suctioned to your wall, fingers clasping around it as you pull it off and fling the purple plastic his way, missing his frozen body completely.

“It’s always like this! I don’t understand why you’re denying me, I just wanna make you feel good too! I just wanna give you a special present…”

He doesn't say anything, no response to your words that are obviously created for him to take pity on you, a final surge to get what you want. He simply watches you until a small, sympathetic smile makes its way to his pink lips, pants growing taut against his arousal.

You’re just too cute.

Caleb hopes you don't blame for getting hard (or do blame him, he wants your attention). He can't help the betrayal of his body's reaction to his gorgeous lover, partly because he walked in on you with your hands between your thighs, and a toy stretching your throat, and partly because he's never realized how good you look on your knees.

It's a sight he never lets himself indulge in.

It's bad, it's something he'll get too addicted to. It’s the ripe beckon of a forbidden fruit hanging off a low branch that he must tear himself away from.

A greedy man like him should never get something like that from you, not when he should be the one pleasing you. He's satisfied enough with getting to feel your cunt fluttering around his cock, your lips on his, and the taste of you. Even with simply that, he's already too far gone.

He'd never tell you but that's a reason why he's insistent on not letting your warm mouth encase his cock. Caleb is a man who knows himself well. He knows that the moment your tongue runs along the sensitive veins, soft cheeks hollowing around the ridges of his dick — he'll be goner, reduced to a man at your euphoric mercy, even more so than he already is.

So he can't do it. Can't indulge in himself more than he already does with your body, even if it tortures him every time to rebuke your attempts (to be honest, he also likes seeing you beg). But when you're crawling to him, sitting at his feet, looking up at him with your pretty eyes, and leaning forward until your soft mouth is pressed to the strained fabric, he doesn't find himself telling you off.

"Please, Caleb?" You whine, voice sending the smallest vibrations through his cock, slithering up through his nerves to paint the apples of his cheeks red.

He was so strong and disciplined the other times so why not now? Is it because he caught you, knuckles deep in your own pussy, moaning around a cock or because he's been denying himself of this act for so long? Or because you’re doing this for him?

Perhaps both, but he blames the sight of you already on your knees, eager to please, even eagerer because it's him.

And all of a sudden, it's too hot. You're too pretty, too eager, such a pretty girl begging for something so dirty. Something he knows he shouldn't give into.

"What are you doin' to me?" His voice cracks, a whisper, a final plea before you see that reluctant look in his eye, Adam's apple bobbing with the heavy gulps of saliva.

Checkmate.

With eager hands, you're pushing his shirt up slightly to expose the ridge of his iliac furrow, taking in the quiet stuttering of his shallow breath as your lips find his hot flesh, kissing your way lower to follow the trail of his pants being pulled down.

"Thank you, Caleb." You murmur gently, mouth panting against the thin briefs that stand as the only layer between you and your well earned prize.

For a second, Caleb thinks you're teasing him, toying with him since he denied you of this for so long, but your voice sounds genuine. Too grateful, too reverent for him. He thinks he might cum just from the pressure of your wispy breath and the vibrations of your syllables.

"Don't, fuck, don't say things like that when you're on your knees like this." He throws his head back, fingers clenched at his sides as he looks down upon your kneeling form. He really can't believe he's letting you do this. But if it were anyone, it’d have to be you.

And he sucks in a breath when your soft, warm tongue swipes across his sensitive, leaky tip, a broken whine ripping from his throat at the slight pressure. The pleasure bubbles from his stomach, crawling through his nerves, climbing effortlessly to muddle his brain. He can't help the way his hips almost twitch, his body almost too eager to give into the sliver of attention to his throbbing ache, too excited to delve into your inviting warmth.

He's absolutely doomed.

You almost smile when he croaks out your name, a plea of sorts, a whine to relieve what you've started. With great pleasure, you blink up at him, your own breath hitching when you catch sight of his heaving chest, his bottom lip tugged between the rows of his teeth, cheeks flushed a heavy pink at your ministrations.

Caleb's lavender irises hold set on your kneeling form, drinking in how the head of his cock rests on your pink tongue, drooling precum, and how eagerly you lap it all up. He wants to look at you, but when you run your tongue along the thick, sensitive veins, his eyes flutter tightly shut as if the pleasure will soothe away and he can find it in himself to not shoot his load all over your face.

The mental image does not help at all. Rather, he feels himself getting harder in the walls of your mouth. It's so vivid in his mind, your cheeks stained with his hot load as you blink up at him, tongue lolled out to show how well you swallowed his seed.

It's filthy. The scenario is one he often indulges in on nights alone with his fingers wrapped tightly around the sticky flesh of his throbbing cock, stroking himself off to the thought of his cock stuffing your cheeks, and never in your presence. But now, you've got him wrapped around your finger and buried in your mouth. He's sure you're pleased with yourself right now.

And you are, quite so now that you have what you want. As you run your tongue along the underside of his cock, admiring its sheer size and how heavy it is as it rests against your face, you also notice how Caleb looks at this moment; heat blooming across his cheeks, eyes squeezed shut, and hands fisted at his side like touching you will burn him more than his body already is.

You allow yourself to wrap your lips around the tangy head of his cock, suckling softly while your hands reach for his, gently guiding them to rest on the strands of your hair. His fingers twitch, almost burying into the tendrils of hair, but he doesn't, holding onto that last bit of restraint in his muddled mind.

It pisses you off. You're on your knees for him (literally) and he still wants to hold back?

With a soft moan bubbling in your throat, you sink deeper onto his cock. An act that finally has his fingers curling around your hair and a hissing gasp to escape him. Even with only a few inches filling your throat, it nearly burns. A familiar stretch that you're used to filling up your slick pussy cunt rather than the cavern of your mouth.

Your saliva builds around his girthy dick, slickening the swift bobbing of your head, making it easier to glide down along his length. The brief practice on the toy did little to help because the way his dick stuffs your throat is vastly different. He's warm, hard, and moaning the sweet syllables of your name, all things that the piece of plastic severely lacked. And all things that have the space in your thighs growing slick once more.

Caleb can't help himself any longer. He can't help the way his fingers curl into the strands of your hair, tugging gently despite his best attempts not to. Can't help the whining and groaning of your name that fall from his lips. He's so fucking hard, so sensitive, and the gentle constricting of your throat makes it all worse. His breath hitches, fingers uncurling to pet at your bobbing head, soothing the mussed strands — a praise his mouth fails to form.

Slowly, meticulously, like he's holding himself back, his hips rock against your mouth, pushing inches deeper until your own eyes squint shut and he's reaching places the toy didn't that has you gagging. And it almost makes him feel bad when he looks down at you, face stuffed full of his thick cock, veins drooling with your saliva, hands wrapped around the ridges of his dick that you can’t take down.

But he also can’t stop, not that you want him to. His mouth releases breathy groans, hips humping against your sloppy mouth with his head thrown back, cheeks flushed and hair sweaty. The evidence of your love and lust is strewn all over his body in waves of pleasure and euphoria.

Your throat envelopes his length so well, the symphony of lewd squelching fills the hot air of your bedroom, growing louder as you try to take him even deeper. A little too deep. His cock hits the back of your throat, gagging and almost spluttering in short coughs before you pull off, mouth open and bands of spittle connecting your tongue to the angry, flushed tip.

His palm doesn't move from your head when you back off, unrestrained whines tearing from his throat at the loss of your addicting warmth. His large hand pets your head gently in a soothing rhythm while he pants heavily, crooning soft reassurances. "You, fuck, okay, baby? Did so good for me, so, so good. You don't have to keep-"

His voice pitches when your tongue is on his cock once more, swallowing him into your mouth with vigor. His eyes are trained on you, flickering from your eyes to the way your mouth envelopes his thick girth, saliva wetting his throbbing veins. Praises spew from his mouth, soothing reassurances, hips bucking with the urgent need to cum.

"So gorgeous, ha, so pretty with my cock stuffed in your throat. My pretty girl, good girl, takin' it so well."

You bask in his generous praise, soaked between your thighs as you try to take him farther into your sloppy maw again, but you're prevented by his gentle hand rebuking you, holding you still on his cock, and subdued by his gentle reprimands. "Easy, no need to be so eager. ‘S all yours, all yours."

He moans it like he's coaxing himself. It's all yours, this is just for you and no one else. No one else sees him this vulnerable, this exposed, this desperate for a touch. Only for you.

He punctuates his words with lazy humps into your sloppy maw, not too deep, not too shallow either. The familiar itch of an orgasm crawls up his throbbing cock, the tip of his dick growing sensitive as you continue savoring him, allowing him to use you as he pleases. His fingers tighten in your hair, voice dwindling into a low keening groan of your name while his body curls in, shoulders tensing, body growing overwhelmingly susceptible to the onslaught of bliss.

“Pi-pipsqueak, fuck, ‘m close.” He whines loudly, head falling forward to drink in the sight of your mouth suctioned around his hot length. Violet irises are trained on your lips stretched around the base of his cock, the schlicking of your spit, and, hell, the sight of your hand between your thighs, no doubt toying with your needy clit, dripping all over your palm.

“Gonna cum, shit, get off, baby. ‘Mgonnacumgonnacumgonncum-"

And he really can’t hold back when your warm hand reaches up to cup his balls, flattening your tongue along the blunt head of his pearly tip, swirling and sucking to milk his cum out.

His orgasm barrels into him rapidly, a groaning whimper of your name torn from his lips. His balls tighten in your fingers, body tensing while his hips lose control and buck up, deeper than he should. It has you gagging once more, unable to pull off from his fingers buried in your hair. Caleb holds you down against his thick cock, nose almost smushed against his sweaty pelvis for a second. One. Two. Three. Until the blissful spasms relieve his body.

Gently pinned by Caleb, warm spurts of his sticky, thick seed fill your mouth, flooding your tastebuds, shooting down your throat in messy, white rivulets. Even when you pull off, he’s still cumming, pleading your name when your hand replaces the friction of your wet mouth, stroking him off the rest of his high.

Ropes of his release continue to spill, ribbons splattering onto your cheeks, sliding down onto your outstretched tongue, joining the pool of his ivory cum already in your mouth. Your eyes flutter open, catching sight of your lover panting, chest heaving, and bottom lip caught between his teeth while he looks down at you.

Caleb always thinks you look pretty, but here, right now, he thinks you look the prettiest. You, down on your knees with your cheeks bathed in white streaks of his cum. His twitching cock settles on your face, the heavy weight presses on your tongue as you lap away the remaining pearls of his cum dribbling down the ridges and onto the skin of your fingers.

"Mmm, was that okay?" You question softly, voice murmured against his softening cock, peering up at him through the canopy of your lashes.

Your question is answered when he tugs you up quickly, eagerly pressing his lips to yours, his heavy tongue darting out to pry your mouth open, tasting himself on you.

"You- fuck, did so good, pipsqueak." His praise is smushed against your lips, unwilling to break the kiss, straight-laced on maintaining any connection he has with you. "So, so good."

He kisses you harder, wetter, and messier than when you were on your knees for him. Caleb kisses you like a starving man, insistent and overwhelming, pushing himself into your space until your senses are filled with nothing but his immense presence.

The tangy taste of his cum is swapped between the two of you and he's moaning at the mixed taste. The taste of him and you, swirled together more intimately than anyone could ever get, a flavor only he gets to savor on your tongue.

In the mess of your hazy kisses, drunk off each other's intoxicating taste, you both stumble through the room, the stench of blissed arousal mixing in the air. Your arms wrap around his neck, mouth open to invite his tongue to meet yours in a familiar rhythm, urging him impossibly closer to your warm heat.

Caleb takes the opportunity to latch his hands around your hips, pushing backward until the back of your knees finds the edge of your bed frame, falling backward onto your back with him following soon after. He collapses on top of you, supported by his hands on either side of your head, admiring how you look in the dim light.

Your hair splays around the sheets, framing your flushed features that gaze up at him so lovingly. Swollen lips tugged between your teeth so prettily and your breasts heaving with heavy breaths, inhaling his recognizable scent that’s lived with you for as long as you remember.

With a heavy sigh, Caleb allows himself to fall forward, headfirst into the swell of your breasts. He feels completely boneless, blissed out, and completely satisfied with the aftershocks of pleasure thrumming through his veins. But that doesn't stop his adventurous fingers from skittering along the mound of your thighs, slipping in between the space of your legs, immediately finding your clit through your soaked panties.

After all, he can't leave his special girl unsatisfied now, can he?

"Hm, so wet, aren't 'cha?" He murmurs against your breast, a loving smile on his lips. "That's alright, let me clean that up for you, sweetheart.”

With practiced ease, he slips your shirt over your head, revealing the hardening buds of your nipples in the heated air. The sensitive buds are taken into his warm mouth, suckling on the tit just as gently as you did on him earlier. His tongue is warm and wet, rolling the nipple along his tongue, moaning at the taste of your salty skin.

The ministration has your back curving into an arch, his free hand sliding under you, reaching around to grope and pinch at your other mound. He curls into your side to cradle you against his warm torso, one arm wrapped behind you, the other slipped between your thighs with practiced ease.

His fingers are lithe and long, with veins running from his wrist down to the calloused pads that roll your clit gently, coaxing the softest moans to fall from you. Caleb likes it better this way, more than when your mouth was stuffed full with his cock. He likes hearing you, seeing your cheeks bloom with heat, face to face as he toys with the body he knows so well.

He's swiping at your sensitive pearl until you're burying your face into the crook of his sweaty neck, mouthing at his salty skin, and digging your nails painfully into his strong biceps. He plays around with your cunt, making sure every calculated pressure and touch sends your mind reeling into some pool of euphoria, too mind-numbing to even consider what he's doing to you.

You want it. You want him. You want everything of him.

"Caleb," Your voice escapes as a breathy whine, hot against his skin. "Please, no need for this… I already came once, 'm wet enough."

Caleb only laughs softly, sympathetic to your eagerness. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple, a dizzying contrast to his fingers that prod around your clenching hole. You already know what he's going to say, insisting that he stretches you out, but it doesn’t subdue the ache burning at your body and restraint. Attentive, as he's always been.

"Can't do that, sweetheart." He smiles against your head, inhaling the scent of your hair as his fingers dip just barely into your sopping heat, the gentle pads of his finger feeling inside your gooey walls. A motion that has you gasping, hands shooting to hold his wrist as if he'll stop and think about your plea. "That wasn't from me, it doesn't count."

The last part is said with lingering possession, a glint in his eyes as he stares down upon you. He wasn't the one to stretch you out, it doesn't count if it's the work of your own fingers, doesn't count if he isn't the one to take care of you.

"'S just quick, honey. Be a good girl and let me take care of you, yeah? It’s what the birthday boy wants." A smile curls at his lips, kind, gentle, warm. Like he wasn't just moaning your name, humping your mouth, and shooting ropes of sticky cum down your throat minutes prior. “Weren��t you sucking that dildo for me? Practicing for my cock down your throat on my birthday?”

“Wha- how did-”

Before you can question, he silences you with a kiss, tongue drawn into yours in a quiet hush. Unfortunately, it works. Placates the ache building in your cunt, mind succumbed to the movement of his lips against yours, sucking and rolling on your tongue in languid movements.

“How could I not know? We’ve spent so many years together, do you really need to ask at this point?”

Against your thigh, you can feel his cock twitching back to life, reacting to your curves that meld against the smooth ridges of his body. A knowing sigh leaves his lips, kissed to yours when you, predictably, send your hand dancing down the length of his torso, wrapping your smooth fingers around his girth.

The steady flicks of your wrist have him gasping into your lips, pulling away slightly to meet your coy gaze, set on his purple hues.

"I left all the planning for you. Who would’ve thought that you wanted this." He says, smug and amused. That is, until your palm domes over the sensitive head of his cock, hissing out a gasp and a sharp buck of his hips.

His reaction sends a gratifying thrill through your body, all the power held in your hands, and so pleased at his body's betrayal. "Don't tease me, Caleb."

"Alright, alright, I won't." He rumbles, apologizing with a kiss on your lips and the sinking of a single finger into your walls.

His finger is long, reaching deeper than yours ever could, all the way down to his knuckle. It slides in with a prurient squelch, joining the repetitive 'schlick schlick' of your hand encasing Caleb's cock, pumping over him in rhythmic motions. Along with a quiet groan, he connects his lips to yours, swallowing the whine that escapes when he slides another finger into the slick mess between your legs.

It's erotic, the heady air stifling the room. Your hips twist, unabashed against his fingers, forcing his warm pads to brush along that special spot that has your features contorting in pleasure and your back arching into his body. Your muscles constrict, legs shaking lightly when he adds his thumb to the mix, rubbing quick circles against your sensitive bud that has your body keening instantly for him.

It'd be almost unfair if he wasn't also so far gone in your touch. Caleb can't help the way his hips buck and twitch into your closed fist. Your warm palm runs along the ridges of his cock, curving over his blunt tip so gently to collect the pearls of pre, fucking it back over his cock, sending a sensation just shy of pain up his spine. It’s so fucking sensitive, everything is. Enhanced by your mere presence, he feels like he could just combust.

Whatever effect he has on you is increased tenfold on him.

You're panting against each other's mouth, swallowing moans and swapping webs of saliva. Each push of his fingers in you sends the filthiest sound resonating throughout the bedroom, the hot air intoxicating the both of you, wrapped in each other's embrace along with the gentle stoking of euphoric bliss.

Amidst your constant moans, hips pumping sloppily over his three fingers, you manage to call his name out in broken syllables. Quiet, a plea to him.

"Caleb, enough, please." You purr his name, free hand digging crescent marks into his skin.

Everything is so wet; his cock, your cunt, your lips, your bodies. Everything is filled with an ache that needs to be filled, pieces of a puzzle only for each other to solve and savor.

You don't wait for him to respond before you're untangling yourself from his numbed limbs, pushing him onto his back to settle into his lap. The loss of his fingers almost erupts a whine to bubble in your lips, hushed by the feel of his cock straining under the warmth of your body, pulsing against your belly.

His cock stands tall against the expanse of your stomach, bigger than what you remember having in your mouth.

Caleb is, by no means, a small man. He's well-endowed in many forms, and his cock is no exception. The sight of it against your stomach makes your mouth water once more. He's big and burly, with angry, thick veins running along his shaft. Pearls of pre dribble down his length, pooling onto his abdomen, begging to be licked up.

No matter how many times you've seen it, your gaze is always caught, breath hitched in your throat at the realization that this has been inside you, streaming thick jets of seed in you, claiming you.

"You've seen it before," Caleb's voice snaps you out of your stupor, flickering up to his eyes. "Why so shocked? You just had it in your mouth earlier, scared?"

His eyes fill with mirth, an emotion he really shouldn't be feeling in the moment. A warm laugh of lasciviousness escapes him as his hands travel up the plains of your body, cupping your tits once more to roll the buds between his dexterous hands. He's always so smug when it comes to this, a sense of joy encapsulating his heart when he sees how dearly you adore his cock. And while some men may take offense at being seen for such a thing, Caleb drinks in all the joy.

He especially drinks in the way his cock drools onto your navel. It's pretty, the way the beads of pre cum smear onto your stomach, eager to sink in your tight warmth. If you want it this way, so be it. He's already given into your desires earlier, what's one more for you?

What's one more of anything for you, really?

His hips find purchase on your hips, looking up at your expression, a want that mirrors his own. Slowly, he pulls you forward, chest to chest, ensuring that your warm folds meet his burning cock, lathering himself thick with your slick.

The touch has the both of you groaning out. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, curling at the cool metal of his dog tag as your clit rolls over the underside of his cock, frictioned between a vein of pulsing arousal, sending short shocks of bliss through your nerves. It has you leaking even more, pussy drooling over his hard cock.

"Caleb… come on." You plead, hips lifting with thick strands of arousal connecting your cunt to his length. You shouldn't even need to beg, your gooey cunt is practically crying for him anyways.

In response, his hands on your hips tighten, easily pushing and pulling you over his painfully hard cock. His blunt tip kisses your clit, slit spilling his arousal over the pearly bundle of nerves, creating a slippery friction between the two of you. The friction sings between you both, squelches created with every passionate motion.

"You're the one on me, pipsqueak. You wanted to be on top, didn't you?"

And you know he wants you too, even more than you. But Caleb is mean, a bully who lives to see you whine and beg (it gets him impossibly harder to see you rely on him, needing him). Even as his cock throbs, blood flushing through the veins of his cock, felt right under the sensitive hood of your weeping cunt.

If the heat simmering between you two wasn't consuming your mind, thinking with your drooling pussy instead of your mind, you'd have hopped off and left him rock hard for teasing you so cruelly. He's lucky you want him right now.

So with trembling hands, your fingers wrap around the tip of his cock, pulling slightly off your sticky clit, strings of arousal breaking off before guiding him to your throbbing hole. The slicked head presses insistently against you, hot against your core, barely breaching through your tight rim.

Slowly, you finally sink down.

The two of you gasp at the intrusion, features twisting and curving into one of pleasure and hot relief. Your breath is knocked from your lungs, oxygen flying out as your thighs burn with pressure. Inside and out. Your eyes flutter shut, nails raking into his shoulders while he fills up the deepest parts of you.

He's just so big. A feature of him that's made even more prominent when he's angling his hips up to smooch at your g-spot that he knows so well.

Warm, wet, velvety walls pillow his throbbing cock, a low hiss escaping from his kiss-bitten lips.

"Ah, fuck, sweets… so fucking tight…" Hot palms press against your hips, pulling you both chest to chest, feeling the rapid thumping of your heart against his. The rhythmic cadence mirrors one another, beating in sync like a perfectly timed metronome.

Your sweat-slicked skin glides smoothly against his chest as you lift up, leaving just the sensitive head of his dick nestled inside your gummy walls before you’re sliding down with a delicate moan tumbling from your lips. The swift movement leaves you lightheaded, numbed from liquid bliss that jets through every high-strung nerve. Your pussy swallows him up so greedily, unwilling to let him go.

“Caleb.” You keen the syllables of his name, raspy and breathy.

Gods, he thinks he can cum just from that. Just the sound of his name falling from your lips is enough for him to feel the burning heat shooting up his spine, dick twitching with the need to claim your womb with his potent seed. The urge to cum flies through his mind, lips finding the seam of yours to kiss, swallow, consume every part of you.

Your senses fill with just him as his dick presses so gently in your core, enhanced every time you sink onto him, sheathing his warm length in the gooey heat of your messy cunt. The squelch that follows is obscene, a beg from your greedy pussy to keep him close, buried in you. Even if your mind, filled with the feeling of his cock thrusting in and out of you at your own pace, is incapable of voicing your pleasure, he finds that he’ll listen to your pussy instead.

In response to the salacious noise, strong arms slither around your waist to pull you impossibly closer; heart to heart, lips on lips, holding you close like a secret for himself. A secret he'd never give away, tucked into the smooth crevices of his beating heart, protected by the curved bones of his ribs.

You're a secret meant only for him, a special pedestal chiseled out in his soul for you.

The reverberation of flesh on flesh resonates throughout the room. Your hips drop down on him repeatedly, mixed with the grinding of your hips, rolling your aching clit on the surface of his body. Your arms pull him close by his neck, tongue tangling with his to devour the mantra of your name that leave his lips, trailing down to suck and mark the column of his smooth neck.

Hues of rose bloom against his pale flesh, contrasting against the silver of his necklace, cool on his heated flesh. Caleb allows his head to loll back, holding you tight against him, allowing you to bounce yourself on his cock, using him for your desires.

That’s all he ever wants from you — he simply wishes for you to use him, own him, ruin him. Caleb simply wants to be yours.

“So good, baby. Doin’ so good for me, using’ me so good.” His praise falls loosely as if you can even understand his words amidst your endless mewls of his name, helplessly clinging onto him like a lifeline.

But even clinging onto Caleb doesn’t help the burning muscles of your thighs that increase with every rise off his cock, dropping down so your greedy hole can swallow the thick length once more. And to your dismay, the slowing pace has the wisps of your orgasm slipping through your grasp, the edges of bliss teetering away that pulls a desperate whine from your lips.

“Caleb,” You beg, nails raking down his shoulders. The simple word is enough for him to know what you want, asking him for help like you always do. Running to the only person you’ve ever relied on. He’s the only person you should rely on. “Please, please, ‘m so close…”

“You’re close?” Caleb preens, voice hot and ragged against your ear. “What do you need, hm? Tell me, tell me what you want. I’ll give it to you, just tell gege."

He’s not exactly asking, the answer is obvious, even if he didn’t know you like the back of his hand. He can feel it from your fluttering walls, the pitch of your moans, the flurried babbles of unintelligible whimpers that spew from your swollen lips. He knows from the simmering of your body against his, sloppy hips losing the momentum you’ve worked so hard to build, racing to finish around his cock.

His poor girl, getting so tired from riding him. It’s okay, he thinks, he’ll take care of you. Just like he always does.

But he still wants to hear you, wants to listen to that pretty voice he’s spent years devoting himself to. He wants to listen to you plea for his help, rely on him just a little longer, need him just a little more.

“Wanna cum! Wanna cum around your cock, Caleb.” You bury your face into the crook of his neck, hips never stopping its irregular rhythm despite the aching burn in your muscles. “Please, I need you. Need you to make me cum.”

The sound of your sweet beg fills his flushed ears, prompting him to pull you closer, hands splayed on your back as his feet anchor into the soft mattress. The next feeling you receive from him is a deep, sharp thrust up into your soaked cunt, cock kissing all the sensitive parts in you.

Hard. Fast. Unrelenting.

The sharp movement has you tipping forward into his chest, arms feebly holding onto him while he bounces you on his thick length, pistoning his girth into your weeping pussy. Salacious squelches follow with every plunge, strings of wetness sticking him to you in webs whenever he pulls out, eager to delve back in. And you can do nothing but take it.

You can do nothing but take the blunt head of his cock as it bullies into your gummy walls, thumb rolling tight circles on your sensitive clit until he has your back curving into him, eyes fluttering shut from the pressure building in your stomach, electricity shooting through you in tiny bursts.

“Need me, huh?” He coos, lilting and proud. You need him. You need him to make you cum because you can’t do it yourself, you need him to bring you to the finish because only he can do it — slotting himself into your life once more.

And Caleb relishes in it. Lives for it. Lives for you. For the way you cling onto him, the seam of your lips pressing wet, hot kisses to his neck, the syllables of his name falling from your lips like a mantra. He lives for the way your cunt flutters around his cock, earning a pleased groan from the man as he feels you quickly approaching your orgasm.

“Close?” He whispers, already knowing the answer. He knows your body better than you do, aware of the blissed pulsing of your pussy and the pitches of your moans that signal your impending climax — all shooting straight to his cock, swallowed in your warmth.

Caleb keeps his persistent pace, panting softly with his cheeks dusted in rosy desire. His hips don’t stop, pulled tighter against you, a hand snaked between your heated torsos to rub at your raw clit, pushing you closer and closer towards the teetering edge of numbing pleasure.

Your body feels like it’s in suspension, torn between a foggy mist of euphoric haze and sharp bursts of electricity numbing your mind. Everything is so sensitive, so wet, so hot. Everything is too much for your body to contain, too much to process.

“O-oh, ‘m cummingcumming, ngh-”

Before you know it, your teeth sinks into the soft junction of Caleb’s neck and shoulder, igniting a sharp gasp from him as your body convulses, tensing and shaking in his hold. Everything completely whites out with a drawn out moan, muffled into his salty flesh. Static floods your mind as you cum around Caleb’s intrusive length, still pistoning in and out of your cunt, leaving it pliable, fuckable for his cum to nestle in your womb.

“Come on, cum for me, sweet girl. Go on, be a good girl, cum nice and hard for me.” Caleb groans out, voice ragged and rough with his own need to cum.

Your tight pussy swallows him whole, hips smooching against yours, cock head grinding perfectly to hit that sweet spot that overstimulates you until you’re biting at his skin, marking him up like a toy. Laying claim on him, making him yours.

It’s enough to make him cum, pushed over the edge. Enough to have him groaning out your name in a choked moan, muscles rippling with bursts of pleasure shooting through his abdomen, his erratically jerking into you. Pools of lavender squint shut while Caleb messily thrusts up into you, hands gripping the soft flesh of your ass to keep you still so the hot, sticky ropes of cum can spurt freely into your welcoming womb. Filled, and fucked back into you, over and over and over.

“Fuckfuckfuck, ‘s so good—”

Your lips smush onto his, hushing his cries of pleasure. His hands alter you to rock against him, reliving and clasping onto the last aftershocks of numbing pleasure rippling throughout the stems of your nerves. Your tongues move languidly through mewls and groans while your warm palms wander along his skin, mapping out the curves and contours of his body, engraving every detail to memory. Eventually, your hands settle on the space between his collarbone and jaw, thumb massaging the reddening divots against his pale skin created by your teeth.

With a soft sigh, you’re the first to pull away to admire his flushed features, looking lovingly up at you. You lean forward, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, mumbling softly, “Gonna tell me why you were here?”

Caleb sighs, a wispy smile set on his lips, twirling a strand of your hair around a lithe finger, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. He's sure you already know anyway, he has a third eye just for you, after all.

“I just missed you. I couldn't wait until tomorrow to see you, but I guess I caught you at a good time though, huh?”

You flush at that, heat blooming on your cheeks even more than you already are. A gentle finger smooths along the crevices of his chest, the tip of your digit dragging with feather-light pressure on where his heart lays, beating fast and hard against the warm pad. “Was supposed to be a surprise…”

Caleb only laughs, kissing away the adorable pout. "Don't worry, I'll act surprised if you want me to. Just don't expect me to go easy on you when that time comes."

He pulls you close, burying his face into the soothing scent of your hair, mixed with the lingering stench of sex and love. He could stay like this forever, with you in his arms, cock softening in your cum-filled cunt, drowning in your familiar presence.

If he could ask for anything for his birthday, it'd be to stay like this. To hide you away from the rest of the world, curled into his protection. He wants to carve you into his heart, caged into the gaps of his ribs where he knows you'll be safe, relying on him. If not, he'd want to live in you. To be settled into your heart, webbed tight into the vessels of your pumping veins, providing everything you'll ever need.

Caleb simply wishes to be close to the one in his heart.

You wrap your arms around him too, clinging to his warmth. Caleb is your sun, always there, always shining, even on the days you forget to look up. He's always a part of your life and you want him there, no matter what. You want Caleb, just Caleb.

With a low sigh, your eyes flicker to the clock on your nightstand, showing in clear, white numbers.

12:00 am, June 13.

"Caleb?" You murmur, hushed and quiet.

His eyes, once fluttered shut, open immediately at the sound of your alluring voice calling for him. He responds with a low hum, fingers mindlessly circling haphazard lines and shapes into your skin as you relax on his chest.

"Happy birthday."

The simple words almost surprise him. He knows you've been planning for quite a while now, eager to give him the best celebration ever, but it's different hearing it like this. Especially when he has you pieced into his large frame, sweaty and sluggish and limp from pleasure. It's different when you murmur it so gently, your voice filled with the cadence of love and devotion.

There are no words that appear in his mind when you whisper to him, only the sudden need to pull you closer, press his heart to yours. He doesn't say anything, only sealing the seam of his lips to yours in a reverent kiss.

"Thank you, honey." Caleb’s lips curl into a boyish smile, charming and sweet.

"Will you tell me what you'll wish for?" Your eyes twinkle with mirth, teasing him affectionately. “I’ll make sure it definitely comes true.”

Caleb can only muster up a laugh, mussing up the strands of your hair with a shake of his head. "No can do, pipsqueak, my lips are sealed shut. If I tell you, it won't happen, you know?"

The response has you rolling your eyes, hands darting up to pinch and tug at his cheeks in retaliation. The answer doesn’t satiate the curiosity in you, only igniting your desire to extract the answer out of him. It ignites a hearty laughter from Caleb who tugs you close, rolling you two over until you're pinned under his large torso, nosing at your cheek with a wide grin.

He wouldn’t tell you. Or maybe you already knew, you always seemed to know things about himself that he didn't. Maybe you already know that he wishes for you to be his forever. In every lifetime. To seek out your soul to hold, bind, and sink into his. He wants to have your hand in his, to descend from the sky with you in his arms.

In this lifetime and every life after, Caleb only wants to be yours.

"Tell me, Caleb!" You whine, pushing him away to no avail. "Please… gege?"

That has Caleb’s breath hitching, a breathy sigh escaping his lungs in exasperation. How does he reject that? Your pleading expression, lips set in a tempting pout, and eyes begging to know his heart’s selfish desire.

Simple, he can’t.

So he lightly flicks your forehead, immediately leaning forward to soothe the touch with a kiss.

“If I tell you,” he murmurs, smooth voice vibrating against your temple, “then you have to make sure it absolutely comes true, alright?”

A smile follows his words, curving wider when he sees your eager nod. His warm palm raises, thumb brushing along the underside of your eyes, curving along delicate lashes reverently before he cups your cheek. His irises flicker over your features, a hurricane of unrecognizable emotions flashing through his face.

“I wish,” he begins, pulling you tighter against him, careful to not smush you under his comforting weight, “that I get a little more of you every year. I wish for gravity to always bring me back home to you so I can see you by my side every day.”

Silence follows his words, the air growing thick between you both. Caleb looks down at you with an expression that can only be described as love, holding his breath for your response. He isn’t uncomfortable with you, far from it, but he’s a man afraid of being weak — vulnerable to the one nestled so deeply in his heart. Even with simple colds and illnesses, he hides away from you, so how can he reveal such a profound, selfish desire that constantly consumes his mind?

“Will you grant me that?” He asks, voice low and soft like he’s afraid that you’ll turn him away, “Can you grant me my selfish desires?”

A tempered heat simmers between your bodies before you let out a quiet laugh, not amused nor mocking, just one of happiness to mirror the ripples of love in your heart. It’s moments like these when you realize your Caleb isn’t as invincible as you always conceived him to be. He’s just a man who loves you dearly so.

“Okay, Caleb. Then no matter what happens, let’s always find our way back to each other.” You run your finger over his cheeks, trailing down until your palm finds his beating heart, thumping reassuringly against your skin. “Let’s be selfish together.”

The finality of your words, assured and strong, soothes the turmoil in his soul. Caleb brings your hand to his lips, lavishing a kiss on every delicate finger, each receiving a segment of his unending love for you.

“I’ll always find my way home to you.”

He’s certain now. He’s certain that gravity will always pull him back to you, if not, he’ll crawl through heaven and earth to hold your hand once more.

Happy birthday, Caleb. May gravity always bring you home <3

#crescent.creates #c.caleb #lnds caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #caleb x reader smut #caleb smut #xia yizhou #xia yizhou x reader #lnds #lads #happy birthday caleb <3

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cookiieduh · 1 month ago

Text

Just like candy .ᐟ

.Can you really blame him? You’re just too sweet—it’s not his fault he can’t get enough!

.pairings.ᐟ choso x reader, geto x reader, gojo x reader.

.cont.ᐟ MDNI, fem!reader, cunnilingus (duh), JJK men get pussy-drunkkk, fingering, edging, praise, dirty talk, pet names, light dacryphillia, overstimulation, hint of dumbification, not proof-read, porn with litch no plot, light bondage perhaps, dom and sub dynamic (geto),

.extra.ᐟ whew… jumping straight into it lol. part two with the other JJK men. soon.

CHOSO KAMO٠ ࣪⭑ hold on tight .ᐟ

“Mmph, babyyy,” Choso mumbles deliriously against your cunt, the vibrations of his husky, almost whiny, voice against the sensitive flesh making you bite back a squeal.

He has you sprawled out across the mattress, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs as he holds them apart, preventing them from quivering shut in attempts to quell the onslaught of his crazed tongue.

“C-Cho, s’too much!” you choke out, head barely raising before immediately falling back, as if there was a magnetic pull between your cranium and the pillow. You writhe under the press of his upper body, legs shaking beneath his palms because he just doesn’t. Let. Up.

“C’mon, baby. Please, jus’ a little more,” He pulls back for a second, blown out eyes meeting your glossy ones as his warm breath puffs over your abused sex.

Maintaining eye-contact, Choso’s tongue lolls out once more, just barely grazing your clit.

Light taps and swirls until the little kitten-licks grow bolder, flicking between that sensitive bundle of nerves to those puffy folds. His fingers continue to press into your thighs, kneading the muscle as he continues the assault.

He’s been going for so long, is his jaw not aching?

Well, it is. But, hey, any ache is worth seeing you melt into a puddle right before his eyes.

“Ngh—oh, fuuuck!” Your chest heaves with dry sobs, boobs bouncing hypnotically as you twitch. You can feel your boyfriend smile against your sore pussy before licking another stripe up the swollen folds.

Choso laps and laves at your cunt like a man possessed, never giving you even a second of reprieve. Honestly, you’re not sure how much more you can give him.

One of your hands slides up to squeeze your breasts as your back lurches off the bed, the other flying to thread through your lover's messy, black tresses.

“You’re so, mmh, squirmy,” you can hear the smirk in his voice as he moans lowly against your slit, giving it one last messy kiss before he pulling away to take in the view you’re presenting him with: Hair beyond mussed by your endless thrashing against the pillows, shirt ridden up to the base of your throat, red marks blooming on the plush of your tits after grabbing them so tightly.

What a beautiful mess.

Chin glistening, Choso grins as you, utterly whipped and entirely pussy-drunk. “Think you can give me oneee more, baby?” He rasps, head dipping down to rest against your stomach. He plants kisses just above your navel, and you think that this might be your chance to catch a break.

Much to your dismay, you thought wrong.

Choso continues to trail kisses across the soft skin of your tummy, grip loosening around your thighs, only to trail further up. Another desperate mewl is pulled from your throat as his index finger meanly skims circles around your clit, avoiding giving the nub any direct attention.

You want to cry.

“You s-said, jus’ a lil’ more,” you whine, tears gathering at the edge of your lashes after throwing your head back for the nth time this evening.

The only response you get is an amused snort. His fingers continue to evade the place you need them most, purposely, torturously.

“Looking so pretty when you’re all messy f’me.” He murmurs adoringly, wholly ignoring your rebuke that rings hollow to even your ears.

Choso watches your body jerk with a mix of fascination and adoration, observing the way you buck your hips, seeking something more than the way he barely dips his fingers in and out of your slick entrance.

It’s the sweetest torture once he finally slips the digits inside your silky cavern, curling them so suddenly, so forcefully, that it makes you see stars behind your tightly shut lids. “Oh, there she is.” Choso simpers lazily as he pumps his middle and ring fingers in and out, grazing that spongey spot inside just right, sending you pummelling towards another earth-shattering orgasm.

Tears are trailing glistening paths down your flushed cheeks as your calves lock around his shoulders, thighs spasming, pussy clenching, as you cum for the who-knows-how-many-eth time tonight.

Finally, after leaving you thoroughly fucked-out by his fingers, he slowly eases them out. You feel sore all over, and the sudden emptiness makes you cringe. You raise your head just slightly to look down as Choso, the satisfied, hazy smile he sports as he stares down at your ruined pussy. Your cheeks burn.

His eyes flit up to meet yours as he rises to his knees. “Gorgeous,” he breathes, leaning down to press a kiss against the drying tears on your cheeks.

“You’re perfect, sweetheart. So perfect.” He litters another few pecks against your jaw before capturing your lips with his own. You taste yourself on his tongue as it breaches the seam of your mouth, making your breath hitch in your throat.

He pulls back, your gaze drifts down.

“Cho-” you begin, eyes zeroing in on the stiff bulge tenting his grey sweats, a small, damp patch where he’d felt his own dribble of bliss from lapping at your syrupy folds. It was as if he enjoyed giving you head more than you enjoyed receiving it. “Do you want to—?”

“Don’t worry about it,” He cuts you off with another smooch, attempting to quell your concern and growing sense of guilt before rising.

You’re still pouting when he looks down at you, eyes lidded so sultrily.

"Baby, I'm serious. Don't worry--hahh--!" he cuts himself off with a breathy sigh as you reach for him, palm pressing against the thick outline of his rigid length.

All soreness in your body is immediately forgotten by his airy response. Now you're tugging down the waistband of his pants, the dazed glaze in your eyes becoming hungry once his throbbing cock is freed, hot and heavy in your hand.

Somehow, you manage to switch previous positions--boneless but absolutely determined to return the favour. Your boyfriend's pliant, strong legs shifting further apart as you lean in closer, breath ghosting over the flushed tip of his lengthy dick.

"Now it's your turn."

𓂃⋆.˚

SUGURU GETO٠ ࣪⭑ it’s addictive .ᐟ

Here you are, spread out over your superior’s lap, his thick fingers plunged deep into your gummy walls.

“Sugu,” you breathlessly whine, head reclined against his shoulder as your chest rises and falls with steadily increasing rapidity. "Don't tease." Your hips buck, and thighs would threaten to close around his static hand if it weren't for his other that kept your knees pried open.

"That's part of the fun, though, lovely." Geto's cheek brushes against yours, lips grazing the shell of your ear in a way that's so purposely seductive. He's kept this game up for a while, successfully reducing you to a desperate, mewling mess.

"It's not fun when you're doing nothing." A trace of frustration bleeds into your treble admonishment. That's when you make the mistake of reaching down to cover his hand with your own, attempting to coax him into doing something. Anything.

As if to provoke, he barely scissors his fingers open in your clingy heat, making you gasp, thighs just begging to close against his hand that keeps them pried apart.

"Good girls listen, they don't rush or demand. They take what's given to them." The cult leader murmurs sweetly from behind you as he continues to slowly, agonisingly, stretch you out. "Good girls get rewarded," he dips his head down until his warm breath grazes your ear.

"But bad, disobedient girls--they get nothing." he whispers, as he continues to press the pads of his fingers against your slick entrance - never pushing deeper, never giving the stimulation you're practically keeling over for.

A choked gasp is pulled from your throat when he slips his digits out completely, leaving you cringing at the sudden emptiness.

"Suguru!" you almost want to growl in frustration, chest heaving with desperate, impatient breaths as you all but throw your head back against his shoulder.

Your hands practically fly to your poor, neglected pussy, seeking to do give it the proper attention Geto had been purposely avoiding.

"Not so fast, gorgeous." he swats your hands away just as you barely manage to circle your clit, grabbing both your wrists with one hand, he wrenches them behind you, grabbing the cotton rope you've come to know so well from the side table, tying them behind your back.

"Please!" You hate how pathetic you sound. Suguru revels in it. "I'll be good, I s-swearrr!" A dry sob rips through you. But actions speak louder than words, and right now, you're rubbing your thighs together, seeking any modicum of friction to quell the burning arousal between your legs.

"You can start by keeping still." You can literally hear the smug in his voice, picture the exact curl of his lips he's more than likely sporting at the feeling of your wrist twisting beneath the soft but securely tightened rope.

It takes everything in you to stop your trembling, to stop pressing your thighs so tightly together.

"mhmmm." Suguru hums his approval, the low, resonant sound making you all the wetter. Watching you rigidly spread your legs, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to whatever touch he decides to inflict, makes Geto feel an almost sadistic sense of delight.

"Eyes on me, sweetie." He simpers, free hand coaxing your chin to face him. Only inches apart, he leans in, pressing one, then two--you stopped counting by the third--kisses to your lips. Small, teasing pecks dissolve into lengthy, sultry smooches.

Before you can even catch your breath, he's easing his middle finger in, barely plunging past the entrance. "only one finger and this greedy pussy's already sucking me in," He smirks against your lips, pressing and raising the pad of the single digit in time with your ragged pants.

You don't utter a. Single. Word. Holding back every gasp, every mewl. You're not about to risk breaking the spell of his touch by asking for more--not when he's finally giving you what you want, what you need.

"Oh, look at you," Suguru snickers tauntingly, finger finally breaching that tight ring of resistance. "Trying so hard to keep quiet, huh?" He snorts, making your cheeks burn hotter.

After a few slow pumps of his fingers, he finally slips in another, pace increasing only slightly as he watches your reactions through lidded, amethyst hues.

Your eyes begin to drift closed, back arching just barely off his chest. He uses the moment to his advantage, free hand slipping up from your mid-thigh to firmly pat against your touch-starved clit.

You jolt, eyes flying open as you let out a small yelp of surprise from the sudden stimulation. "Oh--!" The single syllable falls from your lips as you tense, anticipating another hit that's sure to come.

And it does. Multiple, actually.

With each mean tap, your sex only grows slicker, melty walls clenching so deliciously, so sweetly around Geto's thrusting fingers.

"It's like she's trying to pull me in." His breath brushes against your neck as he leans forward to rest his chin on top you shoulder, watching you cunt milk his digits for all their worth.

He's doing it on purpose--he has to be. She? He's referring to your pussy as if it's its own separate identity? fucking weirdo, but, god, if the embarrassing choice words weren't it working.

Wetter, slicker--your cunt is practically squelching as his fingers plunge into you with increasing vigour. They curl up, hitting that spongy spot justtt right.

You're close, devastatingly so.

"Think m'gonna cuuuum," You whine, your arms practically fighting against the ropey restraints as you seek some way to anchor yourself before your impending orgasm wholly devours you.

"Yeah, you do that." Geto breathes out, far more enamoured by how your greedy cavern resists letting his fingers leave each time he pumps them in and out.

His other digits continue circling, tapping, flicking--and whatever he can come up with--your clit, never giving the swollen, over-sensitive nub a second of reprieve.

You wildly jerk forward, hands flattening against his front as your climax hits you like a freight train, coming with a sharp cry of "SUGURU--!"

But his ministrations don't slow, and they don't speed up either. He continues driving you through your peak with the same steady rhythm, the overstimulation making your legs quake around his arms.

"It's not my fault; she just doesn't want me to let go." Geto rasps against your neck, still peering down at the mess he's made of you. Finally, his pleasurably painful assault on your quivering pussy begins to slow.

He gives your sensitive mound one last light slap for good measure before he eases his fingers away from your swollen folds--only to bring them to your lips.

"Suck." The single command is enough to get your lips parting, soft tongue swirling between his middle and ring fingers as he lightly presses them down against the pink muscle.

Your wrists are still tied behind your back, rubbing just a little raw as palms push against the wall of muscle that is his abdomen.

He plants a single, tender kiss on your sweaty temple, slipping his fingers out of your mouth before untying the rope that had bound your wrists together.

"Did so well f'me, sweetheart." He flashes you a lazy grin, looking so satisfied at the way he's left you all boneless and melty in his lap. You flinch when his hands land back onto your thighs, relaxing when all he does is knead the pillowy flesh.

And then it comes.

"Think you can take my cock, too?"

𓂃⋆.˚

SATORU GOJO٠ ࣪⭑ anywhere, everywhere .ᐟ

“Gojo!” You hiss sharply. “Are you crazy?”

“Ah, ok, so it’s Gojo now.” Satoru teases, already hiking your skirt up your thighs, sinking to his knees. “Y’know, I think I like it more when you call me ‘toru.” He smiles coyly, the words spoken so sultrily that it makes your cheeks heat.

"I. Don't. Care." You whisper-yell, even as your fiancé dips his head between your thighs. "We're supposed to be in a meeting--!" Your voice pitches to an embarrassing squeak at the word. All he does is snicker, pearly whites splitting his grin as he looks up at you.

"So? They can wait." He says with absolutely no sense of urgency. "Plus, you're just too sweet to resist, especially when you look at me like that." and by 'that', he means the way you're scowling down at him.

He's insatiable, really. Annoying too. Making you pretend you needed to take an important call before following you out of the room a minute later to--by his own words: 'see if you were okay'.

"What if someone comes to check up on us?" You urge him to see reason, even as you spread your legs further.

Admittedly, it's not entirely comfortable to be half-leaning against a hardwood desk in an empty classroom, but the awkwardness of your position is soon forgotten as he licks a languid stripe over the front of your panties.

"Then they better enjoy the view." He shrugs easily, licking another stripe before his index comes up to press your slit through the material. You know he's only joking, but there's still a sense of unease warring with the steadily growing arousal as he keeps teasing.

"Well--make it quick then." You sputter, heat pooling in your gut as you feel yourself growing slick under his dextrous touches.

"Of course, sweetie." He coos, voice dripping with feigned saccharinity, warm breath ghosting over the clothed slope of your pussy before digits dig into the waistband, pulling it of and letting the garment drop to your feet.

You gasp when his fingers spread your puffy folds apart, eyeing your twitching hole with an intensity that makes your face burn all the more.

You hate to admit it, now more than ever, but he's a vision. Tousled white hair pushed back by his blindfold, stray snowy strands escaping the makeshift headband, framing his features in a way that's so unfair.

Flashing you one last toothy grin, Satoru surges forward, tongue immediately flicking over your exposed clit.

He lets out a breathless laugh when your hips buck from the contact, mindlessly seeking more of that heavenly sensation from the assault on your sensitive nub.

"easyyy," He chides smoothly, vocal vibrations against your quivering sex making you gasp. His forearms dig deeper into your thighs to stop your skittish squirming while his fingers continue holding your lips apart.

"ngh, S-Satoru --!" Your hands fly to the back of his head, caught between pulling him closer or pushing him away as his tongue continues lavishing your jutting bundle of nerves with boldly growing licks and swirls.

Aww, that’s what it took to be back on first name basis with your fiancé? Cute.

Spurred on by your airy sighs and sharp breaths, he flattens his tongue, licking a up a long strip before sucking your swollen peak into his mouth, lashes batting as he looks up at you.

You can't get too loud--knowing how thin these damn walls are, you'd better hold back or someone really is going to 'enjoy the view' after walking in on you both.

But the pressure of his pursed lips suckling is almost too much to bear.

Mouth hanging open, head lolling back as you hike one of your twitchy thighs even higher up, your hips roll senselessly up against his handsome face, grinding your sloppy pussy harder against those sculpted features.

"F-Fuck-" You tremble, fingers tugging at his ivory strands even tighter, making him moan lowly against your bared, weeping cunt. Another shudder ripples through you as your peak approaches, and you bite back something louder.

You come with a stifled mewl, legs shaking, one hand jerking back to steady yourself against the desk. Back arching, keeling forward, you let out a plethora of shaky gasps and pants.

Satoru releases your thoroughly suctioned clit with a pop, pulling back, plush lips gleaming with the gloss of your arousal. “Fast enough?” He asks, voice a little raw from disuse. He’s looking far too smug, too proud, by the fact that he made you come so quickly.

Before you can retort, he pulls back completely, still on his knees with his neck craned back to watch your stuttered reactions before azure irises flit down again. Your mouth opens as if to bite back, but soon snaps shut when he lets out another breathy chuckle.

“You’re twitching.” His blown-out gaze jumps back to your headed cunt, the way your fluttering whole clenches around nothing. Six eyes or not, you really can’t hide anything from him. God, he could probably feel your heartbeat thrumming beneath the flesh.

With fingers still holding your pussy-lips apart, his middle finger trails down to skim along your slit before dipping inside. Your back lurches forward, head dropping down as he wastes no time pressing against that spot—the one that makes stars explode behind your tightly closed lids.

“Such a sweet little pussy,” Satoru murmurs, entirely enthralled. “Squeezing me so tight.” He purrs teasingly, meeting yours briefly before they flutter shut as he goes in for another taste.

His finger eases in and out of you, massaging your gummy walls so sensually you feel like you might explode. It’s soon followed by another before his tongue lolls out to work over your swollen peak once more.

Suddenly, he switches the positions, tongue prodding at your cinched entrance while his thumb feverishly circles your clit. “Taste fuckin’ heavenly,” his voice is muffled as his tongue continues to push deeper inside, prodding in and out with quickened strokes.

One hand hooks beneath your knee, coaxing it to rest over his shoulder as he shuffles closer to you.

The attendees had to be getting suspicious by now, when you're so lost in the sensation of your soon-to-be-husband's mouth, you can't seem to muster any regret.

“Please, ‘toru,” you breathe, head falling forward as he continues to delve his tongue deep inside your silken cavern. “I need to—ngh, oh—!” Your quiet, hushed moans making his lips curl into a smirk, still pressed into your sobbing folds.

“Oh yeahhh? You need it?”

You hate him so bad.

His fingers slip down from your clit to press into your melty core while his lips mash against every inch of your perfect, puffy pussy. And you’re falling apart on his tongue for the second time in what had to have been only ten minutes.

Legs shaking doubly as wildly as before, you let out a choked cry—one that’d no doubt be heard from when all attendees were waiting for your return. “Too m-much!” You squeal as he drives you through sensory overload.

You have to literally wrench his head away just to get him to stop eating. There’s a pussy-drunk grin curling his lips as you struggle to focus on him through the hazy fog of overstimulation.

You’re just about coming down from your high, his long, slick fingers dragon-clawing the meat of your thighs. He finally moves to stand, but the moment he’s extended back to his full height, he’s pushing you back up against the desk with his front, arms braced on either side of you as he leans in closer.

“I sure they won’t mind if we take a few more minutes.”

a/n: running on two hours of sleep and too tired to proofread. Toji, Sukuna and Nanami next. hopefully.

481 notes · View notes

edenarchives · 2 months ago

Text

♯┆𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑 .ᐟ — 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Nanami betrayed you. Toji blackmailed you. Now you’re done playing nice. You’re not the girl who falls apart anymore—you’re the one pulling the strings. And if getting even means letting Toji ruin you? Then so be it. You’re not here to be saved. You’re here to win.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Blackmail, professor/student dynamic, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, dubcon, rough sex, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare, toxic relationship themes, revenge, infidelity mention, Megumi humiliation, emotional fallout. MINORS DNI.

𝐖𝐂: 𝟗,𝟓𝟎𝟎

It’s been three days.

Three long, aching, breathless days since you walked into Toji Fushiguro’s office thinking you could win—thinking that if you just stood your ground, said the right words, made him see reason, it would be enough to save Nanami. Enough to save yourself.

You thought you could hold your own.

That he’d listen.

That somehow, he’d care.

You should’ve known better.

Because the second that door shut behind you, it all slipped away.

Toji didn’t even look up at first. He was sitting at his desk like he’d been waiting there all morning, legs spread, coffee in hand, sleeves rolled up, collar open. He glanced at you from under thick lashes and smirked.

“This is blackmail.”

You stood in front of his desk with your arms crossed and your chest burning, trying not to let the tremble in your hands show.

His smile widened, lazy and amused. “Is it?”

“You can’t just manipulate people like this. You can’t hold this over our heads.”

Toji leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered. “I think you’ll find I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“We’re not doing anything else,” you snapped. “Nothing. It’s over. There’s no story here. You don’t have a case. It was a mistake. We won’t be together again. On campus, off campus—ever.”

He chuckled, low in his throat. “God, you’re adorable when you’re righteous.”

You pressed your tongue to the roof of your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. “I’m serious. If someone’s going to take the blame, let it be me. Just leave Nanami the hell alone.”

“Why would I do that?” he said, cocking his head.

Your heart kicked, but you didn’t back down. “It was my fault too.”

“No,” Toji said, dragging the word out, savoring it. “You were just convenient. Cute, sure. But not the first.”

The blood drained from your face. “What?”

“You’re the latest,” he said casually, like he was listing the weather. “Not the first.”

You stared at him. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” His smile stretched wider. “You really thought you were the first student Nanami’s ever fucked?”

Your stomach turned.

“He didn’t even know who I was,” you argued, voice rising. “We met through that site. It wasn’t… it wasn’t planned.”

Toji raised a brow, then leaned forward slowly, folding his arms over the edge of the desk. “That’s cute. But you know what’s funny about that?”

“Professors get the student lists before the semester starts. All of them. Names. Majors. Contact info. Photos. You think Nanami didn’t know who you were when he saw your profile?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer.

“You’re not some hidden gem,” he says. “You were on his desk months before he ever sent you that first message.”

“No,” you whispered. “That’s not true.”

Toji shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But it wouldn’t be the first time.”

You blinked.

“What?”

A cruel glint flickered in his eyes.

“It’s his thing. Every semester—he picks someone. Some sweet little thing with straight A’s and something to lose. And then he waits. Times it right. Makes it look like fate. Makes you think you’re the one who started it. And when it happens, when you’re all wrapped up in it? He pretends to pull away. Pretends he’s ashamed. But really?”

He smirked.

“He’s watching you fall apart for him. Watching you crawl back. Every time he disappears, every time he tells you it’s wrong—he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Your chest felt too tight to breathe.

“He gets off on it,” Toji said softly. “Watching you risk your future for his cock. Watching you beg. Watching you think it’s love when really, he just likes watching you squirm.”

You shook your head. “No. That’s not—he—he doesn’t…”

“He doesn’t love you,” Toji finished for you, leaning back again. “He loves what you’ll do to feel like he might.”

The words sat heavy between you.

He sipped his coffee like he hadn’t just cracked your entire world open.

And you stood there. Frozen. Because some part of you, even as you denied it, even as you fought it, was already starting to believe him.

Toji exhaled slowly, shaking his head like he was genuinely impressed. “He was careful. I’ll give him that. Never brought it onto campus. Always met them off-site. Never got caught.”

Then, a grin. “Until you.”

Your throat burned.

“You’re the one he fucked in his office,” he said, gesturing toward the walls around you. “You’re the one who made him forget to be careful. You’re the mistake.”

You looked down. Your hands were shaking again.

Toji tilted his head. “And now I get to use that. Or maybe I just let the old bastard hang himself with guilt. Watch his perfect career crumble while I sip my whiskey.”

He didn’t look angry.

He looked satisfied.

Like he’d already won.

Like he wasn’t threatening you—just explaining how this would go.

You stood there, staring at the floor, breath shallow in your lungs.

You blink.

The memory slips away, but not the feeling.

You can still hear his voice. Still see the smirk on his lips. You can still feel the way the floor dropped out beneath you when he said you weren’t the first. That Nanami had known. That maybe it was never real.

And now, three days later, the ache hasn’t dulled. But it’s changed. Hardened. You’re not shaking anymore. You’re not crying. You’re not sitting in your bed with your phone in your hand waiting for a message that isn’t coming.

You’re getting dressed.

Not soft. Not sweet.

You wear black. Something tight. Something that hugs your hips and bares your skin and makes you look like someone you don’t recognize anymore. You smear eyeliner over your lashes. You wear gloss that shines like a weapon.

You grab your bag.

And you walk to the admin building like your heart isn’t broken—like it’s been replaced by something sharp and dangerous and willing to bite back.

Because if this is the game?

You won’t be a piece.

You’ll be the fucking player.

Even if it means using the devil to destroy the man who broke you.

———

The admin building is quiet. Too quiet.

It’s the kind of stillness that makes you feel like you’re being watched, like the walls themselves know what you’re about to do. But your steps don’t falter. Your heels click across the floor, steady, sharp. You don’t hesitate when you reach the office door with his name printed in clean black lettering.

Vice Chancellor Fushiguro.

You knock once. Firm. Not out of politeness—but so he knows you’re coming.

The door swings open like he’d been waiting right behind it.

Of course he had.

He doesn’t look surprised to see you. Not even a little. He leans against the doorframe with his sleeves rolled up and his black shirt half-unbuttoned like it’s just another Wednesday. Like he didn’t spend the last few days tearing your entire sense of reality apart.

His eyes drag down the length of you—slow, heavy. Like he’s tasting the sight of you with every blink.

“Figured you’d come crawling back,” he says.

“I’m not crawling,” you bite.

You walk in without waiting for permission. Close the door behind you.

And this time—you lock it.

That makes him pause. His smile twists just slightly. Amused. Curious. Dangerous.

“Well well,” he murmurs. “Kinky.”

He pushes off the doorframe and moves closer, slow like he’s circling prey. “What are you here for, sweetheart?”

You stand tall. Your heart’s racing, but your voice stays level.

“I want to make a deal.”

He laughs—short and quiet, like he doesn’t take you seriously yet. “We already made one.”

“No,” you say. “You made a threat. I’m giving you an offer.”

That stops him.

He tilts his head. Says nothing.

You take a breath and keep going.

“You want leverage? Fine. You can have me. On your terms. However you want. But if you want me, then you don’t touch Nanami. You bury the recording. You never say his name again.”

The silence stretches.

He looks at you—really looks at you—like he’s trying to figure out what game you’re playing.

And then, slowly, a grin spreads across his face.

You don’t blink when he steps closer. When the space between you tightens. When the air turns heavy, electric, laced with something sharp and sour that sinks into your bloodstream.

Toji looks at you, really looks at you, and for a second he doesn’t smile. He just studies you—like he’s trying to decide whether you’re brave or stupid. Whether you’re bluffing or broken.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“After everything,” he murmurs, “you still wanna save him?”

His voice is low. Not mocking. Not amused. Just curious. And that’s worse.

You swallow. Don’t answer.

Toji hums like he already knows. Like he can see right through you.

“You think he’d do the same?” he asks, slower this time. “You think Nanami would lock a door for you? Offer himself up just to keep your name clean?”

Your jaw tightens.

He leans in closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “Do you think he’d beg for you, sweetheart?”

You want to say yes.

You want to scream it.

But the words get stuck somewhere between your ribs.

Because you don’t know anymore.

You don’t know.

And Toji sees it. Sees the flicker of hesitation. The second of silence that splits your chest in half.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, stepping back, smile curling again. “You’re smart. But you’re not special.”

Your fingers curl into fists.

But you don’t run.

You don’t crumble.

You lift your chin again, sharp and angry.

“Then take it,” you spit. “Take me. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted this whole time?”

His smile is slow, eyes gleaming like a blade catching light.

He doesn’t answer. Not with words.

He steps forward—closer, closer—until there’s barely an inch between you, until your back is nearly brushing the edge of his desk and you can smell the coffee and smoke on his breath. His hand lifts, slow and deliberate, and for a second, you think he’s going to touch you.

But he doesn’t.

His fingers hover just beneath your chin, never making contact. His voice is low when it comes.

“You say that like you’re offering me something I haven’t already taken.”

Your breath catches.

He leans in slightly, mouth near your ear now, his lips just barely grazing the shell of it.

“Every time you walk around this campus with your thighs clenched and your mouth shut and your eyes all glassy like you’ve got something to confess—” His voice drops, dark and amused. “—that’s me. That’s mine.”

His breath is hot. Heavy. You don’t move.

“I don’t need to take you, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You already gave yourself to me the second you locked that fucking door.”

His hand finally touches your jaw—just a graze of knuckles—and it’s humiliating how fast your body reacts. Heat blooms between your legs like it never left, like it’s been simmering under your skin since the first time he smiled at you with that knowing look. Your spine straightens, but your knees threaten to give out.

Toji watches the shift happen in real time.

“That’s more like it,” he mutters. “Go ahead. Be honest.”

His thumb traces your lower lip.

“You want to be ruined, don’t you?”

You hate that you can’t lie. Not here. Not now. Not when your body is already betraying you, your chest rising too fast, your mouth parting like you’re waiting for him to fill it.

You don’t answer.

You don’t need to.

Because he already knows.

And when his hand curls into the back of your neck and pulls your mouth to his—when he finally kisses you—it’s not sweet. It’s not comforting. It’s not anything you’ve ever had before.

It’s ownership.

It’s the start of something irreversible.

And you let it happen.

The kiss isn’t kind.

It’s rough—hot, consuming, all tongue and teeth and dominance. You gasp into it, and he swallows the sound whole, one hand fisted in your hair, the other already sliding down your waist like he owns the blueprint of your body. His grip is unrelenting, possessive, like he’s waited just long enough to enjoy the moment your spine gives in.

You barely register the low thunk of your bag hitting the floor before your back slams against the edge of his desk. He presses into you, chest to chest, cock already hard against your stomach through the fabric of his pants, and fuck—he’s big. You knew it. You felt it in the way he carried himself. And now there’s no more guessing.

“On the desk,” he growls, voice gravel under heat. “Now.”

You don’t move fast enough.

He flips you himself.

Hands on your hips, spinning you, pushing you forward until your chest hits the cold wood and your elbows slide across its polished surface. You feel his hand on the small of your back, flat and firm, holding you down like he’s staking a claim. The other slips beneath your skirt.

“Bet you’re already wet for me,” he mutters.

And when his fingers slide against the soaked lace between your legs, he groans—low, guttural, dark.

“Fuck. You are.”

You try to bite your lip, try to stay silent, but your body twitches under him—hips rocking back just barely, without thinking.

That’s all it takes.

Then his fingers are sliding through your folds, two of them sinking into you at once like he has something to prove.

He shoves your panties to the side. Doesn’t pull them down, doesn’t bother with anything careful or sweet—just tugs enough to get access.

“Goddamn,” he hisses, pumping slow, deliberate. “You like this, huh?”

You choke on your own moan, nails digging into the desk.

“Like being traded for a secret? Like being used to cover his ass?”

His fingers curl.

You cry out.

“Say it,” he snarls. “Say you like it.”

You bite it back.

He withdraws instantly—hand gone, heat gone, and your body clenches around nothing.

“No—please,” you gasp before you can stop yourself.

Toji chuckles darkly behind you.

“There she is.”

You hear the rustle of a belt. The clink of a zipper. The sound of fabric shifting.

And then—

The blunt, heavy press of his cock dragging through your soaked folds, head catching right where you’re aching the most.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he asks, mocking.

You nod, frantic. “Yes. Just—fuck, please.”

He doesn’t wait.

One hard thrust.

He buries himself inside you to the hilt—so thick it knocks the breath from your lungs, the stretch brutal, delicious, overwhelming. You cry out, nails scraping across the desk as he grinds in deeper, holding your hips like you might try to run.

“You feel that?” he breathes, lips close to your ear. “That’s mine now.”

Then he starts to move.

Brutal pace. No mercy. Just the sound of skin on skin, the slap of his hips against your ass, the wet drag of your cunt gripping every inch of him like it’s never been this full before. Your moans turn helpless, high and ruined, echoing in the room like a confession.

His hand slides up your back, catches the collar of your shirt, and yanks. You hear the fabric tear, feel the scrape of buttons popping open. Cold air hits your skin.

“You like this better,” he grits. “You want it filthy?”

You nod. Desperate. Sweat slicking your back, tears threatening to spill from how deep he is, from the way he hits that spot over and over and over—

His hand slides down.

Finds your clit.

Rubs tight, punishing circles while he slams into you.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Give it to me.”

And you do.

Your orgasm rips through you like a wave of fire—violent, blinding. You scream, body locking up, legs shaking as you clamp down around him and nearly collapse over the desk.

Toji groans, low and ragged. “Fucking tight.”

You feel him lose rhythm. Hear the change in his breath.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Gonna make sure you remember who owns you now.”

You moan, still trembling, completely at his mercy.

“Please—” your voice is cracked, ruined. “Please, cum inside me—”

“Yes, Beg for it,” he hisses.

He curses hard.

One last thrust, deep and rough and final—and then he’s spilling into you, hips jerking, cock pulsing deep as he empties himself with a guttural sound that shakes the bones in your spine.

The silence after is thick. Hot. Drenched in sweat and power. You’re still bent over his desk, breathing hard, your hands pressed flat to the wood, your body slick with heat and shame and satisfaction.

He’s still inside you—deep, heavy, pulsing slow as he drags out the moment. And when he finally pulls out, you whimper at the loss. Not because you want him again—yet—but because the emptiness makes you feel it all over again.

His cum spills down your thighs in slow, hot drips.

You shift, trying to stand, but your legs are too shaky.

He hums behind you, amused. “Told you I’d make it worth your while.”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you lower yourself slowly onto the edge of the desk, your bare thighs sticking to the cool wood. You can feel everything—the mess, the stretch, the ruin between your legs—and it should feel degrading.

But it doesn’t.

It feels like a win.

Toji grabs a few tissues from the box on the desk.

You expect him to hand them to you.

He doesn’t.

He kneels instead.

And fuck—you almost flinch.

Because when his thumb drags through your folds, slow and lazy, smearing his cum back inside you, your whole body shudders. He watches your cunt flutter, watches your thighs tremble, watches the way your hips twitch helplessly beneath his hand.

“Don’t waste it,” he murmurs.

You gasp when he presses two fingers into you again, spreading the mess deeper.

“That’s mine now,” he adds, soft but sharp. “You gave it to me.”

He wipes what’s left with a lazy, practiced touch. But it’s not kindness. It’s ownership.

You slide off the desk on shaking legs and grab your bag. You smooth your skirt. Fix your top. Pretend you’re in control again.

Even though your panties are soaked.

Even though his cum is still dripping out of you.

Even though he’s watching you like this was only the beginning.

You make it two steps toward the door before his voice stops you cold.

“You think this was a one-time favor?”

You pause. Don’t turn around.

“I keep my mouth shut,” he says, “you keep showing up.”

You glance back at him—hair a mess, shirt undone, cock still out.

And you smile.

“Who says I won’t?”

Toji leans back in his chair like he’s already planning the next time. Like he knows you’ll come crawling back. But this time, it won’t be because you’re scared. It’ll be because you want to.

You step into the hallway, raw and sore and glowing.

Because you’re done playing fair.

You don’t feel ashamed.

You feel powerful.

And Nanami?

He has no idea what’s coming.

You return to class like nothing happened.

It’s been a full day since you locked that office door behind you—since Toji’s hands were on your skin, his voice in your ear, his cum dripping down your thighs.

A full day since you stopped pretending you didn’t like the fire.

You’ve been quiet since. Not hiding.

Just waiting.

Letting it settle into your bones, letting the world shift just enough to feel like you’re the one in control now.

And when you walk into the lecture hall, it’s like you’ve been reborn.

Same seat. Same desk. Same room.

But not the same girl.

You’re not pretending to be soft anymore.

There’s a new weight behind your gaze. A new sharpness to your smile.

You feel it in the way people look at you now—like they’re seeing you for the first time.

You’re here to be seen.

And Megumi notices first.

He’s already in your row, lounging back in the chair beside yours with his legs stretched out and that smug little smirk that says he still thinks he has the upper hand.

“You’re back,” he says, like it’s funny.

You drop your bag on the desk and sit beside him, slow and graceful and just a little too pleased with yourself.

“Miss me?” you hum.

His smile grows. “Didn’t think you’d have the nerve.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” you say sweetly, turning to face him, your voice low and rich. “You snitched on me. Thought you were pulling strings. But all you did was hand me your father on a silver platter.”

He blinks. The smile falters.

“What?”

You lean in, close enough that only he can hear. Your lips barely move. Your tone is dripping in syrup and acid.

“I should be thanking you,” you whisper. “Because thanks to you… I got to fuck your dad.”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Megumi goes still. His mouth parts—just slightly—but no sound comes out.

And then, without another word, he stands up and leaves. Fast. Wide-eyed. Like he’s running from something that just snapped loose in his chest.

You don’t even flinch.

You just sit back. Cross your legs. Flip open your notebook like nothing happened.

Like you didn’t just shatter someone.

Like you’re already thinking about what’s next.

You hear the door open behind you a moment later.

Footsteps—slow, even, familiar.

Nanami.

Your breath hitches, but you don’t look up.

You feel it in your chest when he passes—like a ghost brushing through you.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t acknowledge you. But you feel his gaze linger for a fraction too long as he moves past you.

He stands at the front of the room, briefcase already open, tie perfect, expression calm.

But when he glances at you again, it’s different.

He knows.

It’s burning in the cool way you hold your pen, the way your lips curl just slightly at the corner like you’re keeping a secret.

It’s shining in your skin.

And he doesn’t know what, not exactly—but something in you has changed, and it’s loud.

And Nanami feels it.

He feels it in the pit of his stomach.

And for the first time since he told you it was over—he wonders if maybe you finally believed him.

And moved the fuck on.

The lecture drags.

But something’s off.

His voice is steady, his notes are clean, and his explanations are as polished as always. Not because Nanami falters—he doesn’t.

You are off.

And it’s throwing him.

He tells himself it’s nothing. That you’re just back—finally—and maybe he should be relieved.

He tries not to stare. He tries not to think about the way your lips shine under the fluorescents or how your legs are crossed just a little too tight.

He’s unsettled.

Because the girl sitting in the front row, notebook open, pen between her fingers?

That’s not the girl he left standing in his office three days ago, shaking and tearful and betrayed.

This version of you is cold.

Beautiful.

Sharp-edged and glowing with something dangerous.

You smile at him once—just once—and it wrecks him.

Because it doesn’t reach your eyes.

And he realizes, too late, that he’s the only one in the room who knows how far you’ve fallen.

Because he’s the one who dropped you.

Class ends.

You pack slowly. Deliberately. Your fingers move with a calm he doesn’t believe. You can feel him watching you as the room empties out—his stare heavy, desperate, burning a hole into the back of your head.

And when the last student leaves, and it’s just the two of you again?

He says your name.

Soft. Tentative. Not like a professor. Not like a lover.

You turn around slowly. Raise your brows, calm as anything.

“Yes, Professor?”

He flinches at the title.

His jaw tightens. “Can we talk?”

You tilt your head. “About what?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

And you almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

Because this is what he wanted, right?

Separation.

Silence.

Distance.

And now that you’ve finally given it to him, he looks like he’s choking on it.

You step closer. Not enough to be inappropriate. Just enough to make him sweat.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk,” you murmur. “You made it very clear.”

His eyes drop to your mouth, then back up again. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes,” you interrupt, sharp but not unkind. “You did.”

You watch him struggle for a second longer—jaw clenched, eyes flicking across your face like he’s looking for a way back in.

And then, just before you turn to go—

“Oh,” you say, like it just occurred to you. “And you don’t have to worry about Toji sending the recording.”

His breath catches.

“I’ve got it under control.”

You give him a sweet smile.

One that’s all lipstick and fire and secrets.

Then you walk out.

Calm. Collected. Glowing.

And Nanami?

He doesn’t sit down. He just stares at the door like it might open again. Like he’s hoping you’ll walk back in and take the weight off his chest.

But you won’t.

You already did your part.

And now it’s his turn to fall apart alone.

You don’t go home after class.

Not now. Not since you stopped pretending to be the kind of girl who lets other people decide what she’s worth.

You should. You could. But your body doesn’t move that way anymore.

You don’t text Toji.

You don’t have to.

He doesn’t say anything when he sees you. Just gives you a once-over—eyes dragging down your legs, your hips, the smug little smirk still clinging to your mouth.

Arms crossed, sleeves rolled to the elbow, a cigarette tucked behind his ear like the picture of careless sin.

By the time you reach the admin building, he’s already leaning against the doorframe of his office, like he knew you’d be back.

Then he steps aside.

Door open.

Invitation clear.

You walk in.

Don’t speak.

Just wait.

Toji shuts the door behind you, slow and easy. Doesn’t bother locking it this time—like he knows you’re not here to play shy anymore.

When he turns around, you’re already by the desk, fingers grazing the edge.

“You were late today,” he says, voice low, teasing. “Was starting to think you were over me already.”

You glance back at him, expression flat. “I was busy ruining a man’s day.”

That earns you a grin. “Let me guess—Nanami?”

You hum. “Told him I had the recording under control.”

Toji chuckles, steps closer. “You’re really getting the hang of this whole revenge thing.”

You shrug. “Figured I’d learn from the best.”

There’s a beat of silence—heavy, pulsing.

Then he moves.

One hand comes up, cradles your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip like he’s remembering exactly how it felt when you moaned around him.

Crosses the room, slow and deliberate, until his chest brushes yours.

“You’re dangerous now,” he murmurs, almost admiring. “You taste it yet?”

You don’t answer.

Just tilt your chin up. Just enough.

An invitation.

His mouth crashes into yours like a promise—messy, brutal, already desperate.

It’s different this time.

Not because it’s softer. Not because he’s gentle.

But because you want it now.

Not to prove something.

Not to survive.

But because this is yours.

You want all of it—his mouth, his cock, his voice in your ear saying filthy things that make you feel alive again.

Your thighs tighten around his hips. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

Let him peel your top off, kiss down your chest, bite at the soft underside of your breast.

You let him back you up against the desk again.

And Toji?

Toji gives it to you.

Every fucking second of it.

His mouth is already on your neck, hands up your shirt, hips between your thighs like he’s got no plans to stop. He groans into your skin, breathing heavy, like he’s barely holding himself back.

You’re gasping before you can stop it, fingers tangling in his hair, legs tightening around his hips. You feel his belt press into your thigh, the thick line of his cock hard against you through the fabric of his pants.

“Toji—” you start, already breathless.

He kisses you hard—deep and rough, like he’s staking a claim. You feel him reach for your skirt, about to drag it up, when suddenly he pulls back. Just a little. Just enough.

You blink at him, chest rising and falling fast. “What?”

“Not here,” he mutters, voice low and gravelly.

Your brows knit. “Why not?”

He steps back, adjusts your top for you, then fixes his own shirt like it’s no big deal. But his jaw’s tight. His eyes are darker now. “I’m not fucking you on a desk again.”

You just stare at him.

Then he grabs your hand and pulls you toward the door without another word.

When you step out into the cool air, you pause. It’s still campus. Still public. And you glance around instinctively, nerves prickling at the back of your neck.

“Toji—” you tug at his arm, lowering your voice.

He stops walking. Turns to you slowly.

Then smirks. “Baby, relax.”

You blink.

His eyes gleam with something sharp, wicked. “You’re gonna have to trust me.”

You swallow.

He leans in, brushing his mouth against your ear. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

You stare at him for a second longer—until he opens the passenger door of his car like it’s nothing. Like this isn’t insane.

“Get in.”

You hesitate just a second. Then slide into the seat, heart hammering.

The ride starts quiet.

Not awkward—just heavy. Thick with everything you didn’t get to finish back in that office. Toji’s hand is steady on the wheel, rings glinting in the sunlight, jaw sharp in profile as he drives like he’s not in any rush. Like he’s trying to savor this part, too.

You shift in your seat, thighs pressed tight together, still aching with the want he didn’t satisfy.

He glances over, one brow raised, smirking. “You always this squirmy, or is it just me?”

You roll your eyes, but your face burns. “You literally dragged me out mid—”

“Mid what?” he interrupts, voice low and smug. “Mid whimper? Mid grind?”

You punch his arm lightly, but he just laughs, a quiet, throaty sound that settles low in your stomach.

Then, softer—more real—he says, “Didn’t wanna rush it.”

Your chest tightens a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks over at you again, slower this time. “You looked too pretty to fuck quick against a desk. Wanted to take my time. Make you cry a little.”

That shuts you up.

He smirks like he knows it. Like he’s proud of himself. Then he adds, “You worried someone was gonna see you, back there.”

You glance out the window. “…Maybe.”

He scoffs, like it’s the dumbest thing he’s heard. “I own that fucking school.”

You blink. “What?”

Toji shrugs, casual as hell. “Board loves me. Faculty can’t touch me. You think someone’s gonna open their mouth? Let ‘em try. I’ll make ‘em wish they didn’t.”

You swallow. “You’re insane.”

He grins. “Only for you, sweetheart.”

There’s a beat of silence.

You cross your legs slowly. “So… where are we going?”

He looks at you, eyes dark and amused. “Home.”

“Yours?”

“Unless you wanna get wrecked in a parking lot.”

Your heart stutters. Your thighs squeeze tighter.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Gonna take my time. Wanna ruin you properly.”

And with that, he shifts gears—and your breath catches.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Gonna take my time. Wanna ruin you properly.”

And with that, he shifts gears—and your breath catches.

His hand stays on the wheel, knuckles tight, thumb tapping slowly against the leather. He doesn’t look at you, not yet, but there’s something about the way his jaw flexes that makes your stomach twist. That lazy, dangerous calm he wears like second skin—it’s thicker now. Louder. It’s in the way he turns onto the main road like he’s not thinking about anything else but what he’s gonna do to you when you get there.

You sit back, legs crossed, pulse ticking under your skin. You try not to shift in your seat. Try not to let your thighs press together. But you can feel the tension building, slow and sticky, winding through the air between you.

Toji doesn’t speak. Not at first. He just drives—slow enough to tease, fast enough to make your heart race.

“You always this quiet?” he finally asks, glancing at you sideways.

You shrug, voice soft. “You’re the one who said you wanted to take your time.”

That earns you a crooked smile. “Yeah. But not in silence.”

You hum, letting your head tilt slightly, lips curling. “What do you wanna talk about?”

He huffs a laugh. “Nothing. Just like hearing your voice when you’re not moaning.”

You look away, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re wet,” he says easily.

You shoot him a look, but he’s already grinning. One hand still steady on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift like he’s not in any rush to touch you again. Like he’s making you wait on purpose.

“Cocky,” you murmur.

He glances over. “Only when I’m right.”

The silence stretches again—longer this time. Thicker.

You can feel it creeping back in, curling between your legs, heating your cheeks. It’s not the kind of quiet you fill with small talk. It’s the kind that builds pressure. The kind that makes you squirm in your seat and pretend like you’re not imagining what his hands will feel like all over you the second you step inside his house.

And then finally, his voice cuts through it, lower now. Rougher.

“You nervous?”

You pause, just long enough for him to notice. “No.”

He doesn’t call you out on the lie. Doesn’t smirk, doesn’t tease. Just nods once—quiet, settled. But the way his hand tightens on the wheel says something else entirely.

“Good,” he says. “’Cause I’m not gonna stop this time.”

The rest of the drive blurs. Not because it’s fast, but because the air is thick with things unspoken. Your heart’s pounding. Your thighs ache. Every time he shifts gears, the movement sends another jolt of heat through you.

And then he’s pulling into a driveway.

It’s not what you expected.

Not a flashy house. No giant gates or pretentious signs. It’s clean. Neat. A quiet, modern two-story tucked behind tall hedges, windows dark. Private. The kind of place where secrets are safe.

He kills the engine, and the sudden silence makes your breath hitch.

“You coming?” he asks, already opening his door.

You follow, legs a little shaky as your heels hit the concrete. The air is cooler now, sharp against your skin, but you barely notice it. Not with the way he’s watching you from the front step, keys dangling from his fingers, that same lazy confidence in every inch of his posture.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t wait for you to walk in first—he just steps aside, lets you move past him, lets his hand brush low over your back like a warning.

It’s warm inside.

Dim lights. Clean floors. A dark hallway stretching out ahead of you. You hear the door shut behind you with a quiet click, and then his voice—low, close to your ear.

“Upstairs,” he says, already moving past you. “Second door on the left.”

You don’t hesitate.

You walk.

And you feel him watching every step.

You reach the top of the stairs, your fingers trailing lightly along the wall like you need something to steady yourself. Each step feels heavier, hotter, like the air’s thickening with every breath.

Second door on the left.

You stop in front of it, hand hovering over the knob, pulse drumming at the base of your throat. And then you feel it—him. Toji right behind you, not touching, but close enough that his presence drapes over your shoulders like heat.

He leans in, voice low. “Open it.”

You do.

The room is… minimal. Clean lines, dark wood, soft lighting that throws long shadows across the floor. A massive bed in the center—black sheets, unmade. Like he hadn’t expected company, but didn’t mind the idea of it.

You step inside, heart climbing into your mouth.

Toji shuts the door behind you, and this time, he does lock it.

Then silence. Heavy. Almost too much.

Until—

“Take off your shoes.”

His voice is soft. Gentle. But it leaves no room for argument.

You kick them off slowly, feeling the shift in the atmosphere as your heels hit the floor with a dull thud.

“Come here.”

You don’t walk.

You drift.

Like your body already knows the way to him.

And the second you’re close enough—he touches you. One hand on your waist, the other sliding up your spine, fingers dragging the heat of the night right through your clothes.

“You sure about this?” he asks, voice gruff, almost strained. Like if you say no, he might actually stop.

But you look up at him—lips parted, breathing uneven, already undone.

“Don’t you dare,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.”

And Toji smiles like he’s been waiting his whole fucking life to hear you say that.

He pulls you in slowly, like he wants to savor it—your skin, your breath, the way your fingers curl into his shirt like you’re already bracing for the fall. His lips brush yours once—barely there—before he tilts his head and kisses you for real.

And fuck—it’s everything.

Hot and messy, all tongue and teeth and want. You gasp, and he swallows it. His hands are everywhere, greedy, slow, dragging up your back and into your hair, tugging until your head tips back and he can get to your throat.

“Been thinking about this,” he mutters against your skin. “All goddamn day.”

You arch into him, hands fumbling at the hem of his shirt, needing more, needing him, but he catches your wrists and holds them still.

“Let me,” he says, low and steady.

And then he peels you open like a secret.

Top off. Tossed somewhere across the room. His eyes darken when he sees you—no bra, no hesitation. Just you, standing there like you’ve already given yourself over to him and you’re not taking it back.

“Fucking beautiful,” he says, like it hurts.

He runs his hands down your sides, slow, thumbs grazing just under your ribs. You shiver.

“Lay down.”

You do.

The sheets are cool, but your skin is already burning, and when Toji crawls over you—knee between your legs, hand cupping your jaw—your whole body arches like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment since the first time he looked at you.

“Still nervous?” he asks, lips brushing your ear.

You nod. Barely.

And he smiles.

“Good.”

Then he kisses you again—deeper, slower.

Like he plans to ruin you piece by piece.

His mouth moves lower, unhurried. Down your neck, across your collarbone, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. He palms your breast, thumbing over your nipple until it stiffens, then replaces his hand with his mouth—hot, wet, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

You writhe under him, fingers clawing at the sheets.

“Toji—” you breathe, and it sounds wrecked already.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick, lips dragging across your chest. “Say it again.”

“Toji,” you whisper, softer this time, like it’s not just his name—it’s permission.

And he takes it.

One hand slips between your thighs, pushing them open with practiced ease. He groans when he sees the soaked fabric sticking to your core.

“Fuck. You’re soaked for me already?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “That for me, or were you just thinking about how I said I was gonna ruin you?”

You don’t say anything—but your hips roll toward his hand without thinking.

That’s enough.

He hooks a finger into your panties, dragging them down slowly, deliberately, until they’re off. Tossed aside. Gone.

And then he just looks at you—like you’re art. Like you’re dangerous. Like he’s already addicted.

He spreads your legs with his hands, slow and steady, settling between them with a low, hungry groan. “Gonna take my time with this,” he says again. “Wanna learn how you fall apart.”

And then his mouth is on you.

Hot, slow, sinful.

And it starts all over again.

His tongue drags through your folds like he’s savoring it—every slick, messy second. He groans against you, hands locking around your thighs to keep you open, to keep you exactly where he wants you. The sound alone makes your stomach flip, your back arch.

“Toji—fuck—”

You grab at the sheets, at his hair, at anything you can reach because the way he’s eating you out is obscene. Slow at first, lazy licks like he’s just warming up—but then he starts to focus. Starts to learn you. Where you twitch, where you cry out, where your thighs try to snap shut because it’s too much.

And he doesn’t stop.

He flattens his tongue, flicks it fast, then sucks—hard—right over your clit until you jerk up off the bed.

“Oh my god—”

He grins into you. “There she is.”

You’re already shaking, breath ragged, heat coiling so deep in your belly it hurts. He doesn’t need you to come yet. He’s just playing. Just getting you used to the way he devours.

Then he adds a finger.

And another.

Curled just right.

It punches a moan straight out of your chest.

“Fuck—Toji—please—”

“You close already?” he murmurs, lips brushing your clit. “You gonna come just from this?”

You nod—desperate, shameless. “Yes. Yes, please.”

He chuckles against you. “Go ahead then. Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

And you do.

Hard.

Loud.

Like your whole body gives out under the weight of him.

But he doesn’t stop.

Your hips jerk—too sensitive, too raw—but he holds you down, mouth still working you through it like he’s not satisfied yet. Like he wants more. Wants you twitching. Squirming. Whimpering under his tongue.

You whine, thighs trembling around his head. “Toji—please—s’too much—”

He lifts his head just enough to speak, lips shiny with you. “Nah, baby. Not even close.”

And before you can catch your breath, he’s moving again—fingers still deep, curling up, stroking that spot that makes you wail. His mouth finds your clit again, sucks so hard you feel your spine try to escape your body.

It’s overwhelming. You’re drenched, ruined, a fucking mess and he’s still eating you like he hasn’t had a proper meal in days.

“That’s it,” he mutters, voice low and wrecked. “So fuckin’ sweet for me.”

You try to grab his wrist, try to push him back—but he doesn’t budge. Just groans like the taste of you is enough to make him lose it. Like he needs this. Needs you.

And when your second orgasm crashes over you—louder, hotter, blinding—you scream his name like a prayer. Like a curse. Like it’s the only thing holding you to the earth.

He lets you ride it out this time. Slower. Gentler. Still inside you, still licking soft and slow while your body trembles beneath him.

You’re not even sure when the tears started.

But he notices. He always does.

“Too much?” he whispers, leaning up, dragging his lips across your thigh.

You nod, dazed. “Y-Yeah. Just… fuck.”

And he grins, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and says, “Good.”

And before you can even fully breathe, he’s crawling up the bed—slow, like he’s giving you a second to run. Like he’d enjoy it if you did. But you don’t move. Can’t. You’re still trying to process the way his mouth felt on you, the way your body’s still shaking from how easily he pulled you apart.

His hands find your knees. Spreads them again. You gasp, sensitive, and he just hums low in his throat like that’s exactly what he wants to hear.

“You’re not done,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Not even close.”

Then he leans down—one forearm beside your head, the other sliding up your thigh—and kisses you. Deep. Messy. Like he wants you to taste yourself on his tongue. Like he’s already drunk on it. You moan into it, arms coming up around his neck, legs wrapping around his hips on instinct.

You can feel him now. Hard, hot, pressed right against where you need him. But he doesn’t rush. Doesn’t grind. Just teases. Keeps kissing you like he’s got nowhere else to be.

And fuck—you’re already gone for him.

You arch into him, whimpering softly against his mouth, and that’s when he finally presses down—just enough for you to feel how hard he is through his sweats. Just enough to make you twitch under him.

“Feel that?” he mumbles against your lips. “Been like that since you stepped in my office.”

You nod, dazed, breath catching in your throat as you try to rock your hips against him for more. But his hand shoots to your waist, holding you still.

“Uh-uh,” he breathes, voice low and thick. “I said I was gonna take my time.”

He leans back, just far enough to look at you. Really look at you.

Hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen, skin flushed and glowing under his weight.

“Look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His hands smooth down your sides, slow and reverent, like he’s grounding himself. Like if he doesn’t touch you right now—if he doesn’t feel your skin, warm and soft under his palms—he might lose it completely.

“You’ve been driving me fucking insane,” he says, almost like it’s your fault. Like you knew what you were doing every time you looked at him like that in class, every time you bit your lip and played innocent.

You open your mouth to speak, but his thumb brushes over your bottom lip again, silencing you before a word can slip out.

“Shh,” he says, gentle but firm. “Just let me look at you.”

And he does. Lets his gaze trail down your neck, your chest, the curve of your waist like he’s seeing all of you for the first time. Like he’s not just undressing you—he’s unwrapping something sacred.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Then he leans in again, presses his lips to your jaw, your throat, the hollow of your collarbone—soft, lingering kisses that make your whole body shiver.

“You feel safe here?” he whispers, mouth brushing over your skin.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, and you feel the heat in it—the promise. “’Cause I’m not letting you go tonight.”

Then he finally shifts. One hand slides under your thigh, the other steady at your waist, guiding your leg up around his hip as he settles between them. You suck in a breath, body already burning again, every nerve raw and humming. You feel him—bare, hard, pressed against your entrance—and your whole body aches for it.

But he still doesn’t move.

Not yet.

He just stays there, forehead resting against yours, eyes locked on yours like he’s searching for something in your face—something honest. Something real.

“You sure?” he murmurs, voice low and steady, like it’s costing him to ask.

You nod, already breathless. “I want you.”

“Yeah?” His eyes drop to your lips, then back up. “Say it.”

You swallow hard. “I want you, Toji. Please.”

And that’s all he needs.

He pushes in slow. Thick. Deep. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, and your nails dig into his shoulders as he sinks all the way in with one long, devastating stroke. He groans, head dropping to the curve of your neck, breath hot against your collarbone.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel… fuck, you feel so good.”

You whimper beneath him, back arching as he starts to move—slow, deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your body from the inside out.

It’s not fast. It’s not rough.

It’s worship.

Like he meant it—when he said he was gonna take his time.

Your hands slide up his arms, his shoulders, his back—grabbing at anything you can reach as the pressure builds all over again. His name slips from your lips in a broken whisper, and he lifts his head to kiss you hard, tongue sliding against yours like he needs to feel every part of you at once.

“You’re mine,” he growls against your mouth, hips rocking into you slow and steady. “All mine.”

You nod, dizzy. “Yours.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours,” you gasp. “Fuck—Toji, I’m yours.”

And something in him snaps.

He picks up the pace—still not harsh, but heavier now. Deeper. His hand finds yours and pins it above your head, fingers threaded tight as he fucks you slow and possessive, like he wants you to remember this forever.

You will.

You already know.

Every drag of his cock, every breathless sound he pulls from your throat, every graze of his teeth on your skin—he’s burning it into you.

Branding you.

And you let him.

You want to.

Because this time, it’s not about power or revenge or survival.

This time?

It’s about giving in.

It’s about the way his mouth finds your throat again, tongue dragging slow over your pulse like he’s tasting every beat of your heart. It’s about the way your legs lock around his waist and stay there, shaking and tight, like you need him to stay inside you or you’ll come undone completely.

“Toji,” you whisper—barely a sound, more breath than word.

His name doesn’t even sound like a name anymore. It sounds like a need. Like a prayer.

He groans at the sound of it, hips stuttering just slightly, and that’s when he presses his forehead to yours again, eyes dark and raw and open in a way you’ve never seen.

“Fuck, you’re everything,” he mutters, voice breaking on the edge of it. “You feel—Jesus, baby, you feel like fucking heaven.”

And it should feel dirty. Should feel like something you’re not supposed to want—this man, this situation, this entire tangled mess. But it doesn’t. Not when he says it like that. Not when he looks at you like you’re something sacred.

You cling to him, gasping, shivering, blinking past tears you didn’t know were building. You can feel it building again, hot and sharp, curling low in your belly like a storm about to break.

“I’m close,” you breathe, voice shaking. “Toji—please—”

“I know,” he pants, hips grinding deeper, slower. “I’ve got you.”

And he does.

His hand slides between you again, thumb finding your clit with practiced ease. He circles once—twice—and that’s all it takes.

You come apart with a cry, body convulsing, legs tightening around him as the wave hits. It’s messy. Loud. Your hands scramble for purchase, fingernails dragging down his back as he fucks you through it, mouth on your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—anywhere he can reach.

“That’s it,” he groans. “That’s my girl.”

And when you’re still trembling, still trying to breathe, he lets go—finally, fully.

You feel him pulse inside you, feel him spill deep, feel his whole body shudder as he buries himself to the hilt with a ragged, broken moan that sounds like it’s being ripped from his chest.

He stays there. For a second. Two.

Breathing hard. Holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

And when he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. Just enough to see your face.

Eyes soft. Lips swollen. Skin damp and glowing.

“Still good?” he asks, voice quiet.

You nod, dazed. “Better than good.”

Toji smiles. Really smiles. And for the first time, it’s not cocky. It’s not smug. It’s just soft. Real.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Then don’t move.”

And he leans down again.

Kisses you like you’re his to keep.

And for a second—just one—you let yourself believe it.

His breath is warm against your cheek, slower now, steadier. His hand doesn’t leave your skin, just shifts slightly, from your thigh to your hip to the curve of your waist, like he’s mapping it all again now that the storm’s passed. Like he wants to memorize the softness that came after the ruin.

You blink slowly, lashes brushing his collarbone, and realize your legs are still tangled around his. That you’re still holding him. Still clinging.

And that he hasn’t let go either.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice hoarse and quiet, lips brushing your hair.

You nod. A little too fast.

His fingers lift, trace the edge of your jaw, and tilt your face just enough so he can see you. His thumb strokes under your eye, down to your cheek. “You sure?”

You nod again. Then, softer, “Yeah. Just… overwhelmed.”

A pause.

Then Toji sighs—deep, from the chest—and rolls, pulling you with him until you’re draped over his body. One of his hands spreads across your back, the other tugs a blanket up over your shoulders. It’s instinctive. Casual. Natural. Like he’s done this before. Like he wants to.

“Good overwhelmed or bad?” he asks.

You blink again. Your throat feels thick. “Good,” you whisper. “I think.”

He doesn’t push. Just holds you closer.

Lets you breathe.

Lets you think.

Lets you exist here, on top of him, your heart still racing a little too fast for what’s supposed to be the calm after. Lets your fingers curl into his chest like you’re scared of what it means that you don’t want to move. That you’re not thinking about Nanami. That you’re not thinking about the mess. That you’re just… here.

With him.

And then—to your own horror—you feel it.

That flutter in your chest.

Small.

Annoying.

Warm.

Toji hums, lazy, lips brushing your hairline. “What’s goin’ on in that head?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mouth’s too dry. Your thoughts are too loud.

Because he’s warm. And solid. And still tracing circles into your back like it’s second nature. Like he wants you to fall asleep on top of him.

And something about that hits you like a fucking freight train.

Shit.

You shift slightly—just enough to hide your face again. To press your nose into the space beneath his jaw. To ground yourself in his scent before your heart does something even stupider.

Toji doesn’t question it. Doesn’t tease.

He just wraps both arms around you.

Holds you like you’ve got nowhere else to be.

And that’s when it hits you hardest.

You don’t want to leave.

Not yet.

His chest is warm against your cheek. Steady. Real. You curl in closer, one of your legs tangling with his, breath syncing up without even trying. His fingers move slowly up and down your spine, gentle like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

Neither of you says anything.

The silence isn’t awkward.

It’s full.

You don’t know how long you stay like that. Long enough for your eyes to start closing. Long enough for his grip to tighten a little—like he feels it too.

And then, just when your mind starts to drift—when you think maybe, maybe this doesn’t have to mean anything—

He whispers your name. Soft. Barely there.

Your heart skips.

You tilt your head up, blinking at him.

His eyes are already on you.

And then he says it. Quiet. Careful.

“Don’t go back to him.”

You freeze.

Toji doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t clarify. He just stares at the ceiling for a second, like he’s working something out in real time. Like he’s already said too much but won’t pretend he didn’t mean it.

And then, quietly—gruffly—he says,

“I know you’re using me.”

Your stomach twists.

“Hell, I was using you too.”

You blink. Stay still.

“To fuck with Nanami,” he says. “That’s what it was, at the start.”

You don’t say anything.

“But then you showed up,” he murmurs. “Locked that door. Looked at me like you weren’t scared of what I’d do—and suddenly it wasn’t just about him anymore.”

There’s a pause.

“To be honest, I don’t know what the fuck this is,” he admits. “But it’s not a game now. Not for me.”

You glance up at him, heart climbing a little too high in your throat.

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps tracing lazy circles along your hip with his thumb.

“I don’t do soft,” he mutters. “I don’t do feelings. But… I don’t want to go back to whatever the hell I was doing before this.”

Another pause.

Then, finally—

“Nanami had you in his game,” he says, voice low. “But I don’t want that with you.”

His fingers tighten a little on your side.

“I want something that’s fucking real.”

—

@rjreins @jeankirschteinsimp @nanamiscsleeve @rissaaaaaa @mikrh-lizzie @tnaiis

#jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro #toji smut #jjk smut #smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #Nanami kento #Nanami #Nanami smut

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