꒰ masterlist • the pitt • 02/17/26 ꒱ one I gif - @/emziess
here are some jack abbot stories i’ve read, loved, and reblogged. all the admiration for the writers who share their talent so generously. please be sure to read the warnings on each fic. and if you enjoy them, let the author know by a comment, reblog, or both! ♡
ᝰ.ᐟ key: A- angst I F- fluff I S- smut I C- comfort I ~S- implied smut I H/C -comfort
☆ i can see you ── @thecherrypittttttt I F + S
☆ peachy ── @/thecherrypittttttt I F + S
the 4 times they didn’t get caught and the 1 time they did
☆ soft spoken!reader ── @erwinsvow I C + F
☆ falling asleep in jacks arms ── @/erwinsvow I F
☆ jealous!reader ── @/erwinsvow I C + F
☆ drabble ── @/erwinsvow I C
☆ don’t worry, baby ── @/erwinsvow I F + S
also known as the story of how you became jack abbot's sugar baby.
☆ snow storm ── @/erwinsvow I F
☆ snow storm ── @/erwinsvow I F
☆ drabble ── @/erwinsvow I F + ~S
☆ wrong name ── @randompiecesofwriting I F
Reader visits her partner Jack in the ED to drop off his lunch catching the excited attention of all of his colleges much to his chagrin
☆ baby, no ── @dulcebloodhnd I F
☆ soak ── @inknopewetrust I A + C
Jack knows how to cure the remnants of a difficult day.
☆ didn’t see that coming ── @aquaholicsanonymousworld I F
☆ thinking of you ── @poisonofthepaint I A + S
jack broke up with you because he said you needed someone younger. yet, he's still offended when he hears you're going on a date with someone else. you show up to his apartment to set the record straight.
☆ lucky you ── @/poisonofthepaint I F
jack calls you in on your day off, which leads to hooking up in the on-call room, which leads to him finding your tattoo.
☆ put him on speaker ── @abbotjack I S
Jack gets home from a long night shift, exhausted and unreadable as always. When Robby calls for a quick update, you decide to test his patience—climbing into his lap and pushing until he breaks.
☆ baby name drabble ── @spaceyaemonds I F
☆ quiet ── @butyoudidthis4what I A + C
Widower Jack and widowed single mom Reader meet in the Pitt when Reader's baby gets sick. What follows is healing, patience and becoming ready.
☆ your med school ex pt2 ── @/butyoudidthis4what I A + F + S
Jack gets jealous when your med school ex shows up and spends the day shadowing you.
☆ hour thirteen ── @/butyoudidthis4what I A + C
An on duty Jack finds out you're in the Pitt with a broken arm and didn't have anyone get him. He's left grappling when things don't go exactly according to plan.
☆ a nice bonus pt2 pt3 ── @/butyoudidthis4what I A + F + S
Jack sees you get hit by a car and becomes your doctor and more.
☆ roommates ── @candlelitea I F
you answer a small newspaper ad, which leads to you living with the one and only, Dr. Jack Abbot.
☆ drabble ── @bookofbonbon I F
☆ the newlyweds ── @yxtkiwiyxt I F + S
You and Jack are enjoying married life.
☆ gravity ── @youvebeenlivingfictional I A + F
Abbot didn’t make you uncomfortable, per se. But the nerves that had welled around him during your first few weeks at the Pitt had never really gone away. If you were hard-pressed to examine and classify your feelings, you would (grudgingly) sort them into the mild to moderately romantic category. You blamed him for that entirely.
☆ you shouldn’t be (down here with me) pt2 ── @/youvebeenlivingfictional I A + F
When you're almost shot at work, your body snaps into autopilot as your mind goes into overdrive. Jack has always recognized parts of himself in you—he knows a mind teetering on the edge when he sees one.
☆ just in case ── @kilojulietsierra I A + F + S
He had given Robby so much shit about Collins. "Really brother? One of your residents?" Then you had put in a request to move to the night shift and Robby had fucking signed off on it.
☆ young at age, old in heart ── @ohtobeleah I C
Jack Abbots unlikely affinity for the younger PT down at the VA starts to really spiral out of control when she’s brought in during a mass casualty event.
☆ night shift!reader ── @mercvry-glow I C
☆ really very bad day ── @abbotsanatomy I A + C
☆ the favorite ── @midnghtprentiss I F
all the times you were everyone's favorite person and one time you were jack’s person.
☆ trauma surgeon!reader ── @vanilleandclove I A + C
pittsburgh has a vibrant pub scene, being of true east coast fashion. when it’s playoff season for the steelers, that can only lead to bar brawls and broken tooths, most times. sometimes it’s bloody knuckles and misogynists. + as jack’s 49th birthday is around the corner, you book him a solo-vacation.
☆ full of life ── @bitters-n-sweets I F + A
You overhear Jack talking to a woman closer to his age, and insecurities rise…
☆ nanny ── @/bitters-n-sweets I F
Jack tries to hide his attraction and feelings for his son’s nanny... or, well, not really.
☆ gets me going ── @somanyideassolittletime I F
jack desperately needs your help in dismissing a flirty student from him.
☆ night shift ── @lilyswritings I A + C
you and jack break up over hurt feelings and misunderstandings, and when samira joins the night shift, your relief turns into jealousy as you start to believe he’s moving on — unaware that all he wants is to get you back.
☆ request ── @lovebugism I S
☆ toy box pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 ── @drjohncarters I A
your husband works in the er on christmas night. you show up injured, and he's too busy to care for you. when his intern orders a psych eval for you, he refuses to acknowledge the stress you're under because of him.
☆ unspoken conversations ── @marvelous-slut I A + C
☆ blurb ── @traumaone I A/F
☆ knowing me, knowing you ── @/traumaone I A + F
You and Jack are in an unlabled relationship of unknown seriousness, so unknown you didn't even know he had a second job.
☆ old attending!jack ── @starlord-s I F
☆ blurb ── @/starlord-s I C
☆ blurb ── @/starlord-s I F
☆ ex!abbot ── @/starlord-s I F
☆ remember me pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 ── @at-this-point-i-dont-even-know I A
☆ blurb ── @loves-alibi I F
☆ desperate!jack pt2 ── @/loves-alibi I S
☆ too sweet ── @pencil-n-pen I F + S
being in and out of the hospital all the time has never been an enjoyable experience. But after meeting a certain ED doctor who you can't seem to get away from, things just might start looking up.
☆ drabble pt2 ── @astreamofcolors I S
☆ five minutes at a time ── @yakshxiao I A + F
You and Jack only ever see each other for five minutes at a time — the tail end of day shift and the start of night shift. But those five minutes? They’ve become the best part of both of your days. Everyone else in the ER has noticed it. The way you both lean in just a little too close during handoff. The way both of you leave a drink and a protein bar next to the chart rack. The way neither of you ever miss a single shift — until one day, one of you doesn’t show up. And everything shifts.
☆ a little old for you ── @thesewordsareallihavetogive I F
Some residents at the Pitt try to get Doctor Abbot's attention, but he only has eyes for you.
☆ it is what it could be pt2 pt3 pt4 ── @inkdippedquills I H/C + S
You have made peace with loving Jack Abbott quietly.
☆ drabble ── @richeeduvie I C
☆ someone else ── @miley1442111 I A + C
you come back from a shitty weekend to an even shittier monday with rumours of your kind-of-boyfriend being into someone else. it only gets worse when an aggravated patient gets his hands on you, and jack doesn't even know.
☆ cinnamon rolls & resting bitch face ── @popcornpoppypop I F
Jack's first shift back after your spontaneous Vegas wedding, Robby asks him to stay for overtime. Jack finally gets to use his favorite excuse, "Gotta get back to the wife."
☆ rusty ── @stellamarielu I F + S
after a dry spell in his sex life, jack would’ve never imagined the next women he’d have naked in his bed would be his favorite first year resident.
☆ unexpected touch ── @marvelouslytrekking I A + F
Jack lost faith in the universe when he lost his soulmate mark when he lost his leg. The universe may still have some tricks up its sleeve
synopsis ────⋙ Instead of spending the very last summer vacation of your life like an average university student, you come back to your home town under unexpected and unfortunate circumstances; and silly misunderstandings lead to a blossoming summer romance.
pairing ────⋙ summer fling Gojo Satoru x reader
wc ────⋙ 15.2k (for a spontaneous silly fic i worte in 5 days idk how it got this long)
cw ────⋙ NSFW, MDNI, fluff, i mean some angst, mention of cheating, shitty ex, shitty friends, depressive episode, everyone here is rich af, teasing, banter, oral sex (f! receiving), car sex, flirting, lots of it, nothing else i wanna spoil lol, give it a read.
a/n: art by @/m0ryy , find the art here. the playlist that i used (very fun playlist ngl), also I'm tweaking the layout here and there as it just fits.
Summer is often dubbed the season of fruition, fulfillment, happiness, and new beginnings. Though for you, summer seems to be the season when you just never know what day it is.
Days blend into each other, hours pass by, the sun never seems to set, and weeks seem to end way ahead of time. And your boyfriend, or now ex-boyfriend to be more accurate, finds it the perfect season to finally break up with you. After months of cheating on you behind your back with your own closest friend, it seems he finally found the nerve to get away with it.
After they were both done leaching off of you and betraying you, it was time to leave you behind.
You wish you could say you were hurt. Broken and miserable. Well, you were miserable, not because of the recent circumstances. But rather than you being concerned about graduating, the dread of leaving behind the safety net of a tiring education system was daunting, to say the least. But at least it was there.
You don't really blame them for anything, but then you also do, though you knew when it started. When you found one of her socks in his room. Or when you smelled his perfume on her sheets. But you just never did anything; it sort of gave you leverage to not really input anything into these exhausting relationships without feeling like an asshole. A good excuse—that's all it was.
Maybe your parents wouldn't understand these things so easily; maybe to them you are their heartbroken little girl. That is probably why they showed up at your apartment unannounced immediately the day after you told them about your breakup.
And now you are in the backseat of your father's car, being driven back to the town you grew up in. Passing by the familiar ocean you always hated looking at whenever you had to drive back and forth. The vast, never-ending, salty mystery never made any sense to you. Probably why you never got around to learning how to swim.
“Are you alright there, sweetheart?” Your mother looked back from the passenger seat, only to hear you hum an unenthusiastic yes.
“We're almost there. You know they renovated the club? You should come with us tomorrow. Everyone asks about you all the time.” Your father spoke without moving his eyes from the road.
“Sure. I will.” It didn't take much to appease your parents.
Simple-minded or privileged, whatever they were, you were probably worse. With all the comfort in this world, here you were, alone by choice. Left behind and soon forgotten. Which was never your intention; you just could not be what your parents, your ex boyfriend, and your friend's expectations wanted you to be. And therefore you are now taking steps backwards at a time in your life when you are to be sprinting forward.
Summer has always been the season most unkind to you, and you've never made it feel any less unappreciated. The animosity between you and the most beloved season cannot be that easily erased with a renovated country club, or the ocean, or some ice cream, or the wind that breezes by your windows at night, or twelve hours of sleep.
But at the very least you can hope it does not burn you into the ground.
Every time you step back in your old room, a part of you wishes that your parents just threw everything out and made it into another sitting room or another gym. Then you see the posters of the band you and your high school friends once snuck out to see during your last senior year summer vacation, and it reminds you that maybe summer didn't hate you as bad as you thought.
Then the memories of the summer during your first year of college come back, how miserable it was. Locked in your small dorm, with your annoying roommate gone, yet her side of the room remained as headache-inducing as ever. Parents you could reach out to, as they were not even in the country, and you did not have it in you to ruin their vacation. High school friends who slowly drifted away and suddenly broke all relationships and the promises. All that was left was you and the miserable heat of the summer.
Anything will always be better than that shitty dorm room, even the room you grew up in that haunts your dreams now.
Walking down the stairs, you found your parents enjoying the wind cutting through them on the patio. And as you passed the living room while looking out at them sitting by each other's side, without even looking where you were going, you realized that maybe you have not really forgotten what that sense of familiarity felt like being back home.
It hasn't even been half a day that you've been back in your childhood bedroom. It was already well past 12:00 AM, and you could still walk from your room to the kitchen with your eyes closed, half asleep. Even the sound of a car pulling up in your neighbor’s driveway, the teenagers giggling in a hushed voice, and someone's dog barking—everything felt comforting and just as it always sounded. It felt like home.
It felt like you could finally open your windows, at the end of the day, and welcome the summer breeze as happily as your parents did.
You wish you could say you spent your first few days back home more productively. Instead it was just a routine of waking up at either 4:00 AM or 4:00 PM. Making coffee, eating whatever could be easily grabbed, and then spending the rest of your day rotting away in bed.
This was summer. The summer that everyone longed for and idealized, for you it was days bending into each other. Until the urgency of the decreasing free days finally made you want to pick up your unfinished assignments and open those untouched documents.
“Alright, get ready!” Your father barged into your room unannounced with the amount of enthusiasm that made you kind of regret being back home.
“You have got to stop walking into my room like that.” You didn't bother to look up at him from your bed, keeping your eyes trained on the screen of your laptop. The poor thing has been running since last night without a break. All because you found some horrible show to occupy your brain for some hours and not let you think about anything.
“Go get changed; we're going to the club!” With every step he took forward, the more you wanted your bed to swallow you whole.
“Why can't I just stay home—AND STOP OPENING MY WINDOWS, IT'S SO HOT OUT!” The sunlight suddenly poured in from your windows, and it felt like just from the looks of the shining rays of light, the heat outside could melt even when you were in the comfort of your nice and cold room, courtesy of the air conditioning.
“DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME, YOUNG LADY! YOU'RE COMING WITH US!”
And what is a poor little girl to do when her father is the one paying for her tuition fees and air conditioning bill? Certainly not going against what he asked for. She has to move her butt, take a shower, and change into a presentable sundress. To smile and nod at old neighbors she always found detestable.
You can only hope this white dress passes as presentable. Though there is nothing wrong with the dress, and sure, it is worn in, the cotton has softened significantly from when it was originally bought, which feels better on the skin than anything ever. The thin straps have become a little flimsy, and you genuinely believe the length has somehow shortened from above your knees to now where the hem lies on the middle of your thighs. But the pretty embroidery of flowers that ran all over the dress in a cream thread was what made this dress as captivating as it was.
The country club has never been a place you went with much enthusiasm. It was either about tagging your parents, running away from swimming lessons they forcibly signed you up for, sneaking into some empty room to take a nap, taking tennis lessons, or just simply sitting by the pool with your friends for lack of anything else better to do.
The worst part was always running into familiar faces, especially in such an exclusive place; everyone knew everyone. Especially when you're left by yourself at a table, like right now, sipping on some tea, only for just about any nasty neighbor to come up to you and make a few sarcastic comments.
“Oh my goodness! How have you been, honey? Look at you! It's like you're a fully grown adult now! But I still can't choose a pretty dress I see.” Oh, how you wish Mrs. Wilson would finally change for the better and stop running her mouth. And what is that even supposed to mean? You are a fully grown adult. Even though she will argue you're still the same petty kid from all those years ago. But you'd have to argue that you're a vengeful grown-up now. This is why you'll never see eye to eye with her.
“And you also look like you've aged a lot in these few years, Mrs. Wilson.” Her face soured just as quickly as it always did whenever she stopped to talk to you on the street back when you used to live here.
“Your tongue is as sharp as ever, huh?” She smiled at you with the most faux politeness.
“Well, some things never change.” And you returned her smile with a similarly fake one.
Thankfully, your parents were done chatting with some of their friends. So you said your goodbyes to her with a tight smile and walked back to your parents. Not before you let out a little chuckle to yourself hearing her scoff behind your back.
“Oh, you met Mrs. Wilson, huh? I hope you were nice.” Your mother asked in a concerned voice, knowing your long, tumultuous history with her.
Well, maybe you would've had a better relationship with her like the rest of your neighbors, who adore you! If only she didn't insult your fashion choices since you were a baby, and if her daughter didn't spend the entirety of high school trying to compete with you. Then maybe—actually never mind, you cannot be nice to a woman like her.
“Yep, I was on my best behavior!” Your smile sure didn't say so, and your mother knew that too. At least your father understood your hatred for that woman. And thankfully he still does, given the fist bump he offered you.
“You two are going to kill me one day. Anyway, we are going to the sauna. Do you want to come with us?” She sighed, tired of you and your father's dislike for the woman who happens to be a big source of your mother's neighborhood gossip.
“Sauna with you two and your friends? Absolutely not.” You'd rather sit in a scorching hot room full of old people who've seen you in your diaper, like any sane person.
“Alright, but the Getos wanted to meet you.” The Geto family lived right across from you. They happened to be your parents’ probably closest friends here. You and their son, Suguru, grew up together. You two have been childhood friends who always had a mutual respect for each other because of your mutual disdain for Mrs. Wilson and Summer.
“I'll say hello to them after you guys are done or just drop by their place later.” You adored them the best out of all your neighbors. After all, they've been nothing but kind to you growing up. You've spent a lot more time in Suguru's front yard than your own.
“Alright. We'll let you know when we are done.” You and your parents always had very different ideas about most situations.
“Huh? I can't just go home?” Where your parents wanted you to engage in some social and recreational activities, you wanted to go back to your bed.
“No. Either do something or come to the sauna with us.” At this point it felt like your mother just wanted you to be humiliated in the sauna more than anything.
“Sure, threatening your fully grown-up daughter is the best method of parenting.” The way you were sighing made you sound more like an angsty teenager than anything.
“If you were actually a grown-up adult, we wouldn't have to lecture you like this.” God forbid you get snarky and your mother lets you get away with it.
“Jeez, I'll find something to do.” No one can really argue with your mother, so guess you better find something interesting enough to do while your parents get cooked in the sauna.
“Don't cause any trouble, sweetie!” Your father said, loudly enough from behind you, that made you pick up your pace out of the dining hall. Twenty or seventy-two, they'll never stop embarrassing you on purpose.
“Not a kid, oh my god.” You speed-walked past the pool, full of teenagers and old people. Mumbling to yourself, like some sort of reassurance.
No one you know will ever call you childish or anything but mature. Except for your parents, they'd say you're still a kid. And maybe they are right; you don't really feel like an adult, nor do you feel like a kid. It's a weird limbo of being in your 20s, the supposedly best years of your life, just passing by in vain and emptiness.
The country club truly looked better than ever. The playground for the kids looked like it had been through some major improvement. The pool was now bigger; even the kids' pool was better than what you remember flapping around in. The path around the lake, by the garden, looked newly paved. And the golf course was just as vast but greener than ever.
But all of that did not meet the requisite of your interests. What interested you was beyond the pool, adjacent to the garden, and right before the golf course started.
It was the tennis court where you spent the majority of your childhood, where you met Geto Suguru. And immediately decided you have to win everything where you face him off, because otherwise he will just tease you to death. You learned your lesson when you lost one friendly match to him the day you met, and that too only on the second day of your tennis journey. And suddenly the reserved new kid on the block was a smug little shit.
‘Maybe you never had to try hard enough, but you'll have to, if you want to win against me.’ Was what he said, if you remember correctly.
Since then you've been great friends. But it was either you tried not to compete against him or made sure to grind in secrecy to not give him even the smidge of a chance to tease you.
You wish your friendship with Suguru stayed as it was when you guys were kids. Playing in his front yard, getting ice cream after school, going to the beach, and pulling pranks on Mrs. Wilson. You wish some things just never changed. But you can't really say you two are on unfriendly terms now or anything; you still get a text or call from him here and there, and you make sure to always text him back and call him if any opportunity arises. You've met up with him from time to time. And you often hear about him through your parents, and you're sure he also hears likewise.
So it doesn't feel like you truly lost a friend to your shitty teenage hormones and the span of time. But you sure feel sorry for the both of you. Neither of you had a good time in highschool, it was very similar emotions you both were going through. But you two were dealing with them in your own unique and respectively different ways. Where he chose to completely shut himself away, you chose to try so hard to fit into places you never felt like you belonged.
It was only after you came back home during Christmas after getting into college that you guys reconciled.
You are glad you met Suguru that day as a kid; otherwise, maybe you wouldn't have ever gone through with your tennis lessons. If only Suguru were there to race you to the pool, you'd have been a state-level swimmer by now.
The tennis court was empty. In the heat of a summer afternoon, with the sun at its peak, it was obvious only a fool would be on a tennis court. Thankfully there wasn't another fool like you anywhere around.
And since the net was so nicely tied up, the equipment was there looking like it had just been cleaned, and you needed something to pass your time—why not take advantage of the situation? To check your rusty tennis skills and how well your new sunscreen worked. Whether or not you were about to come out looking like a sun-dried tomato depended on it. After all, summer will be here for a while, and so will you.
The neon green ball bounced off the ground and back into your palm easily, just as easily as it flew up in the air and then collided with your racket. It made a snappy sound as it spanned across the court. The ball went to hit the fence on the opposite side. You felt the sweat dripping down your temples, the ball rolled around on the ground, and you felt like something within you finally stirred up after a long while.
The number of neon balls started to gather on the opposite side of the court, as well as around your feet, from a few missed serves. But it felt good to hear the sound of your heart beating with the sound of the ball hitting the racket.
But you can only serve a few bunches of balls in the air all by yourself without an opponent. So you tried to look for the ball-dispensing machine, which you never got around to figuring out, thanks to the always very helpful staff. But given the time, everyone must be busy serving or helping out for lunch.
Yet you walked out of the court anyway to find someone to help you out with the machinery. And just behind the court, under a tree, just at the beginning of the golf course, you found a golf cart. To be more specific, you found a man leaning back in the driver's seat of the cart, with his hands behind his head, looking beat and exhausted.
He had a baseball cap covering his face, his white pearly hair was shining in the sun, and a single drop of sweat slowly streamed down his neck, along with his prominent veins, very cinematically. Even though you couldn't see his face, you could tell this guy was not from here; maybe he recently moved or something, or he was visiting for the summer and making some cash. Either way, you felt this intrigue bubbling up in the pit of your stomach as you stared at his bulging biceps and the sheen of sweat at the end of his rolled-up sleeves around his shoulders.
‘Get a grip, jeez.’
You had to warn yourself before walking up to him. Each step you took felt heavier than before; for some weird reason, now you are thinking twice about asking the hot golf cart driver for some help.
“Um, hey?” You finally reached beside the cart and leaned just close enough to his ears. And when your barely audible voice didn't get to him, you had to summon up the courage to speak up.
“Excuse me?” This time the guy jerked up in his seat. The baseball cap fell from his face to his lap, and one of his sleeves rolled down to cover up his bicep because of his sudden movements.
“Yeah?” Now that you could get a clear look at him, you could feel the tightening knots in your stomach getting worse. Not only did his body look so much better up close, but his build also looked bigger than what you imagined from afar, and his face, oh boy.
How to start? The root of his pearly hair was damp with sweat, coming off as a darker shade of something in between white and gray compared to the rest of his fluffy hair blowing in the hot summer winds. His eyes were squinted from the sudden change in lighting, but you could see the sunlight reflecting in his blue pupils. There was a layer of sweat accumulated above his upper lip, and you had to conjure up everything to not reach out and wipe it away.
“Hi, uh, I needed some help.” You pointed back at the tennis court behind you with your free hand, and the racket in your other hand came to cover the front of your legs, like some sort of shield from the unfamiliar worker’s eyes. Which made it no secret that they were raking up your body from toe to toe, probably wondering why the fuck you are playing tennis in this heat.
“Oh sure!” He quickly jumped off the cart, leaving the cart to wobble from the sudden movements and lack of weight.
He took maybe three long strides, and he was already almost at the tennis court, while you were still standing with the empty cart, looking at the silhouette of his thick thighs in those basketball shorts.
“You comin’?” He called out for you from the entrance of the court, flashing you a toothy grin, waiting for you to reach him there instead of entering the grounds all by himself. You quickly yelled a yes and ran up to him, giggling at your half-effort running.
You walked into the court, choosing to blame the sudden rise in heat on the sun above your heads. He followed suit obediently, ending up in front of the ball dispenser.
“So, could you help me start this thing? I don't know how to work this thing.” You explained to the man, hoping for some help.
“Alright. Let's see, did you try turning it on, or did it suddenly stop or something?” He crouched down on the ground to sit on his left knee on the ground. Looking around the machine and toying with the buttons at the side that you also pressed, you were also met with nothing. He inspected the machine further to find any other way to start it, even kicking it a few times.
“Yeah. This thing is definitely broken.” He gets up to now stand facing you, with his hands on his hips, defeated.
You sighed, all disappointed, but then again it made sense why the tennis court was completely empty. He looked at your face for a bit, contemplating whether or not he should blurt out what he is thinking about offering.
“Uh, I could play against you instead!” He walked up to the rest of the equipment under the shade and picked up a racket and spun it in his hands.
“Are you sure? I'm not interrupting you, right?” You were happy to hear his offer, but you also didn't want him to get scolded by his boss or something.
“Oh please, it's my pleasure!” Maybe this was part of the service.
“Alright then, you serve.”
“Gladly.”
You threw the ball across the net at him, and he caught it without any hesitation.
He slightly bent down to position for his serve as you walked up to your post and got in position as well. He made the ball touch the racket three times before jumping up in the air and served the ball like an experienced and in-practice player. The ball flew right by your head and hit the ground outside of the boundary.
“Surely you didn't call me here to lose to me, did’ya?” A smug smirk stretched on his lips. And it irked you. In a different way than Suguru, sure, you still wanted to beat his ass in the game, but it did more for you than just aggravate you. That tightening sensation in your abdomen was back.
“No, I called you here to eat shit.” But god forbid you let yourself lose a match against some smug smart ass.
“Oh, ho ho, feisty, aren't we?” He chuckled at your shit talk. You sure didn't look like the type to shit-talk in that pretty white dress, with the wind flowing by you, asking him so politely to help with the ball dispenser.
He didn't get a time to register when you even served the ball; he was expecting another sharp reply. Instead he somehow managed to hit it back, and this time the ball stayed in the air for a while. Until you rushed forward and jumped up in the air and pushed the ball down with as much force as you could, one of his knees bent, and he slid forward to get the ball. Unfortunately, his focus went from the ball to you—the way your pretty white dress hugged you and how the skirt flipped up in the air when you made that jump, exposing more of your thighs and a glimpse of your also white panties and the little lace trim on them. This need started to brew within him, and he couldn't pinpoint what it exactly was; he is not some horny teenager, after all. And so the ball crossed the net and hit the ground, making his efforts useless.
“Huh, so you're not just all talk.”
“I am not the one running his tongue here.”
“Uh huh? We'll see who's left tongue-tied at the end then.”
“Yeah, you'd know more about that, since you're losing.”
And with a chuckle from him, you were in your position, legs spread out, racket in between your legs, ready for whatever he's about to throw your way.
Let's say you were far from tongue-tied even though you just lost.
“No, you were clearly out of the boundary there.” You walked up to the net, ready to swing your racket at him.
“Alright, alright, don't make up things now like a sore loser.” His racket fell out of his hands and landed on the ground as he walked towards the middle of the court. Meeting you behind the net.
“Sweets, please, you just could not keep up with me; it's ok to admit defeat.” That smile on his face, you wanted to smack it off, but not really.
“This one doesn't count!” You pulled the racket up to his face, not even cognizant of what you were doing at this point, blinded by the fury from your loss. “Alright, sure. Rematch then?” He grabbed the head of your racket and pulled you closer towards him; the net clung to your body, and you could feel his body against yours, with the barrier of the tennis court net between you two.
And you wish you had something to say. But you were finally tongue-tied.
“Satoru!”
Both of your heads turned towards the source of the voice, ever so familiar to both of you. Thankfully the distant silhouette of Suguru walking up to the court finally had you push away from the stranger's body. This guy you've known for mere hours, apparently named Satoru, suddenly had you at your wit's end. And somehow you had thanked Geto Suguru for interrupting your game, a first for everything, truly.
As Suguru walked up to the both of you, his usual furrowed eyebrows shot up to see you standing there looking clueless, with a racket in your hands. And he rushed his step a little more to get to you.
“And what are you doing here, huh?” His hands reached out in a fist. Which you gladly bumped in acknowledgement, and he instantly pulled you in for a hug. With one arm around your shoulders and another on top of your head, patting it, like he always did.
“Should've told me you're visiting. I saw you like months ago; you weren't even here for Christmas last year.” Suguru kept blabbering with you in his embrace, finally letting you go when you tapped on his chest to let you go for some air.
“You have to lose this habit, Sugu.” You two pulled away with a smile on your faces, glad to be running into each other after a while. It has been just texts and calls for the last few months, since your degree absolutely fucked you over, and so did your boyfriend and your friend.
“So what, you're here with your loser boyfriend?” Suguru placed an arm around your shoulders, and his smile started dimming down as he saw your genuine smile getting replaced with a tight, awkward one.
“Yeah, oh god, about that.” You explained to Suguru the whole situation with your ex-boyfriend and ex-friend, as his face started contorting in rage.
All the while, Satoru stood behind you two, leaning on the net between the courts; your hushed voices were barely audible to his ears. But one thing was clear to him: his best friend and this pretty stranger he just met a few hours ago sure had a great bond. The sort of friendship where even when you don't talk for months, you can see each other and hug instantly and spill your guts without any hesitation. Somewhere he felt a little envious, or left out maybe, unsure what it exactly was. The fact that his best friend had someone besides him whom he relied on so heavily, or the fact that you were smiling at Suguru with such ease. But then again, he literally just met you, and he's already getting ahead of himself. He doesn't even know your name yet.
Once you were done calming down a very angry and cursing Suguru, offering to beat up your ex, you finally noticed Satoru leaning on the net. And your eyes lingered on his, staring into each other's eyes, with something dense between you two, beyond physical and comprehensive explanations.
Suguru finally realized Satoru's presence, the reason why he ended up here anyway. And walked up to him, who was still staring at you instead of shifting his focus to Suguru. You felt pinned to where you stood, incapable of any movements under his gaze.
“You dumbass, you said you were going to take a break for a few minutes, and you disappeared for hours!” Suguru smacked his forehead, and finally his focus shifted from you as he got busy pouting and rubbing his forehead. So you used this opportunity to walk up to the benches to grab your bag, take out the water bottle, and check your phone. But even then, Satoru's gaze discreetly followed you there while also trying to give Suguru his attention.
“Oh, come on, it wasn't thaaaat long, and your parents left for the spa; why would I stay there and get my ass beaten up by you?” So there was another person beside you who would rather back out than go against Geto Suguru; it was somewhat comforting to know.
“Alright, sure. Anyway, how come you two are here? Together?” Suguru looked back at you and then again at Staoru.
“Oh, I was looking for a staff member, and he was just out there. Honestly I did not expect a golf cart driver to be much help to me anyway but—”
“Woah, wait, sweets, what do you mean?”
He stood up straight and had to cut you off. Because something about what you were saying told him that there was a bit of a misunderstanding here.
“And I was going to say this earlier as well: should you be speaking to a club member like this?” You walked up to the both of them and stood beside Suguru, looking a little disappointed at Satoru.
“Huh?” Genuine confusion poured out of his voice.
“I mean, as an employee here, you should—”
“Wait, wait, wait. So you actually think I work here?” He pointed a finger at himself and looked at you with confusion and dejection. So you've fucked up the calculation here, it seems.
“Oh, this is hilarious to me.” Suguru chimed in, hands folded over his chest, enjoying the mystery of Satoru's identity unfolding. Smirking to himself, enjoying his best friend's humiliation.
“I mean, you look like it. With the white polo and shorts and those sneakers with socks. In this weather, on top of it.” You tried to contain your smile while describing his outfit; it looked exactly like what some of the part-time, non-uniform-wearing employees wore to come off as more friendly.
“SEE! I told you, you look fucking stupid, Satoru!” Suguru’s voice shot up, and he pointed his index finger at Satoru in an accusatory tone. One you knew oh so well, the ‘Hah! I told you so!’ tone, and you felt bad for throwing Satoru in a situation you've hated being in in the past.
“I thought it was a good golf outfit, ok? I’M SORRY!” Satoru, in return, comically gestured at his attire to make a point for Suguru. If this whole exchange wasn't so funny, you'd have felt really bad for him.
“Yeah, and then you sucked at it on top of your horrible outfit. His father is so good at golf you'd think he'd be good as well.” Suguru looked at you, trying to put up a picture of Satoru's poor skills regarding anything golf.
“Shut up. Also, you have a lot to say for someone who made the same amount of holes as me.”
“That's because I am tired.”
“Excuses.”
Suddenly you were now a key witness for a whole crime that was about to take place; it felt like they were about to throw hands any moment. Fortunately, your phone, along with Suguru's phone, buzzed in your respective pockets. And even before checking, you both knew it was your parents.
“They're done, so should we head inside?” Suguru placed the phone back in his pocket after checking the text.
You nodded and gathered your bag to meet up with your parents and the Getos, along with the two men you ran into through a series of unexpected happenings. On the way, Suguru introduced you and Satoru to each other. You gave Satoru your name and a gist of how you grew up with Suguru. In return, you got to know that his full name was Gojo Satoru.
“I mean, I sort of know you already.” His side slightly bumped into yours as Suguru led you two into the building. You tilted your head in confusion, not sure where you even ran into someone this outstandingly gorgeous and then forgot about him. That's not possible; he doesn't have a forgettable face, even for someone like you who forgets people's names and faces really quickly. You were sure if you ever saw him, you wouldn't have forgotten him. If you ever walked past him on a busy street, even then you'd remember him.
“Well, Suguru talks about you sometimes, so it feels like I kind of know you already.”
You didn't know what was the cause of the fluttering sensation in your chest, the fact that Suguru cares about you enough that you get brought up in his conversations, or the gorgeous smile that Satoru threw after what he said, or was it simply what he said?
There have been plenty of times someone said they felt like they'd known you for a longer time than how long they actually knew you. And it always irked you to think someone you don't even know thinks they know you, presumably, well enough. Yet in this case you didn't feel that, maybe because he's Suguru's friend. But this wouldn't have been the first time you didn't like one of his friends, so that was not the case.
Maybe he was just some strange exception.
On your way back home, at dinner, after dinner, during breakfast the next morning—all your brain was occupied with was nothing but Gojo Satoru.
I mean, what choice did you have left when your parents wouldn't stop singing his praises? Truly simple they are. The whole story about how you thought he was a staff member was a hit. That, accompanied by some flirting with your mother and some bad dad jokes with your father, and now suddenly he is their favorite person ever.
If there was a tier list, surely it's Gojo Satoru, then Geto Suguru, only because he has broken a lot of your windows while playing catch as a kid, and lastly you. And you cannot argue with them. The man sure has his charms and knows how to use them.
Now that you are just standing by your window, with no one to influence your opinions or thoughts, you cannot help but go back to thinking about that man. For once you wanted to open your windows during the day, in hopes of catching a glimpse of something. Or someone, but you were still too stubborn to admit that to yourself.
But you still were fortunate enough to find what you were exactly looking for.
Satoru was in the Geto residence’s driveway, right across from your house, visibly clear from your windows. In a tank top that had a Sonic X logo in the middle, which was soaked in sweat and soap water. There were bubbles around his forehead, and his bangs were clumped up and wet. The sheen of the off-white car covered in soapy water reflected an angelic light and all the colors of the rainbow all over him. It was flashy and ridiculously expensive-looking, most probably imported from somewhere, flashier than most of your neighbor's cars, but it really suited him.
There was nothing remarkable about what he was doing; he was washing his car. And yet, to you it was somehow the most fascinating thing you've seen since you came back home, or maybe in years.
The shape of his muscles was making outlines in his tight-fitting, drenched top. That silly Sonic X logo somehow made him look cuter. And all it did was make your eyes drag upwards from there, towards the platinum chain sitting on his collarbones. It lay flat around the curve of his neck, and the taut muscles there, as he moved his arms back and forth to clean the car, the chain moved along with his movements. Bouncing off his skin to sit curved on his collarbones again and again.
His teeth grazed his bottom lip from time to time, but his eyebrows and eyes did not show any signs of frustration. How he was just standing in the sweltering sun, in a soggy tank top and shorts clinging to his body, soap all over him, hair semi-wet in that said water and sweat—it was beyond you. But you just could not look away from him.
But maybe the intensity of your eyes reached his skin better than the sun. He looked up from his car, right towards your house, and after a second, his eyes found your window. And also you, standing in the window, shocked to be found caught red-handed, not doing anything bad, but also nothing you were proud of.
Satoru's unoccupied hand moved up to wave at you with a sweet smile. And you malfunctioned. Instead of waving back at him like a normal person would, you hid behind your curtains. With a heaving chest, you stood there until you felt the heat rising up your body, going down. When you peeked outside, still hiding behind your curtains, you saw him leaning down on the car, with his arms folded under him, head tilted and eyes still directed towards your windows.
Now you certainly could not just come out and wave a hi back at him. So you did the sensible act of ducking down on the floor to crawl all the way to your door. You remained on the floor until you could shit your bedroom door behind you, and when you did so, your back went against it. For some support to get back up on your two feet, and even then it felt like it was impossible.
Your heartbeat was racing, and your entire body was burning up in a blaze.
Out of precaution, your windows remained shut for the rest of the day. And you kept your face buried in your pillows, trying to process the sudden influx of emotions that you were feeling. Unfamiliar and few feelings that people usually feel way earlier in their lives, and yet here you were, early in your twenties. It was not your fault you wasted the majority of your college life on some guy whom you only kept around because you were too scared. Too scared to be left behind and forgotten, you just did not want to be lonely. Even if that meant surrounding yourself with people you knew didn't give a shit about you. It somehow worked in high school, so naturally you thought it'd work out in university.
And now, slightly more mature and a little more comfortable with your own company, you found a strange guy who made you feel strange things.
It was a strange day altogether. Since you offered to accompany your parents to the club without being pressured. Even they were caught off guard, but there was no way they were about to fumble this with snarky comments. They will save it to throw them at you later at dinner.
It was a pleasant Saturday; if you ignore everything that happened by your window, a perfect day to go out to brunch instead of your usual coffee and toast breakfast before bed rotting. And after the events that happened earlier, you needed to get out, feel the warm wind blowing right in your face, and maybe forget how embarrassing the whole exchange was, if you can even call it that.
“Oh goodness, fancy running into you guys!” Your mother suddenly spoke out, looking towards the door behind you.
A part of you was too busy and too delighted by the waffles in front of you to mind your mother's words. While the rest of you already knew who these people could possibly be. Even though you reassured yourself that the Geto family usually doesn't come here on Saturdays, you were still dreading the possibility. And here you were, stumped and with a mouth full of waffles, about to be embarrassed for the second time in a day in less than 12 hours. A new record!
Chimes of good mornings came from behind you, first in Mr. and Mrs. Geto’s voices, then Suguru's voice, and lastly a very cheerful greeting by the one person you did not want to see today. Everyone was chatting as usual as they took a seat at your table. You also said your greetings to them, trying to not make eye contact with Satoru at all costs, even when you could feel his eyes on you as he sat down directly opposite to you.
“What a rare sight to see Miss holed-up-in-her-room.” Mr. Geto jokes.
“These days even vampires need some sun.” As stupid as the joke was, Mr. Geto came down with a boisterous laugh. He has always been an easy audience to please, or maybe it's his bias towards you.
“You two and your stupid jokes.” Suguru grumbled beside you, never a big fan of your and his father's sense of humor.
The table fell into an easy conversation. You caught up a bit more with the Getos, as you didn't get to see them after lunch the other day. And your parents seemed more fascinated by Satoru. Honestly, it was surprising to see your parents having this much interest in an individual your age, other than Geto Suguru. What was weirder was how well Satoru just got along with them, talking about whatever nonsense that is the stock market and business. You presume that his family is some big-shit conglomerate, surely. He found common ground with your mother about his fascination for art, even going as far as naming her art pieces that are his favorites. What a strange, strange man.
You have had an array of people around you over the years—friends from school, college, and some neighborhood friends—and none of them ever got along with your parents this well, except for Geto Suguru. They couldn't stand your high school friends, they warned you about your college friends, and they never warmed up to your boyfriend. You never officially introduced him, just that they unfortunately visited at a time he was also dropping by. Maybe you were wrong; maybe even they picked up on how miserable you have been regardless of a shitty boyfriend or not, given how much they visited in the last 6 months.
And now that you are back here, at this noisy table, this feels alright. It felt like home, and it felt safe, around people you care about. With the addition of a man who just aroused weird feelings within you, weird and incomprehensible. But it was also just a summer; it'll pass, it'll be gone in mere weeks.
It was just a normal and nice Saturday brunch until you felt something creeping up on your legs. It didn't feel like an insect or something; it was distinctly the shape of someone's toes. And the only possible answer to who it might be was sitting right across from you. His face was turned towards your father, with his eyes occasionally drifting to the corners to take unnoticeable glances at you. The way one of his hands was placed on top of the table and his other was perched on top of the back of his chair—no one could suspect anything unusual about him or what he was doing right under this table.
“You ok?” Suguru asked, seeing how suddenly you froze up, occasionally twitching in your seat. His toes were trying to map out the plain field, which was your legs. They tangled themselves in the strap of your sandals, which wrapped around your ankle, pulling on them tentatively and snapping them right back lightly, but the sensation could only be described as so good.
“Yeah. Just tired.” Suguru didn't look like he bought your excuse, but he was never someone to get involved in your business if you didn't want him to, so he went back to the book he was reading. And who honestly does that at a busy table like this? Anyway,
As Satoru's foot glided upwards, from your shin to the side of your knees and right between where your legs crossed. To prevent any further invasion of his foot. Yet you could still feel his toes scraping against the skin over the front of your thighs. Trying to dip between the gap where your thighs pressed together. And it didn't really try to probe in between them, just going up and down there, teasing you, barely giving anything, with hints of everything lying thick in the air.
And it was frustrating to sit there and take it all and to not let your legs open up themselves willingly. What was more frustrating was just when your legs were about to fall apart and open up, after trembling on their own, pressed together, to aid the feeling pooling in the bottom of your stomach, he swiftly pulled away his foot.
All while talking to your parents like the most ideal man out there. Like he is not trying to get in between their daughter's legs. The audacity of this man really amazed you, looking at the smile on his face, it's impossible even for the gods to realize what a sinister man he is. And honestly, these are the people you always have made sure to stay away from; cunning and charming was not something you were equipped to deal with.
But that scheming smile and those side glances across from you, boy, were fun.
“What is wrong with you?” You managed to corner Satoru before heading home. Making up some dumb excuse about leaving behind your hat (which you didn't even wear) to catch him before he could get to the men's restroom. Let the others wait for the two of you, thinking you were busy doing your own thing, while here you were trying to interrogate Gojo Satoru.
“I would like to think everything is perfectly fine with me.” He simply smiled at you, with either of his hands on his hips.
“No, I know you are fine—I mean—that you are—you know that is not what I am talking about!” It was all utterly cringe-worthy, the way it slipped past your lips, making you wish to bury yourself.
“Yeah? Maybe I am more interested in talking about how fine you think I am.” He walked a step closer to you, making you take a step backwards.
“Don't twist my words.” You dig your index finger into his chest, somehow his hard yet supple chest. You take the step forward that you backed away from, but he did not budge from where he was standing.
“Why would I? I’m not the one playing games here now, am I?” Satoru's head tilted to the right, and his face dipped slightly downwards to look you properly in the eyes. And when you had no answers to give, was it that you were lost about what he was exactly asking or lost in his eyes? It cannot be said for sure which it was.
“So why did you ignore me this morning?” At first you were dumbfounded about what he was even talking about, then the embarrassing moment you had by your windows came crashing down on you.
“I—I don't know. What do you mean?” You did your best to look him in the eyes while also trying to lie through your teeth.
“I mean, when you were checking me out this morning and when I waved at you, you just ignored me!” His eyebrows frowned a bit, and his lips jutted in a pout. If you were not digging a mental hole to bury yourself out of embarrassment, then you'd have rather shamelessly just admired how adorable he looked.
“It's just that, I was—” “You were…?”
“I was looking at the car you were washing! Yeah! It didn't look like, uh, what the Getos drive, so... yeah.” You've made bad excuses before and lied like a pro even, yet in this moment you felt like a criminal trying to get away from being convicted.
“Uh huh? You liked my car then?” Satoru narrowed his eyes at you, and his hands, which remained on his hips this entire time, added to what his eyes were saying—liar. But you nodded a yes with a tight smile, and suddenly instead of interrogating him, you were the one being interrogated.
“What color was it?”
“Huh?”
“My car. What color was it?”
For the love of everything, you could not remember what the hell the color of his car was! Sure, he could've asked you what the color of his shorts was, or the logo on his tank top, that mole under his left eye, or the dip between his collarbones, or perhaps the exact hex code for the color of his eyes—but he had to go and ask you about that stupid-ass car.
You knew you were fucked, and he knew he had you cornered. For that one step you took forward a few seconds ago, you now had to take two steps back, while he took three steps forward. Your whole charade was up, and your petty crush on your childhood friend's best friend was about to be aired out, and you were about to be embarrassed into the ground. You were sure this is it, but thank God for Geto Suguru, for once in your life, maybe. Your true angel in disguise!
“Oi! What’s taking you two so long?” Suguru asked while walking towards you two through the hallway, at the end of which you were being interrogated by Gojo Satoru.
“Oh! Satoru got lost, so I was helping him! It’s fine now. Let's go!” You enthusiastically said while walking towards Suguru in a hurry. Because if you spent another second around Satoru, you'd lose your mind.
You pushed Suguru’s back to make him walk away from the hallway, because another second here and he would start interrogating as well. So you pushed a reluctant and suspicious Suguru from behind, leaving a disappointed Satoru to follow your two’s lead outside. And mumbled to himself while looking at your back—
liar.
Since then, you did your best to avert the topic of conversation whenever Satoru tried to bring up your wandering eyes. Being in his close proximity was hard, especially when Suguru was not there. So you made sure he was always there when you were getting involved with Satoru. And yet there were always these moments that made you remember why you sometimes just cannot stand Suguru and his audacity.
“Y’wanna go to Lewis’ party this Saturday?” Suguru casually raised the question while still looking at his phone. Ignoring whatever silly flirting you and Satoru were doing, mostly him looking at you with heart eyes and you getting red like a beet at his little comments here and there. The horrible summer sun was already in the middle of the sky, and the tennis court itself felt like a frying pan.
So here you three were, drenched in sweat and clad in shorts and loose shirts, sitting under the apricot tree near the tennis court, pressed between the two men. The same tree under which you found Satoru, made assumptions in your head, and dubbed him as a hot new cart driver.
“He still does those?” You looked at Suguru while ignoring Satoru’s finger poking your cheek from your other side.
“Yeah, he still does, every summer. The dedication of that guy.” Suguru scoffed to himself and finally put his phone down to look at you after quickly throwing Satoru a side eye.
“Who is this guy?” Satoru’s head suddenly was right beside yours; his body was basically leaning into yours.
“Just some guy we went to school with; he throws these big parties every summer. He can be pretty douchey, though.” Suguru paused a second to think to himself before looking between you two and continuing with a smirk.
“Yeah, and this hotshot here dated him in high school.” Suguru’s hand landed on top of your head, slightly shaking it and patting it. And your own hands went to his wrist to shove it off you with a scoff.
“Oh please, it was like 5 months or less.” You rolled your eyes while leaning away from Suguru's hands; they can mess anyone up easily. “And it was nothing. Just some stupid summer fling.”
You looked over at Satoru briefly to gauge his reaction while simultaneously trying to ignore Suguru's teasing. It was honestly never the best idea to date the local party thrower; it meant everyone was up in your business. It was rough after the breakup, because not only did random people come up to you asking questions and being rude, but Lewis chased you around for another two weeks persistently. Thankfully he never had the best attention span.
You looked at Satoru with eyes that said, ‘please do not think I have bad taste!’
It was a lot to ask of Satoru when he did not even know the guy, and you did not know why you felt like you had to justify anything. After all, aren't you two just friends through a mutual connection? It did not feel right to watch Satoru stare at you and Suguru with a blank face while Suguru teased you about some stupid high school ex. But it also didn't feel right for Satoru to feel this bubbling jealousy within him, hearing about your old relationship with this guy you might potentially see tonight, whom you've known longer than you've known him.
“No, I get it. Sounds like a fun guy, huh?” Satoru's tone from earlier flattened just a notch. Not really noticeable to most people, but you and Suguru knew. You've known Satoru for barely a week and a half, and you've come to notice little changes in his voice almost the same way Suguru can notice them. The difference is, you use them as a cue to change topics to something that'll lift his spirits, while Suguru doubles down on things.
“Oh, the most fun guy ever! He threw gummy bears in his pool and timed himself on how fast he could fish out as many of them using just his mouth.” Suguru’s back went against the tree bark in a fit of laughter with a thud, remembering exactly what finally gave you the ick to break up with him. A mouthful of pool water and half-chewed gummies.
“Yeah, I am going to sit this one out. You guys have fun.” You rolled your eyes at Suguru, who was still laughing like a maniac, and stood up while dusting off your skirt.
“Huh, why? ‘ Cause he might try to smooch you with a mouth full of gummies and pool water again?” And Suguru was back to laughing like it could be a threat to his lungs.
Without any more words, because there were none to defend yourself for dating a frat guy and expecting an intellectual and respectable relationship out of it. You walked away after waving Satoru a goodbye and ignoring Suguru, who was by that point on the grass, tired from giving himself a one-man comedy show.
“She was looking forward to going out this weekend. Do you think she'll be ok?” Satoru asked Suguru while his eyes were trained on you walking on the grass.
“Yeah. She will be fine.” Suguru knew you better than him, so Satoru should barely doubt his words, but he couldn't help but needlessly worry when you didn't even look much bothered about the party other than the fact that Suguru just outed your dating history.
“If she's not, you can always check on her.” Suguru stood up and, similarly to you, dusted his shorts before extending an arm towards him.
Satoru did not say anything more to that, just grabbed onto his hand and stood back up on his feet. There was a silent understanding in the air that Suguru knew whatever Satoru was feeling. Suguru’s hand went up to his shoulder and placed itself there with a sharp slap. Satoru looked to his right and saw Suguru's eyes sharp and unforgiving, not his usual sly, half-smiling, kind eyes.
“If you do anything stupid or hurt her, it's on sight.” Satoru let out a wheezing laugh and placed his own hand on Suguru's shoulder while looking him in the eye.
“You got it.”
That's all they needed to speak on this. Any more, and Suguru would punch him square in the jaw unprovoked. It was not that Suguru was expecting him to sweep you off your feet or anything, and he knew Satoru was far from some prince charming. But he respects you two and trusts you, and despite his lifelong protective urges towards you, you were now a grown adult who was more than capable of making her own decisions, and he wanted to respect that. As long as Satoru didn't do anything stupid. Like that recent ex of yours, because when you go back on campus after the vacation, you might hear a thing or two about his fucked-up face or a neck collar.
Not that it had anything to do with Suguru, surely.
In the blink of your eyes, almost three weeks have gone by since you came back here. And two weeks since you met Gojo Satoru.
It was already Saturday night, and you were rotting in your bed as usual, trying to forget about the party that you truly had no will to go to. But somehow you could not help but let your mind wander there. Wondering how many people showed up, whether Suguru and Satoru were having a good time, and if Satoru found someone other than Suguru to talk to there. Which you assume he definitely did; he practically befriended everyone on your street, he is a favorite of the retired people at the country club, and he just blended right in with everyone.
It was one of those few summers you will be looking back at with a fond smile. All the parties you three crashed, all the nights you snuck away to the beach in Satoru’s off-white Maserati, all that weed you three burnt away in your room, the day when Suguru was cleaning up the garage and found the little inflatable pool in which you two used to play. It was hilarious for everyone to see three fully grown kids smooshed up in a little kids’ pool, splashing water at each other.
You have come to love the little watermelon plant that spontaneously shot up from the ground in your backyard, exactly where you three were shooting watermelon seeds with your mouths to see who could get the furthest. You got the flimsy little plant a support stake and made sure to water it every day because you did not want it to wither away in this summer heat.
Speaking of the summer heat, it seemed as though the weather started getting hotter from last night. When usually things cooled down after the sun set, everything your skin touched was sweating if the air conditioner was not on. And given the occasion tonight, you figured it was best to spend the entire Saturday at home. In the comfort of your bedroom, behind locked windows and doors, with the only source of light and noise being your laptop.
That was until the wind outside your windows started picking up. It made you feel some relief that it was not going to be a streak of horrible hot days.
The wind swung by your windows, making swishing noises and rattling the glass doors to your balcony. It made you want to shift your focus from the mind-numbing show playing on your screen to whatever that was going on outside. The swinging trees, sharp wind, dark red hued clouds in the night sky, Satoru trying to climb over your balcony railing, spark of lightning and faint sound of thunder-
Oh, wait, let's backtrack. Did you just see that correctly? Was Gojo Satoru trying to climb into your balcony? Because who else could be in that baby blue cotton shirt and bouncy tuft of white hair?
You rushed out of your bed, in your short shorts and tank top, probably as old as the eye bags that started to form under your eyes when you got into university. But you could not bother about that, or the crumbs of chips all over your top, and your unkempt and unbrushed hair. You just needed to get to Satoru in time before his wobbling body fell from your balcony and broke some bones in his body.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” You grabbed onto his hand and pulled him towards you, then helped him jump over your balcony railings.
“Climbing your tower, Rapunzel. Even though your hair looks more like a bird's nest than a rope.” He flashed you the whole set of his teeth at the end of his joke. Teasing you, trying to elicit a response out of you, as always.
“I will throw you off my balcony.” You deadpanned in return, ready to push him off, with your hands on his chest, pushing him ever so lightly to not actually make him lose his balance on the edge. He flew to catch yours and held onto them as he erupted into giggles, and the wind blew by his hair, getting it all over his eyes and face. And yet he still looked effortlessly gorgeous, as if that's exactly how it was supposed to look.
“Ok, ok, I just came here ‘cause I got bored at that party; the gummy bear guy lost his edge. It was just people pretentiously gathering around the pool and going, ‘Oh! Are you studying there? I am going here!’ and Suguru fled with some girl, so here I am.” Satoru sat down on the floor of your balcony, with his back against the railing. And pulled you down to sit right in front of him, facing him, with hands still held in his.
“Also just missed ‘ya.” He said it with such ease and nonchalance, like it was the most obvious answer. It was just a simple little line that crossed more lines between you two than anything, boundaries that must exist in a friendship. All just gradually blurring out of existence.
“Y’wanna go to the pool?” He says to break your train of thought to get rid of the questions and silence in the air.
“You were just complaining about people gathering around a pool.”
“So? It was more of a critique of the crowd than the pool; the poor pool has seen some things—leave it alone!”
At this point your hands, which were in his grip, were forgotten. It was like the most natural thing. It feels as natural as pushing your glasses up on your head and forgetting about them.
“Ok, ok, but you want to swim in our pool in this weather? Also, I don't know when my parents last got it cleaned.” Since you came back, you've never once used that thing, and you were never exactly there to see when your parents’ pool boy came around to clean it.
“Not your pool, silly!” He bounced your hands with his, making a ripple of movement in your entire upper body. “Then?” “I meant the one at the club.”
You just blinked and watched him. With a smile on his face, he did not look one bit hesitant about his suggestion. And honestly, his idea made you want to rather check out how clean or not your pool is instead of trespassing on the property where your family was a regular.
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that without turning on alarms?”
“I know the security code.” Your narrowed eyes did not look convinced with his answer.
“How even—” “I play billiards with the general manager.” It did make sense for a social butterfly like Satoru himself to befriend the most terrifying guy in the entire club. The general manager was quite the grump; he was a nice old man. He helped you out of the pool once when you almost drowned because you wanted to join your then high school friends instead of being upfront about not knowing how to swim. The general manager later, when you seemed stable enough, scolded you while drying off your hair with a towel.
“That old man who is always annoyed at every living, breathing thing?”
“Yep. He said, I remind him of his late husband!” Which wasn't far off the mark; the general manager’s husband recently passed away from what you heard from our parents, leaving him to be more annoyed at everything. And Satoru had a similar, blasé positive energy radiating off of him.
“So you seduced him!?” You jokingly said before pulling your hands out of his and moving to sit beside him, similar to him, with your back to the railing, knees under your chin, and thighs close to your chest.
“Nope. The only person I am trying to seduce is you.” Satoru’s head tilted to the side, and he kept looking at you. Recently, since he caught you checking him out while he was washing his car, his words and actions towards you have gotten bolder.
“Well….you should try harder.” You tried to lighten the tension in the air, which was now at least two or three degrees colder and felt suffocatingly hot, until he spoke up, still staring right into your eyes, with a faint trace of a smile on his lips, “I will.”
There was nothing more left to say after what he said, nothing, not even a joke to retaliate against the frustrating tension hanging heavy between you, making it impossible for you to breathe normally around Satoru.
“So! You're coming with me, or should I kidnap you?” You wish you could say no, but there was no refusing Gojo Satoru; that much you've learned about him clearly in these last couple of weeks.
As you looked out of the glass of the front window, exactly where the headlights of Satoru's car fell, on the side gate of the country club, only accessible by the employees. And yet here you were, getting dragged out of the soft leather seat of the car to sneak through that door with Satoru. Follow his steps closely from behind as he leads you to the pool by dragging you by your hand.
Without any word, Satoru let go of your hand once you two stepped on the paved concrete around the pool. Going straight to strip down to his boxers, his back muscles flexed with each step he took towards the pool. And some of the cold water in the pool splashed on you as he dived inside.
“You comin’ or what?” Satoru then intentionally splashed some water your way, absolutely drenched in the chloride-smelling water.
“This is as far as I go.” You walked up to the edge of the pool and sat down with your legs in the water. It made you flinch at first, surprising you how quickly the water cooled down since the sun set. The water started to feel nicer around your skin as you watched Satoru do several laps in the water.
He looked magnificent. One second he was at one end of the pool, and in the blink of an eye he was on the other side. It was easy to lose sight of him; he used the water to his advantage like a pro, which made you wonder if he did swimming back in school. How else was he able to hold his breath underwater so long that it had you worried enough to not notice his silhouette coming up to your legs and dragging you in the water?
“What are you—” You would have slapped his hands instantly off of your thighs if you knew what he was actually up to when they slithered up on them. Instead you were now in the cold chloride water, in Gojo Satoru's arms, trying to grab onto his shoulder and locking your legs around his waist.
It took you a few good minutes to acclimate yourself. With the cold water, and the feeling of drenched shorts and shirt, and especially the feeling that came from being in his arms. You could feel his body radiating heat even in the cold water and the vibrations that rumbled in his chest from laughing at the state of you, a clueless cat thrown off-guard in water.
“You, you're so dead.” His laughs only became deeper at your threats, and his arms tightened around your waist.
“Oh, c’mon, a little water never did anyone harm.” Satoru finally stopped laughing and just smiled at you; his gaze could not remain just on your eyes—they wavered. His pretty blue eyes scaled your face as if he were an archaeologist who just found a new artifact.
And under the scrutiny of his eyes, you could not continue the banter. It was agonizing to have the little 3-inch gap between you two; it felt more like 3 miles. So you couldn't help but close that distance. Satoru had similar ideas, as he met you halfway through.
His lips were everything and more that you ever imagined and dreamed of.
They were soft, and they tasted faintly of those fruit candies he always crunched on: oranges, strawberries, lemons, and pineapples. And overall he oddly tasted of summer. Like the embodiment of everything you ever wanted from an ideal summer. As his lips slotted themselves with yours with more assurance after the first few pecks to measure the boundaries he could step on, you could feel the giddy tingles back in your stomach, shivers that prickled the back of your nape and ran down your spine, when his tongue pushed against yours.
The hand that crept from your waist to your ass and pushed you up in his arms, your arms tightened around his neck, and one of your own hands went up his nape to his hair, the ends of which were now drenched in the pool water. And you wondered how you've been living without this, without kissing him silly the very day you met him, light tan and sweat covering his body, and just a cap to shield his eyes from the glaring sun.
“Hey! Is someone there!?”
You pushed away from him in a snap when the voice reached your ears. You had to push Satoru away by his shoulders to stop him from chasing your lips from the lack of their warmth on his.
When the guard blew on his whistle, that's when his eyebrows shot up. You placed your index finger on his lips as you saw them part so his voice wouldn't confirm the security guard's suspicions. And he nodded his head once to let you know he won't.
In a swift few seconds, Satoru swam to the edge of the pool, with you now in both of his arms, like a princess he needed to cradle close to his heart to keep her safe—you found it silly. The platform in the pool on which he was standing was barely five and a half feet deeper than the surface of the water. It was absolutely possible for you to walk to the edge by yourself, but you liked being in his arms. Even if the wiser thing to do in this situation would've been to separately make a run for it.
Once you two were out of the pool, he grabbed onto your hand in one hand, took both of your shoes in another, and his clothes under his armpit, and then made a run for it. You both ran barefoot on the concrete and crushed the dewy grass under your feet.
“HEY! YOU TWO! STOP RIGHT THERE!” The guard tried to shine his flashlight on you two.
“Don't turn around.” Satoru said while dragging you two towards the main entrance, avoiding the pebble path, and instead running across the prohibited grass fields.
It was the most invigorating rush you've felt in years.
Satoru did not stop his car until he was far enough from the country club. He parked his car by the riverbank, turned off his engine, and finally lay back in his seat with an exasperated sigh. You two sat staring ahead towards the river, then towards your sides, when your eyes landed on each other, and neither of you could hold back your laughter.
It was the most natural thing to be here with him, in your drenched clothes, him in his boxers, in his expensive-ass car, laughing like you two did not just commit a crime, one moment; and in the next moment you're on his lap and kissing him hungrily.
It was so good.
There was something about the cramped space, especially how his car was built; there was even less space compared to other cars—something that you usually get annoyed at, especially when you end up in the excuse of a backseat because of Suguru and his stupid long legs, but this time around you did not mind it.
You did not mind when his hands roamed up your back, hot and dry, a clear contrast to your wet and soggy clothes. It felt like everything had slowed down, from the cars on the road down to the gravity, and it was just you and him, against each other, lips slotted together like two perfect pieces of a puzzle, tongues exploring every little crevice in your mouths, and hands all over one another. You could feel his cock growing under you in his soggy boxers, incentivizing you to move your hips in a slow rhythm. He wasn't even sure anymore if it was wet from the water or just his precum. You could not take your hands off his shoulders nor out of his hair, and he could not take his hands off your ass and hips. It was addictive, and in the humidity of the summer night, it was more than enough to drive you crazy.
Desperate to feel more of him, more of his skin, you tried to take off your t-shirt while still kissing him, reluctant to take your lips off of his, even just for a second.
“Wait, sweets-wait.” He spoke in between your lips and pushed himself away from you. Without any explanation, he opened the doors on his side and went out of the car and pulled you out as well.
He haphazardly opened his back backdoor, pushed his front seat forward to make more room for the two of you, and lightly pushed on your lower back to make you get inside. Which you did, and finally took off everything on your upper body, then laid down on the seat and held yourself by your elbows, waiting for him to get in as well.
“Get in here.” You asked him, as you moved forward, to pull him inside the car by his neck, and your lips were back on each other. Your hands traced the shape of his cock over his boxers, and you tried to take off his boxers and slip your hands inside.
“Uh-uh, you first, sweets.” You didn't really understand what he meant by that; you just stared at his pretty smile and trusted whatever he wanted to do. But you couldn't have guessed what he did next. His right hand grabbed the back of your knees, and his other hand was on the seat for support. With flawless movements, your back was flat against his car seat, and he was in between your legs.
He started from your temples, soft lingering kisses on your eyes, the tip of your nose, a peck on your lips, and on your jaw. Then he went on to suck and bite all around your neck, with every intention to leave marks visible to anyone who tried to stare at you longer than ten seconds, which was generous in his opinion.
“I've been itching to get my hands on these pretty things.” His hands got a hold of your tits, squeezing them, fingers teasing one nipple while the other felt salient attention from his mouth. As his mouth swirled around your areolas, and his teeth bit down and pulled on your nipples while maintaining clear eye contact with you, you could feel the wetness between your legs dripping down your slit.
“Ugh—Satoru, ah, fuck.” You didn't really have anything to add, other than the moans and grunts that left your mouth. And his hands remained on your hips, rubbing up and down in soothing movements, as his lips continued to kiss downward once he had his fill of teasing your tits and was satisfied with the amount of marks he left behind on each mound and the valley in between them. A true scenic masterpiece in his opinion.
He stopped right above the waistband of your shorts before pulling them down with careful and calculated movements until you lay bare before his eyes. “Hah. No panties, huh?” He placed his mouth above your pelvic bone, right before your clit, and you could feel his mouth stretching into that very familiar devious smile on your skin.
“Sato—”
Your words remained in your mouth, and instead you let out a sharp yelp as his tongue took a long strip of lick from under your navel down to your clit. It was an awkward position to be stuck in, half bent, back almost hitting the ceiling of his car, one knee on the floor of his car, between his legs, and his foot was pressed against the door. But nothing bothered him more than the lack of your taste on his tongue.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You kept on chanting as your hands went to get a tight grip in your hair, almost pulling out a patch of white pearly hair, as his tongue continued to swirl around your clit. And the hands around your hips moved down to your thighs as they tightened around his head, holding a deathly grip around them but doing nothing to loosen them, probably digging his nails deep enough to leave marks and broken skin.
“Oh, I've fucking dreamed of dying between these pretty things. Fuck. Do your worst, baby.”
You wish you were the one wrecking him, even if he insisted he was the one blissed right out of his mind, between your legs, tongue teasing your pussy lips. One look at your face and anyone could tell who was absolutely fucked here. There was nothing imploring about how he dove right in like a starved man at your mercy. His teeth pulled your lips open to lick a long and anguished strip down from your clit to your now twitching hole. And in went his tongue.
Burning hotter than the summer sun, you were a puddle on his lips, like a melting popsicle.
“Sht—shit, shit. Ugh, ah, AH!”
Each one of your moans was returned with the vibration of his own grunts and moans, which ran through your core, making it worse for you to hold onto any semblance of sanity that remained intact. And it was hard to do that when his left hand was kneading your abdomen, and his thumb was rubbing away on your clit, and his right hand was digging into your thighs, pulling them up on his shoulder, all the while his lips sucked away every drop of arousal your cunt dripped, and his tongue poked around your walls.
“Please, Satoru, just—just please, want—no, need you inside.” You took one of your hands from where it was in his hair, which was now almost dry, and placed it on top of his hand on your abdomen. And without even moving his face, his fingers intertwined with yours and held onto them for his dear life as he finished giving you the first of the many orgasms for tonight.
“FUCK, Sat— AH, ah.” And you had nothing more than broken moans and words stuck in your throat to let out.
It was only when he was done lapping up everything with nimble licks that his hand let go of yours, which was shaking and almost numb. “Not just yet, sweets; gotta stretch you out properly.”
And the fingers that were just tangled with yours were now inside you. You were simply so out of it that you didn't even realize when his tongue got replaced with his finger, one at first, slowly mapping out the shape and ridges of your walls from within. Then two more to stretch you out well enough to accommodate him.
“There!” Your eyes rolled back in your head, and your head went back as his fingers found that one spot that almost drove you right over the edge in mere seconds.
“Here?” His head tilted as he pulled his fingers halfway out, teasing you even in this state, and saying things like he was the pitiful one in this equation. What a liar.
“Satoru, for fuck's sake!” Your hands flew to cover your eyes as your back arched off of the car seat; if it weren't for his right hand and shoulder holding you down, you would've probably fallen off.
“You surely know how to ask nicely for what you y’want.” You could see him smiling like a little shit between your legs when you took your hands off your eyes and instead dug your nails into his expensive car seat. Not like he minded.
“Will you just let me cum, Satoru?” Your tone was faux sweet, wavering at the mercy of his fingers turning inside of you.
“I need you to beg properly, baby.”
Satoru’s instructions came out as a matter-of-fact; his smile disappeared and left behind the piercing cerulean eyes, boring into your soul.
“Pleas—please, please, Satoru, let me cum.” Never in your life have you ever begged for anything like this; this was a first, and you could not be more glad that it was Gojo Satoru in between your legs, eliciting these embarrassing sides of you, instead of someone else.
And his smile returned to his face, and his fingers went right to work. It took him no more than two minutes to have you come undone on his fingers for the second time since you two ended up in his car. And there was nothing but exasperated breathing in the air, which Satoru assumed was probably more humid than the air outside, when he saw the windows fogged up. It made him chuckle to himself, thinking how cliché this was. But given the state he has gotten you in, he can't waste any more time before you pass out from just two orgasms. So he sat up and got rid of his underwear, finally feeling less suffocated.
“Don't have any condoms, sweets.” Satoru caressed the side of your face, making sure you didn't already pass out. He had no intention of pressuring you into anything; one word and he is cleaning you up, getting you some water, and driving you home to tuck you in your bed and cuddle you to sleep.
“Don't fucking care…… on birth control.” He chuckled at your scrambling and slurred words before he maneuvered you so that one of your legs was on his shoulder and the other was over his thigh, around his waist. He rubbed the head of his cock in your folds, getting whatever leftover juices that he could not lick clean all over his cock.
“WILL YOU JUST GET INSIDE?” You could not just tolerate any more of his teasing, so you had to take things into your own hands. Literally, as you moved one hand between the both of you and pushed his tip inside you, that was enough to have you flat on your back, unable to initiate anything else. Satoru also leaned forward from the sudden sensation of your slippery warm walls.
“Ah, fuck, don't rush it, sweets.” His whimpering was not helping you any more than the burning stretch you felt from just his tip. And he could tell from how your mouth fell open and the nails that dug into his seats harder than before. So he gave the both of you a second to adjust. It was no easy job to acclimate to the heat that you offered; it was dizzying, but he welcomed this heat over the burning sun.
“I’m goin’ in.” It was only after you gave him a late nod that he pushed the rest of him inside of you. And both of your yelps and grunts remained in the car. But surely if someone passed by, either one of your moans was enough to make them figure out the obvious.
Once he was inside, you assumed the never-ending dizziness that you felt around him, the rush of accidental touches, and heavy breaths—it'll all come to an end. Unfortunately, nothing really stopped; instead, there was something worse, something hotter and more imprudent between you two now. Each thrust of his hips and the kisses that he placed on your legs: everything was incinerating. And you wanted it all; it didn't matter if it was forever or a week, you needed this summer to never end.
“Ah—so good, sweets, so good to me.” Satoru kept on placing kisses around your shin, your ankle, and your knees, even leaning slightly down to bite down on your thighs. While his other hand pushed down on your abdomen, you felt his cock going in and out of you, and it was all so surreal—the warmth of your walls, your drooling mouth, the whimpers that left your throat, and those glazed eyes that refused to look away from him. And he didn't want this moment to ever end; he didn't want to pretend like every passing touch of your skin didn't burn him alive, that he could live on from here on forward without having you in his grasp.
“I, I’m coming, ‘toru.”
“Fuck, sweets—come with me. Please.”
He dropped your leg on the seat and pulled you on his lap, even while he still remained buried within you. In those last few minutes, he didn't move his hips with the same fervor as before; you two just grinned at each other, chasing your highs, the rush of having each other all to yourselves. With his face buried in your neck, kissing everywhere, down from the column of your neck to your jaw and finally to your lips, his arms around you tightened. And your nails dug into his shoulders as your tongues tangled with one another again, and this time you could taste the remnants of yourself in his mouth. As you both broke away from the kiss, with a single string of aliga connecting you two, all it took was one look for the both of you to come simultaneously.
“Fuck… fuck, fuck, sweets.”
“I know—I know, Satoru.”
And you two came together, holding onto each other for your dear lives, kissing one another into some other worldly ecstasy. You could feel his cum shooting up and pooling inside of you, and he could feel you twitching in his arms, your walls tightening, getting warmer with his cum dripping down and slipping out between you two. It took a while for you to come down from the high, and yet neither of you was willing to let go.
“Are you ok, sweets?” He asked while placing feather-light kisses on your shoulders while nudging your head slightly that remained steady on his shoulder.
“Mmhmm.” You did not have anything in you to utter a single comprehensible sentence. And Satoru knew that well enough to not push you any more; he chuckled to himself and let himself enjoy your company like this for a little longer. And he told himself a few minutes more, and then he'll properly clean you up and take you home.
While you drifted away into sleep, with a matching smile on your face, you told yourself how different this summer has been. And how, despite the disgusting heat and humidity, you never wanted this summer to end. To have one another in your arms, with reciprocity, and with the same rush that made your head silly that day you met—it was so good.
And you wanted the best out of this summer.
a/n: dividers by @/omi-resources. pictures from Pinterest, art by @/m0ryy
lmao ik i have two big wips in the works rn but lol when i saw moryy's art my mind just suddenly flooded with this plot and i was already singing rush by Troye Sivan in my head for the last few days lol
ok and i have like 4 exams tmr bye i gotta cry and study.
you’re sprawled across his sheets, the scent of him still clinging to the pillows, making you dizzy as your fingers work between your thighs. it’s sloppy, desperate, but still not enough—you’re chasing the ghost of him anyway. every time your thumb circles your clit you can’t stop whispering his name. your skin’s hot, your legs shaking, and it almost feels shameful how badly you need him.
you let your mind wander, picture his massive hands holding you down roughly, his teeth grazing your throat, his voices overlapping when he grunts at you. the thought makes your hips buck into your palm, slick dripping onto the sheets beneath you, and you gasp his name again, louder this time. “sukun..a.. please..” you sound pathetic, you know it, but the ache in your chest and between your legs is unbearable.
your head falls back against the pillows, sweat beading on your skin as you circle faster, whimpering like a bitch in heat. it’s not enough—it’ll never be enough without him—but the sound of his name falling from your lips has you trembling, legs tightening around your hand as you rub yourself raw. you’re right on the edge when the air in the room shifts, that familiar suffocating pressure wrapping around you like a shadow.
which could only mean..
he's here.
towering over you in his true form, four eyes narrowed, mouths grinning sharp. his gaze drops to your hand still shoved between your thighs and you swear your heart stops. “pathetic little slut,” he rasps, voice rolling like thunder, “can’t keep your hands off yourself even when i’m gone for a few days?”
he steps closer, slow, deliberate, like a predator circling prey, and you can’t even look away—you’re caught. “moaning my name,” he growls, one mouth curling into a cruel smile, “like some desperate whore who thinks i’ll come running to fuck her.” he leans down, claws grazing the mattress by your head, his breath hot against your ear. “tell me—were you trying to replace me with those weak little fingers?”
your throat’s dry, lips parting, but no sound comes out. his laugh rumbles deep in his chest, mean and mocking. “look at you. soaked. trembling. you need me so fucking bad, don’t you?”
the expo floor is way too loud. like, blaring music, flashing lights, people screaming over nothing, and it kind of makes your head feel like a soda can someone shook up and tossed into a microwave. everything smells like popcorn and plastic and overworked air conditioning. you can feel your badge flipping against your chest with every other step, and the strap of your boyfriend's backpack is slowly cutting a line into your shoulder from how long you've been holding it. he didn't even ask if you wanted to hold it. just tossed it at you like he always does. cool! fun! love that...
hiroto, your boyfriend,was already ahead, weaving through the crowd like he's in a music video... best not to imagine that. he's got his game face smile on, the one he uses when he's being charming and loud and "just naturally confident." he's talking to some fans or maybe teammates or just random people who he think are worth his precious time. you can't tell anymore. he throws a grin over his shoulder.
"babe," he calls, barely looking, "can you keep up or...?"
you don't answer. just shift the bag and hope your face doesn't look as miserable as you feel inside. your phone buzzes but you ignore it. you pass a booth with a glowing demo station for outset reign—the newest patch! the one you've been grinding until 3 a.m. every night, literally arguing with strangers online about gear builds like it's life or death! your fingers twitch. you kinda want to stop. you kind of want to disappear into the crowd and just play for even a quiiickk minnuutee—
but of course hiroto shouts something else that makes you lose all focus.
"yo! no freakin' way. is that you, kenma?"
your stomach does this weird twist thing.
kenma?
he's standing over by a tower of monitors, half in shadow, hoodie up, gripping onto a drink. he's got his more than messy dyedd hair and this really tired, done look on his face. like he's three seconds from ghosting the whole event. and for a second, you think he's not gonna recognize hiroto.
but then his eyes lift.
and then they hit yours.
sheesh...
why does he look like that?
you know him. not from hiroto's blurry instagram posts or the time you sat silently at some awful team dinner while he and the guys quoted inside jokes for two hours straight. no. you know him.
his username is appletactics. and he has absolutely been ruining your rank on every game you play for every night for the last month and a half.
like, you hate him. you yell at your screen about him, swivel in your chair after he kills you, and makes you rub your temples. he's annoying and smart and fast and somehow always, always waiting right where you're about to go. how many times has he been at the same place as you this week? you can feel the smugness through the screen. every time he one ups you, you can practically hear the shrug in his silence...
and now he's standing there. sipping his shitty drink with his shitty eyes. looking at mainly you.
hiroto claps him on the shoulder as if they're the bestest of friends. "this is my girl," hiroto says, finally acknowledging your existence after three hours. doesn't say your name. doesn't introduce you properly. doesn't even glance at you to see if you're smiling or not. "you guys met that one time, right? after uhh nationals? she games too. pretty good at... er. fortnite, i think."
kenma side eyes him and gives him a blank stare.
you look at him. "a little," you say. your voice is a bit higher than you want it to be.
is he gonna say anything or...?
hiroto gets distracted again—some dude calling his name, asking for a picture. and just like that he peels off!!
you and kenma are just... standing there.
he leans a little closer. his voice is quiet. "you use the handle ctrlyn, right...?"
your heart drops to your stomach.
"yeah," you say, trying to look unfazed. "why?"
"you kept countering my build last patch," he says, sipping again.
you roll your eyes and cross your arms. "maybe you need better strats."
"maybe you just have a vendetta," he says, completely blank faced. "you logged off right after killing me. like, every time."
"oh my god," you mutter. "get over it!"
"...you're annoying," he says. but he says it without any heat. and somehow that makes it even worse. agh!!
you look away. back toward hiroto, who's still talking to whoever, still hasn't even glanced back to check if you're okay, or if you're having a conversation, or if maybe it's weird to leave you with someone you barely know. he never checks.
"he sucks," kenma says, like he read your mind.
you look back at him, startled.
"what?"
kenma shrugs. "he doesn't listen to you. talks over you. doesn't watch your screen when you game. he brags about you when it benefits him and ignores you when it doesn't." he takes another sip, like he didn't just drop a truth grenade in the middle of the hallway.
you blink. "you don't even know me-"
he looks at you again, and something about his eyes—low lidded, sharp, weirdly sincere—makes you feel kind of naked.
"i do now."
then hiroto's back, flinging an arm around your shoulders, sweaty and smiling. "we're getting lunch, yeah? kenma, you down? remember that place with the spicy gyoza?"
kenma doesn't answer right away. he just keeps looking at you.
"maybe," he says. finally...
you don't end up getting lunch.
hiroto gets pulled into a last minute photoshoot and says he "can't cancel" and "you get it, right?" and "just go chill in the hotel or something, babe. i'll text you."
he doesn't.
you wander back to the demo zone and play a few matches alone. your hands feel shaky. you hate how warm your cheeks are. you keep replaying kenma's words in your head like they were lyrics to a song you didn't know you already loved.
back at the hotel, you curl up on the bed, lights off, laptop screen lighting your face. you hover over your login. your finger hesitates over the enter key.
you're not even sure why you're waiting...
but thirty seconds after you're in the main menu, a party request pops up.
the expo floor is way too loud. like, blaring music, flashing lights, people screaming over nothing, and it kind of makes your head feel like a soda can someone shook up and tossed into a microwave. everything smells like popcorn and plastic and overworked air conditioning. you can feel your badge flipping against your chest with every other step, and the strap of your boyfriend's backpack is slowly cutting a line into your shoulder from how long you've been holding it. he didn't even ask if you wanted to hold it. just tossed it at you like he always does. cool! fun! love that...
hiroto, your boyfriend,was already ahead, weaving through the crowd like he's in a music video... best not to imagine that. he's got his game face smile on, the one he uses when he's being charming and loud and "just naturally confident." he's talking to some fans or maybe teammates or just random people who he think are worth his precious time. you can't tell anymore. he throws a grin over his shoulder.
"babe," he calls, barely looking, "can you keep up or...?"
you don't answer. just shift the bag and hope your face doesn't look as miserable as you feel inside. your phone buzzes but you ignore it. you pass a booth with a glowing demo station for outset reign—the newest patch! the one you've been grinding until 3 a.m. every night, literally arguing with strangers online about gear builds like it's life or death! your fingers twitch. you kinda want to stop. you kind of want to disappear into the crowd and just play for even a quiiickk minnuutee—
but of course hiroto shouts something else that makes you lose all focus.
"yo! no freakin' way. is that you, kenma?"
your stomach does this weird twist thing.
kenma?
he's standing over by a tower of monitors, half in shadow, hoodie up, gripping onto a drink. he's got his more than messy dyedd hair and this really tired, done look on his face. like he's three seconds from ghosting the whole event. and for a second, you think he's not gonna recognize hiroto.
but then his eyes lift.
and then they hit yours.
sheesh...
why does he look like that?
you know him. not from hiroto's blurry instagram posts or the time you sat silently at some awful team dinner while he and the guys quoted inside jokes for two hours straight. no. you know him.
his username is appletactics. and he has absolutely been ruining your rank on every game you play for every night for the last month and a half.
like, you hate him. you yell at your screen about him, swivel in your chair after he kills you, and makes you rub your temples. he's annoying and smart and fast and somehow always, always waiting right where you're about to go. how many times has he been at the same place as you this week? you can feel the smugness through the screen. every time he one ups you, you can practically hear the shrug in his silence...
and now he's standing there. sipping his shitty drink with his shitty eyes. looking at mainly you.
hiroto claps him on the shoulder as if they're the bestest of friends. "this is my girl," hiroto says, finally acknowledging your existence after three hours. doesn't say your name. doesn't introduce you properly. doesn't even glance at you to see if you're smiling or not. "you guys met that one time, right? after uhh nationals? she games too. pretty good at... er. fortnite, i think."
kenma side eyes him and gives him a blank stare.
you look at him. "a little," you say. your voice is a bit higher than you want it to be.
is he gonna say anything or...?
hiroto gets distracted again—some dude calling his name, asking for a picture. and just like that he peels off!!
you and kenma are just... standing there.
he leans a little closer. his voice is quiet. "you use the handle ctrlyn, right...?"
your heart drops to your stomach.
"yeah," you say, trying to look unfazed. "why?"
"you kept countering my build last patch," he says, sipping again.
you roll your eyes and cross your arms. "maybe you need better strats."
"maybe you just have a vendetta," he says, completely blank faced. "you logged off right after killing me. like, every time."
"oh my god," you mutter. "get over it!"
"...you're annoying," he says. but he says it without any heat. and somehow that makes it even worse. agh!!
you look away. back toward hiroto, who's still talking to whoever, still hasn't even glanced back to check if you're okay, or if you're having a conversation, or if maybe it's weird to leave you with someone you barely know. he never checks.
"he sucks," kenma says, like he read your mind.
you look back at him, startled.
"what?"
kenma shrugs. "he doesn't listen to you. talks over you. doesn't watch your screen when you game. he brags about you when it benefits him and ignores you when it doesn't." he takes another sip, like he didn't just drop a truth grenade in the middle of the hallway.
you blink. "you don't even know me-"
he looks at you again, and something about his eyes—low lidded, sharp, weirdly sincere—makes you feel kind of naked.
"i do now."
then hiroto's back, flinging an arm around your shoulders, sweaty and smiling. "we're getting lunch, yeah? kenma, you down? remember that place with the spicy gyoza?"
kenma doesn't answer right away. he just keeps looking at you.
"maybe," he says. finally...
you don't end up getting lunch.
hiroto gets pulled into a last minute photoshoot and says he "can't cancel" and "you get it, right?" and "just go chill in the hotel or something, babe. i'll text you."
he doesn't.
you wander back to the demo zone and play a few matches alone. your hands feel shaky. you hate how warm your cheeks are. you keep replaying kenma's words in your head like they were lyrics to a song you didn't know you already loved.
back at the hotel, you curl up on the bed, lights off, laptop screen lighting your face. you hover over your login. your finger hesitates over the enter key.
you're not even sure why you're waiting...
but thirty seconds after you're in the main menu, a party request pops up.
You're a young college professor teaching English Lit and history, you don't live an insanely exciting life - no, you enjoy spending time at home with a good book and a glass of red. You're prefectly content until a certain student sets his pretty blue eyes on you - senior Satoru Gojo. Obsessed with you, Satoru starts following you everywhere, observing and waiting. He just wants you to realize that he's the only one for you, and he'll do anything to make sure you throw your 'ethics' right out of the window.
pairings - college student! Gojo x professor! reader
warnings - yandere content, Satoru is completely obsessed with reader, bit of an age gap - Satoru 22, reader 30, reverse professor trope, power dynamics, push and pull, explicit sexual content. this part- sexual tension, yandere gojo even more yandere!? reader trying her best and failing, semi public play, power play, mindfucking, overstim, oral (f receiving) fingering, jealousy, possessiveness, stalking, and some hints of somno- wc- 10k
based on College Student! Gojo comments/rbs appreciated if you enjoy <3
<<<part one
part two
Satoru Gojo is sitting in your history class now, you’re struggling as you feel his gaze on you, dragging down across your pretty little sundress as if he could see you right underneath it. You have been ignoring him and acting professional since that embarrassing fucking time you had spreading your thighs and him teasing you with a pen like he did.
You can’t stop remembering how good it felt, cumming for him, all over his fingers, him sucking your juices clean until his lips were glossy with you. The psychotic way he somehow knew you, understood you, your favorite coffee, your favorite quote, fuck he seemed to remember exactly where you lived that next morning when he came to pick you up and magically knew how to get your car fixed.
It all seemed like insane coincidences, but you wondered if you just were trying to find reasons, rationale to any of this, to him so clearly wanting you and then not making a single move. No, he’d walk out of class and say your name – no Miss in front of it – and just tilt his head, smirking with those plump lips that had kissed across your neck.
Fuck.
You can’t think this way and you hate that you are, obsessively remembering even as you sit alone at your desk after class. It’s hard not to touch yourself when the scent of his cologne clings to him, and it makes you feel morally fucked. Eight years was not a big deal but you’re his fucking teacher, and something like this would not just have you lose your license, you’d lose a future at what you love.
Even if you have heard of some teacher student relationships not ending careers, it was an older male professor who’d start dating a young woman, that was socially more accepted. Imagine a thirty year old with a young student who just so happens to be the son of the people who own the university?
The Gojos could ruin you if they ever knew.
It was ridiculous to carry on this way, and you know you shouldn’t have let him, but you can forgive that. A moment of passion, a beautiful man who pleasured you, a connection between you both that sparked. All of that? You’ll give yourself some grace, you’re a woman after all and you had been ovulating, Satoru Gojo was likely dangerous to any girl with a heartbeat.
What you can’t forgive is how you love him watching you, love his stolen glances, how you maybe unbutton one or two buttons off your blouse you never would, bend over just a bit wondering if he saw. You can’t excuse the fact that you want him to try to touch you again, that you want to do more when you told him never.
Who were you since him?
You don’t act on it, you don’t give in, and every day his smile gets a little tighter, his lips don’t curve up exactly the same, he lingers a little longer. Every time he brushes your shoulder you casually pull away with a smile, every time you almost run into him you sidestep.
You weren’t going to fall for this, whatever he was doing, as badly as you keep vividly imaging him bending you over your own desk, those huge fingers buried deep in your cunt. You can’t and you won’t, no matter how pretty his blue eyes are, no matter how when he looks at you it’s as if you’re all he sees, and no matter how intoxicating that is to you.
You can’t, you won’t, so you don’t.
Satoru’s coming up to you now, after a history lecture, and the class files out while you wipe up something off the white board. His heart hammers in his chest as he studies you, the woman he jerks it to every night with an almost religious devotion, the teacher he’s stalked since the moment he’s saw her, he has so many pictures of you that you have your own fucking gallery.
He steps behind you as you erase, making you halt, his hands pressing on either side of the whiteboard just littered with little lines, exhaling against your ear as he bends down, tickling your skin with his silky white locks. You feel the heat of him against you, making your core tighten, your thighs clench.
As much as you try to hold it together, the moment he touches you, it’s over, and you know it, you know you can’t resist feeling him again. The effect he has on you is like a venom, slowly crawling and invading it’s poison into your blood stream, until it travels to your racing heart in your chest, until it steals the breath from your lungs.
“Missed a spot,” he murmurs, taking the hand with the eraser and moving it, pressing harder against you. “There you go, teach.”
“Satoru… I mean, Gojo…” You bite your lower lip as he chuckles in your ear, and he inhales that sweetness emanating off you, his eyes rolling back, his other hand slipping down to your tummy. “What are you… you can’t act… like…”
He’s imagining filling your womb with babies, his cock pressing against the small of your back, you squeak then, wriggling just enough to earn a quiet moan, and the eraser drops from your hand, clattering to the shiny white tile below. Satoru’s fingers entwine over yours, huge hand taking you over, tugging you against him and wrapping you with strong biceps underneath his dress shirt.
“You called me Satoru,” he smiles against your neck, you feel the lines of his teeth, as he exhales, whispering your name. “Are you dressing slutty and bending over for me or for the whole class?”
You gasp, turning and glaring, lifting a hand to smack his face, he grins then, eyes gone black, gripping your wrist and pressing you against that cold white board, chilling your overheated skin. His eyes study you with something akin to devotion, and something else so dark you could never explain it, his thigh pressing between yours and moving up, until you whine out, before you can stop yourself.
“Answer me, pretty professor, be a good girl,” his free hand grips your chin then, turning it to face him. “Do you want me to look?”
“No.”
“So, you’re not telling the truth, tsk…” he leans down so low you can taste the mints on his breath. “What happened to academic honesty?”
You scoff, shaking your head, his lips tempting you with every breath, like he singlehandedly fucking threw you into ovulation, you’re sticky and dripping against panties you hope he’d like the color of. That is fucked and you can’t think this way, can’t be this way, you have to compose yourself, lay down the rules that you’re not going to handle it.
“You’ve been aching for me,” he murmurs, a hand slipping down the side of your breast, your chest heaving with your breasts. “Bet you wish you could cum like that again, but no one will do that to you, tsk… poor, pretty little teacher.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you turn your face, unable to look at those insane eyes a moment longer, his lips brush against your pulse point, fluttering for him. “Mnh.”
“Fuck, that sound,” he groans softly, hands now against your waist, slipping lower to your hips, gripping your ass over your little pencil skirt. “Can’t admit how badly you want me again, when I can feel your heat.”
“Class is over Gojo,” you whisper, he pulls back and glares at that, his thigh pressing up against your cunt now, watching your eyelashes flutter. “Don’t you h-have calculus to head off to?”
“I can do calculus in my sleep,” he chuckles a bit, shaking his head and groaning when you move just a bit, his eyes narrowing, smirk on his lips. “Aw, calculus gets you as wet as ethics did?”
“I’m not,” you’re straight up lying now, he presses your back further against the board, you hear the shuffle of classmates walking by, your heart pounds in your chest knowing anyone could just come in. “I’m way too old to play your games.”
“You keep calling yourself old,” he chuckles and puts a hand on your stomach. “You’re prime age to fill with babies.”
The fuck.
You gasp at that, lips parted, and he grins psychotically. “You should not even be thinking of that!?”
“I need heirs as the head of the Gojo family, you know,” he’s caressing your stomach almost lovingly, a warm palm pressing against you. “Not just that, though, you’re so nurturing.”
“You’re insane, Satoru Gojo. I swear,” you tug at his hand, but you don’t remove it, just trembling and feeling so small compared to him. “You shouldn’t talk like this, especially to me.”
“You love it,” his breath tickles your lips, tilting your chin up with two fingers, sighing now. “Bet you’re ovulating, I think I can just smell it.”
“You cannot!?”
“No?” His fingers drift lower, touching your cunt over your skirt, you barely manage to stand up. “Am I reading these signals wrong, professor? How your cheeks flush, how your thighs press together? How about the way you shift in that seat like you need some friction?”
“N-no,” it takes everything you have to step away, taking a breath, glaring again at him. “You’re young, and confused. That’s it.”
“Is that it, now?” He’s got you set up on the desk, your thighs spread in moments, standing between them with his hands sinking into the plush of yours, making you cry out before you bite on your lip. “Do I seem so young when I could throw your ass around? Lift you and fuck you on your chalkboard?”
“Gojo…”
“Satoru,” he’s pressing you against the desk now, cupping your face delicately almost, his bulge pressing your slick panties, you barely manage not to arch your hips up for him. “Say my first name.”
“Absolutely n-not,” he chuckles again, studying your pretty face and sighing, your thighs trembling on either side of narrow hips, his leather belt slipping against your skin. “Whatever professor fetish you have, that’s for porn okay? Not me.”
“It’s not a fetish for professors,” he drags you against his cock, and this time you fail to hold back that whine, earning his groan. “You’re fucking perfect.”
“You can't mean that,” you're desperately arching your hips up, for more of him. You should hate yourself for loving his words, for wanting them to be true.
“Could fuck a baby into you on this desk, would you like some time off teaching?”
“Insane,” you shake your head, hating that your body is betraying you, getting wetter at his batshit nonsense. “Did your parents fuck you up that bad!?”
“A little bit,” he admits, smirking and pressing a kiss on your chest, hand gripping your tit. “You’ve met them, what did you think?”
“That they’re shit to you,” you admit softly, cursing and shutting your eyes. “That doesn’t mean we’re somehow okay to do this!”
“Hmm, if I got you pregnant, they’d support it, but you wouldn’t be able to teach anymore, no. You’d stay home for me.”
“Oh you’re so far past insane,” he’s sucking on the top of a slope of one of your breasts, leaving a red mark as your hands yank at his silvery hair. “I’m independent, I d-do things… myself… don’t need…”
“You need me, you know it already,” he tugs out a nipple and lets out an audible groan, tongue swirling it fucking filthy, lapping at it over and over, you’re just arching for it, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy, lips parted. “Look at your perfect tits. Pretty puffy nipples…”
He can’t stop thinking of them dripping milk, saliva practically drooling against your skin from his lips.
“This is some crush, you’ll get o-over it, you will find someone...”
“A crush, hah – you think that's what this is? No. You already know where you belong, just won't admit it…” he grips your chin, smirking again. “Underneath me, bent over in front of me. Fuck, you probably dream of it don’t you?”
You do and you hate it, and you’re sure this demon disguised as an angel just knows somehow.
“No…” Your breaths come so quick you feel dizzy, shaking your head.
“You can be good, I just know it. Didn’t I spit in your mouth, and you swallowed it so good, so eager?”
“Fuck you,” he grins even bigger, pressing harder now at his heavy body. “Get off before my next class comes in or something!”
“I could hide under your desk,” he eases back, standing and looking at you spread on your own desk for him, groaning and letting his hands trail across your body carefully. “Would you like that, hmm? Me licking your cunt during your lecture?”
You swallow nervously and shake your head, but Satoru’s kneeling, looking at the dark spot in your panties spreading, his breath tickling your inner thighs. “Just the thought of me licking has you messy, has no one eaten you properly, sweetheart?”
You still say nothing, just whining out, when one of the bells rings. Satoru presses a little kiss right over your panties, light blue ones, just that has you sucking in a breath, your thighs jerking. Just a smack of his lips and the sight of tousled white hair is enough to destroy any morals you have left.
You just want to let him lick you, want to drag his pretty face against your cunt. Bold things you've never done, you want him to cum inside you and fill you up, it's filthy and depraved what he does to you.
“Did you wear these for me? Oh, you’re so cute,” he teases, brushing his lips against your slick heat over that thin barrier once more, before pulling back. “I’ll see you at that charity function, won’t I?”
“The… what?” You’re disoriented from him, tugging your skirt down hastily, smacking his hands when he tries to help you down.
All you want to do is drag his face against your cunt.
“How do you know I’m going?” You manage to ask, swallowing nervously.
“It’s thrown by my parents, ya think I don’t know who is coming?” He brushes his thumb across your lips, sighing now. “Should wear red lipstick, fuck it’d pop on your skin.”
You’re left without anything to even fucking say, lips sputtering which he just presses a sweet kiss on, you tug back, smoothing your clothes and fixing your now messy bun. God Satoru can't stand how pretty those little tendrils are. He twirls one around his finger, you glare up at him.
“It's cute, you're trying to be this good girl, it really is,” Satoru grins when you smack at his hand. “It just makes me even harder for you.”
“Ugh! Out of my class, now!”
“See you soon, hmm?” He’s grinning like he’s on a high, as soon as he walks out of the door, and the heaviness hits, you slam your papers on the ground, they go fluttering as the bright light filters into the huge classroom.
You're cursing the day you met that boy, especially considering he has you wanting to masturbate in your own fucking classroom.
“Shit, shit, shit.” You are trembling, covering your face with one hand and sinking into your leather office chair.
Lost.
Satoru brushes his lips with a big grin, peering at you in the little thick glassed window, you’re so fucking cute when you’re frustrated, he’s not sure he has ever saw that before, but he loves it. You hastily bend down and start cleaning the floor, as he eyes your ass while you bend over, picturing the moment he gets to fuck into you from the back.
He wants to wait. He really does, but he's dying to go ahead and get a baby Gojo inside you at the same time. He sighs and touches the coldness of the metal door, wondering just what shade of lipstick you'd wear tonight, and how pretty you'll look when it's smeared all over your chin.
*****
You do come to that charity ball, of course you do, the entire staff is there and many of the grad students, it’s a who’s who of the upper crust of society, and you’re really just a simple professor. Yet they invited you especially, a hand delivered invite on thick parchment in pretty cursive lettering that you almost wondered at first if Satoru himself made it.
That was nonsense.
You are trying to forget him but he’s actively there, constantly everywhere you go, sometimes you swear you just feel him even, his intense blue gaze making you wake up sweating, a cold sweat that has you wondering if you’ve lost it. A manic break from never having a vacation, some untreated mental illness, peering even out of your curtains at times, like he’s watching.
He can’t be, he wouldn’t be, you know that logically, but whatever part of your heated, clouded mind Satoru taps into is anything but logical, so far removed from the girl who sits at home and sips wine, who reads a good book curled up next to her fireplace. A simple girl whose dream was writing, but who became a teacher, hiding her own work.
That’s what you were.
Professor Nanami had asked to swing by and pick you up tonight, he’s in another building but you know him somewhat, handsome and kind, the type of man you feel comfortable around. Sexy too, so many of the teachers and a ridiculous amount of the students clamor around him, he’s a kind and elusive man, but you two enjoy coffee sometimes.
Now this, almost a date, reminds you of the fact that you need to be with someone more your age. Nanami is thirty five, he’s closer to you than Satoru is by three years at least, mature and put together, his big hand takes over yours, his lips press your knuckles.
A gentleman, not a psycho who spits in your mouth and taunts you with the ridiculous idea of filling you with babies.
You don’t even think he knows what he’s saying, judging from the parents of his and the pressure he’s under to throw out his own dreams, you see how he could lose it and hone in on you, some fantasy that’s not a reality. You want to keep it together, to keep your own feelings at bay, but with every waking moment he clouds your mind more and more, ruins your judgement, tears down your walls.
“Ready for the pretentious asses that pay us?” Nanami mutters, you laugh then, covering your mouth it’s so loud, while you two step into the elegant ballroom of the banquet hall, glittering chandeliers glowing over a sea of elegant people.
“Sorry! You’re so funny.”
“Surprised?”
“A little,” you flush then, your fingers entwining. It feels lovely, you should focus on that, not on looking for the white haired twenty two year old who had dry humped you on your own desk. “I agree, it’s a lot to be around.”
“Mmm, I suppose we’ll have to play nice if we want to move up in the ranks a bit, it’s still a bit of a moral conundrum. Help more students but kiss the asses of these people?”
“Ugh, I know,” you murmur, sighing now and catching sight of Satoru spinning a fellow student around, finishing a song up, giving her a little hint of a smile that hid his truly insane grin, the one that scares you as much as it makes you ache. “Not all rich people are like that.”
“Most…”
Satoru sees you then, descending the stairs in a dress that clings tightly in the bodice, showing too much of those breasts that should only be for him, the eyes of the room fall on you, and the man you’re walking next to. His jaw sets when he catches sight of his hand holding yours, like a punch to the gut.
You're with someone!?
That's unacceptable.
He seems like a friend to you maybe, you both arrive together but his hand isn't on your waist or hip. Just for a moment does it touch the small of your back, and he can see you stiffen just a bit, as he sips on champagne, so many thirsty girls around him and their moms, giggling and throwing themselves.
It’s what they always did with Satoru.
Who wouldn’t want the chance to be his kept wife, to be filthy rich with the Gojo family name and get Satoru himself? Why by no means a virgin, he’s always been extremely choosy with even casual fucks, long before he caught sight of you like a punch to the chest, a knife twisting knowing he’s breathing your air and you’re not already full of him.
Breed kink, he’d not had one till you – now it’s apparently what he has, he looked it up and skimmed through some porn, they didn’t do anything for him but now he understands what he needs. To fill you with cum, so much you drip him out, in your cute little chair behind your cute little desk, possessed by your student that sits in the back and eyes you.
Just seeing you with someone fills him with such anger it takes everything not to snatch you the fuck up, drag you out and rail your perfect cunt until you break. Smear that lipstick that is a dark tan, like you went as far away from red as could on purpose, but it’s fine, he expected it – anticipated it even.
He has the perfect shade for you.
You’re close now, his parents stop to greet you, since there were talks of you becoming faculty. He laughs a little as the girls mindlessly talk, he knows good and damn well you are not going to be working much longer, even if you currently are too delusional to know what’s happening.
In denial, with your silly ethics and morals he cant wait to fuck out of you.
“Satoru is an amazing student,” he hears your voice defensive suddenly, his ear catching it even in the crowded room, the murmurs and laughter and music fading. He eyes you carefully, seeing your stance. “He’s the top there is.”
“Well of course he is,” his father scoffs. “He’s a Gojo, what else would he be but on top?”
“I’m saying he’s exceptional at everything,” your words make him pause, words he’s never heard despite how much the world wants him. “Not just because he’s your son, because he just is.”
Your words hit him hard.
It’s always been that way, Satoru Gojo is the best because he is Satoru Gojo, right? Not because he just is.
You see him, even as you have no clue he can hear you, and his parents laugh, that grating pretentious rich laugh that irritates the shit out of him. He loves money, sure, who wouldn’t enjoy abundance? Yet the way they act makes his skin crawl, his mom’s gloved hand in front of her mouth, diamonds glittering all over her.
“You’re a sweet teacher,” she says, patting your shoulder. “We expect nothing less from him however, in fact it’s just standard for our family.”
“Well I have never seen a student that smart,” you’re sick with the way they go on about him, sighing as you see your literal bosses getting irritated at you. “You should be so proud.”
Proud.
Who the fuck was proud of him until you?
Was that when he fell in love, when you gushed on and on about his english lit paper to him so excitedly? Was it when you told him how beautiful his poetry was when he thought it was shit? Satoru was all math and science, he wasn’t lofty words like you, he didn’t have his head in the clouds, all dreamy.
Until you.
But no, it was the moment he saw you in that class the first day, smiling shyly at him with a pen in your hand, with those glasses perched on the pretty bridge of your nose, the way even in the shitty fluorescents you looked so beautiful. That was when he wanted you, physically, but now it’s so much more that it’s painful to not be on you, not to be right near you.
He reminds himself soon you’ll be ready, but it’s damn near impossible when all he can think of is dragging you against him.
“Well we are flattered you’ve taken such an interest,” his father says, nose up in the air, chuckling. “Don’t fear you have to suck up too much to us dear, we want to promote you.”
“It’s not sucking up?”
You can’t stand them, nor can you stand the sight of Satoru surrounded by eight young college girls. You look young, thirty isn’t old or anything, but you’re not fucking eighteen anymore, with your entire youth ahead of you, all bubbly and excited.
You’re a homebody with a cat who likes to fucking crochet.
Satoru eyes you though, blue eyes glinting with his plump lips pressed against the glass. Your colleague comes up with two glasses of champagne too, smiling at you, Gojo’s parents instantly recognize him.
“Mr. Nanami,” Nanami is the top professor of physics, Satoru has seen him trying to get with you, it seems you finally at least gave him attention. “We wanted to talk to you about something.
Mr. Nanami, he is handsome and he’s your age, is that what you wanted, when Satoru could give you the fucking world?
He’s not insecure, oh no, he’s possessive of what is his, he always has been. As an only child his toys even were never shared with his friends, and he sure the fuck wasn’t planning on sharing you either.
“It’s a pleasure to see you both, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo,” he says with ease, smiling down at you understandingly. Everyone knows how pretentious they are, but that they pay for your lives. “This event is lovely.”
“It certainly is,” you agree, feigning an ease you don’t feel, when Satoru dances with a girl. He should, he’s a young college aged boy really, he should have fun and explore, and get over whatever he thinks is special about you.
Why does it make you nauseous? Why can you so vividly remember him pressing a kiss to your soppy wet panties the other day, and how he pressed his hard body against you? You can’t think it, and you’ll actively shove that all down, hoping that whatever game he was playing he was bored with, even if it hurt in your own stupidity, in your madness.
Hearing you were perfect from his pink lips, and getting looked at the way he did was enough to make you want to ruin your life, and that’s not okay. It’s all for the best, that he’s got a girl giggling in his arms, you even smile at him, but he doesn't smile back – no, not at all, his eyes slip down your body instead, like a sensuous caress that sends shivers down your spine.
Like he’s touching you.
Nanami and you dance as well, the room is spread amongst those dancing close and those murmuring in corners, those agreeing to deals that are shady, it’s how these things go. Politicians, educators, businessmen, all agreeing to scratch each other’s back if this gets done or that gets done. In this you agreed with Nanami, they certainly were something else.
To think of growing up like that hurts, you had your own rough upbringing and it was not a wealthy one, but it didn’t make it any easier you’re sure on Satoru, and the fact that you care so damn much infuriates you. The fact that all night you keep catching sight of him, until you’re both at the open bar, grabbing a drink, but his hand halts yours, wrapping around your wrist.
“You can’t do this around everyone,” you whisper, tugging back and looking around nervously, Satoru Gojo in a fucking tuxedo was enough to ruin you. “What exactly is it that you want?”
He laughs without humor, eyeing that glittery black dress, the way the light hits your pretty earrings that dangle. He touches the cool silver carefully, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he does. You swallow nervously, stepping back just a bit, inhaling his cologne, his scent, damn near tasting his lips when he leans low, the sweetness of his breath.
“What do I want, hmm…” He trails off, blue eyes dropping to your lips now, frowning. “Why’d you wear that color, sweetheart? No red lipstick at home, do I need to buy you some?”
“I have several shades of red,” you take the wine, placing it to those lips, and he glares. “Your games? I am not playing them. You can’t tell me what to wear, or what to do, okay?”
He smirks now, sipping his own glass of a sweet blush rather than a rich red like you, stepping so close his thighs brush against yours, making you face his strong chest, aching for more. You want to move just a bit so that his thigh brushes your cunt that's perpetually pulsing when he’s near, you want to drag him down by his tie and curse him for being so attractive.
You don’t.
You can’t.
You shouldn’t want to.
“Who are you here with?” He asks, an edge to his dulcet tone.
“You know him,” you murmur softly, letting the strong wine touch your tongue, sighing then. “He’s kind, and he’s-”
“If you say your age I swear to god. He’s old.”
“Satoru, he's five years older than me?”
“And I’m eight years younger, but that’s the problem?”
“Yes!”
He smirks. “He couldn’t keep up with you.”
“Keep up with me, I read books on my couch on Fridays?" You quiet then, cursing softly and shaking your head. “That girl you just danced with, excellent student, beautiful girl, and she’s got it bad for you.”
Satoru’s jaw tenses, eyes narrowing. “And?”
“And, she’d be a cute girlfriend,” you put a hand on his shoulder, and your touch burns, his heart pounding as he aches to throw you over his shoulder and beat your ass until it’s black and blue, before he throws you into his goddamn limo and fucks these dumb thoughts out of your head. “Maybe you should think about that.”
“Maybe…” he leans low, too close, even as you step back his hand stops you, gripping your waist with long fingers wrapping you. “You should get fucked into a nice mating press, until your brain shuts off.”
You gasp, flushing furiously, he pulls back and chuckles, sipping his drink. “Into a… what now!?”
“You’re so cute, you don’t even know what that is,” his eyes drift down your breasts now, exhaling. “You shouldn’t show off what’s mine so easily.”
“Oh what the fuck, you need so much counseling… meds, therapy… something, okay?”
“Yeah, I probably do, or I could just fill you up and fold you in half,” he whispers it so casually, like it’s meant to spill from lips stained pink from wine, his snowy lashes lowering and casting shadows underneath on his cheeks. “Wonder how flexible you are, hmm?”
“Not as flexible as an eighteen year old cheerleader,” you nudge your head in that direction, Satoru scoffs. “Fold her in your mating whatever, as you should. You’re in college.”
“You know you don’t want him, or anyone,” he says, eyes glinting now, and for a moment it is just Gojo, the entire room full of people fades to nothing, a ringing in your ears like the oxygen is being sucked from your lungs while you look at him. “Stop lying to yourself to be some goody-good.”
“Stop flirting with your professor,” he laughs again, but you stomp away, dragging Nanami back out to the dance floor. A girl comes up – he forgot her name – who has names really, but yours now?
You look at him, as if to prove some point, and let Nanami kiss your lips ever so briefly. Satoru almost breaks the glass in his hand, little cracks forming and swimming up to the rim, he sees you stiffen a bit, not arch like you did for him, not drag his face against yours, whining out. No, you just let him, and you smile a bit when he pulls away, before you excuse yourself.
Satoru almost kills him.
He almost kills you, but he’s too in love with you even when you hurt him, even when you try to act like this isn’t what you want – what you need. He quickly excuses himself from the several girls talking to him, rushing to follow you, hearing your soft crying as you rush to the bathroom.
You just kissed someone to prove a point, and it proved the fucking opposite, leaving you in tears, looking at yourself in the mirror, wondering just what the fuck Satoru Gojo was doing to your brain. “Fuck, I’m stupid… what the…”
The door slams open.
“Gojo, what the fuck!?” You stare at the psychotic six foot four student locking the door to the woman’s restroom, his eyes desperate and dilated – so much so they’re fucking black.
He walks up to you and says nothing as you tremble, leaning against the marble counter of the several pretty gold sinks, he soon snatches up a napkin and wets it, making you blink in confusion. He says nothing, just coming to stand behind you now, wrapping an arm around your waist to drag you against his hard body, the other holding the napkin dripping down onto white swirls of marble.
“The fuck!?” You say it again, like Gojo will ever make any sense, every time you think you have him figured out he confuses you more.
Some infatuation that will pass – it doesn’t seem to. Some damaged boy that has issues? Sure, but that’s not what this is, not when his dark eyes fringed by thick white lashes eye you with an insane anger in the gold gilded mirror, reflecting the flush of your cheeks as he stands so tall and big behind you.
It’s the first time you’ve looked at the two of you together, not in the way you perceive in your head, but in the way that you look good in his arms, matching colors to your clothes, you’re small compared to him – who isn’t small compared to Satoru? You don’t look older than him, not at all, not like you seem to imagine in your brain, and that makes this worse.
You look perfect there.
It’s as he said, as he seems to think, for a moment he falters and halts, saying nothing, until you snap out of it and glare into his reflection, and his jaw clenches. “Seriously get out - mph!”
Satoru’s roughly wiping off all of your pretty mauve covergirl lip stain, the stuff that is smudge proof is swiped roughly, even as you wriggle in his arms, ass pressing against him, his heart hammering right between your shoulder blades. Satoru’s voice is low and dangerous as he chuckles with no humor, gripping your chin now and pressing you against the counter bruisingly.
“Didn’t wear red, that’s fine, I like how independent you are professor, or how you pretend to be,” you’re gasping when he’s rubbed your lips until they’re bare, swollen and reddened from the rude wipes. “But I damn sure won’t kiss you with his fucking lips on yours.”
“You’re psychotic!” You hiss, he just laughs, now grinning, that blue ring around his pupils glittering brightly, cupping your face almost delicately.
“Yeah, I am,” he agrees softly, exhaling now as he studies you. “Did you want to kiss him, or did you do it because he seems ‘right’ to kiss?”
You pause now, tummy in knots, overheated from his nearness, you shut your eyes and shake your head in his hold, shoving at his hand. “We can’t do this, especially here. Your parents-”
“Fuck them, look at yourself,” you shake your head and he forces your gaze back to the mirror. “Look at how good you look on me.”
“Even so…”
“Put this on, now,” your eyes flutter open, and he’s holding some golden, fancy fucking lipstick. “It’s your shade, trust me.”
“You’re a makeup artist and a psycho?”
“Multitalented, in many ways,” his voice is husky, you’re shaking your head, refusing, when his fingers trail down your tummy, slipping up your glittery sequined gown. “Do it, and I’ll make you cum again.”
“No, you’ll not do anything, no more of your stupidly long fingers,” he just grins, pressing kisses down the side of your neck, fingers grazing your clit over the black lace you wore tonight. “Fuck, you can’t…”
“I’ll lick your pretty cunt till you forget everything,” you’re trembling in his hold, as he places the tube in your hand, his other one making your cunt drip. “Forget being independent, and wanting to do shit ‘the hard way’ yeah? Just let me take care of you.”
“It’s nonsense, you want to have some hook up and it’s going too far,” you whisper, tears pricking your eyes with desire, you’re dripping so much that it’s embarrassing. “You’re saying things you don’t mean, fucking with me, and it can’t keep going.”
“Oh sweetheart,” he presses a kiss on your ear, looking at how beautiful you are in his arms, wrapped tight, belonging to him and only him at that very moment. “I mean every word, I’ll let you keep this act up for a bit, it’s cute really. But you know you want it, you know you need it.”
“I don’t, mnh!” He’s pressing up hard on your clit now, before dipping his fingertip into your hole, slipping it out and leaving it pulsing around nothing, he slathers his own lips with it, smirking at you.
“There’s my lipgloss from you,” he murmurs, sucking his fingertip and your juices, your mouth drops open at the action. “Time for you to wear mine.”
“This is stupid and we need to get back!” You take a breath and look in the mirror, at his pretty face with his glossy lips and his batshit insane eyes glowing. “Fine, I’ll do it, just to get back to the event.”
“Sure, teach, if you say so,” he whispers, pressing his hard cock under his slacks where it reaches the small of your back, even in heels the man’s legs were far too long in comparison, his big hands slipping up and down your body. “Put it on. Now, be a good girl for once.”
Fuck Gojo.
Fuck him, really.
The fact that his words make you almost gush, so much so you press your thighs together and whine out to his quirk of lips is bullshit. He knows what he’s doing, and he won’t relent, even with a room full of women after him and all over him, he’s here behind you, with some cherry red lipstick that you’re twisting open, hands shaking violently.
“You have a whole room of girls after you,” you whisper then, and he raises a brow. “Why are you here?”
“None of them come close to you,” you hate what that makes you feel, eyes fluttering shut in desire, arching against him when you don’t mean to, he grips your chin again. “Look at you, fuck, prettier than anyone in that room tonight.”
“Don’t,” you shake your head and twist up the lipstick, glimmering under the soft can lights ahead, looking at your swollen lips now. “I’ll put it on then we’ll go back and be normal, a professor and a student.”
“Mhm, sure we will,” he guides your hand. “Put. It. On.”
You swipe the beautiful velvety color over one side of your lips to the other, starting at your cupid’s bow and then drifting down to the corner, first the upper lip as he moans softly, already rutting his cock against you. You barely hold open your eyes, whimpering softly as you glide it along the lower, his tongue laps up the vein on the side of your neck, his groan vibrating against your skin.
It’s firmly in place, the color he’s chosen, it looks so beautiful on you it’s hard for Satoru to not just slide his cock deep inside you, he knows you have to need him more, you have to let go more first. But it’s painful in that moment, your teary eyes and the slightest bit of mascara running down your cheeks, which he swipes away almost reverently.
“Perfect,” he whispers, you set the tube down, pressing your lips together, turning to him now, until he’s looming so tall and thick in front of you, overtaking your every sense. “You see, I knew it would look beautiful on your skin. I know so much about you, sweetheart, more than even you do.”
You want to tell him he’s ridiculous, to tell him to stop, but for a moment you forget that you shouldn’t, slipping your hands up his chest, hearing his sharp intake of breath. Your eyes trail up that broad chest under his dress shirt, up the skinny black tie to his pretty face, the one fucking your dreams and reality up just existing.
It’s quiet then, just his breaths heavier, yours more shallow, his hands slipping down your waist to grip your hips, thumbs pressing into your pelvis. Your head falls back, tendrils of hair slipping out from the carefully put up style, falling gently against bare shoulders still glistening from open mouthed kisses.
“Did you mean what you said?” He asks then, you blink a bit. “What you said to my parents, did you mean it?”
Your heart breaks in that moment, seeing the eyes that have been insane now softer, the lips parted and needy, boyish almost right in front of you. You curse softly, looking away for a moment, when he lifts you effortlessly onto that sink, spreading your thighs and shoving you back, until your head is pressed against the mirror, back arching up as his lips are hovering, breath ghosting yours.
“Answer me, now.”
“You don’t boss me-”
“Now, for me, please? Answer, fuck just be good,” he’s whispering, kissing down your throat, you hate that your hand entangles in silky white locks, when he kisses the tops of your breasts. “Did you mean it?”
You sigh now, nodding. “Yes, I meant it, of course, I didn’t know you heard… mnh!”
“Shh,” he’s kissing your lips, the bright cherry red so addictive, fingers grazing your jaw. “You meant it.”
“Of course you’re exceptional, of course they should be proud, they’re just… no offense…”
“Say it.”
“They’re fucking terrible, okay?” You brush his hair back, as your breaths mingle, and your foreheads rest together. “It’s okay, my parents were terrible too.”
Satoru didn’t know that.
“Were?” He asks softly, and you nod, his hands sinking into your thighs. “Weren’t proud of you?”
“Never,” you admit softly, shaking your head. “You don’t need their approval, you just think you do.”
Satoru’s deeper in love with you every moment you breathe.
He inhales your perfume, wanting to drink it, let it dance along his senses forever, when he tugs your hips closer, eyeing you under thick lashes. “If your parents treated you like that, I’d fucking end them.”
“Satoru!”
“I’d end anyone who hurt you,” he whispers, kissing hungrily and kneeling on one knee, teeth sinking into your thigh. “Anyone who touches you.”
“You can’t talk like that,” you’re terrified of him as much as you want him, as much as his psychotic words should scare you they make you wetter, which he sees the moment he slips your panties to the side. “You can’t.”
“I mean what I say too,” he whispers, drunk off the first swipe of that arousal that’s drooled out of your little hole, your gasp and jerk of your hips enough to ruin him forever. “Let me show you how exceptional I am, pretty professor.”
Your thighs spread wider, he notices with a smirk, even as you bite down on your lip, shaking your head. “We shouldn’t be in here, doing this.”
“You’re right, I wanted to lick you on your desk first,” he moans and laps at your cunt again, palming his thick leaky cock. “Why don’t you make me proud, and squirt on my face this time?”
“Satoru - ah!” He’s sucking your twitchy little clit so hard you see stars, your hips lifting off the sink as he pins you back down, fingers sinking into your thighs, bruising you with blossoming marks that will last for days.
You’re done acting like you don’t want it, him worshipping you on your knees as his long pink tongue is torturing your clit, letting your cunt drool down his lips, down his chin. He’s sucking and licking and swallowing every drop, eyes locked on yours as you cry out, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until you’re moving against his face.
His pretty professor, the little goody goody is fucking his face, he grins for a moment, parting your folds and exhaling, watching the hole clench. “I can’t wait until I’m watching my cum pour out of that tiny little hole.”
You swallow at that, seeing the filthy vision right with him, when he spreads you wide, spitting right in your hole. You gasp at that, but he’s relentless now, tongue fucking your hole and curling up at that spongy spot, you have to slam a hand on your mouth while he fucks you with it, thumb running torturous circles on your clit, until you feel like you’re going to shatter.
“Satoru…” He moans against you at the use of his first name, at the way your hands pull his hair till it’s pricking his scalp with pain.
God he knew it would be perfect to fuck your pussy with his mouth, but he didn’t anticipate how much he’d love it, how insane and fucking feral it would make him, curling it up again and feeling you cumming. He feels you pulsing around that wet muscle, forcing so much liquid you’re making a fucking mess of him, his cock pulses right with you, ready to pump you full.
“Mmm,” he moans, as he slurps you up, standing up and bending now, dragging you by your ass so that your cunt is at level with him. “No more arguments, professor?”
You say nothing, eyes all fucked out and glazed over, when he slides two fingers in and curls them, you cover your mouth again, screaming out with your eyes rolling back, so pretty for him, he smirks as you start to tighten up again.
“Gonna cum twice, back to back? You’re so easy for me,” he whispers, bending down to spit on your clit again, laughing as you whine out, jerking your hips. “Think that professor Nanami could do this to you?”
“You’re… I… ah!” You’re useless at this point, and he fucking knows it, he relishes in it in fact. “Satoru, please…”
“Please,” he groans now, spit soaked cunt getting toyed with, his lips kissing your forehead almost sweetly as he fucks you with his stupidly long fingers. “You’re beggin’ f’me huh? Good, that’s real good sweetheart – you are making me proud. Please… what? Say it.”
“Let me cum.” The words spill before you can stop them, making you both gasp out.
“Fuck…”
Satoru jumps back down immediately, dying to give you what you want, you hate yourself in that moment but it’s brief – his fingers fucking you almost touching your cervix have you feeling far too good to remember where you are. A bathroom with the entire college outside, getting split open by your psychotic student’s fingers.
“Ah!” You’re biting down on your lip when he sucks your clit, groaning against your skin, vibrating that twitchy little thing while he greedily laps up every drop, sucking hard on it and humming until you’re crying out, thighs trembling as you cum all over his face again.
This time his fingers hit your spot and his tongue laps your clit too good, too much, your tummy tightening before you’re squirting onto his tongue, his lips, his pretty face and chin. Satoru’s drinking it all up, whispering your name while you’re embarrassingly dripping down his neck, even his collar is decorated in your slick, while you’re boneless, fuzzy minded and weak.
“Ngh, s-sensitive, mnh…” He smiles against your clit at that, easing his fingers out of your fluttering hole, studying the mess he’s made you.
“Fuck, you did so good for me,” he groans out those words, licking his fingers clean, eyes locked on yours as he swallows every drop. “So fucking perfect.”
He’s going to ruin your life.
And you’re about to just let him.
The thought slices through your hazy, fucked out mind as Satoru’s tongue plunges deeper in your hole that’s already cum so much, like he’s ready to clean every part of you, his mouth relentless. Your thighs tremble around his head, locking up now. “Too much, f-fuck!”
“Not too much, you can take it,” he whispers, pinning your hips down further, chuckling. “Thought I was done, teach? Hah - no.”
The cold marble of the sink is biting into your skin, the zipper on the back of your dress pressing into your flesh, while his heat consumes you, while Satoru consumes you. Every flick, every suck, every drag of a filthy tongue just pushes you closer to that edge, the edge of insanity, the ends of your conscience, of your morals.
You arch to him, body moving on its own, manicured nails pressing against his scalp, a sob catching in your throat as tears fall, overstimulated, even in the car it hadn’t been this intense, but he shows you no mercy, lost and buried. The music and laughter echoes as all you hear is a ringing in your ears, mixed with the wet sounds of your cunt echoing off the tiles.
Too much.
He’s too much.
You try to say the words, struggling, gasping out. “Satoru, t-too much - ngh!”
He pulls back for a moment, eyes black with desire, matching your own that keep rolling back into your skull.
"Never enough of you," his husky words tickle your clit, the vibration shattering you again, the third orgasm he’s given you crashing over you, painful in its intensity. “That’s it, look at you, falling apart for me. Good girl.”
You’re fucked out on him, he shoves your thighs as they threaten to close, ringing every bit of pleasure from your body. You scream into your own palm desperately, overheated and dizzy, body convulsing as he drinks you down more, greedy and worshiping you, back on his knees.
“Perfect…” He keeps murmuring, and he keeps sucking up every drip like it’s the sweetest nectar, he doesn’t stop, not when your legs shake and clamp down on his head on either side.
No he can’t stop – he’s waited for this so long.
Only when you slump back and go limp, crying tears down your cheeks, begging him to stop, whispering his first name over and over, does he lift his head up, hair all tousled and messy from your grip. His lips glistening with you as he stands, smirking and easing your soppy mess of your panties to the side. He fixes your dress down your hips just a bit, brushing a finger over cherry red lips.
“Told you," he whispers softly. "I’d show you that I am exceptional, yeah?"
All you can do is helplessly nod, equilibrium fucked up, off the earth as if clinging to him will keep you there. “Y-yes.”
“God, look at you,” he swipes at your tears now. “You’re crying, that’s so fucking pretty.” He’s gripping that chin and tugging at your mouth, swathed with that perfect red. “Open.”
You don’t even hesitate this time, opening eagerly for the spit, tinged with your sweet arousal, Satoru groans as the saliva drips in a trail into your open mouth, dancing on your tongue. His own laps at yours, a mess between you both as it spills and pours, his fingers tightening against your scalp, cock pressing against where he’d just devoured.
“Mnh,” you’re lost now, trembling thighs on his hips, eyes lidded and dazed. “You’re so fucking perfect like this, sweetheart.”
“In me,” you curse the words as soon as they come out, he smirks just a bit and you know you’ve fucked up.
“Need me inside you?” He shoves his cock hard, grinding between your slick folds. “Ask again, sweetheart.”
“I can’t, I shouldn’t have,” you’re shaking now, tugging at his dress shirt, dying to see his cock, to have it buried. “Ignore me, please.”
Satoru pauses then, gripping your hands, pressing them together behind your back now, hands so tight it’s bruising. He glares down at you, eyes taking over your face like he’s committing it to memory, and your heart almost stops in your chest. The way he looks at you is overwhelming, you’re so lost you’d let him do anything in that moment, regardless of your career, your life.
That’s terrifying.
“I have never ignored you, pretty little teacher,” he whispers, one hand around your wrists, the other cupping your face, thumb brushing your now glossy lips. “How could I ignore one thing about you?”
“I should act better than this,” your eyes shut, hating yourself at that moment. “I’m your peer-”
“You’re a pretty, fucked out little girl,” you gasp, eyes shooting up at his words, his smirk curving. “Fucked out from my fingers, then my mouth, can’t wait until my cock finally does ruin you I bet.”
It’s quiet, when he lets you go, leaving you a huffing little mess, rubbing your tender wrists, struggling to even meet his gaze. He adjusts the straps that have fallen down your shoulders, brushing them ever so carefully, before helping you down on wobbly legs, chuckling darkly.
“Can’t even stand, cute…” He turns you and snatches out a couple bobby pins, re-fixing your hair back up. “Can’t have them thinking anything just yet, that wouldn’t be good, would it? Knowing you used your student’s face to cum?”
“Ugh!” You turn and shove at him, but he’s just grinning, tugging you against him. “Your little game might be fun to you, you’ll be fine. But to me it’s not funny, not at all do you get it!?”
You rush to the door, but he presses you against it, hard body making you meld against a cold unforgiving door, his long fingers surround your delicate neck as he turns you face to him. “It’s not a game to me.”
“Let me go, Satoru.”
“One more kiss, so you don’t forget who you fucking belong to when you’re talking to that physics professor,” he slams his lips on yours, relishing in how you melt against him. “Mmm, you love kissing me.”
“Shut up,” you kiss him desperately, arching for more of him, knowing it’s insanity. “This won’t continue, you’ll act mmm… correctly in class.”
“Sure, pretty professor,” he slips greedy hands across your tits, squishing them and moaning, rutting his cock against your ass for a moment, so close. “I’ll be your best student, aren’t I always?”
He releases you and unlocks the door, leaning low with his lips against your ear.
“I’ll wait a few minutes,” he says, brushing your hair back gently. “Don’t forget your lipstick.”
He places it in your hand, and you quickly take it, before rushing out of the bathroom, leaving him with a smile, sighing and resting his head on the shut door. You're so close to being his soon, he can just taste it, like he tastes that cunt all over his tongue.
*****
Satoru has started to watch you in your sleep this week.
He's ever so careful when he slips inside your room, as not to wake you. You're foolish enough to leave that window unlocked, when you're his he will make sure that never happens, but for now it is a convenient thing, since you're on the first floor. Not like he wouldn't climb up any story to see you.
He's a devoted future husband.
He exhales and carefully studies you in the dark room. Your cute cat is curled up, but he likes Satoru anyway, so a quick pet and he curls back up on your feet. Satoru carefully leans forward, brushing a strand of your hair that's covering your pretty face, smiling at your sleeping form.
He'd love to fuck you like this, pliant and willing, thighs not trying to strangle him, just open and letting him devour you. He wishes he could now, but your first time needs to be a conscious choice, not even for consent so much as he'll relish in that moment you completely admit that he's the only one for you.
‘In me.’
God turning that down was hard, fucking brutal, his months long fantasy woman, the love of his life begging for it? But he was patient, he'd stay patient too, even if he does tug your top down a bit, slipping a blanket low, to state at your tits in your sleep.
You take melatonin and sip on wine. He's observed it as a routine, it's a cocktail that works for him, since you never stir, almost lightly snoring. Satoru doesn't feel bad lapping at a nipple. You always enjoy it when he kisses a part of you, whispering his name this time, which makes him halt, looking up at you.
“You're dreaming of me,” he murmurs, kissing your breast and moaning, covering you back up gently, his cock aching in that moment, it takes so much not to fill you, instead kissing your lips gently and sighing, seeing you stir just a bit. “Stop being so stubborn, and I'll give everything to you.”
His fingers drift across the curves of your body once more with deliberate slowness before he disappears, jerking it in his car as has become his torturous night routine. But you would ultimately be worth waiting for, when he broke down every barrier and fucked every thought out of your pretty little head.
Just him, he needs it just him.
You wake up with a gasp, having dreamt of Satoru again, but this time it felt so fucking real. You touch your chest, your racing heart, turning around and covering your face with your blankets.
You feel like you're losing your mind.
He's insane and I'm in love with him, ahh I can't wait to hear what you all think! <3
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Takuma was stressed, everything just went wrong today. The mission was shit because he messed up and somebody else needed to jump in, Nanami scolded him for it and he spilled his drink over himself. To put it short, he was stressed and pissed and needed an outlet. The outlet being you. As soon as he stepped through the door of your flat you could sense his bad mood. The usal cheerful greeting sounded annoyed. „What's up baby?' you asked in a questioning tone. „Bed. Now.“ is all he said.
So that's were you are now, on the bed, legs spread and his head in between them sucking on your clit like there is no tomorrow. You already feel close after a few minutes. Takuma was just too skilled in eating pussy, its like he has never done anything else in life. Like he lives and breathes to eat you out.
You moan out in pleasure as the wave of your orgasm comes crashing down on you, hitting you like a ton of bricks. Normally he would stop when he had your legs quivering and shaking to give you a break in between the orgasms, but this time he didn't, he kept going, abusing your bundle of nerves till you cry out that its too much. Still he didn't stop, it was like he was possessed. He wanted to overstimulate you. Make you cum over and over again.
Takuma added two fingers into your tight hole and started curling his fingers just right. He knew you in and out, where to touch you to make you loose your mind. Your moans where like music to his ears and he was humming to the tones into your dripping cunt. He kept going, wanting to push you over the edge again, get this shitty day out of his head and just please his pretty baby.
The sweet pain of the overstimulation turns into sweet pleasure again, making you grab his hair and tug on it. As you do so he lets out a loud moan, rutting his hips against the bed. He can feel you getting close, his fingers being hugged by your clenching pussy. He sucked on your clit, hard, you felt like you were in heaven, your vision going blurry for a second as you feel your orgasm hitting hard. Your orgasm was accompanied by a gush from you that you never had felt before. Your looked thighs around his head loosend after a few seconds, catching your breath but still riding out your orgasm and grinding against his face.
As you opened your eyes again and looked down to see Takuma he was stroking your thigh with his thumb, his face covered in wetness, grinning up at you. „Fuck, I`m so sorry baby!“ you uttered out with a red face, fully embarressed. „Baby, are you kidding me that was so hot, holy shit.“
He crawled up next to you onto the bed. That's when you noticed the dark stain on his pants. „Did you really cum from me squirting all over you?“ He just laughed and gave you a kiss on your cheek, cuddeling up beside you. „Of course baby, my biggest turn on is you cumming“
After a few whispered soft praises and after care he grinned right into your face. „I'm not done with you just yet, that was just the start. I had a long day and I am about to make it even longer.“
tags:
@cuntphoric @inotaku-talkz @somewhere-elena @heysoijust (if you don't wanna be tagged anymore just write me a dm :))
So You Want To Read Batman Comics But Have No Idea Where To Start
So: you’re new to the DC Comics fandom and are interested in Batman and his family. Maybe you already know a bit about them and are just looking to figure out where to start reading actual comics. Maybe you know nothing. Maybe you know a whole lot about one character but want to start reading more about another one.
Whichever it is, I’m here to help! There’s a wide range of Batman/Batfamily comics (for all ages, moods, and types of people), and I’m happy to meet people where they are and help people dive into comics. On that note, brace yourselves, because this is going to be a long post. Recs start under the cut.
—IMPORTANT NOTES ABOUT READING COMICS—
Superhero comics are traditionally written in what’s known as runs; an author gets to have an extended period on an ongoing (or limited) title where they (traditionally) write in 4-8 issue story arcs; think of these arcs as chapters in a potentially never-ending book. These individual issues are colloquially known as floppies. So when I talk about “Tom Taylor’s run” on the Nightwing title, for example, I’m talking about the main author on the Nightwing title from March 2021-September 2024 (Nightwing (2016) #78-118). Every so often, titles end, the principal author on the titles switch up, or they’ll have “guest/interim authors” come in to do single issues or a single story arc.
These story arcs are then collected in hardcovers or ‘trade paperbacks’ (generally referred to as trades, occasionally TPBs); both collect the entire story arc (plus bonus/behind the scenes material, in some cases) in a single paperback/hardback book. Trades are super useful if you want to read an entire story at one time, want to be economical about your comics spending, and/or want to read things in order. Occasionally, if a writer has a particularly long run on a title or a big company event happens, you get published omnibuses that collect an entire event or run (or part of it, if the event is big enough); omnis are very expensive up-front, but ultimately they tend to be good deals and are often curated well. These collections are all generally also released digitally. Frankly, unless you’re into comics collecting, want individual issues for their pretty covers, or are supporting a currently ongoing run, I would default to buying trades/omnibuses where possible. It’s simply cheaper and easier for reading.
List Notes: Each character list is sorted vaguely chronologically according to a combination of IRL publication dates and the character’s personal timeline. Big caveat that these are not all-inclusive reading lists nor are the inclusions inherently indicators of quality; I’m just trying to hit major character highlights. You should also note that many comics contain multiple Batfam members due to the ridiculous number of crossover events and the solid integration of the Batfamily as a whole into each others’ books in the post-90s era. Comic rec tl;drs are given at the end of each character’s list. Most of the links will take you to Amazon/Comixology, but I also talk about various ways to access and read comics at the bottom of this post.
Secondary Note: DC Comics works in three universes: the pre-Crisis universe (everything published from the beginning of DC Comics until the Crisis on Infinite Earths event in 1986), the post-Crisis universe (everything published between 1986 and 2011), and the post-Flashpoint universe (2011-now).
In 2011, DC completely rebooted their universe following the ‘Flashpoint’ event. This new universe (interchangably called the New 52 universe, post-Flashpoint universe, or Prime Earth) drastically changed many characters’ histories, personalities, and relationships with each other (sometimes for the better, most of the time for the worse). The early years of the post-Flashpoint universe are an absolute incoherent mess continuity-wise; DC’s been trying to sort it all out over the past few years with the Rebirth and Infinite Frontier events (with varying degrees of success), and there are definitely some bright bits and pieces, but it is not my favored universe (though I will certainly recommend it where needed or when it’s good).
Now: let’s get started, shall we? Lists below the cut (please click here to view the most updated version of this post on desktop via my blog instead of on mobile/the dashboard, for easy readability and formatting purposes):
CW: f!reader, cursing, miscommunicatiooonnnn, childhood bsfs to lovers implied, NOT proofread, use of y/n, fluff (wc: 987)
kuroo can tell you almost everything—almost.
you’re the first person he calls when he flunks a test, the first one he describes in detail how he ate shit on the way to school. hell, he even tells you first when there’s drama at home.
but the one thing he can’t bring himself to say?that he’s been in love with you since elementary.
he was planning on putting it off until the two of you graduate college (for some reason), but hearing you casually mention you’re going out with the new transfer kid from class 3-2 next week? yeah, that’s what sends him spiraling.
what was he even supposed to do?
the two of you have never talked about dating, not even once, so it’s not like he has any clue how to go about asking you out. actually—now that he thinks about it—he doesn’t even know what your type is.
so, when the bell rings, indicating lunch time, he somehow manages to snag your other best friend before anyone.
"hey! what the hell is your issue?" she says, shrugging his hand off her shoulder. "are you here to ask me out? i'll get y/n to kick your ass, y'know,"
“what?! no! it’s just—” he groans, standing up straighter and raking a hand through his hair. "what the hell does y/n see in that transfer kid compared to me?"
“i dunno, maybe he doesn’t treat her like she’s one of your homeboys.”
“huh?”
“are you dense? do you wrestle with any other girl like that?”
“...i thought letting her win was enough,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. “and she starts it most of the time anyway!”
“okay, and what about yesterday? you shoved your whole bento in her face.”
“she dared me! said i was too much of a pussy to do it.”
“kuroo. this is why she doesn’t like you. anyway, i gotta go. y/n’s waiting.”
she quickly says before scurrying off. kuroo simply stands there for a few moments before sluggishly making his way to the spot him and kenma usually eat at.
the next morning goes like usual. he finishes last night’s homework, brushes his teeth, throws on his uniform, and waits outside your house. but not the walk to school, it’s weirdly quiet.
“hey, say something. you always have something stupid to start my morning off,” you say, nudging his arm. all you get is a grunt in return.
“i’ll laugh at your stupid cat jokes,” you say, shoving his arm. “are you okay?” kuroo lets out a long sigh, running his hand over his face. “yeah, yeah– i’m just exhausted.”
he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah. just tired.”
“i can tell. you didn’t even try to race me.”
“maybe it’s time i grow up.”
“okay, now you’re just being weird.”
you figure maybe he just needs rest. but it doesn’t stop. it’s been a week. he’s been weirdly distant—still the same with everyone else, but not with you. and every time you try to get it out of him, he shuts down.
it’s friday, 9:47 PM when kuroo hears banging on his door. the only reason he memorizes the time is just in case it’s a murderer banging on his door—if he makes it out, at least he’ll know what time to tell the cops.
but instead, it’s you.
“aren’t you supposed to be on a da—”
“what is wrong with you?” you snap, pushing past him. “you haven’t joked with me in days. you’ve been avoiding me—but you’re perfectly fine with everyone else! did i do something?”
“no, but—”
“if i did, you’re supposed to tell me, dumbass! i should hit you the same way you hit me when i ignored you! and what’s with not fighting back anymore?”
“i–”
“you’re so boring now, it’s like—”
“can you just come inside already?” kuroo says slightly louder than intended. the two of you walk up to his room before he flops down on his bed. he lets out a long sigh before looking up at the roof.
“i’m not mad,”
you sit beside him, knees pulled to your chest as you look down at him. kuroo doesn’t think he can handle looking back at you—not right now, at least.
“i’m jealous.”
“of what?”
“of the fact that there are... better guys out there. ones you might actually like. i forgot i’d have competition,” he mumbles.
“what are you even saying—”
“y/n, i like you. i like you so much it’s been driving me crazy. i tried to ask your friend—whatever her name is—what you liked, and she said you’d never go for someone like me ‘cause i don’t treat you the right way or some bullshit like that.” kuroo finally admits, sitting up, but not quite facing you yet. kuroo starts to sweat. “sor—”
“you idiot!” you yell, smacking his arm before yanking on his ear.
“ow!” he whines.
“what the hell did i tell you about letting others speak for me, huh? if your dumbass had told me this in the first place, i would’ve told you i like you back!”
“y-y-what?” kuroo stammers, letting out a grunt when you release his ear—only to get smacked on the back of the head right after. “how the hell am i supposed to know that i-if you’re talking about going on dates with other dudes?!”
“well, if you would stop cutting me off, i would’ve told you i was just joking. idiot,” you say, shoving his arm again as you scoot in closer to him. “how about you take me on a real date to apologize for your actions, yeah?”
“...fine,” he says, not being able to stop himself from grinning like an idiot before he finally looks at you.
“and if you change for anyone else, i’ll kill you, ‘kay?”
“that’s if you manage to get me first.” (which earns him another punch)
a/n: dear user livteracts i finished this right after i told you about it also guys should i do taglist (i tried to go for the corny theme ngl)
suguru isn’t the type to rush when he has you to himself. he takes his time undressing you, like every button and zipper is something to savor. he enjoys peeling each layer away slowly, fingers brushing against newly exposed skin, eyes drinking in every inch of you and how you shiver. it’s not just about getting you naked—it’s about unwrapping you, piece by piece, with patience.
his quiet touches.
his touch is always soft, but firm. his hands move like he’s learning you all over again, every graze intentional. fingertips dragging over your arms, your back, your waist—he wants to feel you, ground you, remind you he’s right there with you when he pumps you deeply. you can tell he’s memorizing you by the way he moves.
his whispers of affection.
suguru whispers sweet things to you between kisses. such low, intimate little confessions like “you’re so perfect,” or “i’ll never get enough of your sweet pussy.” his voice goes straight to your chest, curling around your heart like a secret only he gets to say, and only you get to hear.
his kisses everywhere.
he kisses more than just your lips—he trails his mouth down your neck, your collarbone, your nipples. he knows exactly where to kiss to get those little gasps he knows and loves. he takes his time with it, tasting every part of you. he’s not in a hurry to get anywhere but here.
his warm voice.
there’s something magnetic about his voice when you’re in his hands. hot, sweet, and steady. it never needs to rise above a murmur to make you listen. he speaks to you as if you’re fragile and precious, even when things get real messy. his words pull you deeper into the moment, helping you let go and feel everything.
his soothing touch.
if things start to get intense, suguru always holds you. fingers through your hair, soft circles traced down your spine. he pauses just to hold you, to remind you that you’re safe. that this is love, not just lust.
the mutual devotion.
the way he looks at you during intimate moments is unreal—like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. you’re the center of his universe in that space. nothing matters more to him than you, and he makes damn sure you feel that in every look, every touch, every breath.
he's a hand holder.
he’s a hand holder, always. during foreplay, during sex, even after. it’s one of the many quiet ways he loves staying connected to you. sometimes he squeezes your fingers right when you need it most, like a silent reminder.
the slow, soft sex.
usually he prefers it slow—thorough and intentional. just to take away your tension with his tenderness. he’s not chasing the finish line. he wants you to feel every second of it. the pace of his cock is steady, each thrust drawn out, like dragging a match along the edge of something combustible.
his love for light teasing.
suguru lives for teasing. he knows your body too well—how to hover just above the places you want him most, how to pull back right when you’re close. he watches you squirm, loving how you ache for him before he finally, finally gives in.
• haibara met someone off grow a garden. yeah thats it.
• BEANSTALK IS IN STOCK!1!1!1!
• everybody thought haibara was going to get taken or kidnapped or something due to his posts… he’s an odd one
• who is watching love island on here… i see a couple of hands and i see romy at the back hi romy
• i am not unfortunately #fake bc peacock isnt available in australia (and its always on general tv when im at work) but im watching it vicariously through tiktok edits #LOVEUCIERRA
• toji can’t cook. sorry. he can’t. he can’t do shit but fix cars.
• the librarian is no one special lol. if anything i thought of making it the grandma ino fought. but like. sweeter. lmk.
• the incident utahime & shiu got banned from the library was them throwing a networking event in the library during the weekend (utahime only helped bc she wants to start her own fashion business)
• raw cookie batter🤤🤤🤤
• satoru is a fucking idiot who can’t cook or bake for shit either
• he only uses low fat bc of his “diet plan” hence why he thought full cream milk clumping at the bottom was normal #extraprotein (why can i smell it)
• yn got food poisoning and had to stay home for 3 days
• satoru thought of making get well soon cupcakes
• shoko shortly stopped him
• satoru begs haibara to let him use his phone but only to look at yns finata
a/n: sorry for the slow updates, a bitch was making the most out of her uni break💔💔 also i lowkey did not know how to start it off LOL but i have a solid idea now & i’m actually looking forward to the next two chapters!!! which will hopefully be posted sunday or monday night :-) ok that’s it from me love u guys
prguitarman
dededos
dailybridgerton
kianamaiart
2087
turnnoffyourmind
tangentwithtanner
