satoru gojo—the blessed one throughout heaven and earth—is, without contention, the strongest sorcerer of the modern era, and your best friend.
years of shared history allows you to discuss almost everything without hesitation. he’s privy to your most sordid sexual fantasies, and the two of you have traded disgraceful mental smut, building a rapport where no topic is strictly off-limits.
a platonic friendship of total transparency (or so you pretend.)
satoru bitches to you constantly about the drought of his sex life. you constantly remind him that there is no shortage of women and men more than willing to end that dry spell, to which he counters with a sassy, “helloooo? i have standards! i’m the strongest, hottest, sexiest sorcerer alive... plus, nobody knows me like y—ahem, i mean, like i do.”
upon receiving no more response than an eye-roll from you, he sighs plaintively and tactfully crossed a leg over to hide his growing tent. well! he can’t tell if you’re being purposefully obtuse; even his six eyes seem to fail him in this regard.
“ever considered that it might be a you problem, satoru?”
after at least six shared orgasms and not a lot of brainstorming, you’ve reached somewhat of a conclusion. the musky, cloying sweetness of sex mingles with the crisp cologne he always wears, and it smells right. feels like home.
you trace the hard, slick ridges of his abdomen with a fingertip, counting every shallow rise and fall as his breath catches up to him. the man lying next to you is a wreck, yet somehow, he still manages to appear angelic. his snowy fringe is plastered to his damp forehead, forming a blinding halo against the white pillows. undoubtedly he’s staring up at the ceiling, the sex-crazed mania ebbing away, tranquillity in its wake.
he stretches, making the muscles beneath your touch ripple. when he finally turns his head, god. those eyes—all the blue skies in the history of the world coalesced into two irises—seem to hold space for nothing but you. satoru offers a boyish grin, then gently grabs your wrist, rubbing his cheek against your palm like an affectionate cat before pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
“an us problem, apparently,” he then wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer so your chests are flush. the cum-slick sensation of your thighs sliding together in the cooling air.
Neighbor Satoru who has the cutest cat, Mochi, that you’ve ever seen before in your life. She’s a beautiful chocolate point ragdoll and you always ask for pictures of Mochi, like almost every day. It started randomly. You’re walking down the hall one day and you just so happen to pass by a random apartment. The door is slightly ajar and out comes running Mochi! Thankfully you catch her and that’s how you meet Satoru. Since then you’ve been messaging Satoru for pictures of Mochi.
It starts off innocent at first. Cute pictures of Mochi loafing on the ground or with some cute hat that Satoru had bought online. But after a while Satoru can’t ignore just how cute his neighbor is and he starts to subtly flirt through the pictures. It starts of small, his hand on Mochi’s head or on her belly. From there it escalates to biceps included in the pictures, hidden by the fact that he’s simply carrying Mochi, it’s innocent enough. Maybe a bit too innocent because you don’t notice that he’s flirting with you at all and all your attention remains on the cat. After about a week of this subtle picture flirting Satoru gets frustrated and fed up and decides to be a bit more brash on his next attempt.
It’s another day and Satoru receives your message like clockwork.
Y/N
mochi pleeaaaaseeeuuhhh
Satoru sends the photo. Mochi’s head barely in frame but just behind her head is a crystal clear view of Satoru’s abs. 6 pack more than visible and pulled taut just to emphasize the rock hard muscle.
The photo comes with a text.
Satoru
u ever gona pay attention to the other cutie? ;((
ა ˙˖ in which → you have car sex with your biggest op, satoru gojo
frat!jo 𝓍 fem!reader
Everyone knows you hate fraternities, especially Theta Phi and it's president, Satoru Gojo
It was a given. The sky is blue, grass is green and according to you, fraternities are the root of all evil.
Which is why when you started fucking Gojo, it was under the condition that this was strictly between the two of you and you'd ruin his life if he told anyone about this.. arrangement.
Here's what not even your closest friends know about you: you had a very high libido and none of the men you were interested in had been capable of keeping up. you tried sleeping with athletes but even they didn't have the stamina to go for more than two rounds and while your vibrators always helped you, you had grown sexually frustrated and needed more.
You started snapping over the tiniest things, losing sleep and even daydreaming during lectures about getting fucked.
This.. arrangement started when you had been assigned to work on a project with Gojo, the arrogant white haired manchild you hated since the first day of uni. Now you were stuck with him for two months, working on a project he cared little about since he was too busy trying to charm his way into not just your pants, but your heart.
As if!
"Fuck, just like that, princesss. Come on, I know you can go faster." Gojo chuckles and grabs onto your hips, spreading his legs wider as he starts bouncing you on his cock so hard that the car is rocking back and forth, windows fogging up as he lifts his hips to pound into you.
You should be working on this project that was due in a few weeks, but instead you let Gojo drag you to the backseat of his car with the promise that this would be quick, something to clear your minds so you could focus on your work without any distractions.
Yet here you were four rounds later with cum dripping down your thighs from his previous loads that started to seep from the condom, body shaking as you neared your fourth orgasm.
"Screw you asshole, how about you get on top you lazy bast- oh!" Gojo lifts you off his cock and flips you onto your knees, awkwardly moving within the limited space until he’s behind you and lining his cock up with your entrance.
"You're so fucking mean to me, I love it." Gojo leans over your body to suck on your neck, one hand holding onto your hip while the other grips the back of the seat as he pushes into you.
"You d-deserve it." You push back against him as he pushes forward, meeting him halfway until he's balls deep inside of you, your cunt hungrily squeezing him for more, eyes rolling back when he starts to slowly move his hips.
You hadn't meant for this to go on for as long as it has. You had been frustrated after a shift at work, then you walked in on your roommate getting her back blown out, and when you went to meet Gojo for a quick study session at the library, it was closed and he smirked and told you his place was around the corner.
You reluctantly got into his car, arms folded across your chest as you stared out the window the entire way there, ignoring his flirtatious comments. It had frustrated you to no end, so who could really blame you when you started drooling after he offered to help you with your little issue?
It was supposed to be a one time thing, a quick solution to your "problem" until you could find someone more permanent, someone you didn't despise.
Only Gojo had matched your freak perfectly, going six rounds your first time and only taking a break once. You didn't want it to be him, did everything to convince yourself that he was actually terrible in bed but your vibrators had turned stale after that night, your mind constantly drifting to how hard Gojo made you cum on his dick and on his tongue.
He was just too good.
You arch your back so he can hit deeper, hands tightly gripping the leather head rest to steady yourself, skirt yanked above your waist, bra and shirt long discarded on the car floor.
You cry out when he hits a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars, head spinning from how deep he was fucking you.
Gojo groans and leans forward, grabbing your chin to turn your head toward his, pink lips slamming against yours. The kiss is careless, his tongue fighting yours, you angrily biting his lip because you hate yourself for letting him fuck you when you swore up and down you’d never get involved with a fratboy.
Gojo didn’t care, savoring the taste of his blood mixing with the spit you both traded.
When he pulls away, your brows furrow from the way he's staring at you, white hair falling into his face, lips slightly busted from your bite, a foreign feeling twirling in your belly. This was just sex, you wanted nothing more from him so why was he staring at you like he wanted to tell you something that would ruin your current agreement?
"Look at you.” He whispers too softly. “Letting me fuck you like a slut in my car. Anyone could walk by, you know? See how good I fuck you, how well you take me. You want that?"
When you try to turn your head, he tightens his grip on your jaw and smirks, slamming into you as he thrusts grow sloppy. The sound of your wet pussy squelching filling the car has him dizzy with need.
"You don't have to answer, your moans are telling me enough." He kisses you one more time before letting you go and pulling back.
You don't have a chance to dwell on what he was implying before he was gripping your hips and pounding into you at a pace that had you crying out as the coil in your belly tightens, your puffy walls gripping around Gojo's cock.
"M'gonna cum again!" You whined as his tip hit your cervix perfectly, fat tears escaping your eyes while your mouth dropped open in a silent cry.
You try to fuck him back, really you do but your legs are noodles at this point and the only thing keeping you up was Gojo's steady hands on your hips, euphoria coursing through your body and making your head dizzy with need.
“Come on, princess. Give me another one, yeah? You can do it, such a good girl f’me.”
You hate him so much, hate that he knows exactly what to say to push you over the edge, that he was way too in-tune with your body as if he had been created to please you.
Gojo pulls you up against his chest and you let your head fall on his shoulder. He wraps one arm around your waist and squeezes you flush against him, his other hand moving around your body until he’s rubbing circles on your clit and you’re lazily bucking back against him.
“Feels so good Toru, haah, don’t stop!”
The car reeked of sex, windows blurred from the breathy moans falling from yours and Gojo’s mouths as you both rock into each other. Anyone walking by would know what was happening inside. You thanked god it was late and the parking lot had been empty.
“Really? Thought you hated me, pretty girl. Who knew- fuck, who knew you had such loose morals?” He laughs in your ear, hand pushing on your back to arch it even further while he split you on his cock.
“F-fuck you, oh im close!”
Gojo laughs and places a kiss on the side of your head that lingers longer than it should before pushing you back down to get a better angle and his next slam sends you over the edge, your orgasm tearing through your soul as you squirt all over his seats and cry out his name.
This was better than porn.
Gojo doesn’t laugh this time, doesn’t make any snide comments because he can barely breathe with the way your cunt is pulsing around his cock, your juices dripping down his thighs and he thinks he’s going crazy because he’s never had pussy this good.
The fact that you hated him made this even better for some reason, motivated him to fuck you until you finally admitted that this was more than just casual sex. That he wasn’t delusional in thinking this could be something deeper.
He squeezes your hips tighter, pushing as deep as he can as he pumps his third load into the condom, eyes rolling back and a strangled groan escaping his lips as thick hot cum drips from the latex and into your warm pussy.
Gojo can feel it slipping it off, can feel your heat and gummy walls on his half free cock and it has him feral as he picks up his pace and fucks another load into you, his balls tightening and pulsing because you had never felt this good.
“Shit, princess. You’re so fucking wet, so good, s-so perfect.” He drops against your back, still holding you up as his hips stutter and slow, pushing the last of his orgasm out while you both catch your breath.
He stays there for a moment, his face tucked into the crook of your neck, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips as you both come down from your high. You can feel his cum leaking from you and down your thighs and you hate how it awakens something primal inside of you. And when the thought to push it back in had formed, you blamed it on your disheveled state.
In any other instance you would have pushed him off you already, huffing that it was only sex and would never happen again even though you both knew that was a lie.
Something about Gojo had you coming back for seconds and thirds. Every fuck session was somehow better than the last, making you forget that this was supposed to be a one time thing, something to hold you over until you found a more suitable partner.
Only you were starting to realize Gojo might be the best you ever had. It made you hate him more.
You gasp when he slowly pulls out, pussy overstimulated and swollen from the multiple rounds you went in the span of an hour. Both of you sitting on the cushion, one of your arms draped across the seat, Gojo’s throw over his eyes.
You sneak a look at him, heart thumping at how attractive he looked. His hair was all over the place, cheeks red from exhaustion, and his pants and boxers were still halfway down, cock still free and housing a half on condom. Your skin tingles at the sight of his abdomen and white pubes wet with your release.
He looked as fucked out as you felt.
Not one for awkward silence, you lift your hips to pull your panties back up and your skirt down, stretching your body to reach into the front seat for your shirt, ass in the air and you almost have it, your finger literally grazes the blue fabric before Gojo grabs you and pulls you down.
“Gojo! Oh my god, let go you freak.” You’re fuming, trying your best to wiggle out his grip but he just tightens his arms around your stomach, pulling you against him and lowering his head onto your back, littering it in soft kisses that burn through your skin.
"Go on a date with me. Please?"
This again. You told him multiple times before that this was simply sex, two college students helping each other out and nothing more. No feelings outside of helping the other get off. His stubbornness would only hurt him in the end.
"God no, I don't date frat boys."
"What if I left?"
You freeze against him, a lump forming in your chest. "Aren't you the president? You can't just leave."
What a cruel joke. Not that you wanted him anyways but even if you did, Gojo would never leave his fraternity. Certainly not for you. You two weren’t lovers, weren’t friends and we’re barely acquaintances given the fact that he was your number one op.
You remembered the time in sophomore year when he publicly called you an uptight bitch because you told him his party sucked. You lived different lives, it could never work. He would never change and you would never see him as more than a quick fuck and your unfortunate project buddy that you’d go back to ignoring once this was over.
"I can do whatever I want sweetheart, did you forget my last name?" He lifts his head and kisses your shoulder this time, goosebumps forming on your arms. Of course, he always tried to fix everything with money and status, which is another reason why you hated him.
You sit there quietly, lost in your thoughts.
You couldn’t seriously be with someone like Gojo, right? He was brash, had an ego out of this world and was a bratty nepo baby that flirted with anyone with a hole.
"So?" he asks, hopeful. HIs fingers gently dig into your belly to keep you from moving away, one hand coming up to grip your chin and turn your head back to him.
"So?" You repeat, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you lose yourself in his eyes.
For all of his.. lack of good qualities, he never failed in the facial department. Perhaps that was another reason you disliked him, because no matter how many insults you can throw his way, ugly wasn’t one of them.
Satoru Gojo was sculpted by the Gods themselves, which was unfortunate, because no one with a face like that should have a personality so catastrophically irritating. You can’t help but to let your eyes. traitorous things that they were, linger.
He notices because of course he does, and the smile that spreads across his face lacks any of his usual arrogance and for a second you imagined what life as his girlfriend could be like.
The thought came uninvited, images of him giving you sleepy morning kisses nad taking you on dates vivid enough to make your stomach twist.
Absolutely not.
Satoru Gojo was many things: powerful, insufferable, unbearably handsome, but he was not boyfriend material.
"Will you go on a date with me if I leave the frat?"
"No."
You answer too fast and Gojo is once again left heartbroken as you pull away to finish dressing yourself, refusing to spare him another look. He could understand why you hated him, but if you would just give him a chance to prove he could be different, he knew he wouldn’t disappoint you.
He would just have to keep trying, keep working for your favor because he would make you his if it was the last thing he did. He was competitive to his core and that wouldn’t waver just because he had finally met his match.
On the contrary, it only motivated him more. He saw the way you looked at him, how you were starting to let him touch you longer than you would have when this first started.
He was slowly breaking your walls down and it was only a matter of time before he made you his.
❦ lisa's note: this will be a series! I'll post the masterlist for it soon but lemme know if you wanna be tagged! 😋
warning: riding arthur, one mention of dumbification, hint of edging
summary: you and arthur are riding back to camp — you are also literally riding arthur.
a/n: was playing rdr2, saw arthur riding his horse, paused to write this. anyway enjoy it was written in 10 minutes <3
you know when you’re riding your horse at a slow pace as arthur, and he’ll have one hand on the reins and one casually at his side? i’m thinking about arthur doing the same, but his hand that isn’t on the reins is on your hip, lazily dragging you back and forth onto his cock as you ride his horse.
“yeah, that’s it, sweetheart,” he drawls in your ear, his fingers gripping the fabric of your skirts to keep them above your plump ass — only for him to see. “don’t even have to do nothing. just sittin’ there, lookin’ pretty. ‘n everyone that rides by us ain’t none the wiser.”
the position is devastating. your ass flush to his hips, back subtly arched to have his cock hit that toe-curling spot inside you with each trot of the horse. you’d almost feel bad the horse had to bear witness to this, but it was difficult to care when arthur’s hand slipped around your front and began to rub slow circles on your sensitive clit.
“look at’chu. tryin’ so hard to stay quiet, while your pretty cunt is cryin’ all over my cock,” he murmured in your ear, rough padded fingers continuing to massage your clit. “maybe i should keep you like this the whole ride. warmin’ my cock while i keep you on the edge. what do you think, darlin’?”
your brain is fuzzy at this point, nearly every word arthur spoke going in one ear and out the other. all you can muster is a strained “mhm!” as your head falls back against his shoulder. to anyone else, it’d look like you were tired, or in pain, with the way your face was twisted. little did they know, what you were feeling was far from pain.
arthur chuckled lowly in your ear, using the momentum of the horse to pull you down harder on his cock with the next trot. “pretty thing, already gone dumb f’me. it’s okay, sweetheart. just another town to cross and we’ll be back at camp.”
your breaths were coming shorter, your hips subtly trying to rock back faster on his thick cock as you felt your stomach start to coil tightly. chuckling again, arthur’s hand returned to your ass, squeezing the fat of it as he eased your movements to a slow grind. he pressed a light, teasing kiss to your neck, a hint of a smirk on his lips as he spoke.
“nah, sweetheart. we’re goin’ my pace. just be a good girl ‘n enjoy the ride.”
Could u maybe do more shanks smut like when he is jealous?
love and jealousy | shanks x f!reader
After months apart at sea, Shanks finally comes back to you — jealous, exhausted, and far more emotional than he’ll ever admit.
tags : 18+ only, smut, jealous shanks, possessive shanks, fluff, shanks is a softy, silly softy shanks, use of nicknames, established relationship
☆ masterlist ★
The Red Force had dropped anchor near the little coastal island. As they approached the coast, a soft sense of familiarity settled over the crew, along with the promise of a moment of peace and plenty of booze. They had become something strangely close to regulars over the years.
And if anyone asked Lucky or even Benn, they'd swear there was only one reason they kept finding excuses to stop by this tiny island in the middle of nowhere.
You.
More specifically, your tavern.
The place sat just a few steps from the shore, warm light spilling from its windows every evening like an invitation to anyone seeking good food, strong drinks, and a place to forget the world outside for a few hours. You ran it with the kind of confidence that made even the roughest sailor sit back down after a single look.
The locals adored you too much. And the crew, well, the crew had practically adopted the place as a second home.
The first few visits had started innocently enough, nothing more than a casual stop, somewhere to fill their stomach for the night after a long day on the sea. Good drinks, good atmosphere.
Then one visit became two. Two became ten. Then suddenly the crew had somehow reached the point where Lucky walked into the kitchen like he owned it, Yasopp complained if his usual seat was taken, and Benn had his own corner table without anyone needing to ask.
And Shanks.
Shanks had become a completely different story. Because somewhere between long conversations after closing hours, late nights spent sharing drinks, and waiting at the docks whenever the Red Force disappeared for months at sea...
He'd fallen quite hard for you. You'd quickly become the pretty owner Shanks couldn’t stop smiling at.
And now whenever Shanks announced they were making another stop here, nobody even questioned it anymore, because everyone knew their captain wasn't coming back for the tavern itself. He was coming back for you.
Tonight, the tavern is louder than usual. Music spills from the corner where Lucky has somehow convinced a few drunken sailors to sing along to a sea song completely off-key. Shanks usually loves this kind of atmosphere. He would be the one laughing the loudest, setting up foolish little bets with the locals. He’d hook an arm around someone’s shoulder as he walked past, a lazy sway in his step, and drink like there was no tomorrow.
But tonight, he hasn't heard a single word Benn has said for the last ten minutes because his eyes are entirely locked on you. More specifically, on the way you're smiling, on the way your head tilts back when you laugh, and on the way your fingers absentmindedly toy with the rim of your glass while listening to some visiting merchant ramble on beside you.
Shanks narrows his eyes. The man is handsome, he'll give him that. Clean clothes, expensive rings, the type who probably made a living charming people before selling them anything. And the bastard is good at it. Too good perhaps, because you're laughing. Not the polite kind way, but more like the real one. The one Shanks knows all too well. The one he waits for after long weeks at sea.
The guy leans a little closer, and some more until his hand settles on your shoulder, subtly caressing the little bit of skin that isn't covered by your top..
The wood beneath Shanks's fingers creaks.
"You're going to break the mug, Captain." Benn doesn't even bother looking up from his cards.
Shanks says nothing as his gaze never leaves you. Across the room, you still haven't noticed him watching. Still smiling and listening to this random guy. Still letting that man's hand linger where Shanks suddenly wishes it wasn't.
Something hot and ugly twists low in his chest and he hates the feeling immediately. A strange mix of anger and fear. Fear wrapped in jealousy, buried under irritation.
Because Shanks knows he doesn't own you. Knows you stay because you choose to, and that if you ever wanted to walk away he couldn't stop you.
His jaw tightens. Then he drains the rest of his drink in one swallow and slams the mug down hard enough that nearby conversations briefly pause. The lazy grin he usually wears is gone.
Before the merchant can even finish whatever story he's telling, a heavy arm slides firmly around your waist, pulling you back against his familiar warmth. Flush against his side, almost claiming.
"Is this guy bothering you, sweetheart?" Shanks's voice was smooth.
The merchant freezes as he slowly looks up and pales instantly. Because suddenly he isn't in front of some random tavern guest anymore. He's standing face to face with an Yonko.
You blink in confusion, looking between the two men. "Hm? No?" You frown slightly. "We were just talking."
The merchant immediately nods a little too eagerly. "Y-Yes! We were talking about the different islands near the Grand Line."
"Oh!" Your face brightens as you turn toward Shanks, completely oblivious to the tension beginning to coil around you. "Actually, he was telling me one of his stories –" A small laugh escapes you. "You'll like this one. Apparently he accidentally sold an entire shipment to pirates once because he thought they were merchants and –"
You look up at Shanks, expecting his usual grin or the amused spark in his eyes. But instead you find him staring straight at the man, his jaw tight.
"...Shanks?" You call his name softly.
The merchant shifts awkwardly under the weight of his gaze. "I-It was actually pretty funny—"
"Great," Shanks cuts in smoothly, dark eyes never leaving the man's face. “Doll face, can you make me a new drink please?”
The merchant blinks, looking between the two of you, the sudden realization of who he’s dealing with making him take a polite step back.
You roll your eyes at the ridiculous nickname, but you still head towards the other side of the bar. “I thought you had every right to help yourself as you pleased in this bar, Captain," you tease him. “And Benn is literally sitting right next to a full barrel," you counter with a small smile tugging at your lips.
"Yeah, but Benn's drinks taste like gunpowder and misery," Shanks whines softly, his voice taking on that childish, exaggerated tone he only uses with you. "Please? I’ve been at sea for months. My throat is parched."
With a sparkle in your eyes, you busied yourself preparing two brightly colored cocktails, one for Shanks and the other for the young merchant, who was slowly beginning to lose color the longer he stayed closer to him.
You slide the first glass across the polished wood toward the merchant, giving him a warm, reassuring wink. "On the house," you hum smoothly. "For the trouble."
“T-Thank you,” he looked at the beautiful little drink you just made, and then at your encouraging smile, and somehow found courage beside the terrifying aura of the Yonko.
"Actually... since it’s on the house, would you do me the honor of sharing a toast with me, beautiful?"
He reaches out, his fingers boldly brushing against yours as he takes the glass.
Shanks’s eye doesn’t just twitch, his entire face tenses. Before you can even answer, he grabs his own brightly colored cocktail to lift it high in the air with a forced grin. "A toast! Yes, let's toast!" Shanks exclaims, his voice a little too loud, completely disrupting the tavern's vibe. He slams his glass against the merchant’s with enough force to make the liquid slosh over the rim. "To you leaving right after this drink! Cheers, pal!"
You chuckle softly behind your counter, amused by Shanks' childish behavior.
The merchant stammers. "I—uh—"
"You know," Shanks continues smoothly, completely ignoring the merchant. "If it's bright and colorful things you like, sweetheart, you should see the coral reefs in the New World. I fought a giant Sea King there once. Sunset was just like this drink.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying your absolute best not to burst out laughing. He is trying to charm you, like a lovesick teenager bragging on a playground.
"Oh, really?" you tease, leaning your elbows on the bar and looking at him. "A Sea King? Wow, Shanks. That sounds much more interesting than a merchant who actually travels the world to sell beautiful silks."
Shanks gasps softly, looking deeply offended. He looks at you, then snaps his head toward the merchant, eyeing the man's expensive, shiny rings.
"Silks? You like silks?!" Shanks babbles. “I can get you silks! I'll wrap this entire tavern in silk by tomorrow morning!! Benn!" he yells across the room without looking. "How many silk ships can we find by sunrise?!"
From his corner table, Benn doesn't even look up from his cards. "Zero, Captain. Leave the poor girl alone and drink your juice."
Shanks chokes on his own breath, looking betrayed by his own first mate. He snaps his head back toward the merchant, who is currently looking a little smug now.
"Oh, you think that's funny, huh?" Shanks grumbles. He turns to you, "Does he even know, your dear friend here, that I can make punks like him faint on the spot just with my Haki?"
A genuine laugh escapes you at such childishness. "Shanks, stop it!" you laugh. You immediately turn to the young merchant, whose face has lost absolutely all its color. “Please don’t listen to him, he’s just kidding. He makes very bad jokes sometimes."
"I-I see..." the merchant stammers, his hand shaking so badly his glass nearly slips from his fingers.
“I think it’s your cue to go big boy,” Shanks said, downing the cocktail in one gulp.
The poor man sets his cocktail on the counter and almost sprints toward the doors, disappearing into the night as if his life depended on it.
You let out a theatrical sight, even though your eyes were shining with amusement at Shanks’ behavior. He leans against your bar counter, his face against the cool wood, pouting a little bit. "What's wrong, Shanks? Don't tell me the great Yonko is throwing a tantrum because I was nice to a customer."
"I am not throwing a tantrum!" Shanks fires back, his head snapping toward you. His cheeks are flushed a furious pink that has absolutely nothing to do with alcohol. “It’s just bad business practice to give free drinks to guys who wear too many rings. It's unprofessional."
"Right. Unprofessional," you mimic, your smirk widening. "So it has nothing to do with the fact that he was touching my shoulder?"
Shanks tries to hold his defensive glare for three more seconds, but under your teasing gaze, his pride completely crumbles. He lets out a long and dramatic whine, dropping again his forehead right onto the bar counter.
You reach out with your free hand, gently running your fingers through his red locks, scratching his scalp the way you know he loves. Almost immediately he leans into your touch, shifting closer until his cheek rests against your hand.
“Don’t like it, he was too close to you.” He starts with his dramatic whiny voice. “And you were laughing at his stupid stories! I've been sleeping on a rocky ship for three months, dreaming about coming back here to see you, and the moment I arrive, you're smiling at some kid who probably doesn't even know how to tie a knot!" He pouts, reaching for you, his calloused fingers wrapping around your wrist.
You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you watch him. "Shanks, you are an absolute idiot."
“It's his fault. He shouldn't have tried to steal my favorite girl."
“Your favorite girl? Is that so?” You laugh, your fingers gently tugging at a stray red lock near his ear.
Shanks tilts his head up, his chin in your palm now, with his dusting pink cheeks. "Yes, it is so," he grumbles, tightening his grip on your wrist just enough to draw your hand down to his lips, planting a soft kiss right against your knuckles, his dark eyes looking up at you like a needy puppy.
You find Shanks absolutely adorable like this — slightly vulnerable, quietly exposing his feelings in his own clumsy way. So you lean in and plant a quick kiss on his hair. Shanks blinks, his stubborn expression melting into a soft smile.
“You’re cruel,” he murmurs. “Teasing a tired pirate like this.”
"If you're so tired, maybe you should go rest in the back room," you whisper, a wicked little glint returning to your eyes. "Unless you'd rather stay here and keep an eye out for more merchants?"
Shanks scoffs. He stands up straight, his grip on your wrist tightening as he gently leads you along the bar to walk around it. He wraps an arm around your waist, and suddenly it feels like your feet aren’t even touching the ground. He entirely ignores the loud wolf-whistles that erupt from Lucky and Yasopp's table as he guides toward the quiet hallway.
When the door of your private room clicks shut, he steep right into your space, wrapping his strong arm completely around you and burying his face in the crook of your neck with a contented groan. He holds you so tightly you can barely breathe, molding your body completely against his. “Finally,” he breathes against your skin, his lips brushing your collarbone. “No more merchants, just you.”
"Are you done pouting?" you ask softly, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, holding him just as close.
"No," he mutters playfully, his teeth gently nipping the sensitive skin right under your ear. He pulls back just enough to look down at you. "I still need to be properly compensated for all the stress you caused my heart out there."
"Compensated, huh?" You smirk, your hands sliding down his chest to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. "And what exactly does the great Yonko require to feel better?"
"Everything," Shanks whispers.
He leans down, his mouth catching yours in a kiss that is incredibly slow, and sweet. There’s no rush, no anger. His tongue slides into your mouth with a lazy rhythm, tasting you thoroughly while his hand slides under your shirt, against your bare waist as he gently guides you backward toward the bed.
While still tangled in the deep kiss, you slip your hands down to his broad shoulders.You use your movements to slowly turn him around, until he’s the one who ends up sitting on the edge of the bed.
Shanks looks up at you with wide, slightly dazed eyes. His red hair is beautifully messy, his cheeks are still flushed, and he finds himself completely trapped as you stand tall right between his spread legs.
A slow smirk spreads across your face. “There… exactly at eye level.”
Shanks lets out a soft chuckle, as his single arm comes around you, pulling you a fraction closer to him. "You really like taking advantage of a tired captain, don't you?" he grumbles playfully, tilting his head back to look up at you.
"Someone has to keep you in check," you tease, your fingers reaching down to gently trace his jawline.
“You right… Maybe a merchant’s gonna steal me away otherwise.” And just like that, Shanks is back, playful and mischievous, with that familiar grin creeping onto his face.
You let out a soft gasp. "Oh, is that so? Are you threatening to leave with the next ship that sells shiny rings, Captain?"
"Hey, a guy's got to feel appreciated," Shanks teases, tilting his head farther back to look up at you. "I'm just saying, if my favorite girl is too busy laughing at other people's jokes, I might have to find someone else to buy me drinks."
"You wouldn't dare," you whisper, leaning down slightly so your face is just inches from his. The proximity makes his breath hitch as his gaze drops instinctively to your lips.
Your fingers caress the nape of his neck and play with the buttons of his shirt. He always has this habit of wearing his shirt very loose, leaving the first four buttons open, his chest on display for everyone to see. As you undo the very last button and help slide the fabric off his shoulders, he leans closer to try and kiss you. But you quickly push him back, and he lets himself fall heavily onto the bed.
He groans, but his flirty smirk doesn’t fade. “Come on, baby, don’t play with me like that.”
You let out a soft, muffled laugh, crossing your arms over your chest as you look down at him. You take your time to admire him. His red hair is beautifully fanned out against the sheets, framing the face you missed so much, and your gaze slowly roams down his sculpted sun chest. New scars have appeared since the last time you saw him, but he still looks just as powerful. "Who says I’m playing?" you tease him, tilting your head slightly.
"Okay, fine," he whispers. He sits up slowly, his hand already magnetically drawn to your thigh. "I wouldn't dare. I'm completely helpless against you, and you know it."
"Good," you hum.. "I'm glad we understand each other."
Shanks lets out a soft and defeated laugh. His hand on your thigh slides upward, his thumb hooking into the waistband of your clothes to tug you forward until you’re forced to straddle his lap, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.
He immediately buries his face right into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. He drinks in your scent – bar soap, sweet alcohol, and just you.
“I missed you so much,” he mumbles against your skin, sounding a little pouty. “You have no idea, every single night on the sea just thinking about you, missing how you smell, how soft you are … and then this silly little boy all over you and touching you.”
He brings up the boy again and you let out a soft laugh, your fingers instantly tangling in his messy red hair to scratch his scalp. "Are you still thinking about the merchant, Shanks?"
"Yes!" he groans, shifting his head to press his hot face into your chest. He sounds so ridiculous like this, sulking like a teenager. "It’s so stupid. I know it’s silly.” He tilts his head back up, looking at you with wide, almost hopeless eyes. "I don't want anyone else looking at you. Kiss me. Please."
“Aww, my sweet lover boy.” You don’t make him wait this time. You lean down and press your lips to his. Shanks lets out a needy whimper against your lips, instantly deepening the kiss with such hunger.
He is definitely taking what he’s been starving for over the last three months, tasting you thoroughly while his arm locks around your lower back, grinding your hips down against his hardening length. The friction makes a soft gasp catch in your throat, which Shanks drinks right away.
His hand moves over your body, sliding under your shirt to map out every inch of you, your waist, your ribs, your belly. He needs to touch you everywhere, to reassure himself that you are actually here with him.
Breaking the kiss just an inch, his lips trail down your jawline to your throat, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin until he finds the sweet spot right where your neck meets your shoulder. He bites down gently, making you arch into him with a quiet whine.
"You're mine," Shanks mutters darkly against your heated skin, his breath hitching as his hand slides down to the hem of your shirt. “You were so pretty tonight, so soft,” he impatiently pulled your shirt up and over your head to toss it blindly onto the floor. "Tell me you're mine."
You grin a little, your hips moving against him. God, he was being completely ridiculous, and possessive, and dramatic, acting like someone was about to steal you away from him. And yet, he sounded so good like this, so desperate for you.
"I'm yours, Shanks," you breathe out, your hands sliding over his broad shoulders. “It’s okay, I am here now.”
The word drives him entirely over the edge. With a low, guttural growl, Shanks grips your hip and rolls you over in one smooth, powerful motion. The world tilts, and suddenly you are flat on your back against the mattress.
He leans down, completely burying his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. His lips slide down to the junction of your jaw, pressing bruising kisses there, before his tongue licks over the spot he bit just moments before. A sharp, needy gasp escapes your lips as Shanks shifts his weight, sliding his knee between your thighs to force them open. He presses his hips firmly into yours, the friction through his pants sending a delicious wave of heat straight to your core.
"I want you to be so loud the whole crew downstairs hears exactly who you belong to."
You move your hands over his body as best you can, appreciating every curve of his strong, healthy frame. You feel goosebumps rise on his skin as your hands drift dangerously toward his pants. And while he loses himself in your scent, he feels your fingers moving between your bodies, your knuckles brushing against the soft hair of his happy trail.
“What are you up to?” he grumbles, reluctant to pull away from your hair to see where your hands have gone.
“I’m trying to take off my shorts,” you reply simply, accidentally rolling your hips against him as you struggle out of the denim shorts.
He groans even louder, pressing his mouth against the swell of your breasts, still sitting perfectly high in your lacy bra. That stupid baby pink bra looked so good against your skin tone.
“Let me.” He helps you take off your denim shorts and your panties down your legs and kicks them off the edge of the bed. You barely have time to breathe before he slides down your body, his tongue tracing a burning path down your stomach. He wastes no time and buries his face directly between your thighs.
It’s so overwhelming that you whine out loud. “Shanks – no please, I want you inside me,” you gasp, your fingers gripping his red hair.
He groans against your wet skin.
He groans against your wet skin, a vibration that shivers right through your thighs. He doesn't pull away, instead, he grips your hips to pin you firmly to the mattress while his tongue does its work.
"Just a taste, sweetheart," he mutters between your thighs. "Just let me have a little taste first. I've been starving for so long."
He parts your swollen folds with his thumb and dives back in with hunger. His tongue licks and sucks at your sensitive clit slowly, making your head toss back against the pillows.
Every stroke of his tongue is messy, as if he were drinking your nectar like a dying man parched with thirst, consuming every single drop of your wetness. He plunges his nose deep between your folds to inhale your scent, completely losing himself in the comfort of your warmth.
You let out a loud, broken cry, your hips bucking helplessly against his mouth as your fingers dig deep into his messy hair. You want him inside you so badly it aches, but his tongue drives you crazy too. "Shanks... ah! Please..." you whimper, your toes curling into the sheets as you try to pull him up.
He lets out a muffled groan, absolutely pleased by how loud you are for him. He gives one last wet lick right over your sweet spot, before he stops torturing you. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are glistening with your wetness.
When he drags himself back up on the mattress, his eyes are so dilated. Your own hand instinctively slips down between your legs, driven by the need to feel something filling you. You slide two of your own fingers deep into your soaking wet entrance.
Shanks freezes, completely captivated, completely hypnotized by the sight of your delicate fingers moving in and out of your swollen folds. When your fingers slide all the way out, he stares, fascinated by how heavily coated they are in your own wetness, glistening under the dim light of the room.
An arrogant chuckle escapes his lips. He looks at your hand, then up at your flushed face. To him, your fingers look almost ridiculous trying to satisfy an ache that big. He knows your thin and delicate hand won't ever be enough to make you come, not when your body is practically begging for his cock.
"Look at you," Shanks murmurs. "You're so beautiful like this, sweetheart. So desperate for me. But those pretty little fingers aren't going to fix this, are they?"
"Please, Shanks," you whimper, tilting your hips up. "Do it. Use your fingers. Please."
"Keep them there," he commands softly. "Don't take your hand away." He slides his large hand down, his fingers crowding into the tight space right alongside yours. The contrast is intoxicating. Your small fingers working in tandem with his calloused hand, stretching you beautifully as he begins a deep, heavy stroking motion. The wet sound of your pussy fills the quiet bedroom, sending a sudden rush of heat to your cheeks.
“Yes, just like that,” Shanks mutters, biting his lip, completely captivated and overwhelmed by the contrast between your two hands. His large frame trembles slightly, intoxicated by the heat radiating from your skin. Looking down at you, he’s struck by the sight of you so flushed and pliant, allowing him to touch you so intimately after months apart.
"God, I adore you," he finds himself saying. "You have no idea how much I missed you.” You let out a broken whine, your hips jerking helplessly against his large hand. "You're mine, doll face... everything about you is mine," he confesses rawly, his gaze dropping to the beautiful, heavy swell of your breasts. “Look at what you do to me. I'm so obsessed with you. I'd do absolutely anything for you."
The double friction of your hands working together sends a violent electric wave of pleasure straight to your core. You can feel the orgasm building, threatening to shatter you right then and there. But you desperately want more, aching for something much bigger. “Shanks,” you sob out, your free hand clutching at his pants, your hips jerking helplessly against his large palm. “Please Shanks, I want you, put it inside me.”
Hearing you beg for him, using your sweetest voice, shatters the last thread of Shanks's restraint. "God, you're going to be the death of me.”
He abruptly pulls his large hand away from your soaking warmth, and you let out a weak, needy whine at the sudden loss of friction. He clumsily gets his pants off as best as he can. When he settles back down between your spread legs, his hot skin pressing directly against your inner thighs makes your breath hitch. He is massive, his slick tip brushing hungrily against your aching entrance.
Your hands slide down, wrapping securely around the base of his throbbing cock. Shanks freezes instantly, as your fingers close around him. He feels incredibly heavy in your hands, pulsing between your fingers.
You begin to stroke him, your palm sliding slowly up his shaft, feeling the rigid veins beneath his smooth skin. You give a soft, playful tug, "I missed your dick so much, Shanks."
A loud, strangled groan escapes his lips, his head tossing back as his jaw clenches tight. "Fuck, sweetheart... don't say things like that when I'm already this close."
You just grin, your inner tease taking over. Instead of letting him slide inside, you pull his length up and begin to slide it deliberately against your own soaked core. You trail his thick shaft right over your clit, coating him in your wetness while a needy whimper escapes your own lips. Then, you press the head of his cock right against your opening, letting it nudge your swollen folds without actually letting him sink in.
Shanks completely loses his mind. His single arm slams down onto the mattress right beside your head, his fingers clawing into the sheets as his entire body shakes with the effort not to just sink into you.
"You're a menace," he pants, his dark eyes wide, dazed, and completely desperate as he stares down at where your bodies are rubbing together. "An absolute menace. Playtime is over, doll face."
Before you can tease him any further, Shanks grips your hip with a bruising force and slowly sinks his hips down. He buries his full length into your tight heat in one long, agonizingly deep push.
A loud, broken cry echoes through the quiet bedroom as your body stretches to accommodate him. You moan loudly as he fills you so well. It’s exactly what you were starving for.
Shanks goes completely still, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles twitch, as your tight walls pulse frantically around him, welcoming him home. He buries his face back into your neck, his breath coming in ragged pants as he waits for you to adjust to his size.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he rasps, his single arm wrapping completely beneath your lower back to lift your hips higher, locking your pelvis flush against his. "Hold on to me, baby. Just like that."
The moment you wrap your legs tightly around his waist, anchoring him deep inside you, Shanks completely loses his mind. He begins to move, his hips pulling back until he is almost entirely out before plunging back in. The wet, slapping sound of his skin hitting yours fills the room, accompanied by your soft moans. Every thrust is deep, aimed directly at the sweet spot that makes your toes curl.
Your fingers are digging deep into his back as the pleasure starts to build up. He grumbles, his pace turning fast and punishing as he senses your climax nearing. He kisses you fiercely. "Forget everything else. Just feel me. Know it's me inside you."
The frantic, punishing speed of his hips sends you completely over the edge. Your vision is blurred by brilliant bursts of white light as your walls convulse around him, clamping down on his thick length. His name falls from your lips over and over in soft whispers, your thighs shaking violently where they are locked around his waist.
Shanks lets out a raw groan at the exquisite torture of your climax squeezing him. He doesn't slow down, instead, he drives into you even harder, chasing his own release through the tight, pulsing heat of your orgasm.
"That's it, cry for me," he pants heavily, his face buried deep in your hair as his chest heaves against yours. "Let it out, sweetheart. You're so fucking good around me."
With three more deep thrusts, Shanks stiffens completely. He bites your shoulder as he buries himself into you as far as he can. His heavy body pinned you flush against the bed as his hips shuddered violently, pouring his release deep inside you.
The room falls quiet, save for the sound of your mingled, ragged breathing. Shanks remains heavy on top of you for a long moment, completely spent, his forehead resting against your shoulder. Slowly, he shifts his weight to his elbow, looking down at you with a gaze that is soft, lazy, and utterly overflowing with adoration. His red hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and that familiar, doting smile creeps back onto his face.
He leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, tasting the salt of your skin.
"See?" he murmurs, his voice a low, rumbling purr as his thumb gently traces your cheek. "I told you those pretty little fingers couldn't fix it. You just needed your captain."
//
You let out a breathless laugh, your hands, still weakly tangled in his messy red hair, lazily smooth down the damp locks at the nape of his neck. "You're a menace, Captain" you murmur, your voice dropping into a tired, affectionate whisper that lacks any real bite.
"Only for you, doll face," he murmurs, a soft, incredibly tender smile breaking across his handsome face.
With a slow, heavy sigh, he reluctantly slides his length out of your body, making you let out a small, disappointed whine at the sudden loss of his heat. Shanks immediately shushes you with a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead.
With a soft sigh, he rolls onto his side, taking you with him as the thought of letting you go simply isn't an option. One arm stays wrapped securely around your waist, keeping you tucked against his chest as your legs tangle together beneath the sheets. Then you feel his lips brush the crook of your neck, pressing a lazy trail of kisses along your skin before settling there with a content hum.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The room is quiet except for the sound of your slowing breaths. Exhaustion settles heavily over your limbs, your bodies still warm from one another as you remain tangled together beneath the sheets. Shanks's fingers trace absentminded patterns against your side, and for a while, that's enough. Then, eventually, he breaks the comfortable silence.
"I mean it," he whispers, all traces of teasing gone from his voice. "I was miserable without you." You lift your head slightly, surprised by the raw honesty in his tone. "I kept thinking about you." His fingers tighten where they're resting against your side. "Wondering what you were doing. Who you were talking to." He pauses. "Whether some idiot was making you laugh more than me."
A soft laugh escapes you. "Shanks—"
"There were days I caught myself reaching for you before I remembered you weren't there." He lets out a small, self-conscious laugh. "Pathetic, huh?"
Your heart melts instantly. You wrap your arms around his neck and tuck your face against him. "Not pathetic," you murmur. "I missed you too."
For a moment, he says nothing. His arm only tightens around you, as though he can't quite hold you close enough. Then he buries his face in the crook of your neck with a content sigh. "Good," he whispers. “I don’t think I could go through that again.”
A smile tugs at your lips. "You crossed half the Grand Line."
"Yeah." He presses a kiss to your skin. "Worst decision of my life." You laugh softly, and he hums in satisfaction, already sounding half asleep. "You’re all that I need,” he murmurs.
it has a lot to do with the way he is as a person and how everything always depends on him, he’s always the one taking initiative so for once he does not want to make decisions, he just wants you to tell him what to do. and there’s something unbelievably sexy about watching a man made of pure mass of power crawl before you in submission
nerdtoru will ask you to go to his place after several dates and you think he’s finally going to make a move on you and dick you down but he probably just made a playlist for you that he wants you to listen to together in a rather cozy setting and hold hands or something
satoru is surprised to see that his new neighbor is young & beautiful, not an old hag.
satoru gojo doesn’t do relationships, is what he says every time a hook up tried staying until the morning. he’d go into a bar in hopes of blowing off some steam after a long day of work, find a pretty face, and ruin it back in his apartment.
his neighbors were sick of his behavior, eventually not being able to handle it anymore leaving moving out as the only option. it was an insanity for the luxury apartment complex to refuse to do anything other than give him warnings time to time. that was because satoru would just pay them to leave him alone.
his loud moans along the sounds of skin on skin were the last thing one needed to hear at three in the morning, so it wasn’t a surprise to see mr. & mrs. iori packing their things not even a month after moving in.
they shot the white haired boy a dirty look as they carried their boxes outside. satoru would only respond with his stupid smirk.
the rumor of a new neighbor settling in next door to him spread quickly. everyone spoke of you so kindly because of how you’ve given each of the families on your floor a plate of sweet treats.
a pout would appear on satoru’s face upon hearing of you. why haven’t you given him anything? you live right next to him for gods sake!
the last time he had a girl over was well over a week ago, his work being more demanding leaving no room for his activities. his body shook with excitement, hands groping the blondes body watching as her nipples hardened under the cold weather. right as he was about to take one into his mouth, the doorbell rang.
satoru groaned in annoyance, pulling back with reluctance. he stood up, re-adjusting his raging boner inside his pants to answer the door. to his surprise, it was you.
“hi,” your soft voice cut through the air. “i’m new here, thought it’d be best to finally introduce myself to my neighbor. wasn’t so sure if anyone lived here since it’s always so quiet!”
oh you poor innocent thing.
but oh my god. you’re no old lady who bakes and sews in her free time. you’re around his age, with a pretty face that practically made his jaw drop in awe as his eyes landed on yours.
satoru could hear his hook up calling for him to come back, making him close the door slightly behind him so you wouldn’t be able to hear her. “yeah, sorry just been so busy. but, i’ve heard about you…” he dragged out the ‘o’
“y/n”
“y/n” he repeated, testing out your name himself. and it felt so right. “i’m satoru, satoru gojo.”
you shook his slightly clammy hand after he offered it to you. “well, satoru, i really hope you enjoy the cookies. have a goodnight.”
“you too..” his eyes trailed after you even as you walked away.
at that moment, he knew he wanted you & for more than just sex. he wanted what was shown in romcoms, when they’d go through fights and then hold hands and kiss under the rain. stuff like that.
but satoru gojo doesn’t do relationships.
he had no clue how they worked, really. the most he could do was touch himself at the thought of you. the way your loving voice would say good morning to him in the hallway or when you’d offer to babysit his nephew, megumi, when he was busy with his job.
you were so perfect.
“ngh fuck!” he whimpered out in the shower. the hot water hitting his bare back enough to make him arch into it. his hand squeezed the base of his cock, watching as his tip exposed itself once the skin was pulled back. the tip that was usually pink had now turned into an angry and desperate red.
“bet your mouth would look so pretty wrapped around me.” he whispered to nobody, throwing his head back as he quickened the speed of his hand. it was cramping from how hard he was going on himself, cumming hard onto the bathroom wall.
any evidence of an orgasm was washed away by the water that was pouring out of the shower head.
“what a waste.” he watched the cum disappear. it’d look much better painted on your back.
when other neighbors warned you of satoru, urging you to get earplugs, you were confused to say the least. “earplugs? what for?”
“he’s always moaning with a new girl every other week day. we’ve tried putting in complaints but the complex won’t do anything of it.”
“really? i haven’t heard anything.” which was a lie, partially. satoru didn’t moan to another girl these days that wasn’t you. every whimper and moan that slipped out of his place, spilled into yours. it was cute really, hearing his needy sounds with your name on his tongue after every interaction he had with you.
it was a huge help for you as well. having difficulty finishing, it became easier with just listening to him. your vibrator would touch just right, hand shaking as you moved the wand up and down.
the sudden silence of satoru’s place spread around the building. the fact that he hasn’t brought a girl over in a few weeks raised suspicion and honestly, worried everyone.
“maybe his company is being harsh again.”
“doubt it, he’d still find a way to have sex. something is seriously wrong.”
so they all kept a close eye on him, observing the way his line of sight lingered on your door every time he would leave or enter his place. satoru has been contemplating on returning the basket you had given him since you first spoke. it’s been sitting on his desk for a while now, collecting dust. surely, you wanted it back.
with the help of his black credit card, he filled the basket up with hundreds of roses, leaving it at your doorstep with a small note inside.
your eyes widened when you reached your door after a long day of work, wondering if you were hallucinating or not. you bent over to grab the basket, reaching inside for the piece of paper.
“feel like we barely speak other than you babysitting for me & the usual ‘hello’s’ & i’d love to take you out some time if that’s alright.”
at the bottom read his initials.
s.g
his heart wouldn’t stop beating in excitement upon your acceptance. but since he was satoru gojo at the end of the day, the boy who swore he doesn’t do relationships — has no idea how relationships operate.
“i think ill have.. the vietnamese coffee.” you smiled up at the barista who jotted down your order on their notepad.
“uh yea ill get that too..” satoru stuttered, trying his best to calm down the pressure he was feeling in his pants. he had no idea you have heard him jerking off to you for the past two weeks and even more so that you were doing the same.
when you spoke, all he could do was nod like a stupid bobble head, memorizing every word you said.
you were both out for a few hours getting to know each other better giving him extra time to figure out which position to have you in by the end of the night.
he knew doggy style would feel the best, but he really wanted to see your face. so, mating press would do it. except, you didn’t go into his apartment after heading back from the cafe. and you didn’t let him into yours.
“alright, good night satoru. thank you again for the date. hope we can go out again?”
he blinked, nodding. “of course. yeah, fuck of course.
with another of your gentle smiles, you leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek before entering your apartment, closing the door behind you with a soft click.
satoru stood there in shock.
you didn’t want to fuck him? were you teasing him? surely you’d open the door again and allow him to come in so he could fuck you until all you knew how to say was his name.
but you didn’t.
you made him wait.
2..3..4 dates went by and the most you’ve done was hold hands as you walked through the mall and kiss each other strictly on the face. his personal favorite was the cheek so he could attempt to move his head to the side, allowing your lips to accidentally graze his.
but whenever he tried this dirty trick, you’d move away just in time. he was growing frustrated. you wouldn’t even kiss him let alone sleep with him!
yes of course he wanted to be yours more than anything but god did he want to feel your body under his.
finally, on the fifth date, you two made it official and the neighbors had a field day with that. for a bit at least.
“did you hear satoru and the cookie girl got together?”
“shut up. don’t tell me that’s the reason we’ve finally been able to sleep peacefully lately.”
“who could’ve seen this-“
“coming! m’cumming!” you whimpered into your bedsheets, tears streaming down your flushed face.
satoru finally had you where he wanted, underneath him sobbing dumbly over his fat cock after finding your toys in your closet. “ha.. so you’ve been playing with these shitty things knowing i needed ya?”
he coo’ed feeling you tighten around him. “fuck. did ya hear me touch myself every night, hm? you got off on that?”
your eyes rolled back once he brought your vibrator to tease your clit all while he kept hitting the spot that had you seeing stars.
“mmm,” he chuckled. “who’s making you feel better huh?”
“y-you! you satoruuu!”
his hand that was placed on the small of your back moved to spank your plush ass, adding onto the already existing hand marks.
“knew i had to have this pretty pussy the second you knocked on my door. i’m mad at you, baby. should’ve knocked on my door for a different reason but hey, least you’re my girl now.”
he moved your head to the side, smashing his lips onto yours in a messy kiss. “go on sweets. cum.” he ordered.
you didn’t need to be told twice.
your sweet juices spilled out over his length, body collapsing completely over the bed. satoru slowed his movements, fucking back your orgasm into you before spilling his seed in you.
“nice and deep.. good girl.”
his thumb shifted to turn off the toy, throwing it somewhere in the room. his cock slipped out of you making you whine.
“oh? you want more? should’ve just said so, love.”
his hands grabbed onto yours waist, flipping you over so now you were both face to face. “let’s try this position now.”
the neighbors might’ve gotten a few weeks of peace, but they now had to deal with satoru fucking the pretty girl that lived on the same floor.
you know that trope where it’s princess + knight, but they’ve both been captured by the bad guys and the princess is now gripped by the jaw by the villain, receiving a thin cut to her cheek while remaining completely still with a defiant look in her eyes even as a droplet of blood begins to trickle out of the wound, all while 3 people AT THE VERY LEAST need to have their hands locked on the knight because he’s thrashing around like a wild animal, trying so so so desperately, violently, to get to her?
god satoru in a time period where gods often disguise themselves and walk among the people on earth living a normal life, and atheist suguru, former theology scholar who used to believe in gods but stopped doing so after his family and friends were killed in a cult massacre that authorities called a “natural disaster”. he’s now a fierce activist who dismantles cults, exposes religious abuse and argues that “gods” would either be non existent or monsters for allowing such cruelty to happen
