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[serikai]

satoru can be such a fucking freak in bed

especially when he’s got you pinned beneath him, buried so deep inside your tight, dripping cunt that you can barely think straight.

every brutal thrust has him dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you, slamming right into that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back and your toes curl so hard they cramp.

his hips is snapping with that cocky, practiced rhythm, stretching you open around his thick cock like he owns every inch of your body.

the wet, filthy sound of him pounding into your soaked pussy fills the room, your juices coating his length and dripping down your ass with every deep stroke.

and he just can’t help himself.

the moment you start clenching and fluttering around him, moaning like a whore, that feral side of him takes over.

he leans down with a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with pure mischief and hunger, and sinks his teeth into your skin very hard.

he bites down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, teeth digging in so sharply you yelp in pain, your whole body jerking violently beneath him.

“fuck- satoru!” you cry out, but he just moans like it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

he thinks you’re screaming because it feels that good.

“shit, baby… you’re so loud for me..” he groans against your bitten flesh, voice husky and dripping with arrogance.

his tongue laps over the fresh, throbbing mark before he bites down again, harder this time, right above your collarbone.

the sharp sting blooms into burning heat as he sucks hard, leaving a deep purple bruise while his cock keeps bullying that perfect spot inside you without mercy.

you scream again, a raw, broken sound that’s equal parts pain and overwhelming pleasure and it only makes him worse.

satoru chuckles darkly, the vibration traveling through your skin as he grinds his hips in slow, filthy circles, stirring his cock deep in your guts.

“yeah? right there, huh? keep screaming like that, sweetheart. you’re clenching so fucking tight every time i bite you… makes me think you love when i get rough.”

he shifts his angle, folding you nearly in half as he drives even deeper, another harsh bite lands on the swell of your breast, teeth grazing your nipple before clamping down.

the pain shoots straight to your core, making your pussy gush around him.

satoru’s lost in it, he pistons into you faster, harder, the headboard slamming against the wall as he chases his own high.

he bites your neck one more time, right as his fingers find your swollen clit, rubbing tight, mean circles.

the mix of pain and pleasure shoves you violently over the edge.

you shatter around him, screaming loud enough to make your throat raw as your walls spasm and flutter wildly.

satoru groans in satisfaction, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release while still nibbling and sucking on your abused skin like he can’t get enough.

[wkbsrco]

TEN-TICKLES W/ SATORU GOJO ! 18+ M.LIST

Comic by @baobei-bu TYSM FOR LETTING ME WRITE THIS!! 3.5k

⚠️: Perv!Satoru x Sorcerer!Reader, Hentai Logic, Porn w Minimal Plot, Smut, Filthy use of Jujutsu, CNC (It’s Tentacles), MeanDom!Satoru, Outfit like Shoko’s Sorcerer Uniform, P in V, Oral (M!receiving), Anal, Marathon + Rough Sex, Creampie, Morally Grey, Manipulation, Tummy Bulge, Size Kink, Dacryphilia, Needy Satoru, Degradation, Praise, Baby-trapping, Double & Triple Penetration, FILTHHHHH, Rushed Ending (Ran Out of Ideas) NOT PROOFREAD

Taglist: @1stmagnoila @koriknowsball @jinjen @elegantmakercoffee (comment 2 b added)

Satoru’s so cute & twisted ! I hope you enjoy my ovu fic :D

Satoru’s been begging you to take a stroll with him for hours. He says he just wants to spend time with you, his bestest friend, but you know he has something up his sleeve. It’s written in the knowing grin that adorns his perfect face.

“Please, angel! Just for THIRTY minutes. It’s breezy out, and I can hold you close to keep you warm! We can’t waste this perfectly good weather!” He pouts.

You ignore him even as he hugs you from behind, pecking at your neck and down to your collar. He tugs on the small skirt of your uniform, now nipping on your skin. You swat him away and take a step forward. Then, you cross your arms, turning to raise your eyebrow at the overgrown manchild.

“Are you a dog or a man, Satoru?” You mock.

He smirks. “Anything you want me to be, baby.” Satoru flashes you his pretty pearly whites followed by a condescending—perhaps a bit playful, wink.

You roll your eyes, think it over, and finally sigh.

“Ten minutes.” You glare. “That’s all you get.”

The white-haired man grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and drags you to a car that’s been parked upfront since Satoru started talking. “I thought we were going to walk?”

“We are, but I know a spot, and Ijichi’s going to take us there.” He giggles like a kid with a menacingly stupid plan.

Looking back, it made you a little bit suspicious—Satoru giggling and all that crap. However, it also made you reeeeeeeaaal curious.

On the way to the “spot,” you let Satoru trail his restless fingers on your body. He kept poking, squeezing, and pulling on your flesh like a working adult playing with a stress toy. You tell him off and swat his hands away when he does too much, but the bastard only pouts and leaves a peck on the reddened skin and continues with his ministrations.

You’re well aware that it’s been over ten minutes, but you don’t mind. Instead, you curl up next to Satoru, sleeping soundly against his side.

Now that he can’t annoy you, he turns his attention over to Ijichi, making sure not to move too much as to not disturb your rest.

“Ijichi-kun! She’s so pretty, no?”

In his mind, he panics. Was this a mind game or a real question? The poor boy responds with a very awkward smile. “Very pretty, Gojo-san!” He says with pure honesty.

“Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!!” Satoru cheers. Then, he yells, “Oh wait, we’re here!”

Ijichi stops abruptly, and Satoru catches you before you fall. You wake up because of the sudden movement, annoyance written all over your face.

“What’s going on?” You ask, yawning softly. An of course, before answering, Satoru fawns over your pretty face, giving the apple of your cheek a soft kiss.

For the nth time today, he smiles. “We’re here!”

Looking out the window, you’re met with a foggy forest in, seemingly, the middle of nowhere. “Where exactly is ‘here’?”

He shrugs. “Not important, let’s go!” The door of the ridiculously expensive car flings open, and everything happens too fast.

“Satoru!” You yelp as he tugs you out, waving goodbye to Ijichi as he pulls you into the creepy woods.

This is where he wants to walk? Not even a park or a flowery meadow? What the hell is Satoru up to?

Leaves crunch beneath your shoes as thick fog blocks your vision. It’s chilly, which raises the goosebumps on your skin. Of course, Satoru notices.

“You okay, pretty? Sense somethin’?”

“N—No… do you?” You ask, confused. Were you supposed to be sensing a curse? Is this supposed to be a mission?

“Yes, I do.” My raging boner. He snickers to himself. “But you have to give it a try, pretty.”

Your senses seem both heightened and nullified at the same time. It’s a weird mix, and you don’t know what to do. On one hand, you’re compelled to run; on the other, you know that Satoru would save you no matter what. Do you just let things happen or do you blast the fuck out of here?

You choose the former, staying close to the tall man as you tremble in the air that still feels wintry. Your breath puffs out in white, which makes Satoru smile. He hugs you close to his side, seeing you trembling tugs at his heartstrings. He holds your hand, giving you a comforting smile as you look up at him. “Why’re we here, ‘Toru…?” You question. “Tell me the truth.”

“But who said I was lying? What if I just wanted to—”

“Satoru!”

He sighs. “Fine, fine…” He pouts. “You’re such a killjoy, pretty.”

You only glare.

“I have a mission here ‘is all…”

The fog makes you feel hazy, weird, and heavy. “Then why’d you want me to come? You’re more than capable of handling a mission yourself.” You ask, barely keeping yourself upright.

“Because I want you to cu—” Before Satoru could finish, the ground opens up to reveal a cave of amethyst-like tentacles. It grabs his leg but leaves yours. Soon enough, he is nowhere to be found on the surface.

“Satoru!” You yell, this time, more concerned than anything. First, you try and survive, sobering up from the heavy clouds you’re sure is infested. You run away from the long slimy suckers that chased after your form as fast as you can. “Ijichi! Call for help!” You shout, hoping the bespectacled gentleman could hear.

You round the crater made by the curse and try to reach for Satoru, but you couldn’t see him nor was he making any noise. Suddenly, another hole erupts from underneath the pile of leaves, and you push yourself back. Unfortunately for you, the curse easily caught on despite your mid-air curve.

Purple tentacles immediately claim its stake on your lips, arms, stomach, and legs. From a distance, you hear Satoru yell. “Help!” Panic shoots up your chest. You immediately squirm, trying to release yourself from the suctioned trap to no avail.

“Satoru!” You squeal, muffled because of the stupidly large appendage on your mouth.

“Help!”

The tentacles loosen and you fall through the cracks. A high-pitched scream escapes your mouth as you’re dropped. You try to use your technique, but the purple slime left on your hands made you feel a little bit funny.

You’re caught by the purple limbs before hitting anything else. Now, facing below you, you’re met with a smiling Satoru, who seems to be enjoying and not at all in grueling pain.

“Finally, baby. I was worried you’d never make your way here.” He says as the tentacles fold your calves to your thighs, spreading your legs wide.

“Why the hell were you screaming for help?!” You huff.

“Help me undress.” He grins.

“You’re insufferable.” You scoff.

“And you’re tied up… like a rope bunny.”

Your eyes widen. “Excuse you?!”

“What? I’m just calling it as it is!” He laughs.

You thrash around, depleting your much needed energy. “I’m going to bite your dick off Satoru Gojo!”

That same lazy smirk sits on his face without a care in the world about what you do or say. “Please do, baby.”

“What is wrong with you?!”

He shrugs. “You.” He teases. “But anywaysssss, I have a joke, baby girl.”

“A joke?” You sigh, knowing you literally have nothing else to do but wait for Ijichi to realize that you’re both not coming back to campus unless he sends help. “What the fuck is a joke going to—”

Satoru ignores your perfectly acceptable query. “How many tickles can you give a tentacle curse before it lets go?” He interjects.

You only look at him annoyed and confused.

His smile doesn’t falter. “Ten-tickles!” He laughs.

“Funny.” You deadpan.

“Of course it is, angel. Your beautiful, tall, and handsome ‘best friend’ said it!”

You roll your eyes. “What’s with the air quotes, loser?”

“‘Cause we’re more like soulmates really—cosmically attached. ESPECIALLY when my dick is inside you. Any hole works, really.”

Again, you roll your eyes as he used one of his long pale fingers to poke and tease the tentacles surrounding him. “But anyways, watch.” Slowly, the suckers unwrap his arms. “It relaxes the curse, y’know?” He lectures.

He does the same for his legs, fully freeing his large form. Then, his eyes shift to your face. “Hey, angel.” He says like you aren’t dangling on top of him like bait.

Your cheeks heat up as you feel something poking and prodding horrifically close to your aching dripping cunt. “Help me, Satoru…” You whimper as the tentacle wraps around the entirety of your thigh, slithering up as it plays with your pussy through the soft fabric of your stockings and panties.

The tip of the girthy limb twists on the damp spot of the cloth, and you let out a soft moan while trying to keep your gaze away from Satoru. However, like an absolute dick, he takes two fingers and lifts your chin, thumb rubbing condescendingly on your pretty skin. “No, baby. Keep your eyes on me, m’kay?”

“But…” You whine, feeling the growing pulse between your legs quicken and strengthen. “Sa-hah—Satoru…”

The man tuts, gently pecking your parted lips. “You’re so cute!” He chides.

“Please, ‘Toru…”

“Please what, pretty?”

“Please help me… hah—”

How the hell is he able to walk on those slimy restless suckers?! And how the fucking hell does he know its weaknesses?

Satoru looks down at you like a brilliant idea just popped up in his mind—eyes widening and body jutting like an emoticon. He smirks, and you immediately notice his bulge that’s a mere inch away from your face, such a vulgar scene, really.

“What are you doing, ‘Toru?” You ask shyly as he starts to palm his pre-dripping cock through the fabric of his uniform.

He groans, obviously worked up. “You know exactly what I’m doing, baby. Don’t act stupid, you aren’t on my dick yet.” His hand falls to the silver buckle of belt, loosening his pants in one click.

“Satoru!” You shriek.

The tentacle, still hasn’t stopped twisting against your heart, but at least it’s not your clit, right?

Well… now it is.

“Tell me what’s wrong, angel. I’ll fix it for ya.” Purple limbs now twist around your own, circling your appendages like they’re jacking your whole body off.

Pornographic moans echoes through the never ending chambers of the domain. You can’t even speak—pleasure and anxiety mixing to render you completely speechless. “I—jus… hah! Wanna… mmfhmeee! Fuck.”

“Mm, fucking doesn’t sound wrong, pretty.” He laughs, crouching down again to meet your eyes. “D’ya wanna fuck? I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

You whimper, watching his aura shift. The playful Satoru is nowhere to be seen. Now, you’re stuck in this cursed sex fantasy with your best friend (sometimes friends with benefits) and colleague turned sex-crazed pervert, Satoru Gojo! And fortunately unfortunately for you, he wants to do more with you right now than just exorcising this curse.

Finally, you spit out the words he’s been dying for. “Fuck! Please fuck me, Satoruuu!” You squeal, and he smiles.

“Hmm.. but I think I should use your mouth-pussy first, no? Fill your stomach up with my cum then your slutty cunt.” You look horrified as he speaks (horrified that he’s not going to insert his dick in your aching hole already). “You looked so disappointed, pretty. Maybe I’ll fuck you in the ass first before your pretty little pussy, no?“ He smirks.

He then points at your mouth mockingly. “First here.” Now, he points at your ass hole. “Then here.” Slowly, his fingers trace over your skin, playing with the folds of your dripping cunny through the soaked fabric that gives waaaaay too much away. With brute strength, he tears the stockings and hooks a finger under the pad of your panties to tug it to the side, exposing the puffy labia to the warm feel of his rough fingers. “Lastly, here. That’s one round each and three rounds total! ‘Think ya can handle that, baby?” He says like this is supposed to be a fair deal set in an office.

You shake your head all scared and pouty.

“Huh? Use your words, pretty girl. I can’t understand stupid mumblings from bimbos.” He says, snide as if he isn’t talking to you.

“I can’t, ‘Toru!”

“Aww, that’s no way to speak of your abilities, pretty…” He nudges the tentacles like he did before, freeing you from their hold. You land on the floor, if you can even call it that, with a soft thud, but the limb that keeps playing with your folds still won’t let up.

Satoru just stands, waiting for you to act first. You know what he wants, and he knows that you know it.

Tentacles from underneath wrap around your arms and legs again. This time, it doesn’t lift you up. You’re in a sitting position with a shaft underneath you and your face on par with Satoru’s hard on.

His hands are above his hips, waiting.

“C’mon, baby. Y’know ya want to.” He smirks.

You’re annoyed, but he’s not wrong. You want him to fuck you stupid.

“But what if we get caught?” You mumble.

“We won’t.” He says.

“How are you so sure?”

He crouches down to be at your eye level, one knee on the ground. “Because I planned this.” Again, he smirks. “I was here last week, about to exorcise this ‘sex fantasy’ curse, as the higher ups put it, but I wanted to try it out with you.”

“You’re such a pervert.” You huff.

He grabs you away from the horrendous appendages, and lays down, the suckers making a bed with an elevated head rest for him, this fucking jerk.

“If you had to look at someone as pretty as yourself 24/7 while she pounces on you every time she can, you’d do this too. It’s just a taste of your own medicine, sweetheart.”

“No, it’s not….” You pout, adjusting yourself on his abdomen. “I just like your warmth, pervert.”

“Oh? So you like this pervert’s warmth? Then, by the transitive property, you, too, are a pervert!”

“That’s not how that works.” You huff. “Stupid.”

Stupid, huh? He’ll show you stupid.

“Hm, well then.” He pushes you down, letting the tentacles latch back onto your skin as you slide down his body while purple suckers help him strip his pants off along with his dark boxers.

Now, his hard cock is right in front of you, waiting to be met by the warmth of your pretty mouth. “Suck.” He orders, and you follow. First came a fee kitten licks that already left the needy Satoru gasping for air. He may talk a big talk, but one touch from you and he’s toast.

Long pale fingers tangle in your hair, but he doesn’t push. “Fuck yeah—hah! You’re so good, pretty girl…” He says while you bob your head up and down his length.

As you’re preoccupied with Satoru’s girth, the curse rips your uniform right off, leaving your whole body drenched in the sticky purple fluid that seemed to negate your abilities.

You’re too pretty for him. It’s a wonder how you think he’s still pretty after seeing all his scars. Maybe if he gained more, you’d stop having sex with him for good. To keep himself from prematurely ejaculating, he thinks about who you’d choose if not him. Perhaps Kento Nanami, no? Tall, blond, jacked, kind, and kind of a pleaser—he’s probably your type. Or maybe you’d fully rebel and join Ryomen Sukuna and become his queen. You’d love that, right? A lavish life with blood shed just for your deepest darkest desires.

Unfortunately for him, those thoughts only serve to quicken his orgasm. Jesus, was he a fucking cuck?!

The white-haired nuisance keeps whispering your name like a prayer between hot breaths. He’s too far gone to even think of telling you that he’s about to cum. You’re just surprised when he finally pushes your head down, forcing you to swallow his salty seed. He doesn’t keep you down for long, he’s not a monster. Almost immediately, he lets up, throwing his head back as he pants, spurts of thick white cum still erupting from the slit of his mushroom tip.

It takes him a little longer than usual to catch his breath, so you get worried. “Are you okay, ‘Toru..?” You say in such a shy tone that the blood in his head rushes down to his dick once again. His shaft stands tall and proud, ready for the next hole Satoru decides to shove it in.

“Sorry… you jus’ felt so good, baby.”

Your cheeks are lightly dusted with pink, and it makes Satoru smile. “You’re filthy, ‘Toru…”

“Don’cha like that?”

“Not when we’re in public… or underground…”

“Why? Isn’t that the exciting part. I bet even your ass is leaking.” He laughs. Then, you yelp as the tentacles turn you around, spreading your legs and pointing your lower half towards the ceiling of barely visible amethyst limbs, successfully setting the ever so elegant pose—face down, ass up.

“No way…” You mumble. Was he really going to do this here? You seriously doubt this impatient slut put up a curtain. Surely, a random person could fall in at any time.

Satoru’s eyes feast on your dripping cunt and soaked ass hole. It’s most likely from your slick traveling all over your skin. Your juices make your folds glisten as if bathed in only the finest glitter. He smiles at the thought. After this, he’d have to bathe you in pure gold before you’d even think of forgiving him. He knows you’ll hold a grudge. Who wouldn’t?

He gets on his knees, aligning himself with your backdoor. Before going in, he removes his shirt, huffing about how hot it is.

“Ready, pretty?”

You nod, dreading the stretch, but you don’t feel the stinging pain. You shriek as he starts to move in and out, only to have your mouth defiled by the horrible tentacles that weirdly tasted like Satoru’s favorite perfume. Hm… maybe it wasn’t that bad.

Satoru and the curse move at confusing paces. It’s weird, it’s scary—it’s exciting.

Plap, plap, plap, plap !

Dirty squelching, whiny moans, and cute sniffles. That was all you could hear for an hour straight. Satoru’s switched positions, ejaculated inside you, and used up all of your sorry holes.

After he came and used your ass, Satoru laid you on your back and gave you the creampie you’ve been waiting for. His thrusts went deep and hard like he wanted to put a baby deep inside of you, and maybe that was the plan.

His words echo like broken promises in your mind. “You won’t leave me, yeah?” He rasped. “This pussy’s fuckin’ mine, right, baby?”

“Say yes, say yes for me, pretty girl…” He cooed. Fuck, just thinking about it got you wet again, and he could absolutely feel it. Your pussy clenched around him, and to no one’s surprise, he came more.

You thought, for sure, his balls would have already been emptied, but no. Satoru always has his cum ready for you! All for his sweet best friend, who he’s always kept at arms’ reach.

He doesn’t want you to leave like Suguru did, so maybe his dick will make you stay, no?

As he fucks the last of his seed into your womb, he plops onto the pile of purple limbs, tired. You fall onto his bare chest, spent.

“‘Toru…” You murmur.

“Yes, baby?”

“Is this really happening?” You ask as the darkness the surrounds you starts to dissolve.

You see a smirk creep up his face, and it makes your stomach whirl. Somehow, the two of you are back on the surface with clothes underwear and clothes on like nothing ever happened.

“I told you it was a sex fantasy curse, didn’t I?” He smiles as he stands, helping your wobbly legs stand up straight.

You lean on his chest to steady yourself, letting the large man intertwine his fingers with yours. “Aren’t you supposed to exorcise it?”

“Nah, it’s much more fun playing with it. Plus, it harms no one.” He shrugs. “We’ll just enjoy our little hookups a bit more than before.” He winks.

“We’re never doing that again.”

“Riiiiiight, sure. So you’re saying if I slide your panties to the side right now, your pussy’d be completely dry?”

“Well no—”

He places a finger on your mouth. “Yup, that’s all I needed to hear.” He says as he picks you up and peppers your face with a thousand kisses.

You giggle and he nuzzles his head onto your neck. Really? You’re this sweet with the guy who JUST rearranged your guts? Seriously?

“Though, I am really sorry, angel. I didn’t mean to hurt you, y’know that, right? Jus’ wanted us to have some fun, and you did have fun, yeah?”

Your cheeks heat up when you nod. What an embarrassing thing to admit!

He raises his hand and waves at Ijichi, calling the man, who has no idea about the absolute filth that had just happened, over. “I’ll take you back to the penthouse, pretty.” He kisses your cheek then your neck. “I’ll show you how sorry I am, okay?”

You nod almost immediately as if this whole act was an excusable offense. Wow, ‘guess you’re both just fucking freaks.

© wkbsrco, DO NOT repost/steal/copy/feed to AI

pssssst… join my discord server

[delavegaaaaa]

“You can’t fix him” I don’t wanna fix him! I wanna FUCK him! I’m a pervert not a psychologist!

[sugucvnt]

WHEN I GROW UP

main masterlist.

Satoru Gojo x f!reader | Geto Suguru x f!reader

Genre: Smut, angst, slow burn, dark content

Summary: You and Satoru Gojo grew up dreaming of the same things. Fame, escape, and a future bigger than the lives you were born into. For a while, it felt like you might reach it together, but the world is kinder to some dreams than others. When Satoru lands his first major role, he’s forced to leave, and your relationship shatters due to the impossible distance and his mother's influence.

Your first love. Your first best friend.

Eight years later, you’re struggling just to survive while Satoru has become everything the world promised him he would be. When your car is stolen one night, fate forces you into an unexpected reunion with the man you haven’t seen since you were sixteen, and drags every buried feeling back to the surface.

Warnings/Tags: Age gap, eventual smut, degradation, implied childhood abuse, mentions of abuse, sex work/prostitution, pregnancy, slow burn, cheating (during a break), drinking alcohol, best friends to lovers, lovers to enemies, childhood friends…

Hello! My name is Mani, thank you for reading.

The first chapter includes implied child abuse and references to bruises and depression, so please be mindful of the trigger warnings. The story will also contain time skips, an age gap later on, darker themes, and eventual smut. Please review the tags before proceeding. My update schedule may be inconsistent. I’m currently in university and working full-time, so chapters may be released every couple of weeks or once a month. Thank you so much for your patience and understanding.

I hope you enjoy :3

CHAPTER ONE: Seasaw

18+, child abuse, implied abuse, domestic violence, harsh language, mentions of sex, pregnancy,

CHAPTER TWO… tba

CHAPTER THREE… tba

CHAPTER FOUR… tba

CHAPTER FIVE… tba

CHAPTER SIX… tba

CHAPTER SEVEN… tba

CHAPTER EIGHT… tba

CHAPTER NINE… tba

CHAPTER TEN… tba

do not copy, repost, plagiarize, edit, or translate any of my works.

dividers by: @sweetmelodygraphics

[sugucvnt]

WHEN I GROW UP | CHAPTER ONE

masterlist.

satoru gojo x childhood best friend!reader

word count: 5.9k

description: You and Satoru Gojo grew up dreaming of the same things. Fame, escape, and a future bigger than the lives you were born into. For a while, it felt like you might reach it together, but the world is kinder to some dreams than others. When Satoru lands his first major role, he’s forced to leave, and your relationship shatters due to the impossible distance and his mother's influence.

Your first love. Your first best friend. Eight years later, you’re struggling just to survive while Satoru has become everything the world promised him he would be. When your car is stolen one night, fate forces you into an unexpected reunion with the man you haven’t seen since you were sixteen, and drags every buried feeling back to the surface.

tags/warnings: Age gap, eventual smut, degradation, implied childhood abuse, mentions of abuse, sex work/prostitution, pregnancy, slow burn, cheating (during a break), drinking alcohol, best friends to lovers, lovers to enemies, childhood friends…

You learned from a young age how to exist quietly.

You learned it in the way your shoes scuffed softly against the pavement as you walked beside your mother, head bowed, shoulders drawn in, careful not to draw attention in a neighborhood that was never meant to be yours. You learned it in how you folded yourself small, curling into corners, shrinking inward until you barely took up space, never allowing anyone to witness you simply existing as a human being.

Silence became your default. You spoke little, even at home. Your father demanded a house that was respectable and hushed, where laughter was suspect, and joy was a provocation. If he so much as thought you were enjoying yourself, his temper flared, bottled rage spilling over, his hand always ready to remind you of the cost of being seen. Life felt shameful before you ever understood why. Your earliest memories were of your mother being pushed to the margins of the world, shunned, spat at, struck, insulted, and her dignity being treated like a joke for other people’s amusement. Those images never left you.

Eventually, you began singing to yourself for comfort. It started small; soft, barely-there melodies whispered into the dark. Nights bled into days as your tiny body curled inward, knees pulled to your chest, lullabies slipping from your lips like prayers. With every song, you wished the yelling would stop. That the pain would soften. That the world would finally go quiet.

Your mother was never far. Even in the thick of chaos, she heard you. Your voice cut through the noise. So sweet, gentle, and impossibly pure. It broke something open in her chest every time. She knew then that it was something fragile, a gift the universe bestowed upon you for comfort. For your sake, she had to preserve it.

Through it all, she was gentle with you in ways that felt almost impossible given everything the world had already taken from her. She held you as though you might shatter, spoke to you in hushed tones meant only for safety, and loved you with a devotion that asked for nothing in return. Sometimes, though, her voice would turn brittle, edged with fear rather than anger, as she warned you what not to become.

She told you never to marry the first man who showed you attention. Never sell your dignity. Never to mistake survival for love.

“You’re meant for more than this,” she would say, sobbing quietly into your tiny shoulder, as if saying it enough times might make it true.

And so began acting school. Only six years old, and already your future was being shaped desperately by hands that loved you too much to let the world decide for you.

Somehow, your mother managed to convince your father that you could become something great, if only by promising him the benefits he would reap. She showed him proof: interviews, headlines, the carefully curated success stories of child actors who’d supposedly made it out unscathed. That was what finally swayed him. At the time, it felt like a last resort, a gamble disguised as hope, a way to claw toward a future that didn’t look so bleak.

He paid for acting classes, singing lessons, and the tuition required to send you to the best arts school they could afford. You weren’t rich, but your family lived comfortably enough. Your father was a successful salaryman; he just happened to spend most of his paychecks in bars, slipping bills to women in fishnets and garter belts, coming home smelling like alcohol and someone else’s perfume.

School was never your favorite part of the day. While your peers were handed opportunities and encouragement, you walked through those doors each morning under the weight of judging eyes. Eyes that lingered too long on the purple bruises blooming along your exposed arms. On the exhaustion carved into your face, the shadows beneath your eyes, no amount of sleep could erase. You smiled anyway, forced it, perfected it, because not smiling only invited more scrutiny. No matter how tired you felt, your mother was worse. She moved through life like a woman already half-buried, her body worn thin by sacrifice, yet she bloomed despite it all. Watching her endure changed something inside you. Your practiced smiles grew a little wider. Your voice carried a little more light.

Though you were grateful for the opportunity, regret followed close behind. You wished your mother had never asked that evil man to pay for your schooling. From the moment he covered your tuition, he began breathing down your neck, his presence heavy and inescapable. He punished you if your voice wavered even slightly during lessons, if your pitch cracked, if your grades slipped by a single point. Excellence wasn’t enough. It had to be flawless, and even then, it never satisfied him.

What began as an opportunity slowly revealed itself as a curse. When you were ten, freshly graduated from your fifth year, he finally parted with a few words meant to follow you for the rest of your life.

“You will never amount to anything,” he said. “Just like your mother.”

He was supposed to pay for your sixth year at a new school. Without him, your mother couldn’t afford it. The future you’d been pushed toward vanished overnight, as easily as it had been promised. And that was the day you sobbed into Satoru’s arms for the first time.

He had never been to your house. Whenever you were together outside of school, it was always the park or his place. You preferred it that way, mostly because he lived in what felt like a miniature mansion. You loved running through the long halls, your feet slapping against cool marble as the two of you flung water at each other, laughter echoing loud enough to earn sharp looks from his mother.

He had never seen you like that before, so unguarded, so broken open. Even on the days you went to school after witnessing things no child should ever have to see, you carried a soft smile on your face. You held it carefully, kept it intact.

Just for him.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, hopeful in the way only a child could be. “I’m sure your papa will be back.”

You couldn’t speak. The lump in your throat made breathing difficult, but it wasn’t the only thing silencing you. To tell him the truth, to say that you knew your papa wasn’t coming back, would have meant explaining everything. Your situation. The shame of it. The constant bruises blooming on your mother’s face, the matching ones hidden beneath your own clothes. It would have required honesty and a level of vulnerability you weren’t ready for. You were only ten, after all.

Instead, you stayed quiet.

That day became the sweetest you could remember. He begged his mother to let you stay the night, clinging to her arm with earnest insistence. You like to think she understood then, the weight of a father leaving, for good. Perhaps even the cruelest creatures are capable of sympathy, if only in small, fleeting doses.

Most of the night was spent with Satoru doing everything he could to distract you. He baked cookies with reckless enthusiasm, flour dusting the counters and his hair, dragged out the action figures from his favorite television shows, the ones your mother had given him for his eighth birthday (and could barely afford), and insisted on reenacting entire scenes with exaggerated sound effects. When the kitchen grew quiet, he flipped on the television, sprawled across the floor like the world was light again.

Satoru’s love for television ran deep. He gravitated toward playful characters, especially the ones who spoke too loudly or laughed too much, the ones who filled every moment with noise. He learned early that he wasn’t meant for impressions or dramatic voices, no matter how hard he tried. What he was, though, was a natural performer, effortlessly funny, and magnetic in a way that drew people in without trying. Even then, it was clear he belonged in front of an audience.

His mother was buried in debt long before you ever met her, debt left behind by a husband who died when Satoru was only two. He never spoke about his father, or the absence of one, but now and then you caught glimpses of it anyway: the flicker of jealousy when other kids talked about theirs, the way he lingered a second too long when someone mentioned family traditions he’d never known.

His mother took over the struggling company after her husband’s death and rebuilt it with sheer force of will, turning it into something stronger and more profitable than it had ever been under his father’s care. Still, it was never enough. It could never be enough. She needed security, needed Satoru to become part of the solution someday, or better yet, to generate his own success entirely.

When she noticed his love for comedy and theatre, she acted immediately. She paid for his schooling without hesitation, investing in him the way one might invest in a future asset. That was how he met you.

Unlike you, Satoru was handed wider doors. Better opportunities. He had star appeal in a way that couldn’t be taught, money, confidence, and a face that felt unreal. Beautiful white hair, crystal-blue eyes on a Japanese child, no less. He was an anomaly, unmistakable and impossible to overlook. The commercials he booked leaned heavily into it, framing him as something ethereal, something rare.

Even then, it was clear the world was already reaching for him.

At twelve, you had your first kiss.

By then, the starlight had already begun to fade. Your mother could no longer afford fine arts schools or music lessons, and just like that, the future that had once felt so carefully planned slipped through your fingers. You were quietly pushed out of auditions, out of classrooms that smelled like stage makeup and hope, back into a world that demanded practicality over possibility. The industry moved on quickly. Too quickly for a child who had never been taught how to stop dreaming.

You booked one commercial that summer, right before your birthday. It was for a company that felt off in ways you didn’t yet have the language for. The set was cramped, the smiles too forced, the adults too eager. The pay was enough to keep the lights on for a little while, enough to make your mother cry with relief, but nowhere near what she’d been promised. Nowhere near enough to buy your way back in.

Meanwhile, Satoru was everywhere.

Commercial after commercial. Voice acting gigs that stacked up like proof the world wanted him. His mother’s pockets filled, his future accelerating faster than anyone could keep up with. You watched it all happen from the sidelines, never once feeling jealousy take root. Only pride. A quiet, aching kind of pride for the boy who had always been meant for something bigger.

The night of the party, his mother threw a celebration for his newest voice acting job. The house buzzed with laughter and adult voices, the clink of glasses drifting up the stairs. You stayed in his room instead, lying on the edge of his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Lately, you’d been depressed as hell.

You didn’t have a better word for it back then, just a constant heaviness that pressed down on your chest. You were tired all the time. Food tasted like nothing. Even breathing felt like an effort some days. Still, you’d come. You wanted to be there for him, even if all you could offer was your presence.

The door creaked open.

Satoru stepped inside, light spilling in behind him, before he nudged the door mostly shut. He crossed the room quietly, like he was afraid of startling you.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching down to brush his fingers through your hair. “Mom’s cutting the cake. You want some?”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes. They were gentle. Always had been.

You shook your head. “Nah,” you admitted after a pause. “I haven’t felt hungry in a while.”

Something shifted in his expression, concern settling in, deeper than before. He didn’t fully understand what was happening to you lately. He just knew you were quieter. Smaller somehow. That you laughed less and slept more and looked like you might drift away if he didn’t hold on tightly enough.

He knelt beside the bed, still tall even then, his presence grounding in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Don’t be scared to talk to me,” he said, voice earnest, almost pleading. “I’m serious. I don’t care if you think you’re annoying me or whatever.” His hand came up, warm and careful as it cupped your cheek. “I… like you. I want to take care of you. You’re my best friend.”

Your heart began to race, the words sinking in slowly, painfully. He was looking at you differently, focused, intense, like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.

“Sato…” you started, your voice catching.

You didn’t get to finish.

His lips brushed against yours, tentative and soft, like he was asking permission even as he crossed the line. For a second, the world went silent. No shouting. No expectations. No fear of being left behind.

Just warmth.

You pressed into his lips harder, clumsier than you meant to, the kiss turning desperate before either of you understood why. He adjusted instinctively, tilting his head, meeting you where you were, and for a moment the world narrowed to warmth and breath and the quiet sound of your heart in your ears. Then he pulled away, slowly… reluctantly, like he’d only been promised a taste of you, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want more.

He rested his forehead against yours, breathing unevenly.

“Is that okay?” he asked, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You nodded, unable to speak yet, still suspended somewhere between fear and relief.

From that day on, your relationship deepened in quiet, stolen ways. Your kisses multiplied, behind bleachers where the air smelled like grass and metal, in the corners of empty classrooms after the bell rang for lunch, in his room with the door locked and the world held at bay. Sometimes it was just his lips against yours, slow and careful. Other times, it was your hands on his cheeks, grounding yourself in the proof that he was real, that he was choosing you.

That winter, he asked you to be his girlfriend as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You don’t have to think about it,” he said, trying to play it cool and failing miserably. “I mean, unless you want to. But I already know what I want.”

You laughed through nerves, through the way your chest felt too full. You said yes without hesitation. You couldn’t imagine saying anything else.

At fifteen, you realized you loved him and the life he provided. You had so many firsts with him.

His first movie premiere, the first one he ever voice acted in, was also your first. You were fifteen, standing beside him as his plus one, surrounded by other voice actors and industry people who spoke in polished tones and practiced smiles. The lights were blinding. Cameras flashed. You wore a borrowed dress that fit just well enough, your hands shaking as you clutched his sleeve.

“You okay?” he whispered, leaning down so only you could hear.

“Yeah,” you lied softly. “I just… don’t want to embarrass you.”

He frowned. “You couldn’t.”

But you felt it anyway, the weight of the room, the way you didn’t belong. You watched him laugh with producers, watched strangers praise him like he was already something untouchable. You felt proud, achingly so, and terrified in the same breath. Like you were standing beside a rising star, already wondering how long before gravity caught up with you.

Still, those years were happy. Happier than you’d ever known. Even your mother began to look healthier, the lines in her face softening as hope crept back in. For a while, it felt like maybe things really were changing. Maybe this life, this version of you, could last.

You didn’t know what was happening beneath the surface.

Satoru’s mother had always tolerated you when you were younger. Hating a child outright would’ve looked cartoonishly cruel. But once you turned twelve, the patience evaporated. The complaints started quietly at first, offhand remarks, heavy sighs, pointed looks.

“She’s always sad,” she’d say to him. “It’s exhausting.”

“She drags the mood down.”

“She’s going to hold you back.”

She told him you were miserable and wanted the same fate for him. That your sadness was contagious. That loving you meant choosing a smaller life.

Satoru argued with her constantly.

“You don’t know her,” he’d snap late at night, voice raised, door slammed shut. “You don’t get to talk about her like that.”

“She’s a liability,” his mother would fire back. “And you are too young to see it.”

Those fights bled into your nights. You sat on his bed afterward, knees pulled to your chest, listening as he paced the room, furious and restless.

“She’s ridiculous,” he’d say bitterly.

You shook your head, throat tight. “No. She’s just… right.”

He stopped. “Don’t say that.”

“She is,” you insisted quietly. “I see it. I’m not blind, Satoru. I don’t have anything to offer you like she wants.”

He knelt in front of you then, hands gripping your knees. “You’re not dragging me down.”

“You don’t know that,” you whispered. “You’re flying, and I’m—” You swallowed. “I’m barely staying afloat.”

He shook his head hard. “I choose you. I’ve always chosen you.”

When he finally told his mother you were dating, really dating, she exploded.

“I don’t know why you insist on disobeying me!” she screamed, her voice carrying down the halls. “She is ruining your future. Either get rid of her, or you won’t hear the end of it!”

He didn’t back down.

At sixteen, he bought you a promise ring.

It was a thin, beautiful band with a princess-cut diamond that caught the light every time you moved your hand. The fact that he could afford it at all was insane. The fact that he chose to spend that money on you made your chest ache.

“I know it’s stupid,” he said, slipping it onto your finger with hands that trembled just slightly. “But I want you to know I’m serious. About us. About everything.”

You stared at it, overwhelmed, terrified, loved beyond reason.

Your heart felt like it might burst in that moment, and you knew you would have been okay with it, so long as his love still surrounded you. His eyes held yours, kindness swirling in those impossible shades of blue, steady and unwavering. When he looked at you like that, the world felt safe.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, like it was something sacred. “You’ll always be mine. I promise I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

He rested his forehead against yours, the room falling into stillness around you. For a moment, nothing else existed. No expectations. No futures pressing in. Just the two of you, breathing in sync, suspended in a fragile, perfect now.

That night marked another first.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t reckless. He was kind and gentle with you, hands on your hips as he drove deep inside, rambling on about how he loved you so much. How you were his, forever. Long, strong hands on your soft skin,n squeezing, feeling you up, and drinking every single moan that dared to escape your lips. You carried that night with you long after it ended. It lingered in the warmth of your cheeks when you thought about it later, in the way your chest tightened whenever you remembered how carefully he’d held you, how sure he’d sounded when he spoke about forever. Even years later, the memory remained gentle.

--

You never could have predicted what came next.

A week passed with no word from Satoru. Not just missing school, missing you. No texts. No half-asleep calls. No rambling voice notes sent too late at night. The two of you spoke every single day, even when he was busy, even when he was exhausted, even when he’d barely slept. Silence like this wasn’t just unusual. It was wrong.

By the eighth day, the worry had eaten through you completely.

You told yourself there had to be a reason. A shoot running late. A phone was taken away. Something temporary. But your chest wouldn’t loosen, and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking as you walked to his house after school, rehearsing explanations you didn’t believe in.

You saw the moving truck before you saw anything else.

A large van sat parked in front of the house, its back doors open wide. Furniture lined the driveway, couches wrapped in plastic, boxes stacked and labeled, pieces of a life being dismantled in broad daylight. Your breath caught painfully in your throat.

Moving?

No. That couldn’t be right. He’d lived here his entire life. He’d told you once he couldn’t imagine leaving this place, said his mother wouldn’t even think of it.

You knocked anyway. Harder than you meant to.

The door opened almost immediately.

His mother stepped out first, sharp heels clicking against the pavement as she barked orders over her shoulder. “Satoru, bring the rest of the boxes out. Now!”

You heard his voice inside then. Raised. Strained. Furious.

“I told you I needed time,” he snapped.

“We don’t have time,” his mother shot back. “The role starts filming in two weeks. This is not a discussion.”

Your heart hammered.

When she finally noticed you, it was like watching something ugly surface. Whatever thin layer of civility she’d ever bothered with vanished, her expression twisting into something openly hostile.

“What do you want?” she demanded, eyes narrowing to slits.

You froze. You’d seen her cold before, dismissive and sharp, but never like this. Never so openly cruel.

“I—I was just—” Your voice faltered. “I was looking for Satoru.”

Something flickered across her face. Recognition. Then satisfaction.

“Oh,” she said slowly, lips curling. “Did Satoru not tell you?”

Your stomach dropped.

Behind her, you could hear him pacing, his movements restless, angry. He hadn’t been at school because he’d been shuttled between studios and auditions, locked in windowless rooms with producers and directors who spoke about his future like it was already theirs. He’d spent days recording lines, reshooting scenes, being molded into something sharper, bigger, more marketable. Nights dissolved into arguments, his voice raw from shouting, his hands clenched at his sides as he demanded to know why his entire life was being uprooted without his consent.

“You can’t just take me away from everything,” he’d yelled. “From her.”

“She’s a distraction,” his mother had replied coldly. “And you’re proving my point.”

He thought about you constantly during those days. Thought about texting you a hundred times, fingers hovering over his phone before dropping it again. He didn’t know how to explain this over a screen. Didn’t know how to tell you that the ground had shifted beneath his feet, that everything was being decided for him again. He was terrified you’d hear it from someone else. Terrified you’d look at him and think he’d chosen this.

He hadn’t chosen anything.

And now you were standing there, watching his life being packed away piece by piece, realization dawning far too late.

His mother’s voice cut through your thoughts, sharp and satisfied.

“We’re moving,” she said. “You should go home.”

Before you could respond, footsteps sounded behind her. Satoru came through the doorway slowly, like his body was heavier than usual. His eyes were red, rimmed and glassy, his face drawn tight with something close to panic. He looked like he’d been crying, something you had never seen in the ten years you’d known him. Not once. The sight alone knocked the air from your lungs. When his gaze found yours, it softened instantly. Those bright, familiar eyes filled with something raw and desperate. He looked at you like he was already apologizing. Like he was asking for forgiveness without knowing how to say the words out loud.

“I told her today,” he said quietly, voice rough. “I meant to tell you last week. I just—” He swallowed. “I didn’t know how.”

You didn’t answer. Your mind felt numb, lagging behind the moment.

Instead, you reached for your phone with shaking hands. There it was. A message sent hours ago.

So small it felt cruel.

We’re moving. Don’t text me, don’t respond to this. Lose my number. I’m so sorry.

Your chest tightened painfully. All that history, all those promises, reduced to a handful of words that did not explain, no goodbye. It felt almost insulting, how little context he’d given, how easily it could be misunderstood. Like he’d erased you with a single message.

You looked back up at him, your throat burning. And for the first time, you couldn’t tell whether he was asking you to stay, or letting you go.

His eyes were wet again, long lashes heavy with tears, his gaze unfocused like he was trying not to break in front of you. In his mind, he had already lived a hundred futures with you. He saw himself marrying you after college, fumbling with the ring because his hands would be shaking too badly. He saw himself buying you your first car, your first apartment, something small and imperfect, but yours. From the day he held you while you sobbed about your father, your body trembling against his, he had known it wasn’t just love. It was a responsibility. It was devotion. It was forever.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, voice cracking. “I…”

He couldn’t finish.

Instead, he looked away.

He stepped out of the doorway with a large cardboard box in his arms, jaw clenched, shoulders tight, walking past you like it physically hurt to do so. He didn’t meet your eyes again. That hurt worse than anything else.

“You’re a distraction to him,” his mother said sharply, stepping forward. “I think it’s time you leave.”

Her words landed like a shove.

Your cheeks were wet. You weren’t even sure when you’d started crying. Your feet felt rooted to the pavement, heavy, sinking, like the ground itself was trying to swallow you whole. Time stretched thin and meaningless as you stood there, folding inward, shrinking the way you always had when things became too much.

Then your legs moved on their own.

You ran.

You sobbed as you ran home, breath hitching painfully with each step, the wind slicing against your face like punishment. Your chest burned, your heart aching so fiercely it felt like it might split open. Tears blurred your vision until the world became nothing but streaks of light and shadow, grief pressing in from all sides.

How could she do that?

How could he let it happen?

No explanation. No chance to speak. Just cruelty. Sudden and sharp, like he hadn’t kissed you only a week ago, or as if you were the last girl alive.

Like none of it had ever mattered.

Your mother had always loved Satoru like he was her own son. You didn’t spend much time together at your home; there were too many reasons for that, but the few moments she had shared with him were enough. She saw how careful he was with you. How he listened. How he made space for you without ever asking you to shrink. That was all she needed to know she could trust him.

Now, she held you while you cried, arms wrapped tightly around your shaking body, one hand rubbing slow circles into your back. You stared down at the ring on your finger, the diamond catching the light like a cruel joke. Her grip tightened when she noticed it, a quiet sound breaking from her chest.

Even she had believed the two of you would be together forever.

–-

About eight months after everything fell apart, you made the mistake you’d been avoiding for far too long: you checked his Instagram.

You’d texted him more times than you cared to admit after he moved. Messages sent late at night. Messages deleted and rewritten. Messages that went unanswered until, eventually, they stopped delivering altogether. He’d changed his number without telling you, leaving you suspended in silence. He never blocked you on social media, though, whether out of forgetfulness or mercy, you didn’t know. It felt like both a blessing and a curse.

It was the night before a party your friend was throwing, her parents out of town, the house meant to be loud and distracting. You don’t know what possessed you. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the way his name still sat in your chest like unfinished business. Whatever the reason, you looked.

And there it was. The answer you’d been dreading.

Had he moved on already?

If the feed was any indication, the answer was yes.

Picture after picture filled the space where you used to be. A pretty girl with long, dark hair and an easy smile. A ring on her finger, too similar to yours to bea coincidence. Photos of them kissing, holding hands, leaning into each other, as it came naturally. Photos of them on set together, bathed in professional lighting, playing roles that bled too easily into real life. They were starring in the new television show he’d been filming together.

Your stomach twisted violently.

You scrolled even though it hurt. Even though every image felt like a deliberate erasure. You felt sick with jealousy, with grief, with the humiliating realization that the future you’d imagined had been replaced so seamlessly. You closed the app too late, nausea rising in your throat, heart pounding like it was trying to escape your chest. For a moment, you wished your mom would come home from work early.

You stared into the abyss for so long you didn’t even hear the front door open.

“Hey, are you ready?” your friend called out, keys jangling as she stepped inside. “I asked Shoko to stop somewhere for food before we go back to my place to set up.”

You didn’t respond.

She paused, finally really looking at you. At the way your shoulders slumped, at the distant glaze in your eyes. She let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on,” she said, already impatient. “You seriously need to get over him. Yeah, okay, he was your childhood best friend, and sure, he was probably the only rich guy you’ll ever be with.” She waved a hand dismissively. “But there’ll be more guys like that. Trust me.”

There was no softness in her voice. No attempt to understand. Just annoyance, thinly veiled as encouragement.

Before you could protest or explain that it wasn’t about money or status, she grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward the door.

“Let’s go,” she said. “You’re not staying home tonight.”

–-

The party swallowed you whole.

Music blared so loudly it rattled your ribs, bass thudding against your chest until it felt like your heart might give out. The house was packed, too many bodies, too much heat, too many voices shouting over one another. Someone pressed a cup into your hand. Then another. Liquor burned down your throat, loosening something reckless inside you.

You drifted through the night in fragments.

Dancing too hard with friends you barely registered. Laughing until it hurt, then crying without warning. Stuffing handfuls of potato chips into your mouth on the kitchen floor, salt sticking to your fingers. Kissing strangers whose names you forgot the moment they pulled away. Everything blurred together in sound, touch, and light.

You just wanted the pain to stop.

But it didn’t. It pulsed beneath everything, relentless. Every image of him with her replayed behind your eyes, bright and merciless. You could still see the ring. Still hear his voice in your head. The ache in your chest refused to dull, no matter how much you drank.

You told yourself you needed to move on as he had. So when a familiar hand belonging to a boy from your class tugged gently at your wrist and guided you toward the stairs, you didn’t resist. When he led you into a quiet room away from the noise, you didn’t stop him. You immediately pushed him against the wall, kissing your classmate deeply, whimpering into his mouth, ripping his shirt off, and unbuckling his pants. You played along, hoping that if you leaned into the moment hard enough, it might finally drown out the ghost of Satoru. Deluding yourself intimaginingne each thrust of his hips was really Satoru’s. That his fingers igniting fires beneath your skin belonged to your true love.

It wasn’t long before you found out you were with child.

The realization came quietly. A missed cycle you tried to ignore. Nausea that lingered too long to be a coincidence. When you saw those two lines on your pregnancy test, it felt unreal, like something that had happened to you rather than something you were living through. You were terrified. Ashamed. Certain that this was the moment everything finally collapsed.

Telling him was worse.

The boy, the one who’d fucked you through your drunken stupor, went pale when you said the words. He stammered excuses, promises that unraveled almost immediately. He said he wasn’t ready. That it couldn’t be his responsibility. That he had plans. Within weeks, he’d moved neighborhoods and changed schools, his mother calling you every name but your own. He didn’t look back.

It was his brother, Toji, who stayed. Toji was his older brother, about five years older than him, and he truly hated his brother’s irresponsibility and their mother’s decision to aid it.

Toji wasn’t gentle, not in the way people expected comfort to look like. He didn’t sugarcoat anything. He didn’t pretend this would be easy. But he showed up. He drove you to appointments when your mother couldn’t leave work. He fixed the things around the house that had been broken for years. He handed you grocery bags without comment and money without pride, making it clear you didn’t owe him gratitude, just honesty.

“This isn’t your fault,” he told you once, blunt and unyielding. “And you’re not doing this alone.”

Your mother, though… your mother was your anchor.

When you finally told her, voice shaking, she didn’t yell. She didn’t cry. She pulled you into her arms and held you like she had when you were small, like the world hadn’t already taken too much from you. She told you she was proud of you for telling the truth. Proud of you for surviving. From that day on, she went with you to every doctor’s appointment, kept track of your vitamins, and cooked when your body ached too much to stand. She talked to your stomach softly at night, like she was welcoming someone she’d been waiting for all along.

You were seventeen when you gave birth. The peak of your teenage years was already reaching a fever pitch before it could begin.

Meanwhile, Satoru’s seventeen looked a lot different.

At seventeen, he was everywhere. His name is climbing, his face unavoidable. Interviews. Roles. Praise that felt endless. His relationship with a girl named Mio was announced publicly, with carefully curated photos flooding the internet. They looked flawless together. Young, talented, untouchable. The kind of life people earn.

You watched it all from a distance, your life already ruined, wondering how two lives that once fit so seamlessly together could end up so impossibly far apart.

He was becoming everything he was meant to be.

And you were someone else entirely

[sugucvnt]

18+

the one where you let fratboy!gojo take your virgin pussy <3

Your cheeks burned as you lay on your back, body open and aching, slick and trembling for the man positioned between your thighs. Heat crawled up your neck and settled deep in your chest, a heady mix of want and shame you couldn’t tell apart. You felt too seen. Too exposed. And still, you wanted him closer.

Satoru Gojo was part of the worst frat on campus: Sigma Chi.

They partied hard and fucked even harder. Their name carried a reputation that followed them everywhere like a warning and a dare all at once. Their parties were loud, reckless, and infamous for spilling out of control and hurting students who got caught in the crossfire. Eventually, the university kicked them off campus, but it was hardly a punishment. Instead of a cramped house in Greek Village like the rest of Greek life, they moved into a massive place just minutes away. Bigger rooms. Fewer rules. Even bigger parties.

You hadn’t come expecting this. Your plan was supposed to be small. Get a little tipsy. Scope out the cute boys from a safe distance. Maybe flirt if you felt brave enough. Maybe get a number. Then Uber back to your dorm and pretend the night meant more than it did. That was always how it went. Your anxiety never lets you aim higher.

Mostly, you did it for Haru.

She laughed outright when you told her you wanted to get laid for the first time while getting ready, mascara wand hovering midair. Said even a blind man could see how awkward you were. That there were girls prettier than you. She reminded you, casually and cruelly, that she used to date Satoru. That she knew his type. And it wasn’t you. Not even close.

The words lodged themselves somewhere painful. So when you arrived alone, drink in hand, you stuck to the edges like always. The punch tasted like spiked Kool-Aid, sickeningly sweet and too strong, burning your throat as you drank it anyway. Music pounded through the floor. Bodies pressed together everywhere. You told yourself you didn’t belong here and punished yourself for coming. Then Satoru noticed you.

Not in passing, not accidentally. He moved toward you with intention, dancing close, invading your space like it was already his. White hair damp with sweat. Blue eyes, sharp and amused, lingering on you as he’d already decided something. Your pulse spiked hard, breath catching before you could stop it.

You weren’t usually petty. But after the way she’d laughed at you, after all the ways you’d been made to feel small and ridiculous, there was only one thought burning through your head now. Fucking on her ex. 

He knelt between your spread thighs, broad shoulders forcing them wider, and lowered his mouth without hesitation. The first swipe of his tongue over your clit made your hips jerk off the bed. He groaned low against you, the sound vibrating straight through your core, and started working you in earnest, slow, wet circles, then quick flicks that had you gasping.

Your thighs trembled on either side of his head, muscles jumping every time he sucked the sensitive bud between his lips. You stared down at him through heavy lashes, cheeks flaming, whole body buzzing from too much cheap liquor and the impossible heat of his mouth. This was easily the drunkest you’d been in months; words kept slipping out slurred and broken.

Every pull of his lips drew another soft, hiccuping sob from your chest. You couldn’t stop them. Didn’t really want to.

After a few minutes, he slid lower, tongue pressing flat and hot against your entrance before pushing inside, thick, insistent, curling just enough to make your walls flutter. You gushed around him instantly, slick coating his chin, and he chuckled darkly into you.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he growled, voice muffled and rough. He pulled back just enough to watch his fingers take over, long, pale digits sliding through your folds, middle finger rubbing slow, firm circles over your swollen clit while he admired the mess you were making. “Look at you. Dripping for me.”

He lined those same two fingers up with your entrance, pressing just the fingertips there, enough pressure to tease, not enough to breach. Your whole body tensed instinctively; shoulders hunching, breath catching.

“O-Oh, actually, no fingers please,” you whimpered, squirming under him, thighs twitching like you couldn’t decide whether to close or open wider.

He lifted his head, blue eyes glinting in the low light, lips glossy and smug. He studied your flushed face for a beat, wide eyes, parted lips, the way your chest rose and fell too fast, and clearly clocked the difference between real fear and shy, overwhelmed want.

“Yeah?” he said with a low chuckle, sounding amused and fond at the same time. “You’re a grown woman, you can take some fingers.”

He didn’t push in. Instead, he kept the tips right there, circling your slick entrance in lazy, feather-light strokes, teasing, never forcing. The more your eyes widened, and your bottom lip trembled, the wider his grin got.

He laughed softly, breath hot against your thigh. “Fuck, you look so scared. It’s cute.” His voice dropped lower, almost coaxing. “But your pussy’s clenching every time I get close. You’re dying for it, aren’t you? Just too shy to say it.”

You couldn’t form a proper sentence, too drunk, your cheeks burning so hot you thought they might glow in the dim fairy lights strung above the bed. But your hips gave you away: a tiny, helpless roll toward his hand, chasing the teasing pressure of his fingertips even as you squirmed. That small movement said everything your mouth couldn’t.

If there was ever a moment to finally lose your virginity, this hazy, reckless night felt like the one. Your last boyfriend had gotten frustrated waiting, always sighing like it was a personal insult whenever you hesitated. And now here you were, thighs spread for Satoru Gojo, a guy you’d only ever heard stories about, the kind of guy who showed up in campus gossip like he was a myth. The irony wasn’t lost on you, even through the alcohol fog.

He groaned low in approval at that little hip roll, the sound vibrating against your skin. His thumb kept up those steady, maddening circles over your clit while his two fingertips stayed right at your entrance, pressing, circling, never quite pushing in yet. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice rough and pleased. “Let me play a little longer like this. You’re so fucking wet I can hear it.”

The slick sounds were embarrassingly loud in the quiet room, every tiny shift of his fingers making an obscene little noise that had you biting your lip harder. Then his mouth returned, hot, wet suction on your clit again, tongue flicking in time with his thumb while those fingertips kept teasing your hole.

He pulled back after a long, slow pull, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh instead. The contrast made you shiver. “You gonna let me continue with what I want or?” he asked, voice lazy and teasing, breath warm against your skin.

You were too embarrassed to speak; words felt impossible, but a needy little whine slipped out anyway. After a beat, you managed a small, jerky nod, eyes squeezed shut like that would hide how badly you wanted it.

He didn’t hesitate. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he slid his fingers inside, one inch at a time, letting you feel every bit of the stretch. Your walls fluttered and clenched around him instinctively, slick easing the way even as your breath hitched.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he teased, curling his fingers just slightly to test your reaction, “I’d say you were a virgin.”

You froze. Completely. Eyes snapping wide open, heart slamming against your ribs in sudden panic. The embarrassment hit like ice water. Your face must have given everything away because his own eyes widened too, surprise flashing across his features before it melted into something softer, almost careful.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, pausing with his fingers still buried halfway inside you. “You actually are?”

You nodded again, eyes still squeezed shut like admitting it out loud would make the embarrassment worse. Satoru blinked once, processing, then let out a soft huff of breath that was half laugh, half awe.

“Okay,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Gentle. As gentle as I can be.” He said it like a promise, voice lower now, the cocky edge softened just enough to make your stomach flip differently.

He eased his fingers deeper, slow, deliberate pumps now, curling them slightly on each inward stroke so the pads brushed that spot inside you that made your thighs shake. He wasn’t slamming against your cervix; he was careful, testing, letting you adjust inch by inch. You’d touched yourself before, quick, fumbling sessions under the covers when the ache got too loud, but it had never felt like this. Never electric. Never overwhelming. His fingers were longer, thicker, warmer, and the way he watched you, blue eyes dark and focused, lips parted, made every slide feel like it lit up your nerves.

“Fuck,” he breathed, almost reverent. “Look at you taking me already. This little virgin pussy’s so tight… gripping like it doesn’t wanna let go.”

You whimpered, hips twitching up to meet him even as heat flooded your face. The slick sounds were obscene in the quiet room, every slow thrust making a wet, rhythmic noise that had you biting your lip hard enough to taste copper.

“Gonna look so good on my cock, fuck,” he growled, voice rougher now. “Shouldn’t have told me you were a virgin.” He leaned down again, mouth closing over your clit in a gentle suck, nothing too aggressive, just steady pressure and soft flicks of his tongue while his fingers kept that slow, deep rhythm.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he promised. 

The combination hit you like a wave building too fast. Your back arched off the mattress, hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling in white strands as your whole body started to tremble. Soft, broken sobs spilled out—half pleasure, half overwhelmed begging.

“Satoru, please! Make me cum, I—I need—”

He groaned against you, the vibration sending sparks straight up your spine. His free hand slid up under your shirt, palm flat and warm on your stomach to hold you steady as you squirmed.

“Yeah?” he rasped, pulling off your clit just long enough to speak. His lips brushed the swollen bud with every word, sending little aftershocks through you. “Too bad I’m selfish.”

Before you could even process it, he slid his fingers out, slow at first, then all at once, leaving you clenching around nothing, aching and empty. The sudden loss made you whimper, hips twitching up instinctively. He didn’t give you time to settle. In one fluid motion, he shoved his jeans and boxers down his thighs, kicking them off the bed. His cock sprang free. Thick, flushed, and dark at the tip, already leaking a steady bead of precum that dripped down the underside in a slow, glistening line.

He looked at you then, really looked, like you were something he’d been starving for. Eyes dark, hungry, pupils blown wide in the low light. No gentle preamble this time; just raw want.

He wrapped a hand around the base, gave himself one slow stroke to spread the slick, then lined up with your entrance. The blunt head nudged your folds, parting them easily from how soaked you still were. Your breath hitched, fear and anticipation twisting together in your chest. You opened your mouth like you might say something, anything, but the words died when he pushed forward.

He didn’t slam in. Not quite. But he didn’t ease in inch by inch either. He sank steadily, stretching you open in one long, unrelenting glide until his hips met yours and the head of his cock pressed hard against your cervix. A deep groan tore from his throat, vibrating through his chest as he bottomed out.

Your eyes flew wide. The stretch burned, sharp and full and so much more than fingers ever could be. Your walls fluttered wildly around him, trying to adjust, trying to take all of him. It hurt, but underneath the sting was this overwhelming heat, this pressure that made your toes curl, and your breath come in short, shaky pants. You felt every ridge, every vein, the way he throbbed inside you like he was already close just from being buried to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth, forearms braced on either side of your head. His forehead dropped to yours for a second, white hair falling into your face. “So tight… squeezing me like a fucking vice. You okay?”

You couldn’t speak right away. Just nodded while your hands scrambled up to grip his shoulders, nails digging in. The pain was already easing, melting into something hotter, fuller. Your hips shifted experimentally, and the drag of him inside you made you gasp.

If this was what Haru got every day, this feeling, this stretch, this impossible fullness, she must’ve been insane to let him go. The thought flashed through your mind, petty and hazy and a little jealous, and it made your walls clench harder around him.

Satoru felt it. His hips jerked once on instinct, grinding deeper, and he let out a rough laugh that sounded almost pained. “Shit, do that again. Fuck yeah, just like that.”

He groaned low in his throat, the sound rough and broken as your walls fluttered and clenched around him, tight, hot, gripping like they were trying to pull him deeper with every thrust. He couldn’t hold back anymore. His hips snapped forward harder, burying himself to the hilt each time, the blunt head of his cock kissing your cervix with a dull, aching pressure that made your whole body jolt.

“Fuck, fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth, hands clamping down on your hips to hold you exactly where he wanted you. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, obscene and rhythmic, mixing with the soft, slick sounds of how soaked you still were. You were making a mess and dripping down his shaft, as well as coating his stomach. Every rough thrust pushed more out of you.

He was already close. Way too close. The way you squeezed him, the way your body trembled under his, the little broken whimpers you couldn’t stop making, it was driving him insane. He leaned down, forearms braced on either side of your head, forehead almost touching yours so he could stare straight into your glassy, half-lidded eyes.

Your faces were inches apart; you could feel his ragged breath against your lips, smell the faint rum and sweat on his skin.

“Lucky ‘m not evil, baby,” he laughed, but there was no real humor in it, just strained, desperate edge. His hips kept snapping forward, aggressive and deep, no pause even as he felt how swollen and sensitive you’d gotten. Your pussy ached from the stretch, from how relentlessly he filled you, but the ache blurred into something hotter, something you chased with every helpless roll of your hips.

“Wanna make you cum too… most guys wouldn’t,” he said, softer now, almost gentle despite the way he was fucking you like he couldn’t stop. His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, and he rubbed firm, fast circles that matched the brutal rhythm of his thrusts.

Your back arched hard off the mattress, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth falling open in a silent cry as the pressure coiled tight and then snapped. You came around his cock with a shuddering sob, walls spasming, fluttering wildly, milking him in tight, rhythmic pulses that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Slick gushed around him again, soaking his hand, his hips, everything.

The sudden squeeze was too much. His rhythm stuttered, hips slamming forward one last time as he buried himself as deep as he could go. A guttural groan ripped out of him, half curse, half plea, and he came hard, spilling deep inside you in hot, pulsing spurts. His whole body trembled above you, cock twitching with every wave as he filled you up, forgetting entirely about pulling out.

For a long second, neither of you moved. Just heavy breathing, the faint thump of bass still leaking through the floor from downstairs, the sticky warmth spreading between your thighs.

He finally exhaled, shaky, and dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “Shit,” he muttered against your skin, voice wrecked. “Meant to… fuck. You okay?”

You nodded. Your legs were still loosely wrapped around him like you didn’t want him to move yet. Your body hummed with aftershocks, sore and full and strangely satisfied.

He pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck. “Atta girl,” he whispered, almost tender. “Gotta see how much I can stretch this pussy tonight.”

[sugucvnt]

WHEN THE MOON FELL IN LOVE WITH THE SUN...

ALL WAS GOLDEN WHEN THE DAY MET THE NIGHT...

currently listening to: sticks and stones by the pierces

mani , 20 , currently in college for nursing

toji's actual wife + in love with suguru geto forever idc

☾ links: masterlist(s), rules , satoru gojo series

☾ i mostly write smut, though of course, i add a plot and depending on how I'm feeling, fluff

☼ my requests, asks, and thirsts are always open. i just may not get to them quickly (or even often, I'm sorry) as i’m busy with college. but i always appreciate them!

do not copy, repost, plagiarize, edit, or translate any of my works.

divider by: @digilatte

[perzawa]

erm go support my new acc ! 🤓

[salemrph]

A little bit of brainrot okay, probably ovulating so, my mind is going through things that Sylus would say to you during freak time:

"If you going to cum, do it on my cock"

"Don't run kitten"

"Tried already? I thought you had more stamina"

"Don't worry about making a mess"

"So pretty and flushed for me"

"Saying my name so often? Are you afraid to forget it?"

"You can take it, sweetie"

"As you wish"

"Tell me if it's too much"

"Keep doing those pretty sounds"

"Don't pass out yet"

[baobei-bu]

man with horns >>>>>>

[zephilyr]

I’M SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS

[aenais]

Hunger | Kuroo Tetsuro Chapter 1

Part 2 of The Train's Coming (link to masterlist)

Pairing: businessman!Kuroo x fem!reader

Summary: You're colleagues and you're screwin'

Ao3 Link

Tags/Warnings: Explicit smut, friends-with-benefits, Timeskip!Kuroo, sexual tension, dry humping, banter

“Fuck, Kuroo!” you cried, locking your arms and legs around him as he slammed your back against the wall. He ground his clothed cock against your bare heat, groaning as he watched the crotch of his best pair of work pants grow damp beneath you.

“I did good, right Y/N? Waited patiently all day, didn’t I?” His breath fanned heavily across your face as he whispered the words. He pressed feverishly hot lips against the side of your neck, burying his face into your skin. “But I can’t take it anymore—fuck. I need you.” 

8 hours earlier

The morning train into the city was like an airlock between home and work. It was a bridge between the solitude of your one-bedroom apartment and the restless, simmering energy of the corporate world. After all these years on the job—as a sports promoter for one of the nation’s top companies—you’d come to love the hustle and the grind. You thrived on it. And you knew, better than most, how easy it was to lose yourself in the work. 

Perhaps that was why the quiet routine of your commute felt as comforting as it did. There was a unique tranquility in watching the landscape speed past the tinted windows, the suburban condos morphing into towering high-rises as you sped further downtown. Alongside the shifting scenery, you’d feel yourself shift, too: from muted, to expectant, to hungry for the challenge and the spoils of a new day. The train’s low, mechanical rumble was your only company as you transformed. This was your time to clear your mind—to cultivate the razor-sharp focus which made you so good at what you did—and you treasured it. 

Then, he came along. 

“Morning, Y/N,” Tetsuro Kuroo drawled, looking up from his laptop as you took the seat across from him. 

“Hi,” you replied. 

“Ready for the big day?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

His white button-up was crisply ironed, as always, but today there was also a suit jacket folded neatly over the arm of his chair. “That’s cute,” you said, pointing at it. “You got all dolled up.” His canine flashed in a crooked smile as he silently stared at his computer. 

You’d been at the company for a couple years already when the Promotional Division hired Kuroo. Quick enough, everyone realized that he was a fucking force of nature: charming, ambitious, and wickedly intelligent, he climbed the ranks faster than anyone you’d seen before, and soon enough, he held the same position as you. You saw a lot of him after that. He was a workaholic. Partnered with him on new projects, you recognized the perfectionism—his need to do more, do better, to prove himself. You had that in common, you supposed. It was the reason you found yourself building easy rapport with him all those months ago, and now, it was why you were glad he was the one presenting the big proposal with you today.  

“Wanna run through the script again?” he asked.

You groaned. “How many more times, Kuroo? You might as well tattoo it behind your fucking eyelids.” 

“Hey, I want to nail this, alright?” He snapped his laptop shut, leaning forward in his seat. “Y/N, if they like this idea, we’re gonna be—” 

“Promoted. Right. You keep saying that—”

“Unstoppable,” he corrected. “We’re gonna be unstoppable.” 

Gold-rimmed irises bore into you. They glittered with anticipation, with intent. You stared right back into them—knowing. Understanding. 

The hunger had crept in. 

After all this time, you’d come to realize just how alike you and Kuroo were. He, too, was married to his work and addicted to the drug that was success. You were both a little bit neurotic in exactly the same way, and you liked that about him. You liked him. 

Yeah, you were fucking—but you were friends too, of course. 

Neither of you had what it took to commit to a relationship right now. You were both prioritizing your careers, and the sex had become a way to release all that stress at the end of the day. So it had always been a casual thing: you went home together after late nights at the office, and Kuroo pounded you into your mattress. You fucked on his kitchen counter in the morning before work. Sometimes you gave him fast, messy head in an empty conference room during lunch break. You were both a bit insatiable. A bit.

But Kuroo was…more than just a fuck-buddy. He was a friend—a real friend. He made you laugh, he bitched about your other coworkers with you, and, more than anything, his ambition continued to inspire you. He understood you on a wavelength that few others did. You remembered the first time you saw him on this train—the first time you met on relaxed terms, outside the office. It was complete luck: you boarded the train that morning, having barely rubbed the sleep from your eyes, and there he was, already seated. You were both cordial at first, you talked work stuff. Then, “I’m so sick of driving to the office,” he’d finally admitted. “I was this close to becoming an actual menace on the road.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, man,” he replied. “Rush hour in this city is insane. How’ve you not lost your mind yet?” 

You chuckled. “Well, I’ve been taking the train for years,” you sighed. “Honestly,” you lowered your voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “this is my way of giving car-dependent infrastructure the finger.” 

You remembered the way he smiled wolfishly at that. “Fuck car-dependent infrastructure,” he agreed. And you spent the rest of the ride talking anything but work stuff: college and the transition to the corporate world. How Kuroo used to play volleyball in high school and the fact that you wanted to adopt a cat one day. Colleagues melted into friends so quickly, and you wondered how you’d ever tolerated the lonely silence of the train ride before. 

Now, here he was before you: brimming with anticipation for the day ahead, when you’d finally hatch the brainchild you’d been creating together over weeks of planning and diligence. There was no one you’d rather have done it with than Kuroo. Together, you really were: 

“Unstoppable, then,” you said. 

Kuroo gazed at you with those gleaming eyes, a smile playing on his lips. You matched him with your own grin. Sunlight flashed through the window periodically, streaking across his face as the train sped along, and you couldn’t help but stare as it happened. He looked beautiful. 

Was it time? Finally? You thought it might be. You’d been waiting for the right moment to ask. And right now, it was perfectly calm and quiet; you were gazing at each other like you were the only two people in the world. It certainly felt right.

You clenched your palms in your lap, working up the nerve to say it. “Kuroo,” you began. “If the board likes the proposal…and if they decide it is worth a promotion—” 

“Not if,” he interrupted. “When.”

“Fine. When.” There it was—that brazen confidence that never failed to electrify you. It made you want to believe that everything would work out, that the odds would always turn in your favor eventually. Right now, it made you feel brave enough to ask the question you’d been afraid of for weeks. “A promotion would mean a management position, Kuroo. For both of us. And…there’s something I’ve been wanting to, um, ask you. In case that happens.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly, in a way that told you he noticed your hesitance. But he didn’t remark on it yet. “Alright,” he replied. “Shoot.”

You swallowed. “What if…what if we try to leverage a position as co-managers? Of the Promotional Division?” you finally said. “I just—I mean, Washijo’s had the job for years and he’s practically senile at this point. We might have a shot at replacing him, if we play it right. Co-Heads of Promotion, Kuroo. And then we could run this place the way we want.” 

His mouth hung open in surprise. He said nothing for a moment. 

“I know,” you blurted frantically, scared you’d laid it on too quickly. “I know. It’s ballsy—and I know we can't afford to make any mistakes in front of the Board, but I just. I have a good feeling about this. And, I mean, obviously there’s no one I’d rather share the position with than you—hey! Don’t smile at me like that,” you snapped, for his lip had quirked up a bit at that last part. “We’re the two most competent people in the whole fucking department, you know that…and we make a good team. At least, I think so. I’ve always thought so. I dunno. Fuck,” you said, feeling your face burn hotter the longer he stayed quiet. “Forget it, Kuroo. I…I’m sor—” 

“Y/N!” 

Your name burst from his mouth like water breaking a dam—like he’d been holding it back this whole time. “Jesus, Y/N. Slow down,” he said. The embarrassment could’ve lit you on fire. 

“What are you sorry for?” he demanded. 

Your gaze snapped to him. That—the crackle of concern that edged the words—that was not what you expected. You expected howling laughter in your face. Or a declaration that both you and your harebrained idea were insane. 

But Kuroo didn’t do any of that. Instead, he made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “You’re incredible,” he said. “You know that?” 

You blinked. “What?” 

“You’re fuckin’—” Before you knew what was happening, Kuroo leaned in and cupped your face in his hands. He hovered mere inches away from you. “You’re unreal.”

There was nothing else in the world right now. Nothing but his warm breath, gusting across your skin. His warm palms against your cheeks. His warm, hazel eyes. He was close enough that you could bump the tip of your nose against his if you wanted to. Or you could lean in and kiss him. 

“Um,” you lisped out as Kuroo smushed your cheeks together. “Thanks. Wait. What?” 

“That is,” he breathed, “an exceptional idea. Holy fuck, Y/N. I’m mad I didn’t think of it first.” 

How did he do that? you thought. How did he manage to make everything okay, every time? He said yes. You could’ve leapt with joy. Now, in hindsight, you wondered why you’d even been afraid to ask him in the first place. You should’ve remembered that he and you were inextricably synced. He’d never have said no. 

“God, I could kiss you,” he murmured, stroking your skin tenderly with one thumb. For the first time this morning, you looked at him properly, without anything else on your mind—not the proposal, not what would come after. You gazed at his fawn skin, always so stark in contrast to that dark, ruffled hair. The smooth line of his throat bobbed slightly as you raked your eyes over him. All of a sudden, he shifted his grip—catching your jaw in one, large hand. 

What are you staring at? he asked with his brows. Electric tension sizzled in the air between you. 

Your gazes met. He had you pinned with that deep, smoldering stare, that look that you knew so well. God, it made you want to burn. 

“Kiss me then, Tetsuro,” you said.

He exhaled sharply. And—

“ATTENTION PASSENGERS!” 

The automated female voice rang out, and you both jolted. “The train will be arriving at its destination in approximately one minute.” You giggled, pulling yourself from Kuroo’s grasp. 

“Well, so much for that,” you sighed, leaning back in your seat. “C’mon. Time to put on that cute little jacket.” You began to gather your things. When you rose to your feet, he was still seated. 

Oh, wow, you liked this.

He was staring up at you stupidly: open-mouthed, with color darkening his cheeks. What a pretty fucking sight, you thought, and you knew what it stemmed from, of course. You rarely said his given name. Usually, he had to coax it out of you—spear you open on his cock until that name clogged your senses and rotted your mind from the inside out. 

“‘S’matter?” you murmured. “Go on now.” 

A moment passed in silence. He rose. His eyes never left yours, and you had to tilt your chin incrementally—up, up, and up until he stood at full height in front of you. He grabbed the jacket and looped his arms into it, slowly. Languidly. The train was skidding to a halt now, whining softly against the tracks, and he caught the upper guard handle to balance himself. You leaned against the armrest behind you. And as the force of slowing velocity sent him tipping gently into your body, you felt it. Rock-hard, brushing against your inner thigh. 

“Your fault,” he whispered in your ear. 

People began filing past you out the vestibule door, but the two of you stayed put, leaning into each other. 

“Eight hours, Kuroo,” you said, letting a grin break across your face. He mirrored it, those catlike canines glinting. “Then I’m all yours.”

Part 2 is coming soon!

Thanks so much for reading!! Requests are currently open. Follow @eashn for more!

[aenais]

@kurooku @fum1ku @wyrcan @gigiiiiislife @ghostsofharrenhal @combating-winter @laeliasntigerlilies @perzawa @imliquidsmoothhh @loveushijima

Tagging some haikyuu moots!! Let me know if any of you want to be part of a real taglist for this 🤗

[miumonga]

VAMP!JJK FIC RECS

let's just say i have a thing for bite marks and blood-sucking creatures... requested by anon ^w^ will be adding to the list as i scavenge for more. mdni, nsfw included.

gojo creature of myth - gojorgeous vampire lord!gojo x vampire bride!reader hcs - fatalfairies beatuy of the undead - carbondioxidewater vampire!gojo - rottiens bite of the night - itadorey self-imprisonment - noroi1000 just give me a taste - harunovella haunting you - tonycries love at first bite - lostfracturessvampire!gojo - lostfracturessvampire!satosugu - lotusatoru consequential - bloobberrries

geto crimson roses - dearestgojo vampire!satosugu - lotusatoru

nanami sweets - novasdarling tailor made - ghoultramp ditched dates - rinrinx2 deliverance - pseudowho

megumi scarlet - sukirichi

yuuji this city screams your name - yuujispinkhair blood - chosos-mascara vampire!yuji - wild-jackalope

yuta pain reliever - kentopedia

choso red, blood - choso-mascara honey - peachsayshi just can't get enough - aiawaorkuroo sink your teeth to drink - hoshigray just one more bite - gojonanami vampires in a bath - kaeinvy bloodline - screampied

toji please don't bite - perzawa

sukuna the red lord (has two parts) - yuujispinkhair vampire!sukuna - slvttyplum vampire prince!sukuna - persuasivus bloodline - screampied

etc drink me - arminsumi vampire lover - cinnamonrollbaby

[takami-takami]

Would You Still.

kinktober day 5: sensory deprivation.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni.

warnings— suggestive.

keigo loses his wings. he can't help but think.

It's been three months since Keigo lost his wings. You both are finally starting to settle into the routine of things. 

It took quite a bit of time for the hero to adjust to being a man, a human being— in order to understand, in this circumstance, it would be helpful to consider being human as synonymous with being small.

Keigo never learned what it meant to truly be small, to not occupy the entirety of the space within a room and boldly carry the weight of responsibility that comes with it. 

Even the color of his wings was large. They were born cursed to be painted a sovereign shade of red, carrying with it a saturation that elicited eyes from prey and predator alike. 

Among beasts, there might be two reasons why a creature would carry such a bold and extravagant phenotype, and neither of them are by choice: to attract the attention of others or to instill fear in those same creatures; that is, to ward them away. 

Was it the color of his wings that enticed the vultures of the commission to swoop down from their encircling above, plucking their fresh pickings from the gutter and thrusting it into a life of hero galas and assassination missions and spotlight?

Perhaps he shouldn't complain. It gave him a platform for his goals, after all, and the ends do begrudgingly justify the means.

Did his wings grow too big too fast? Maybe that's why his mother left. What are your wings even good for, she said.

Or perhaps it was he who abandoned her.

No. Even as a child, Keigo was never afforded the luxury of being small. 

He used to step carefully, mindful of the clumsy expanse of a wingspan spread sixfold in glorious feet; but now, there is space for him in narrow paths uncrossed. His resilience, it seems, is rooted deeper than the feathers that used to sprout from his back. 

He's taken up knife work in the recent months. You lay among the sheets, watching him sit at the edge of the bed. The muscles of his back flex when he flicks and twirls the steel of his butterfly knife, spinning with a speed you know better than to attempt to follow. 

"Do you ever miss them?"

Keigo's ears perk when he hears you speak behind him. 

He puts the weapon down.

You've asked him this question before. Keigo doesn't mind answering again if it's you.

"Sometimes," he says, still turned away. "But not in a way that really matters."

You crawl towards him, the mattress creaking below. The cotton of his shirt rubs against the flesh of his back when you pull it over his shoulders. He lets you.

Those shoulders don't carry the weight of the world's jagged stones like they used to. He doesn't have to cut holes in his shirts anymore.

When you plant your lips down the now-bare column of his spine, across his shoulder blades and back up to repeat the push and pull, the feeling is alien to him— like a flash of light that blinds the eye before its pupils have the chance to constrict. To not be able to anticipate exactly where and when someone— you will be able to touch him… 

Keigo is just happy it's you.

"Do you ever miss them," he asks. 

Am I still useful, he means.

There's a tremble in his voice when he speaks. Your palms freeze where they splay against the constellations of scars that litter his back. If you could see his eyes, you'd find them transfixed and blinking at the glass window that hangs like a painting in your bedroom, illustrating the jump from here to the ground twenty-seven stories below.

But contrary to what one might expect, you wouldn't find insecurity. Just curiosity.

After a moment, chewing the question in each cheek, you answer with the truth.

"No. I don't miss them at all."

At that, the sheets ruffle softly as Keigo turns to meet you, laying you down on the bed like you're glass and slotting himself against your lips. 

His lips are soft now, no longer chapped by high altitudes and whipping winds. He can feel your smile begin to form against his, can feel the quirk of your lips at each corner when you toss your arms over his shoulders.

He made you smile. His heart soars up high.

His fingertips crawling beneath your clothes is to say, "thank you."

His eyes shutting with the kiss, muting his last method of hypervigilance, is to say, "I love you."

[polariae]

Suguru.. i am WEAK

[robininthelabyrinth]

There is no joy like the joy of a writer who has just figured out that a throwaway line they put into the first few paragraphs of a story is actually the key to a major plot point and possibly even the theme underlying the entire thing.

Just…yesssssss.

[perzawa]

BEFORE I LET GO | 2.2K

OCT 5TH: AGE GAP

kinktober masterlist

♡ toji fushiguro x fem! reader

relationships are hard enough when there are no stakes, but it’s even harder when you’re dating your best friend’s father. you never expected things to get more difficult than that, but when you only have 24 hours before you’re on the other side of the world, you can’t help but wonder if such a relationship can even last.

♡ warnings/tags! toji is like early 40’s here and the reader is like early 20’s, toji is megumi’s dad, reader is studying abroad, public sex, sex in the woods lol, unprotected sex, fingering, kinda angsty but not toooo bad

“C’mon, relax.”

Your eyes are still stuck to the car floor, nails lightly scraping your skin as your boyfriend's words kind of wash over you. Tomorrow, you'll be miles away from him for what feels like forever, and it's all you can think about. You try to hold off on the waterworks until you're on the plane or, better yet, not in the same room as Toji, but the reality of being apart hits you hard.

Trying is pointless now, so you give up. You chew your lip as hot tears silently make their way down your cheeks, and you attempt to distract your mind. Your stomach's in knots, your head's pounding from all the stress you've been wrestling with. God, you weren't prepared for this. Breathing feels like a neverending chore, and you’re fucking sick of it. Feels like you’ve been on a rollercoaster and you might vomit any minute now. Just when you're lost in that sensation, Toji's fingers on your thigh draw you back until you’re focused on him.

He stole a glance at your pitiful state and scowled. “You’re gonna make yourself sick. Stop.”

He's shattered, just like you. Despite his efforts to hold it together and keep you grounded, there's something in you that senses he's crumbling on the inside. You nod, letting out a sigh. "I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm sorry," you groan, smacking your palm against your forehead a few times. "I’m just scared. I'm so damn scared, Toji, I don't know what to do."

You remember being so excited when the topic of studying abroad first came to your mind. Having been sheltered most of your life, you figured it was time to get out there and go a little wild once you graduated, but you never expected to fall in love along the way.

Especially not with your best friend’s father.

Right now, you should be with him. Both of you should be smoking in his room and flipping through pictures of you both in middle school, but instead, you’re with his fucking father. It’s almost sick to you how big of a secret you’ve been keeping from your closest companion, but you knew it’d kill him if he ever found out about your relationship—and it’s not like you blamed him either. If you’d been close to someone for this long and you found out she was fucking your father, you know you’d raise hell so this was no difference.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, baby,” he said, cutting the silence with his deep voice. “Just tell me what’s going on up there, pretty girl.” He kept his eyes on the road, steering with one hand while the other stayed solid on your thigh. For as long as you’ve known the man, he’s always been a stoic man who never had an issue with staying calm, but the grip he had on the wheel was a new side of him.

After a while, you spoke with a meek and broken voice. "I just... God, I don't want to leave you. You understand that, right?" You gazed out of the window, watching as Toji navigated through a path in the dark forests of your city. It was the last time you'd be able to visit your spot for a few years. "And Megumi, too. I feel like such a bitch for what I'm doing to him, Toji. I shouldn't... we shouldn't be doing this."

He just stayed silent, pulling into a parking area not too deep in the forest. Once he stopped the car, he breathed out a heavy sigh before hanging his head for a minute to think, retracting his large hand from your thigh. “Fuck, I know. I know how you feel, I do,” Toji started, shutting his eyes tight. “I know because I feel the same. But there’s nothing wrong with you falling in love with someone, is there? Father or not, it shouldn’t matter.”

“Maybe, but you know how this looks for us…” You looked into his dark green eyes, the shining jade pigment sending a wave of relief through your tired body. The vibrant hue held a deep, almost mystical quality, reminiscent of emeralds bathed in sunlight. Flecks of darker green and hints of gold danced within, creating an intricate pattern that seemed to shift with every blink. He’s so fucking beautiful. You couldn’t begin to comprehend just how much you’d miss seeing him every night. How much you’d miss sneaking around and kissing those beautiful scarred lips. There was nothing okay with falling in love with your best friend’s dad, but you couldn’t help it. You never asked for this.

Toji nodded, his gaze focused on you. “I know, but let's not dwell on this anymore,” he murmured, his hand gently squeezing your arm. “Tonight, I just want us to be together peacefully, okay? We can tackle the tough stuff another time.” With that, he left the car, walking over to your size to let you out as well.

Your last night together.

The least you could do was let it be peaceful. The walk to your favorite river was painfully slow, consisting of you trudging behind Toji and dragging your feet almost slothfully. The only light illuminating your path was the soft glow of the moon, making it a little difficult to find your way in the beginning but you soon found yourself standing in front of a steep river. Memories of your first night here with Toji resurfaced, causing a small grin to twitch on your face. It was a night for a lot of firsts. Your first kiss, your first time… it was an easier time.

Everything seemed so simple then.

Toji sat by the river, stretching his legs until his shoes nearly touched the dark, glowing water. He glanced up at you, observing as you settled down beside him, crossing your legs. A soft sigh escaped you as you gazed ahead, tuning in to the gentle flow of the water. You yearned to be like the river—serene, a graceful body of water simply existing peacefully. No struggles or worries, just living.

“Fuck, baby,” Toji finally groaned, playfully bumping his shoulder into yours. “I’m gonna miss you so much. You better call me every day,” he demanded, a small grin stretching on his lips despite the inner turmoil he was still feeling. No matter how lonely he’d be without you, all he wanted was for you to achieve the dream you’d been thinking about for years now. It was time for you to break free from the cocoon your parents had trapped you in and live a little.

“You better not start getting too friendly with other girls,” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him. At that, Toji laughed hard before smashing his lips against your soft ones. He let out a gentle noise, his hand reaching to squeeze your waist before he hesitantly pulled away.

“Doesn’t matter if you’re gone for two years or two decades. You know you’re not gettin’ rid of me that easily.” He clasped your hand, giving it a tight squeeze before pressing it gently to his lips, his rough scar grazing your skin. Regardless of the complexities in your relationship, the thought of living without him was unimaginable. He wasn't just Megumi's father anymore; he belonged to you. The distance of the ocean couldn't alter that.

“Besides,” he continued, pulling you into his lap. “We’ll always have holidays, won’t we? This isn’t over. We aren’t over.” His lips were on you moments after, moving in a slow but messy harmony. Small grunts escaped you both as his tongue forced itself into your mouth, tangling with yours. Strings of saliva began escaping, dripping down your chin and neck - but you didn’t care. You couldn’t. It would be like a million eternities before you were able to feel him against you like this again.

Finally, you pulled away, your bottom lip glossy with his saliva as you panted softly. Tomorrow, you’d be in a place making your way across the ocean for two whole years.

You only had tonight.

“Right here, Toji,” you started, quickly pulling your shirt over your head before you finished explaining. “Need you right now. We don’t have long, so just… just take me now,” you rushed, pressing kisses to his neck and lips.

You lay down on the grass, pushing your skirt up to expose your black panties, body aching for his gentle touch. Toji wasted no time in getting your panties down to your ankles and then to the ground, his thick fingers pressing against your clit. He sighed, dragging the tip of his middle and ring finger through your slick folds, starting from your clit and then down to your entrance.

Slowly, he eased those fingers inside, burying them as deep as he could before pulling them out, witnessing how soaked you were. “I bet she’s gonna miss me the most, huh?” He asked rhetorically before slowly thrusting his slick-coated digits into your heated depths, listening for every moan and whimper you blessed his ears with.

“Yeah… don’t know what I’m gonna do without your tongue or fingers,” you rasped, rolling your hips as he pumped his hand inside, moving down to lick and kiss your sensitive neck. He continues moving against your bumpy walls, his darkened eyes watching you in the moonlight. You were always such a wreck for him and so easily too.

His fingers suddenly curled his fingers upwards, pressing into that spongy spot that you both loved so much. With trembling legs, you began subconsciously attempting to close your thighs but he wouldn’t allow it. It was embarrassing hearing your own soaked pussy being fingered and it was showing too. Your cheeks and body felt even hotter now, making you turn your head away from him. Your back arched off the ground as you began twitching around him, a wave of heat filling your lower abdomen as you began to get closer.

Closer…

“Oh, no,” Toji teased with a chuckle as he quickly retracted his soaked digits, sucking your juices from them without caring about how dirty the action was. “When you cum, I wanna feel it.”

You pouted, perching yourself on your elbows. “Asshole.”

Toji only smirked, unzipping his black jeans slowly before pulling his hardened cock out. He hissed from the feeling of his fingers on his neglected cock, squeezing his length in an attempt to replicate how you’d feel around him. It was almost too much now; The ache between your legs, the tears still threatening to fall from your eyes, and the way your boyfriend felt as he began sliding inside of you

He groaned, bottoming out against your cervix with practiced ease. His cock was throbbing inside of you, making it difficult for you to not cum on the spot. His hands found their way to your hips, his nails sinking into your skin as he began thrusting inside. He dragged his cock against your soaked walls, setting a slow, but deep pace. Embarrassment is clear on your features from the way your body reacts to him so perfectly. Like even your body knows you are his now and forever. He pulled out almost completely before pushing back in, intoxicated by the sounds of your moans. “Oh, baby, fuck,” he whispered with a rough voice as he threw his head back, pounding into your abused cunt even harder. “You feel so fuckin’ good… gonna miss this pussy so much.”

The sound of his hips meeting yours made him twitch inside of you again. “But she’s all mine, right? This cunt,” he rasped, emphasizing his words by pulling out and thrusting into you roughly. “belongs to me. Say it.”

“All yours, Toji. Don’t want anyone else,” you cried out into his neck as his fingers pinched your sensitive clit, dragging a loud moan from the depths of your throat.

“There you go, pretty girl. Give it to me. Show me how much that pretty pussy belongs to me,” he praised, taking your button between his fingers as he stroked it, coaxing an orgasm from you. It wasn’t long before his heavy balls were tight and sensitive, revealing how ready he was to finally pump his seed inside of you.

With a loud moan, you came hard around his cock, your pussy tightening on him so much, you almost pushed him out. His eyebrows furrowed as he focused on his own orgasm, basking in the way you gripped his cock like your pussy couldn’t possibly live without it ‐ like you were fucking made to be fucked by his cock. He thrust inside of you a few more times, his strokes lazy and uncoordinated as he finally spilled his hot, white liquid all over your bumpy walls.

“Making a mess all over my cock,” he growled, burying himself to your hilt before pulling out, denying you the feeling of fullness. He collapsed beside you, both of you panting, sweating messes. There was nothing scarier than losing the one man you truly loved, but if your relationship was meant to be, you knew it’d last. “Such a good girl…”You turned your head to look at his barely visible state with a gentle smile.

Everything would be okay because you were his and he was yours.