(cw: f!reader, reader called "sunshine/sunny girl", alcohol consumption)
dividers from cafekitsune
a/n: Day 1 is finally here omgggg!! thank you to the anon who recommended this in the poll!
The whole frat thing wasn't really your thing, not at all actually. The crowded house, the sticky floors, the thick air, and the volume was always too loud. The frat house on a normal night was fine and you guessed it worked out that your boyfriend wasn't a typical frat bro either. The whole party thing wasn't really for him either so you guessed it worked out.
This, was not a party. This was nice. Your first frat formal and you could tell this was an area where Nu Chi Tau and their alumni did not skimp. The event was held in one of the nicest hotels in the city and in the main ballroom. The alumni didn't skimp on anything.
You stood beside fratboy!Doyoung's seat with a champagne flute in your hand while you looked out across the room, admiring the wallpaper, the absolutely gorgeous chandelier and watching the servers bring out the food. You eyed each plate hungrily, already hating that you chose the dress you were wearing. It was too short and bordering on too tight. Damn, your cousin!
"Sunny girl, do you want to sit down?" Doyoung asks, tilting his chin up to meet your eyes.
You hum, nervously tugging on the hem of your dress, "I can't sit."
His brows jump up, "what do you mean you can't sit?"
You tug on the hem again while your eyes dart around the room, "you told me it was fancy cocktail attire and I didn't have anything, so I had to borrow this from my younger cousin. This is from her senior homecoming and her butt is way smaller than mine. I'm scared that if I sit, my butt will rip the dress."
"I can give you my coat, Sunshine, to cover your legs and any potential rips," Doyoung offers, standing from his chair.
He stands behind you, covering the view of you slowly lowering yourself into your chair. You manage to sit down without ripping any fabric and exhale in relief. Doyoung sits beside you, lays his suit jacket over your legs, and pulls your hand into his lap, "you look beautiful, Sunshine. I'm sorry you're uncomfortable."
"Beauty is pain, and it's nice to get out of my paint covered clothes every once in a while, you know?" You reply with a shrug, sipping your champagne.
Doyoung frowns, "I like your paint covered clothes. You could have worn those dirty overalls and you'd still be the prettiest girl here."
"You just said I look beautiful," you point out, eyeing him with playful suspicion.
"And you do! But I like knowing you're comfortable too."
You smile at him brightly, leaning into him, "you're like so in love with me."
"You don't have to tease me about it," Doyoung mumbles under his breath, heat raising on his cheeks, "of course, I'm in love with you."
"So you'll dance with me later? After this fancy, delicious looking dinner?"
"I don't usually dance at these things," Doyoung responds, sending the waiter a grateful smile as he takes both your plates and sets them in front of each of you.
"But now I'm here so we have to dance. You know I love dancing, handsome! Please!" You whine, pouting up at him as he lays your napkin across your lap.
He rolls his eyes playfully, but to everyone's surprise but you're own, Doyoung is found on the dance floor later dancing like no one is watching while he spins you around.
pairing: gojo x fem reader
synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation.
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation
a/n: hi everyone! this is where you can find the masterlist
chapter 1: a not so good day
chapter 2: unwanted encounters
chapter 3: family reunion?
chapter 4: revelations
chapter 5: confrontations
chapter 6: old tension
chapter 7: confusing actions
chapter 8: pieces of the past
chapter 9: nothing between us...?
chapter 10: fading smiles
chapter 11: what a merry christmas
chapter 12: a mother's gamble
chapter 13: stuck in the middle
chapter 14: awkward….
chapter 15: F.Y.G.F
chapter 16: cracks in the glass
chapter 17: enemies
chapter 18: almost, but not quite
chapter 19: comes back around
chapter 20:
y/n style inspo, y/n apartment inspo , new apartment inspo
gojo penthouse inspo
spotify playlist!!!
christmas drabble
after the fact drabble. best read preferably after chapter 17
Synopsis: frat boy!gojo, your boyfriend, got himself blocked on all of your socials. it was his fault, even he knows that - spamming your girl with dick pics whilst she's studying for an important exam was only ever going to end one way.
you've practically forced him to resort to a means of communication he didn't know still existed. and well, he's gonna have fun with it.
Warnings: some sexual content, 18+, cursing, college au, can be read as a standalone but is a part of my EdenU au, gojo is dramatic, reader is done with him, reader is goth and female, established relationship, not proofread
Dear most gorgeous girl in the world,
You’re killing me.
Please unblock me on iMessages, Insta, Snap, Facebook/Messenger, Whatsapp, X (sorry Twitter or whatever liberal agenda you’re on now), Discord, Reddit, Letterboxd, LinkedIn, Spotify, and Tumblr. How did you even know I was stalking you on Tumblr? Do you have a girlfriend sixth sense? Like does your clit tingle when you realise I’m near? Cause my balls speak to me when you’re within a mile radius, like “yeah, boys? you feel her? where? lead the way!”
If you gave me a chance, instead of instantly blocking me (heartless meanie), you’d know I am very, very apologetic. I’ll stop spamming you my dick pics, even though you should be honoured to receive reminders of how hard just the thought of your name makes me.
Love,
Your sad big-dicked daddy :(((
Dear Gojo Satoru,
Clearly you can’t take a hint. Let me spell it out for you.
I.
Am.
Busy.
Leave.
Me.
Alone.
Unhappily,
Your girlfriend
P.S. Do not call yourself ‘big-dicked daddy.’ It upsets me greatly.
From: [email protected]
Subject: keep being mean to me please im close
Dear adorable goth baby,
You’re so hot when you’re being mean. I already know you’re frowning in that cute way that makes me want to smother you in kisses and you’re rolling your eyes so hard NGH!
I already said I’m sorry.
Please give me another chance.
I’m so damn bored I started playing spin the bottle alone in my room. I made out with that picture of you sleeping with drool down your chin. Picture You was even getting handsy. ‘Down girl!’ I said. ‘Bad!’
Stay tight,
Toru (not Gojo Satoru, that’s like a slur coming from you, very triggering stuff)
P.S. I am your big-dicked daddy tho I’m confused?
Satoru,
I gave you multiple chances when I asked you to stop and give me at least 5 hours to study before we go out for dinner and I entertain you, you giant freaking child. But no, you just had to hound me with your dick, like I was supposed to be dickmatised and persuaded to drop everything at your beck and call.
Fuck, I’m getting mad all over again.
Stop emailing me. You’re gonna see me at 7pm for our date anyways. You can last 4 more hours.
Yours not for long,
Girl who just wants to pass
Sweetiepie :(
I’m sorry.
I thought it was gonna motivate you to work hard. Pwease forgive me. Pwease? Towu is vewy vewy sowwy.
In fact, I’m so so so sorry, I’ll pay for dinner tonight. Scout’s honour.
Asking for mercy and forgiveness,
Your boyfriend no matter what
From: [email protected]
Subject: dinner? that the best you can offer?
You always pay for dinner. Last time I offered, you damn near wrestled me in the middle of the restaurant so you could get your card out first. We’re still banned from there, remember?
Btw, you were never a Scout, don’t play with me.
Dear love of my life who doesn’t understand how email etiquette works,
Of course I always pay for dinner — you’re broke and your family is destitute, I remind you lovingly. But even if you were as rich as me, or even richer (which isn’t possible, not to flex), I would still pay every single time. It’s the least I can do for reparations for the violence committed by my gender against yours. Plus, that restaurant sucked anyway — the owner is problematic towards immigrants and the servers don’t even know if the meat is locally and ethically sourced, like hello??? In the big 2025?!?
How’s studying going?
Do you need a snack or a smoothie to boost you?
I can drop by. Promise I won’t linger. I just didn’t see a purchase on my card for breakfast or lunch. Please don’t starve. If I can’t watch your ass jiggle when I hit it from the back, I’m gonna be devastated.
Yours most sincerely,
Satoru
P.S. You have to be a Scout to say Scout’s Honour? Crazyyyyyy
Dear Satoru (happy now?),
Please don’t remind me of my family’s shortcomings. You know I like to pretend I came from a normal background. And stop being more woke than me. It’s hot.
Studying’s fine, I guess. I think I forgot how to study. I’ve missed a lot of content too. If a certain someone hadn’t been clinging to me so tightly every morning, maybe I wouldn’t be so behind. God, you make my life so hard.
A smoothie and pastry would be lovely, actually. I can’t be bothered leaving my room to get some food. Just drop it off outside and disappear by the time I open the door — if I see even a glimmer of white hair, I’m going to freak.
Thanks.
Love begrudgingly,
A girl who’s gonna fail her exam
Dear cutie,
I don’t cling to you that hard. You’re dramatic. I wonder where you got that from. And last I checked, we have a safeword you can use anytime to get me away from between your legs if you really wanted to get to class. But I like our game where you pretend you’re not just as obsessed with me as I am with you (I know you get all hot and bothered when I reference Marx, dirty girl)
Food’s outside babe. The line was stupid long and I ran into Fushiguro — remember the guy I told you has the highest body count on campus?
He’s in a relationship now and he’s so pussywhipped lmaoooo
Couldn’t be me.
Hoping you’ll stuff your face and get all the brain power you need,
Satoru
I told you to disappear before I could see you.
You didn’t have to kiss me and hump my leg you animal. My neighbours were NOT happy with the pornographic noises you made, asshole.
Yeah, I remember Toji. Cool dude. Always wearing gym wear no matter the weather and for some reason hates you. Don’t make fun of him for being loyal and loving to his girlfriend. You’re probably so much worse. I envy his girlfriend. She probably doesn’t have to put up with a yapper who spams her with dick pics.
Thank you for the food though. Very appreciated. What I didn’t appreciate, however, was the number and the smiley face on my drink. I already told you, if someone tries to hit on you, bark at them and tell them you have a girlfriend you worship endlessly.
Look:
Dear angry girlfriend I do in fact worship endlessly and beyond,
I’m sorry I didn’t follow your exact orders but I desperately needed a kiss from my girl. If I don’t get my daily dose, I wilt, like a rose. You know this.
And disrespectfully, f your neighbours. It wasn’t anything they hadn't heard from us before. Sensitive ears ahhh
About Fushiguro — he does not hate me. Why does everyone say that?
We’re actually besties. We’re like dumb and dumber, but dumber is him obvi. Plus, once he gets some shots in him, he’s super in love with me. I get more over the clothes action from him than from you lol
You never need to thank me for feeding you. I fear that’s like bare minimum. Get those standards up girl.
Oh and sorry about the drink. I didn’t even notice. Leave it outside your door and I’ll get you a new one. I’ll even make a scene and call the manager over. Maybe I’ll buy the store and get everyone fired. Just give me the word babe.
Yours forever,
Satoru
Dear my sweetest, most frustrating boyfriend,
Fine, I’ll forgive the kiss (I might have needed it too). And yeah, f my neighbours because the guy on my left loves playing Doctor Who Season 8 on repeat and on full volume every night like clockwork. It’s not even the best season!
Forget about the drink. Just don’t ever go back there again. Number and smiley face aside, the drink is abysmal and tastes like bog water. Pastry is great though. 10/10
You’d really make a scene for me?
Yours occasionally,
No longer starving girlfriend
Dear the Morticia to my Gomez,
I’d make a scene for you at the drop of a hat. I’d serenade you in malls, on campus, in a Michelin star restaurant, and in a lecture. Heck, I’d yell ‘BOMB’ in an airport if you asked me to – just maybe not an airport we frequent.
There’s quite literally nothing I wouldn’t do for you. If you didn’t know that already, then I’m not as great of a boyfriend as I thought I was. I will remedy that immediately, my goddess eternal.
Obsessedly yours,
Your husband in every way but legally (we can fix that)
Dear Toru,
Stop being sweet. It’s disgusting.
Come inside already. I’m done pretending I’m getting anything from the textbooks. I’m only giving myself a headache.
pairing outlaw!ryomen sukuna x baby mom afab!reader
synopsis far removed from a fleeting, forbidden summer romance, you discover that the most wanted gang leader in the west left you with something irreplaceable — his baby. five years later, raising his twin, you can't swallow down your sons curiosity, and you also can't bury the longing he planted inside of you.
tags western outlaw!au (set in early 1900's), gang!au, heavy angst, realistic pregnancy/child rearing, lots of fluff, forbidden love, violence, major character death, trad relationship ideals, use of guns/knives, eventual smut
author's note this one is special — an idea i've had tucked in the back of my wips that blossomed into an obsession i still can't quite satiate. thank you for lighting my sukuna fire @heaveninruins, and for chipping away at this dangerous outlaw right there with me. mhm, he's just as much mine as he is yours, now i just can't wait for you guys to meet their little family in the prequel so, so soon <3
五条悟 [series] ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ canon/clanhead!𝓰ojo satoru x arranged marriage f!reader ─── 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓈 ongoing . . . ୨୧
sum. you never asked to marry the strongest sorcerer alive, but found yourself unable to break free of the contract that demanded you be handed over to the gojo clan. locked behind estate walls, watched and controlled, discarded the moment the wedding ceremony ends.
gojo satoru tries to forget you too, or tries to. once his duty is completed, he leaves for tokyo, assuming his arranged bride is some pampered noblewoman he'll never have to interact with. but when he receives a messenger, bearing the news of his impending fatherhood, he finds himself with little choice but to return to the estate he's always loathed, and the bride he wanted nothing to do with.
tags. ───── arranged marriage, found family, smut (18+), slow-burn, clan politics, dad!gojo, conservative clan values, miscommunication, wedding nights, angst, mentions of labour and pregnancy and 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒
synopsis: after breaking up with your cheater of a boyfriend, you drink your sorrows away, alone and unbothered. well, until a creep is about to spark a conversation with you but someone steps in and-- is that your ex’s dad? luckily he’s there to make sure you get home safely.
cw (minors please dni): fem!reader, dilf!nanami, they’re both slightly intoxicated, needy reader, they’re both a little pervy, age gap (reader ~20, nanami ~40), fingering, riding, praise ofc, breast play, some aftercare (photos don't belong to me; found on pinterest and art by @/ayushnz. dividers by @/bbyg4rlhelps)
word count: 4.7k
a/n: about time i got another fic out for nanami 🙏🏽 also thank you to @eraserbread and @sugurusladyknightt for beta-reading i appreciate it soo much <3
fem!reader x nanami kento, canon-divergent au, nsfw
dim lights, loud music, the air thick with the stench of alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat.
but it’s all an irrelevant blur to you as you sit at the bar, drinking your heartbreak away, swirling your drink in your glass mindlessly. you sigh defeatedly before tipping your head back and taking another sip, feeling empty despite the burn scorching down your throat.
you don’t have it in you to hang out with your friends and deal with socialising, let alone mingle with drunk strangers at the bar.
it takes you a few minutes to notice the man sitting a few stools away, his eyes constantly flicking back to you. uninvited and pervasive. and when you accidentally make eye contact, a predatory smirk finds his lips. you roll your eyes, looking back down at your glass and purposely ignoring him as you catch him approaching you from your peripheral vision.
you expect the smell of beer and cigarettes to consume you as he gets closer, but instead, sandalwood fills your senses, pleasantly. warmth draping over you as you look at your shoulder to realise a blazer placed around you.
“i’d advise you to sit back down,” a familiar, stern voice cuts in from behind you before the stranger could say a single word.
your gaze flickers up from your shoulder to the man standing behind you like your guardian angel, with slightly down-turned lips and a crease between his brows as his sheer presence and glare threaten the pervert. fiery pools of hazel lit up with flames of protectiveness, anger, and disdain.
mr nanami? you think to yourself. you didn’t expect to see him at a place like this, nor did you expect to see him with his collared shirt unbuttoned at the very top, tie slightly loosened, cufflinks undone, and sleeves rolled up. he’s usually so put together, refined, stoic. the only put-together thing about him are the rectangular glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.
you find yourself admiring his sharp features, the subtle clench of his jaw and the comforting hand on your shoulder, not too firm but still enough to feel safe. you don’t even realise the perverted stranger has already left the scene.
“are you okay?” he asks, his hand slipping from your shoulder as he clears his throat and the frown on his face smoothens out. the warmth of his blazer still protecting you. so warm. warm like the melted honey of his eyes when he looks at you.
blinking a few times, you try to register and recall his question before nodding. your voice comes out a bit small. “… yeah. thanks.”
he shakes his head dismissively, as if to say not to mention it because it was only natural to prevent someone from getting harassed. and little did you know that he had been keeping a watchful eye on you since he saw you walk in.
“what are you doing here alone?”
you sigh, heavy, like there’s a weight on your chest. “just came out for a drink,” you answer vaguely, unsure how to tell him that his son stomped on your heart and tossed it into a garbage can, or whether he already knows.
“let me take you home. it’s late,” he insists, checking the time on his silver, metal watch.
“oh, it’s okay. i can just catch an uber or something. don’t wanna interrupt your night.” you stand up, shrugging off his blazer to hand it back to him but he swiftly fixes it back onto your shoulders.
“well, you’ll be saving me from my work social actually. i’m not the most enthused about being here.”
a smile tugs at your lips, knowing he’s never been one for parties or anything of the sort. it really baffles your mind how he and his son were vastly different, two ends of a spectrum.
“i came here in a carpool, so i hope you don’t mind having to take an uber, regardless.”
you shake your head, watching as he books an uber on his phone.
once it’s outside, you grab your purse and let him lead you out of the bar, his vein-decorated hand hovering over the small of your back, not quite touching but still there.
without a word, he opens the backseat door for you, making sure you’re settled in comfortably before sliding in after you, leaving the middle seat empty. for a while, the soft purr of the car is the only thing that can be heard and the sound of traffic faded into the background.
surprisingly, nanami is the one to break the silence. “… i heard what happened, by the way. between you and my son, i mean. and i want to apologise on his behalf. i didn’t think any child of mine would do something so… vile.”
you huff, a bitter sound despite the small smile on your lips, somewhat accepting yet still hurt. “it’s alright. it’s no one’s fault but his own.” you glance out the window on your side, the city lights a blur as the car moves.
his eyes are on your side profile as you stare out of the window, the moon gleaming down through the glass and caressing your face. how he wishes to do the same.
“it’s unacceptable. i’m shocked that you’ve come to terms with it so quickly.”
you half-shrug, turning your head to look at the older man. “it’s still painful, that isn’t going to disappear any time soon. but i shouldn’t waste my tears on an asshole-- i mean, a guy,” you correct yourself, reminding yourself that he’s still the father of your ex. and for a second, you swear that you see a flicker of amusement playing on his features.
“i understand. you deserve better than an asshole, as you put it.”
perhaps how things turned out was a good thing. yeah, getting cheated on sucked, but now you can stop pretending like you don’t want the blonde man sitting next to you. though, it’s evident that he’s still pretending as if he doesn’t share similar thoughts.
you decide to test his control. test how much longer he can keep the respectful facade around you.
leaning in closer, subtly but enough for him to notice, your voice drops lower, to something sultry. “you know, sometimes i wish you were younger. then, i could’ve avoided being heartbroken by your son.”
his lips part like he wants to say something, something other than the words that end up slipping out of his mouth. “you seem to be drunk.”
you scoff, shuffling just a little closer. he can smell your perfume; it’s intoxicating. and you can smell his - sophisticated, mature, warm. he’s pretty sure that you just said something along the lines of only having one or two drinks but all he can think about is you, you, you.
his body stiffens when he feels your hand land on his thigh, bold and persistent.
“this is hardly appropriate,” he says, voice strained with control, barely hanging on by a thread. he holds back the urge to touch you, busying himself with tugging at his shirt collar, suddenly feeling hot in the car.
“oh, don’t play coy and professional,” you retort, rolling your eyes with sass. “i’ve seen the way you steal glances at me. i know exactly which skirt of mine is your favourite,” you whisper in his ear like a succubus.
his breath hitches slightly; you hear it. his adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow. he just about manages to keep his gaze fixated on the back of the passenger’s seat, ignoring the fact that your breasts are tantalisingly close, so close to brushing against his arm.
“c’mon, mr nanami...” you sing-song. “don’t you wanna show me the treatment i really deserve?”
the car pulls up outside your apartment complex, and nanami lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. he shifts in his seat, sitting up straighter and clearing his throat, hoping for the tension to dissipate.
but you don’t relent. “you wanted to make sure i got home safely, right?” you say in a faux-innocent voice, batting your eyelashes at him. “why don’t you come up with me?”
he knows he shouldn’t. he knows you’re just trying to seduce him.
well, you’ve never had to try around him. he’s always been drawn to you. he tried to push down the depraved thoughts while you were dating his son. but now? nothing is holding him back.
he isn’t sure where his inhibitions disappeared to, when minutes later, he’s following you into your apartment building and takes the elevator up with you.
everything is a blur after that until he’s left in his work slacks held in place by his belt, and the white tank top that was worn under his button-up. and you - laced up in black lingerie that has his lips parted and his eyes slightly widened. his cock swells with interest behind the fabric of his slacks.
he has you under him, an appreciative gaze rovering along your body and a gentle hand running up your side reverently.
“you’re beautiful,” he whispers, sounding as in awe as he looks. he can’t help himself when he lowers his body and lightly inhales the sweet scent clinging to your neck, a low rumble vibrating in his chest. “and you smell gorgeous.”
you smile up at him and his heart stumbles over itself. but that smile was deceivingly sweet as your hand soon reached for his belt, unbuckling it before working on unzipping his slacks.
his fingers loosely grasp your wrist, stopping you from undressing him any further. “not yet. let me focus on you. i need to… cherish this. cherish you,” he says insistently, his tone seeping with desperation that you didn’t think you’d ever hear from him.
his hand slides up to cup your cheek and he runs his thumb along your bottom lip, his eyes following the movement of your lips as you eagerly separate them for him in anticipation.
“may i kiss you?”
“you literally have me almost naked under you. cut the politeness,” you huff with amusement, eyes sparkling as you cup the back of his head, playing with the short hairs at his nape.
a smile is let loose on his face and he leans down, slowly, truly cherishing the moment, dragging it out until his lips meld against yours. warm and soft. it’s one kiss after the other, his hand still on your cheek as he deepens the kiss when he feels you melt into it.
he doesn’t add any tongue to the mix, keeping it reserved but it’s enough to make you dizzy. the way his lips dance with yours, the way he breathes through his nose because he doesn’t want to pull away, his mouth locked with yours.
his knee is slotted between your legs, pushing up slightly against your core through your panties. on carnal instinct, your hips buck against his thigh, already soaked and needy.
a deep hum vibrates against your lips before he pulls away, gazing down at you with a darkened brown in his irises. like burnt honey that got too close to the flame of your lust.
“what a needy girl.”
“that should’ve been obvious. want you inside me already,” you murmur, your hips still moving against his leg in a slow grind, just about enough friction for your clothed clit.
“patience, sweetheart,” he breathes into your skin, his lips brushing against your jaw before they move down to your collarbone. “i have to get you prepared to take me.”
your breath hitches at that, wondering just how big he is. the bulge in his slacks is sufficient evidence but you doubt it does him any justice.
he hears your breath get caught in your throat as he presses a soft kiss in the dip between your collarbones, and his lips curl up ever so slightly with a hint of mirth.
“i know you’ll take me, don’t worry.” and oh, his voice is as smooth as the honey of his eyes.
you bite back a whine, feeling like he’s driving you insane just from his words. your body feels hot, your mind begins to feel hazy like you can’t think straight, and your heart races. you buzz with arousal and an uncontainable desire, leaking out in the form of goosebumps and soft pants.
as he presses soft kisses to your skin, his fingers are light against your skin, travelling down to the waistband of your lacy panties. he feels them under his fingertips, feeling the heat of your skin from beneath them.
“can i take these off?” he asks, pulling back to look at you, wanting to both hear and see your confirmation.
“please,” you whisper, like it’s the one thing you need most.
torturously slowly, he drags the fabric down your legs and discards them. his hand is immediately drawn to your pussy, like a sailor to a siren. a low groan escapes him involuntarily when he feels your juices staining his fingers, sliding them over your dewy petals. sticky and heated.
“so wet for me, sweetheart.”
“just put them in already,” you say, sounding more breathy and needy than you intended.
he hums thoughtfully, prodding your leaking hole with his middle finger. his lips drag along the curve of your cheek, a featherlight touch.
“you’re so frustrated. you’ve never been taken care of properly, have you?”
“i’m not a virgin,” you argue quietly, your cheeks slightly dusted with colour.
“i don’t mean that. i mean… no one’s ever really made you feel good? never driven you crazy with pleasure?”
no.
you don’t say it aloud but you think it and you’re sure that he knows it. and somehow, despite no one else ever making you feel good, he manages to make your brain foggy with pleasure from his words alone.
he kisses you tenderly once more when you don’t respond, swallowing up your surprised gasp when he swivels his finger through your tight entrance. it’s thick and makes you shudder. he curls it inside slowly, exploring and finding every spot that has your body trembling. delicious places that you’ve never been able to find yourself.
“o-oh… nnn fuck…”
“shh, i’ve got you,” he whispers into your mouth. “and i’m gonna show you just how good you can feel.”
and that he does.
he continues to plunge his finger in and out of you at a maddening pace, somehow feeling too slow but just enough at the same time. the pad of his finger grazes your g-spot with every curl, eliciting such sweet sounds from your mouth and treacly syrup from your cunt. it trickles down to his knuckle, hot and sugary.
he pulls back to watch the way your walls swallow him in and drip all over him. another finger slides into you, and another gasp escapes you.
“h-how do i already feel… so f-full?” you mewl, hips grinding against his hand as you bring the back of your hand to conceal your broken moans. “‘s so-- hnngh…”
“i know. you’re making such a mess of my hand, sweetheart,” he murmurs, entranced by the way your pussy sucks him in and your hips chase after his touch.
he crooks his two fingers sharply, unrelenting against your spongy spot with each plunge. he can feel your hot arousal dribble down his fingers, pooling in his palm and painting his knuckles with cream with each sinful spasm of your pussy.
it isn’t certain which is louder - the wanton whines and moans being drawn out from your lips, or the obnoxious squelching with each thrust of his fingers. it’s an obscene sound, enough to make his cock throb in his slacks. thinking about just how warm and soaked you’ll be around it instead.
“f-fuck… i love it, ‘m so wet. don’t stop, please.”
“mhm, listen to that. that’s all you, darling.” his voice sounds hoarse now, evidently from desire, watching you squirm beneath him and drenching him in your creamy arousal.
he notices that now your hips are pulling back rather than humping against his hand like they were. you’re biting down on the back of your hand, eyes slanted with overwhelming bliss, too much for you to handle.
his free hand pushes down gently but firmly on your lower stomach, pinning you in place. you shiver violently, his fingers pushing deeper and stimulating that spot so blissfully it almost hurts.
“you can take it. you’re gonna feel so good,” he whispers soft and husky in your ear, watching as you come apart beneath him.
his thumb swirls over your swollen nub and you cry out his name, gushing and gushing around his fingers. your brain feels like it’s turning to mush and that hot, tight coil in your lower abdomen getting closer to snapping and releasing all your pent-up frustration and pleasure. it’s dizzying.
“n-nanami, ‘m cumming… ‘m cumming…!” you mewl, body stiffening and convulsing, fingers trying to find something to grasp onto.
the dam breaks and it crashes over you violently, your moans high and stuttered, your voice cracking in between. and he’s your anchor through it all, your hand clamped around his wrist as he slowly and gently continues to scissor his fingers inside you, milking your orgasm until you’re twitching beneath him.
your pants come out heavy and ragged like you just finished running a marathon. you blink away the stars fuzzing your vision and your body relaxes against the sheets, limp but content.
gradually, he pulls his fingers out and you let out a small whimper at the loss of being filled and stretched out by his thick digits, now slick with your cum. with his other hand, he brushes back the few strands that fell over his forehead, regaining some of his composure after watching you lose it.
“how are you feeling?” he asks, his tone smooth like caramel, so soft it’d dissolve if you could touch it.
“… good. really good,” you laugh breathlessly, looking up at him with a spark of hunger but mostly another emotion he didn’t have the patience to decipher right now.
he smiles back, rubbing his hand over your thighs soothingly. “i’m glad.”
seconds later, his back is hitting your mattress and you’re hovering above him. he’s staring up at you with a mix of surprise and admiration before his gaze flits down to your hands working on undoing his slacks.
“now i need this. need you,” you say, wanting to wait no longer for something you’ve thought about more than you should’ve, no matter how much you tried to suppress it.
a shuddery breath is forced out of you when his cock springs out of his boxers, standing proud and veiny, the precum seeping out of his pinkish tip. a mix of nervousness and eagerness buzzes through you.
“take your time,” he reassures, though he sounds gruff and as fervent as you.
his hands run up and down your thighs as he waits for you to make your next move. you take hold of his girthy length, your fingers not managing to touch as they wrap around him. a whispered curse falls from your lips against your will.
a dark lust makes your eyes glassy. you lift your hips, aligning yourself with the head of his cock, holding it in place as you slowly lower yourself onto him. a resonant moan slips out of your mouth at the intrusion, thick but stretching you so deliciously. your walls hug his tip eagerly, craving more.
but you take your time like he told you to, gently riding just the tip to get used to his size. and it’s enough to make your eyes roll back at the heavenly sensation. the way it slips in and out, rubbing against you just right.
“that’s it, sweetheart. fuck…” he breathes out shakily, letting you set the pace. “taking me so well.”
gradually, with each hump of your hips, you take him in inch by delicious inch. you choke on any sounds, completely overwhelmed at the mere stretch. but your hips have a mind of their own, sinking down further and further until your clit is kissing his pelvic bone.
“fuckfuckfuck… oh my-- nngh…”
you brace your hands on his heaving chest, panting softly as you grind your hips against him in figure 8’s, gasping out a whimper as he nudges all of your sweet spots so divinely, rendering you mindless already.
he’s biting down on his lip to hide his groans, his head thrown back against your pillow, his blonde locks a mess, and his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. he’s staring up at you like you’re his one and only goddess.
you lean down to kiss him and capture his lip between your teeth, tugging it out from behind his own teeth. “don’t. i wanna hear you. wanna know how good i’m making you feel, nanami.”
oh, your voice is so sweet. so alluring, it’s like he can’t help himself to just listen and oblige. and the way you look down at him, your eyes glossed over, and your brows loosely furrowed, concentrated on making both of you feel good as you begin to bounce on his cock.
“c-call me ‘kento’, darling,” he grits out, unable to help the stuttering. not with your plush, sopping cunt squeezing around him and swallowing up every inch of him, your juices trickling down to his balls.
you lift and lower your hips rhythmically, a steady pace that’s complemented by the sound of wet skin slapping against skin and the squelch of your pussy with each bounce. it’s already a depraved mess, strings of your slick connecting your inner thighs to him, only making the smacking louder.
a filthy plap, plap, plap that only serves to turn you on more, your hips beginning to rock frantically.
“god, k-kento… feels so good… don’t wanna stop,” you moan, an airy whine, addicted to his cock. he can’t help but groan at the sound of his name coming out from between your lips.
“i know. it’s so much better than i could’ve ever imagined,” he rasps, his voice gravelly. the words slip out without his conscious decision.
leaning down to kiss him messily, a clash of lips and teeth, you slow down your hips and giggle at his accidental admission. “you thought about this?”
“… yes. i have to say - you were right about your skirt. there was a reason why i always left promptly after seeing you on days you wore that skirt.”
“what a perverted man. so distinguished but-- nn fuck… b-but you got horny over your son’s girlfriend,” you tease, not at all offended or disgusted.
“and how i craved to treat you like you deserved. to make you feel good and fall apart on me so beautifully.” his hands trail up from your hips to your breasts, cupping them reverently as they bounce over him. his thumbs graze over your nipples, watching them harden beneath his touch as you whimper softly.
“now you are.”
“now i am,” he murmurs, a dream-like gaze clouding his eyes. it feels euphoric to have him stare at you like that. and he feels like he’s on cloud nine, being able to have you like this. all his, even if it might just be for the night.
you kiss him again before straightening up and using the force of your knees to rock and sway on his length despite the tremble of your legs as he fills you up so good.
he watches you, hypnotised, unable to tear his eyes away from you, whether it’s looking at your face, your tits, or that pretty pussy riding him to cloud nine. the way your slickened and swollen lips bulge around his girth.
“look at how beautiful you are,” he whispers, mostly to himself. “making us feel so good.”
his mushroom tip drags against your spongey spot so perfectly, it’s frustrating. your head tosses back like someone yanked on your hair, a strangled moan being tweaked out of you so violently.
your hips move in a frenzied undulation, guided by your hunger for more and your body’s demand to cum, determined to make the both of you cum. you alternate between grinding and bouncing, each movement driving you closer and closer to that euphoric edge.
“kentooo…” you cry out, placing one of your hands on top of his that continue to grope your boobs. “want you t-to hnngh touch my clit. please, please, please. wanna cum for you.”
he moves one hand from your tit to circle his thumb over your neglected clit, slipping over it with a precision that makes your entire body jolt with electric pleasure. you squeeze around him so sinfully and he grunts softly, using every ounce of his control to hold back his own orgasm, wanting to see you come apart on him first.
“i’ve got you, sweetheart. you’re so close, aren’t you?” he hums, voice strained with barely controlled desire.
you nod vigorously, the roll of your hips becoming frantic and uncoordinated as you creep closer and closer to your high, with the combination of his bulbous tip kissing your sweet spots so sensually and his thumb moving on your clit with the perfect pressure.
“‘m cumming, ‘m cumming… fuck, k-kento… it’s too much.”
your thighs almost give up and he takes over, thrusting his hips up into yours, deep and calculated, aiming for the dizzying spots that he knows will tip you over the edge. his thumb on your clit stutters slightly but he never lets up, flicking it from side to side, and round and round.
you suddenly let go with a silent scream, your mouth hanging open as your head lolls between your shoulder blades, the intensity of your orgasm catching you off guard as you shake turbulently above him. your stomach clenches and unclenches, your sloshing walls mimicking it as they hold onto nanami’s dick like a vice.
it triggers his own orgasm, and he tries to pull out before squirting his cum inside you. instead, it paints your folds white, just barely making it in time. his fingers dig into your thigh and breast, grounding himself through his high.
“g-god, that’s it… did so good for me, took me so well,” he praises you through his laboured breaths, voice sounding ruined.
his hands run over your thighs and hips soothingly again as you both float back down to earth. your cheeks are flushed with an afterglow, heart still pounding in your chest. you look down at him and your heart almost stops for a second at the erotic sight - his blonde hair is mussed, brown eyes consumed with satisfaction and adoration, his bottom lip slightly swollen from him biting down on it.
he notices you staring but doesn’t say anything, simply sitting up and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. an action that makes your heart flutter with something other than a lustful hunger.
lying you down carefully onto your bed, he pulls on his boxers and leaves your room to find a towel and dampens it with warm water before returning to your side. he crouches down beside you, his hand gentle on your thigh as he spreads it slightly for him to clean up your combined mess.
“still good?” he asks, hushed.
“mhm. really good,” you smile, watching as he takes care of you like it’s the most natural thing.
he catches your smile and flicks his eyes up to yours before averting them back down to the task at hand, ignoring the affection surging within him. his actions are so gentle, like patting you too hard would be a crime.
“good,” he echoes. he stands back up, leaving the towel on the side before reaching for his clothes.
“stay,” you mumble, reaching for his wrist before he can grab his clothes.
his shoulders stiffen, barely noticeably. “i don’t think--”
“we just had sex. i don’t think sleeping in the same bed is anything too scandalous,” you huff sarcastically.
he contemplates his decision, and it was a mistake to glance at your face because your eyes are so pleading and enticing that he could never say no. he sighs inaudibly, running his hand through his hair before climbing back into your bed.
with a contented smile, you nestle against his side, yawning as you get comfortable. it doesn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep, your hand resting on his chest as he lies on his back. he stares up at your ceiling in the dark, knowing that you should probably talk about the current… situation.
but that will be tomorrow’s problem. for now, he’ll soak up the time with you and the warmth of you snuggled into his side.
summary — as the main vocal of the world’s most popular idol group, satoru gojo has everything anyone could possibly want—fame, fortune, and a face that could launch a thousand ships, or in his case, screaming fans going to war for his merchandise. you are his manager, and have so far kept your relationship with the group very professional, even with satoru, who takes every available opportunity to shamelessly flirt with you… until satoru plays an incriminating voice recording of that one drunken night, when you woke up with no memory of how you ended up in his home. in bed. with him. now satoru is hell bent on blurring the lines between business and pleasure, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to ignore it. not when your heart beats a little faster every time he's near.
word count — 19k + some smau
content warning + tags —NSFW 18+ ONLY, smut with plot, fem reader, part smau, celebrity au, fluff, slight angst, eventual smut, slow burn, big dick energy satoru, he falls first and is very obvious about it, satoru being sweet and feral at the same time, he's so gone he wrote a song about you, food play, oral sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, edging, praise kink, size kink, three fingers, lots of kissing, multiple orgasms, love confessions, public proposal, happy ending.
a/n — my first fic on tumblr, nervous but also yay! had so much fun with gojo as an idol that i got a little obsessed and couldn't write anything else until this was finished. i really hope you enjoy it <3
Satoru made someone faint again.
Honestly, you were surprised it took longer than usual. In the five years since you became manager for the world’s number one idol group, Domain, you’d long given up on counting how many fans its main vocalist had sent to the hospital.
“So, Satoru, I have a question for you.” The host, Todo Aoi, leaned forward, perhaps conspiratorially. “What type of woman do you like?”
Standing at the side of the stage away from the cameras, you watched the audience unconsciously mimic Todo’s action. It was like everyone was holding their breaths in unison, wide-eyed and secretly hoping whatever description Satoru gave would match up with them.
Unlike the rest of Domain’s three other members, Satoru was sprawled on the velvet sofa like a lazy cat, as if he was lounging at home with a movie instead of making a guest appearance on the country’s most popular talk show, Boogie Woogie.
“Easy,” he said without hesitation, but then brought a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret though.”
A collective protest resounded from the audience. Exactly the response you knew Satoru was aiming for. He’d always had a gift for playing the crowd—teasing out whatever reaction he wanted, whenever he wanted. Just another one of his many other talents that read longer than a grocery list.
“C’mon, you can do better than that,” Todo pressed. “There are seventy million fans all around the world dying to know Gojo Satoru’s ideal type. You gonna disappoint them?”
Satoru smiled, wisps of striking, pure white hair fluttering as he tilted his head at Todo, at the audience.
“You know what? Let’s make it a game,” he said, as if the idea had just come to him. You knew for a fact it hadn’t. “It’s called guess-what-kind-of-person-your-favourite-idol-Gojo-Satoru-likes! I’ll give you a hint—it’s one word.”
Nanami Kento, Domain’s main rapper, groaned. “We have precisely fifteen minutes left before the show ends. I’m not playing your stupid game when I already know the answer.”
A round of chuckles echoed through the audience. You nodded in silent approval. Trust Nanami to never stray from his stoic brand while making fans thirst harder by stating a time limit.
Your gaze darted to Domain’s leader, Geto Suguru, calm as ever as he shook his head. A perfect mirror to Satoru’s chaos. “Listen, Satoru. Can’t you just tell everyone? Yu hasn’t gotten his chance to speak yet.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Satoru crossed his arms like a petulant child. If anyone else were to act that way, they’d only come off as a spoilt brat. Not Satoru. Somehow, for reasons that escaped you, people seemed to be drawn to his brash nature. He was still bratty, outright rude at times, but because it was Gojo Satoru, it was endearing.
You didn’t see the appeal.
“Oooh, can I go first?” Haibara Yu, the youngest member of Domain, raised his hand excitedly. “I kinda wanna know.”
“See, Yu wants to play.” Gojo extended a hand towards the audience. “How bout it, everyone? I’ll make it better. If anyone guesses correctly, I’ll give you a reward.”
He might as well have said he would strip naked right then and there. The audience went wild.
“A reward?” Todo said, feigning curiosity as he rehashed the script you’d approved before agreeing to have Domain appear on the show. “From the world’s most wanted man alive? Now you’ve at least got to tell us what it is.”
Right on cue, Satoru reached for his sunglasses and slid them off. The studio’s harsh light caught every line of his perfectly defined features, soft and sharp in all the right places. You had to admit, he was insanely handsome. You’d thought that the moment you first met him in person. It was why, in addition to being the main vocalist, Satoru was also the face of Domain.
But what made Satoru’s visual truly exceptional, what had stolen millions of hearts worldwide, were his eyes.
It was as if the gods had held a conclave to discuss how they could sculpt the most perfect looking human being, and decided to make Gojo Satoru. And the cherry on top? They bestowed upon him the most impossible blue eyes that managed to look both intelligent and mischievous all at once. A recipe for devastation. Worst of all, Satoru knew how to wield them.
You could see the audience practically melt into their seats.
“The reward—” Satoru’s smile turned feline. “Is a kiss from me.”
He winked at the cameras.
The studio went nuts in the next second. That was when a girl in the audience passed out cold.
But you were frowning. A nerve at your temple twitched as you glared at Satoru from where you stood.
This wasn’t part of the script. The idiot was improvising. Again. You’d specifically made sure to remind him that under no circumstances was he to do any ad-libbing.
But of course he hadn’t listened. Again.
“Just follow the damn script for once,” you’d repeated a hundred times throughout the day. “No running your mouth. And absolutely no promising your fans anything other than a hug. Understood?”
Satoru had merely replied the same thing each time. “Will you be jealous if I do, kacho-san?” Or some iteration of it, annoying you further.
The last time a fan uploaded a photo of Satoru kissing her on the cheek, the poor girl had received death threats for three months straight. In the end, you had to get Satoru to publicly announce, again, that he wasn’t dating anyone at the moment because he was focusing on his career, and was simply too busy to commit to a relationship.
And here he was, about to add another person to his body count for you to rescue.
Amidst the cacophony of breathless screams, you spotted Domain’s bodyguard, Toji, plucking up the unconscious fan and hauling her over his giant shoulder like a sack of potatoes, then stalking out of the studio.
“Hmmm… someone with a lot of patience?” Yu guessed innocently, launching the game off.
Your phone buzzed then. It was a message from Shoko.
Press releases ready. Just say the word.
You sent a prayer of thanks to the heavens for having a publicist like Shoko. Five years working with Satoru had taught you to always be ready for damage control. You’d spent the whole of last night on video call with Shoko and Utahime, Domain’s social media manager, preparing various press releases and posts to counter any sort of situation should Satoru open his damn mouth and set his public image on flames like a pyromaniac.
Gojo Satoru’s brand was built entirely on the idea of him being so perfect he was unattainable. He belonged to everyone and no one at the same time. The epitome of obsession that kept the heart of his vast fandom pounding on overdrive. Always peering down from a pedestal, always out of reach, yet close enough to dare anyone to try.
In short, he was the dream.
He even had a nickname—The Honoured One.
For the life of you, you couldn’t understand it. What was so honourable about forcing you to drive him down to Sendai twice in a month to buy kikufuku mochi just because he wanted to eat them fresh?
But Domain was Jujutsu Entertainment’s cash cow, and Gojo Satoru was the king of empty bank accounts. He was also the reason you were paid a very, very generous salary.
As such, if there existed any hint that he was embroiled in a relationship with an individual, his whole image would go down the drain. It would become a PR nightmare. Jujutsu Entertainment’s stocks would plummet. Sponsorships would dwindle. Big brands would pull out. Yaga would lose his shit, and then you would be fired.
All because Gojo Satoru kissed a girl.
Short of storming up on stage and smacking him in the head—and subsequently getting murdered by fans for it—there was nothing you could do but watch the sea of raised hands, each fighting for a turn at the game, desperate for one measly minute of Satoru’s attention solely focused on them.
But to be fair, Satoru was handling the audience with deft grace. He’d taken over the whole talk show from Todo and had casually walked to the front of the set, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other twirled a finger in the air like a bloody magic wand, picking victim after victim to turn into puddles of mush.
Every time someone made a guess, his answer would satisfy them enough without confirming or denying anything.
“Ah, that’s kinda cute too. Like you.”
“Nice one. I like what you’ve done with your hair by the way.”
“I never thought of that. I’ll remember what you said.”
“I wouldn’t mind it. Is that me on your keychain? Remember to take me everywhere, ‘kay?”
You checked the time on your watch. Five more minutes until the show ended, and he still hadn’t mentioned a word about Domain’s new single, which was the whole reason they were on Boogie Woogie in the first place.
You were about to signal for Suguru to say something that would cut the game short so they could make the announcement. But when your head snapped up, you found Satoru’s gaze fixed on you, a cheeky grin spread across his glossed-up lips.
Satoru clapped his hands together. “Thanks for playing with me, everyone. I’ll give you the answer now.”
His stupid finger swished about, drawing an arc in the air before coming to an abrupt halt in your direction.
And you realised he was pointing straight at you.
“It’s my manager!” he declared, proudly. “My bad, that’s three words and not one. Oh well.”
You froze as the entire studio zoomed in on the forgotten corner where you stood. Heat prickled up your neck, filling your cheeks as every head, every camera, angled towards you.
“Your ideal type is… your manager?” Todo asked, confused.
“I said my manager is the answer,” Satoru corrected. “Interpret it however you like.”
You were going to kill him. You were going to pulverise his pretty face the moment you went backstage. Was the moron trying to decimate his career? And yours?
Think. You had to think. You had three seconds to recall all your media training and come up with a suitable reply that wouldn’t end with either the fans or Yaga roasting your head on a spit. Any longer and they’d be making up crazy theories because of your hesitation.
You forced a light-hearted laugh. “You shouldn’t tease your fans like that, Satoru.” Then you shifted your attention to focus on the cameras. “What Satoru means by me being the answer is because we have something exciting to announce. Domain will be releasing a new single, Limitless, in three weeks! The lyrics are written by none other than Satoru himself, and it’s about dreaming of someone you’ve not yet met. Please look forward to it!”
You bowed to the cameras as the audience squealed in delight, sighing in relief at having successfully spun the conversation away from Satoru’s asinine answer while promoting Domain’s single, effectively killing two birds with one stone. You’d pat yourself on the back later.
Satoru’s eyes were still on you when you straightened. He tapped his chin. “Oh, right. The single… I forgot. But that wasn’t what I meant when—”
“Aaaaaand that’s all the time we have left for today’s Boogie Woogie!” Todo’s voice boomed. “Please give a big round of applause to Domain!”
“And my lovely manager!” Satoru added loudly, waving out a hand towards you with a wink, and your chest twisted involuntarily.
You tried your best not to scowl at him on live television. The cameras finally panned away to all four members of Domain as they took their bows and went through the customary farewell motions.
Your phone buzzed. It was a message from Shoko.
That’s the fifth public confession. Time to pay up, kacho-san.At this rate, you should have your own press release.
You didn’t reply. You were too busy wondering how it was a miracle you hadn’t yet died from a heart attack, courtesy of Gojo Satoru.
After the show, the boys refused to let you go home, dragging you to their favourite upscale karaoke bar in Ginza where Suguru had a private room reserved.
Dressed in baggy pants and hoodies, the four members of Domain were acting like a group of hyped up nepo babies with a vendetta to blow through their allowances in a single night. You, in contrast, were still in your pantsuit and looked like their grumpy, overworked nanny.
Yu had successfully roped Nanami into belting out the female part of a duet while Suguru hogged the playlist, cueing song after song without bothering to consult anyone. You were glued to your phone, catching up on e-mails and going through Domain’s schedule for the upcoming week when you felt a pressure on the cushioned bench, and then someone sliding in next to you.
You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Come on, you’re not still mad at me are you?” Satoru’s arm pressed against yours as he leaned in, entirely ignorant to the concept of personal space.
It was…distracting, to say the least. You’d rather not think about how good he smelled.
Not so recently, Satoru had taken to always insisting he was placed next to you—in meetings, at restaurants, on plane rides, in the car, walking to the car. Even when it came to hotels, he would request for his room to be next to yours, with a connecting door so he could hang out in your room until you shooed him out to sleep.
“Don’t forget you have that underwear shoot in two days,” you replied, refusing to engage in any conversation with him other than work. “I’ve booked you a facial tomorrow, and a training session in the morning with Sukuna. Make sure you’re there on time.”
His finger touched the top of your phone, pushing it down and away from your face.
“Do you ever stop working, kacho-san?” he chided, strobe lights glinting off his eyes. “Look at you. Your shoulders are so stiff they might turn to stone.” A corner of his lips curved up. “Want me to give you a massage?”
It was too dark for him to see the flush on your cheeks, but you knew he knew. The nerve at your temple twitched again.
“Thanks but no thanks,” you said, trying your best to sound unaffected.
“I assure you I’m very good with my hands. But you already know that.”
“You’re being extra annoying today. Stop it.”
“Really?” His face dipped, inches away from yours. “That’s not what you called me last night.”
Your nerve snapped. “Do. NOT. Speak about that.”
Satoru’s smile only widened. “About what, sweetheart?”
You wanted to dissolve into the bench.
Throughout your life, you had always been the type of person who could spot a mistake from a mile away, allowing you to avoid it like the plague. You were a safe player. A perfectionist. The kind of person who planned your calendar down to the minute. Someone who loved routine, because adhering to a strict schedule meant less chances of coming across any unwanted surprises. Your inherent traits were what made you an excellent manager, and part of why Domain had skyrocketed to worldwide fame in less than three years since their debut.
But what you hadn’t accounted for—the one mistake you overlooked that would go on to become the bane of your existence—was Gojo Satoru taking an interest in you, and that the damn thing inside your chest was unable to help itself but beat a little faster whenever he was around you.
It started with a cup of coffee. The free kind, dispensed into a paper cup from the staff machine at Jujutsu Entertainment, which he’d casually handed to you—black, no sugar—while he sipped his own heavily sweetened one.
Next came the notes, a different one each time, scrawled with a felt tip on the side of the paper cups.
Blue suits you.
Wanna go to Sendai?
So cranky today. Still beautiful.
You know what tastes better than this coffee? Me.
You’d ignored them at first, thinking it was nothing but Satoru being Satoru. He’d always been a blatant flirt, spewing out his particular brand of nonsense to both fans and, really, anyone with a head and a set of lungs.
And it didn’t help that the world loved him for it, as evidence of the truckloads of fanmail flooding the company that they had to dedicate another mailroom solely for Domain.
On the days Satoru came into the company, it was like the air in the building charged up with barely contained excitement. The trainees would flock around him. Half the female office staff would take turns going to the bathroom in hopes of running into him, and the other half would be camped out at the coffee machine. Interns would fight over who got to serve water at his meetings. Someone once told you how lucky you were that you got to spend all day with him.
You almost threw your coffee in their face.
You? Lucky? Wasn’t it him who was lucky to have you as a manager? The guy was a walking PR hazard. He did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, with no regard to his image whatsoever, leaving you to run after him putting out anything he set on fire. On a daily basis.
Who did he think you were? The fucking fire brigade?
But it was your job, so you’d taken it all in stride. Managing a reckless brat with a fame level as high as Mount Everest took serious skill and planning, and you’d seen it as the ultimate challenge. In fact, you’d thrived on it.
Then the idiot had to go and ruin it all by asking you out.
You’d rejected him, of course. But that hadn’t stopped him. In fact, it only made him try harder.
And last night…damn you to hell, he’d finally succeeded. Somewhat.
This was why you hated dinner meetings. But the client was one of Satoru’s biggest sponsors, and despite Satoru insisting he drink most of what they plied you with, your tolerance for alcohol was still abysmal. You’d woken up the next morning in his bed, wearing his t-shirt, with a massive headache, and the embarrassing memory of you lunging at him for a kiss before everything became a blank slate.
“Look,” you said firmly. “Last night was a mistake. I was drunk. I might’ve done some things I shouldn’t have. Let’s just forget it, alright?”
Satoru raised a brow. “But I can’t forget it.”
“What do you mean you can’t?” you snapped. “It’s never happening again.”
“I can’t because you made me promise not to.”
You gaped at him. “I did not!”
Satoru merely shrugged, then slipped out a pair of earbuds from his pocket and gently plugged them in your ears, the noise cancelling function muffling out the karaoke music. He unlocked his phone, swiped a few times, and then you heard it—your voice, whiny and breathless…
“Ngh—Toru—don’t stop…”
“I don’t want to. But I know you, kacho-san. You’ll regret this.”
“No I won’t—“
“I mean you’ll regret recording this. Not me, of course.”
“But I don’t want you forgetting what you said.”
“Trust me, I don’t need it to remember.”
“Say it to me again.”
“You know, you’re very demanding whenever you drink. It’s adorable.”
“Go on. Say it.”
A low chuckle. “I’ll tell as you many times as you want, sweetheart… I, Gojo Satoru, belong to my very hardworking, very beautiful manager.”
“Don’t you dare delete this.“
“If it makes you happy, I promise.”
“Good. Now come here…”
You stared at him, mortified, and yanked the earbuds out, chucking it back at him. You stood abruptly, and made a bee-line for the door.
“Where are you going, kacho-san?” Suguru called out.
“I’m—ah…I’m not feeling well.”
He must have seen the expression on your face because his eyes narrowed at Satoru. “Did you do something again? I thought I told you to treat our precious manager better.”
Satoru snorted. “I treat her exactly how she likes it. Not that it’s any of your business, Suguru.”
“Satoru, we’ve gone through this a hundred times. If you don’t want a new manager, you should learn to control your mouth.”
You didn’t stay to hear Satoru’s reply, and was out the door before anyone could offer to take you home, practically running in front of the first available cab you saw.
Your mind was reeling throughout the entire ride home, your palms sticky with sweat despite the air conditioner in the car turned on full blast. All you could think about was that recording. What he’d said. What you’d made him say.
And that you didn’t completely hate it.
“Yes! Just like that… hold that position, Satoru.“ A series of blinding flashes erupted as the photographer clicked away at his camera. “Love that expression, you’re a natural!”
You had your arms crossed like a protective shield as you stood with the rest of the crew, trying your best not to stare at Satoru’s perfectly sculpted abs. That lean, muscular torso. His broad shoulders, and that ridiculous jawline, angled in a way that could cut through glass. Or more importantly, someone’s wallet.
They had him shirtless for the photoshoot, wearing nothing but a simple, grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips, the band of his black briefs peeking over the top. But it wasn’t men’s underwear Satoru was selling.
It was women’s.
The brand had renewed their contract with him a second time at a sickeningly inflated rate compared to what they had paid initially. All so they could have the license to slap the words ‘Property of Gojo Satoru’ on their new lingerie line. Their first release had profited them a bajillion-fold, selling out instantly in every colour. They had to restock thrice to prevent customers from rioting in their stores after Satoru not-so-accidentally held one of their panties up during a livestream.
The blue one, in particular, was on auction online for twenty times the retail price.
So it was no wonder they had practically thrown the cash at Jujutsu Entertainment when Satoru agreed to model for them again.
But you had to be present to make sure they didn’t over-sexualise him. That they wouldn’t ruin the image you’d meticulously constructed over five years with your blood, sweat and sheer grit. Satoru wasn’t a porn star, he was a fantasy. He was the fine line between charming prince and devastating sex god, and it was up to you to maintain that precarious balance.
Which was why you absolutely, one thousand percent could not be involved in anything with him other than a business relationship. You, the curator and backbone and engine that kept Domain’s shiny image propelling forward, could not risk their careers and yours over a dumb fling with Gojo Satoru.
No matter how much you wanted to tear those sweatpants off him.
No matter that he had a pair of panties hanging from his mouth, eyes heavy-lidded as he ran a hand through his hair, the other crooking a finger at the camera.
And then those eyes slid over to land on yours.
A tiny smirk formed on Satoru’s lips. Your throat dried out as he let the panties fall, gaze still fixed on you, and licked his bottom lip.
Was he seriously thirst trapping you while posing as a thirst trap? How shameless could one man be?
“That’s the money shot right there!” The way the photographer was snapping away at the camera button, you’d think he was playing an FPS game and Satoru was the target. “It’s going to be hard choosing which ones make the cut. The camera’s in love with you, Satoru.”
Of course it was.
Satoru smiled. “Since you have so many good shots, do you mind if I take a short break? There’s something I need to discuss with my manager.”
You stiffened.
“No, no, of course not. Go right ahead. I’ll send makeup to you for a touch up in twenty minutes.”
Satoru nodded and stalked off towards the dressing room, leaving you no choice but to follow.
You hadn’t spoken a word about that incriminating recording to him all day. Not when you picked him up from his home. Not during the car ride. Not while you ran through his schedule for the day, and certainly not when he purposely leaned across you to reach for a water bottle, knee brushing against yours.
And thankfully, he hadn’t brought it up.
“After you, sweetheart,” Satoru said as he opened the door to the dressing room, standing aside for you to pass through first, half-naked, the sweatpants they’d deliberately had him wear two sizes up slipping further down his hips.
“Stop calling me that,” you muttered.
“Why not? There’s no one listening. And you like it.”
You refused to take his bait. “So, what did you want to discuss?”
“Nothing much,” he said, locking the door behind him. “I just wanted to be alone with you.”
Heat fluttered low in your stomach. You made yourself focus on him from the neck up, though it didn’t help much when you saw how he was looking at you, like he was one accidental brush away from pinning you to the door.
Or maybe that was what you wanted.
You cleared your throat, stepping away to put some distance between the both of you… because you didn’t think you could handle being this close to him without losing it yourself.
“Well, I just received an offer for you to play one of the leads in a movie,” you said, reverting to the familiar comfort of work talk. “It’s a good role, with a respectable director. I read the script last night.”
Satoru leaned against the door, studying you for a moment. “What kind movie?”
“Fantasy romance. It’s a popular genre. You’ll play the main love interest.”
“Nah. Not interested.”
“But you haven’t even read it yet,” you protested. “It’s a good fit for your brand, and we’ve been talking about you potentially breaking into acting.“
“Like I said, not interested.”
“You’re being difficult. At least read the script before you decide any—“
“Aren’t you going to ask me why?”
You frowned. “As if you’re not going to tell me anyway.”
Satoru pushed off the door and closed the gap between the both of you in a single stride.
“I don’t want to play it,” he said, voice low and soft, “because I don’t want to kiss anyone but you.”
Your legs threatened to give out in that moment. You blinked up at him, not unaware that he hadn’t yet put on a shirt. “Satoru… please don’t say stuff like that.”
He was too close. His hand lifted to cup your cheek, and for the life of you, you couldn’t seem to pull away.
“Then should I say I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night? That I’ve thought about you for far longer than you can imagine?” His thumb grazed your lips. “That one night doesn’t even begin to cover all the things I’ve thought about doing to you.”
You forgot how to breathe.
“I—we can’t…” you managed to say, but there was no resolve in your tone. “This isn’t right…”
But his arm was winding around your waist, pressing you against his bare chest. His head lowered. “Tell me to stop then,” he murmured, lips brushing ever so slightly against yours. A question. A dare.
Your heart betrayed you in that moment. All common sense left you as your mouth collided with his, parting instantly like it had been starving for him this whole time and couldn’t bear another second of waiting.
Satoru’s tongue swept in, tangling with yours, and you lost your mind to the taste of him. Your hands were sliding up his back, his neck, diving into his hair, feeling him over and over again as if trying to grasp that this was really happening. That you weren’t drunk this time, that you felt everything, and this wasn’t just another one of the many wet dreams you’ve had of him after touching yourself on lonelier nights.
The way he moved inside you was as if he was memorising every part of your mouth. His hands were clutching your ass, pressing your hips tighter against his, and you felt him—the hard, straining length of him—digging into your aching centre through the fabric of both your clothes.
It undid something in you.
Before you knew it, you were backing him up against the wall, the kisses growing frantic and messier and breathless the more both you and him couldn’t stop touching each other.
A sudden knocking jolted your senses. You broke away from him, head snapping towards the door.
“Gojo-san,” a muffled voice called from outside the dressing room. “Are you ready for your touch up?”
“Ignore it,” said Satoru, catching your chin between his fingers and pulling your attention back to him. “Five more minutes. I’ll say I fell asleep.”
But the spell had broken, reality crashing back around you in full force. Dread filled you as you realised what you’d just done with him. Again.
Fuck.
You pushed away from him, stumbling a little as you tried to compose yourself. Your blazer was falling off your shoulders, your blouse untucked, your lips still stinging. And Satoru—
His mouth was covered with pale red smudges from your lipstick. His hair was a mess. That damn sweatpants had ridden down all the way to expose the insanely large bulge crammed underneath his tight, fitted briefs.
“I—“ you rasped, voice hoarse. “They know I’m in here—”
“So I’ll say I was hugging you and you couldn’t move.“
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Go out with me, kacho-san.”
You stared at him. “The hell, Satoru. Now’s not the time for this.”
“Is that a yes?”
“No. Absolutely not. This is just—we are not—“
“Come over to my place then,” he said. He hadn’t bothered coming off the wall you’d pinned him against. “Tonight. You can show me the movie script.”
Unbelievable. He was unbelievable.
Another series of knocks on the door. “Gojo-san? Are you there?”
“Fine. Whatever.” You gave up and hurried to make yourself presentable. “Just go wipe your face already.”
Satoru grinned. “But I think I look great like this.”
“God, just shut up. And pull up your pants.”
A heavenly aroma smacked you in the face as the elevator doors opened to the private foyer of Satoru’s penthouse. You removed your sneakers and let your nose guide you to the source that was making your mouth water.
It wasn’t your first time in Satoru’s home. It wasn’t even your second time. In fact, you’d been here so many times you knew where he kept his car keys, though he never drove, preferring to be chauffeured around by the company driver, or Toji, or you. Like a spoilt little princess.
Mostly, you’d come here to haul his tardy ass out of bed.
Satoru always had a problem with time management. Sick of making excuses for him being late to appointments, you took it upon yourself to arrive at his place an hour before anything important to rush him out the door. You did it so often that a couple of years back, Satoru had given you a keycard to his apartment, stating that he was tired of hearing some angry woman shout at him through the intercom, and that the least you could do is let yourself in and berate him in person.
It didn’t make much sense. Then again, most things didn’t make sense when it came to Satoru.
But no matter how late you stayed at his, whether it was a song writing session with the group or discussing contracts with him alone, you’d always gone home after you were done.
Until that night.
That one stupid night you couldn’t fully remember, and apparently, was stupid enough to record. And from what you’d heard, it certainly sounded like you did a lot more than kiss him.
“There’s my gorgeous manager.” Satoru’s eyes lit up when you walked into the sprawling, open-plan living space. He was behind the kitchen island, the marble as glossy as his stark white hair. “I can’t decide if you’re more stunning in work clothes or like this, so I’m gonna go with both.”
You were in a ratty old sweater and jeans. Next to him, immaculately casual in a crisp white tee and loose slacks, you looked like you had crawled out of a dumpster. But at least he was fully clothed. For some unknown reason, you were half convinced he was going to greet you in his underwear.
“Is that—“ You glanced at the collection of mixing bowls cluttered alongside bags of flour and sugar. An electric mixer stood at one side, globs of dark brown batter dripping from its whisks. “You’re baking a cake?”
“Not just any cake,” he said. “It’s Gojo Satoru’s super special delicious chocolate cake for his super special delicious manager! Once you’ve had it, you’ll never want any other.”
“I didn’t know you like to bake.”
“Well, I’ve never tried until now.”
“Then don’t say it like you’ve made it a hundred times.”
He shrugged. “I know you like chocolate, and I know you like cake. And I know you’ll like this one, because you’ll think of me while eating it.”
“I will if it tastes like bullshit.”
“Oh, we both know I taste far better than any dessert. And so do you, by the way.” Satoru smiled “In fact, I think you’ve ruined my tongue for anything else.”
There was a streak of chocolate batter across his left cheek, and the effect was… you were suddenly glad there was three feet of marble separating you from him.
You crossed your arms. “Must you say stuff like that? If you spent half your brain space focused on actual work instead of constantly spouting nonsense at me, you’d have twice as many sponsors and be twice as famous right now.”
Satoru waved a hand flippantly. “I’m famous enough. I don’t need more.”
“You’re an idol, Satoru,” you pointed out. “How many more years do you think your name will last in the spotlight? Another five? Ten if you’re lucky? Someone younger, fresher—better maybe—will eventually take your place. If you don’t start branching out into other industries, you’ll be left behind. Then what?”
“Then maybe you’ll finally go on that date with me.”
“This is getting ridiculous.”
“You’re right,” he said, swiping up some batter with his finger, and then licking it. Your gaze couldn’t help but drop to his mouth. To the way his tongue lapped up the chocolate as his eyes stayed on you. “I don’t really want to wait ten years for you to say yes. I don’t even want to wait one more second.”
“Satoru, I’m your manager.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of hard to miss. Also, I heard there’s this popular cafe in Daikanyama that has really good parfaits—”
“I am not going to a cafe with you in broad daylight.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you. In fact, some might say I’m quite the arm candy.“
“Your face is plastered on half the billboards in Tokyo. Do you want a scandal?”
Satoru grinned. “So you do want to go out with me.”
Your patience frayed. “The answer’s no, Satoru.”
“No as in not right now, or no as in you want to go out with me but don’t want the waitress poisoning your parfait?”
“Look, if you want to have a fling, there are a million people waiting in line who will happily jump into bed with you. Just pick one of them and be quiet about it. Preferably another idol or actress who won’t immediately sell you out to the gossip rags.”
You caught the slight falter in his smile, there and gone in half a beat before he was rounding the island over to where you stood.
“Oh, I know exactly who I want in my bed, sweetheart,” he said, stopping just shy of his broad frame towering over you. “And once I get her in my bed again, I can promise you this time I plan on doing everything I can so she’ll want to stay there.”
Your voice caught in your throat. You should walk away. Get the hell out before your heart stopped beating altogether. Before you did something you knew you’d regret. But your legs couldn’t remember how to move.
Ding! The oven’s timer rang.
“Ah, cake’s ready,” he said, so casually as if he hadn’t detonated a nuclear bomb in your chest. “It’ll need some time to cool down though.” A knowing glint danced in his sky blue eyes. “You brought that script, right? I’ll read it while we wait. Then I’ll put the icing on top and blow your mind away.”
The cake was divine. Rich and smooth and moist. Pure indulgence with every bite, just like the smile playing on Satoru’s lips as he watched you scarf your slice down in five minutes, then helped yourself to another.
“Told you, didn’t I?” He was propped at the edge of the bar stool next to you, half standing half leaning as his gaze tracked each movement of your fork to your mouth. He slid a mixing bowl with leftover frosting towards you. “Have the rest. It’s your favourite part, right?”
You mumbled back something unintelligent. He knew you too well.
Trust Satoru to make a professional level cake on his first try. What couldn’t he do? And it was more annoying how effortless he made it seem. As an idol, he was the whole package—jaw-droppingly handsome, with a voice that was unique to him yet appealed to the masses, a great dancer, and oozing charisma out of every single non-existent pore that all he had to do was smize those pretty eyes for a whole stadium to start salivating.
Anything Satoru touched was guaranteed to be an instant success, which was why there was a never-ending line of sponsors banging down his door for a chance to work with him. It was also why Yaga, Jujutsu Entertainment’s CEO, let him do whatever he pleased, from writing his own songs to picking his own contracts. Satoru was the company’s pride and joy, its bread and butter, its stock broker, its reputation, all wrapped up in one stupidly good looking man.
And it was your job to ensure nothing, absolutely nothing, tarnished his pristine image. No big deal. Except that Satoru was hell bent on making you the very threat to Jujutsu Entertainment’s most valuable asset.
“What do you think of the script?” you asked, steering the conversation back to work. “The character they want you to play has a lot of depth. You won’t be some simpering fool chasing after the heroine. You’ll have just as many scenes as her. It’s a perfect role for you to break into the big screens, and I heard the actress they’re after for the heroine specifically requested for you to be her co-star. Said she’ll sign the contract immediately if you agree to do the movie.”
“Mmm… the story isn’t bad.” Satoru flipped through the pages. He’d spent the last hour skimming through the script while he assembled the cake. Apparently, the gods thought it best to cram a photographic memory into the already abundant arsenal of gifts bestowed upon him. “But there are a few problems with some of the scenes.”
“Really? Where?”
He tapped at the page he’d stopped at, and leaned in as he brought the script closer for you to read. You tried not to think of how good he smelled, his warmth radiating on your skin, and channeled all your concentration on the tiny black words.
You read the part he flagged. Then read it again. “I can’t see anything wrong with it.”
“Can’t or don’t?”
“I don’t understand—“
“The line,” said Satoru. “Specifically this line. There’s a problem with it.”
“Reads fine to me. I’m sure you can pull off the emotions. Rehearsing it with your co-star will help.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t want to say it.”
“What do you mean you—”
“I’m not going to tell some random girl I’ll die for her when I obviously won’t.”
“She’s your love interest.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Are we reading the same script here? Or are you just being dense?”
Satoru thumbed through the pages to another scene. “And here. This shower scene—it’s shit. As if I’m going to let anyone but you touch me like that.”
You blinked at him, momentarily stupefied. “Are you kidding me? It’s called acting for a reason.”
“I don’t feel like getting wet with a stranger.”
“Stop calling your co-star a stranger. It’s supposed to be romantic.”
“Nah. Not gonna do it. Tell them to switch me with another character.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Then they can scratch the whole scene. Plus all those sappy lines.”
“The fuck, Satoru. It’s not even real!”
“Exactly. I don’t want to pretend.” Satoru tilted his head slightly, leaning closer to you. His gaze softened. “I don’t want to do those things with someone else and pretend it’s you.”
The fork you were holding slipped, clattering on the porcelain plate. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. You’d heard him, loud and clear, and though your insides were twisted into knots, your brain couldn’t fully comprehend the gravity of the words that slid so easily out of his mouth.
“I—please, Satoru… don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“Don’t make what harder, sweetheart?” He reached for you, hand sliding up your neck to cup the back of your head. His thumb traced your jaw with feather light strokes. “That I want you and only you? That you might possibly want me too?”
“We work together. We can’t—“
“We already are.”
“It’s a bad idea.” But your reply only came out hollow.
“I’ll show you why it isn’t.”
His lips were inches away from yours. Endless blue eyes fixed on you, unwavering. It was impossible to think.
“One chance,” he said. “Let me show you exactly how I want us to be. All the ways I want to have you. How you’ve imagined having me.”
You felt your resolve melt along with the rest of you as Satoru pulled you off the bar stool and into him. You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t have even let it go this far, because now it was too late.
Because instead of pushing away, your hands were sliding up his chest, hooking around his broad shoulders.
“No one can know,” you heard yourself saying. “They can’t find out or else—“
“Is that a yes?”
“I—yes… but we have to be—“
Satoru’s mouth was on yours before you could finish the sentence. Your gasp turned into a sigh that quickly disintegrated as he deepened the kiss, stealing whatever air was left in your lungs.
Satoru devoured you like he was starving, his tongue destroying your mouth and your mind with each possessive flick. Like he wanted to sear the way he tasted into your memory… the heat of him… you didn’t know how you’d survived this long without him.
You grabbed his shirt, clawing it off his back, needing to feel more of him. He shifted just enough to let you pull it off him. For you to slide your hands up his perfectly toned abs to his chest, feeling his smooth pale skin, every taut ridge of muscle, before he lifted you up and propped you on the edge of the kitchen island.
“Your turn.” A slow, dangerous smile spread across his lips. His hands slipped underneath your sweater, dragging up and up and up until your sweater peeled right off.
Your bra went next.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. “I take it back. You look the best without any clothes on, which is why those jeans will have to go… eventually.”
Heat pooled between your thighs at the thought of it.
“But I think I’ll start here first.” Satoru lifted a finger, and a soft whimper escaped you as he idly circled one of your breasts, then the other. Teasing you as each ring he drew closed in tighter and tighter around your swelling nipple.
“Ngh—Satoru...” you cried, breathless, when he flicked it.
“Like that? Maybe you’ll like it better if I just…” He swiped up a dollop of frosting from the mixing bowl beside you, and smeared it over each peak of your hardened nipples, the sudden coldness sharp against your aching need. He lowered his mouth, and sucked on one of them.
Your back arched forward, the heat of his tongue slowly licking, nipping, like he’d found the most delicious meal and wanted to take his time savouring every bit of it.
He scooped more frosting and drew a thick, gooey line down the middle of your torso. Down and down before stopping right above the band of your jeans.
Satoru licked his lips, his smile growing devious. “So you don’t forget where this ends.”
“You’re terrible.” But you couldn’t help smiling back.
“Oh, I promise you I’m very, very good. The best.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Is that a challenge?” He clicked his tongue, playfully admonishing. “Because if it is, I won’t hold back. I’ll have you screaming my name before I’m done, then begging to scream it again after.”
The region below your belly squirmed. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pressing your aching centre against that thick, solid length straining beneath his pants.
“Try me,” you breathed, and ground against him.
Satoru groaned, eyes darkening into something feral. Then he was pushing you down flat against the kitchen island, among the clutter of bowls and flour and batter he’d not yet cleaned up.
“Consider yourself warned, sweetheart,” he said.
He yanked off your jeans in one smooth motion, and with your legs still up in the air, he spread them apart.
You suddenly wished you had opted for a nicer pair of underwear instead of the faded cotton one you usually wore at home. Cheeks flushed, you peered up at Satoru, thinking he might laugh at your granny panties, but you only found him staring.
“God…you’re soaked.” His voice came out hoarse, almost in disbelief. “Is it all for me?”
The look on his face, his question, somehow made you a little braver. You bucked your hips up in answer. “Take it off and see for yourself.”
But instead, Satoru pressed a thumb into the damp cotton, right at the centre of your aching nerves, and began stroking. You moaned from the sudden pressure, the friction of fabric burning against your clit.
“I’ve had a long, long time to think about how I want to have you, kacho-san,” said Satoru as his thumb worked in slow, steady circles, both relieving and maddening you at once. “So you’ll forgive me for not rushing this.”
In the next stroke, his thumb stretched the fabric aside and slid underneath. The heat of his skin finally met all of your wetness, and rubbed right up the centre of your clit. You moaned louder, eyes shuttering from the sheer elation of his bare touch.
Satoru swore. “You’re killing me with that face. It’s too pretty. Now I don’t want you showing it to anyone else but me.”
“Satoru, please… any more and I’m going to—“
“Not yet, baby.” He plunged his finger into you, and your mind went numb. “Can’t have you coming so soon. Not when there’s so much more for you to enjoy.”
The world ceased to exist save the feel of him rocking inside you. It was torment. It was rapture. It was everything, yet not nearly enough.
You were panting so hard you didn’t realise him bending over you until he caught your mouth with his, swallowing up every wretched sound you released. And just as you were about to give in and beg for more, he tore away, pulling back, and ripped your panties off.
“Finally,” Satoru breathed, and it sounded like awe. Then he was on his knees, clutching your thighs as he splayed you wide open.
The first lick of his tongue, hot and slick up your clit, completely decimated your mind. You forgot your name. Your very being. Your legs hooked around his shoulders, fingers diving into his hair, pressing him further into you. Needing more, more, more…
Your cries filled the kitchen as Satoru worked you with his mouth in broad, sweeping strokes—flicking, kissing, teeth grazing lightly in a way that drove you insane that each time he did it you thought you might tip right over the edge.
“I was right,” Satoru murmured. “I can never get enough of this.”
His tongue slipped inside you, and you lost it. Lost yourself fully, absolutely, to the feel of him, crying out as release surged up your spine, wracking through your entire body. Your toes curled. Seized. Your hips writhing as Satoru continued fucking you with his tongue to the last throes of your climax. Until you were nothing but a limp heap of flesh beneath him.
You were still heaving as Satoru kissed his way up your body, up the column of your neck. His breaths, warm against your skin, his lips caressing that sensitive spot behind your ear—it only undid you further.
You reached for him, arms winding round his back, and turned your head to look at him.
And the moment you met those sky blue eyes, the truth you’d been so stubbornly ignoring for years hit you like a punch to the gut—
That you were so gone for him. You always were.
“Satoru,” you whispered. “I want more… I want you.”
He stilled, just for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite believe what you’d said. Then those perfect lips curved into a devastating smile.
“I never said we were stopping, sweetheart.”
It was like the leash controlling whatever Satoru held back had snapped. He’d picked you up as if you weighed nothing, slung you over his shoulder—your bare ass facing upwards, which he smacked playfully when you tried to kick him—and carried you up the stairs straight to his bedroom.
“It’s too bright,” you said, when he flicked on more lights.
“All the better for you to see me,” was his reply before he threw you on the bed, and wasted no time climbing on top of you.
He’d made you come three more times with his mouth alone, each climax topping the one before until you could no longer feel your legs. Until you were a whimpering mess beneath him.
Still, you wanted more. More of him. More than this.
Now he had you on his lap, facing forward, spread apart as he made you watch him pump three fingers into you at a relentless pace.
“Ahn—Toru! Please…” you moaned, head tipping back, helpless to the pressure that was building up in you again.
“Please what, baby?” Satoru dragged his mouth along the curve of your neck. “Is it too much? Should I add one more?”
“No—ahn! I want—I want you inside me…”
“But I already am, and you’re taking it so, so well.”
“Stop—hngh—teasing…”
“I’d hardly call it teasing when you’re about to come for me again. Look at you—so damn tight. You’re practically eating up my fingers.”
“Toru—I can’t…”
Satoru only plunged deeper, filling you up to his knuckles. Mini explosions went off in your head as he wrecked that sensitive spot inside you over and over again. All coherent thoughts left you as another brutal climax shattered you apart.
You sagged against him, your body trembling as Satoru’s fingers slipped out and began gently stroking your clit, preparing you for another round.
Bloody hell, what kind of depraved beast was he? You’d never come this hard, this many times, before in your life. You’d never thought such a thing was even possible. Then again, it wasn’t as if you had a prolific sex life. Or a proper relationship for the matter. The longest you’d dated someone was a grand total of three months, and even then you’d been so consumed with work that you spent more time texting the guy than actually going out with him. As expected, he’d grown bored fairly quick. You’d stuck to one night stands after that.
And of course—of course Satoru had to be the best you’d ever had. No one came close. It was infuriating and addictive and utterly irresistible.
It ruined you for anyone else but him.
Sick of him having his way with you, you shifted to face him, pressing your chest against his. You wedged a hand between your body and his, and slid it down his ridiculously sculpted abdomen. Down until you found what you were searching for.
Satoru groaned as you palmed his granite hard cock through his pants. “Fuck, baby—“
You were already unfastening his pants, yanking them down.
The full length of him sprang free, and your mouth went dry at the sight of it.
Fuuuuuuuck… what the fuck? What didn’t the gods bless him with? That wasn’t a dick. It was an unholy weapon of mass destruction. You weren’t sure if a quarter would even fit—
“Oh, it will. I’ll make sure it does.” Satoru smirked, reading your mind. Then he was flipping you onto the sheets, his hips between your thighs as he brought your legs up and over his shoulders. “You know, I was going to prep you some more so you could take me easier. But since you insist on being so impatient…”
The tip of his cock rubbed into your dripping wet folds, and you couldn’t help but make a pathetic sound at how good it felt.
“Keep those eyes open, sweetheart.” Satoru’s lips formed a wicked curve as he continued grazing up and down your clit. “I want to see them when I do this—”
He slid into you, and you cried out from the sheer intensity. It was only the tip, yet he was so thick you were already stretched thin trying to accommodate him.
“God, Satoru, you’re—“
“Amazing?” He grinned. “Absolutely everything you imagined?”
“Just shut up and fuck me.”
He laughed as he eased out slightly, then immediately pushed back in deeper. You couldn’t hear your own moans, all your focus narrowing around the feel of him as he repeated the motion again and again until every inch of him was buried inside you.
You were struggling to breathe, legs stiffening as you dug your fingers into his back, but each twitch of his impossibly hard cock had you whimpering. And he had yet to move.
“It’s too big,” you bit out.
Another smirk. “You’re welcome.” Satoru planted a gentle kiss on your thigh. “Try and relax, beautiful. I’ll get you used to me soon enough.”
He gave you all of two seconds before pulling out halfway and slamming the full length of him into you again. Your mind went blank, back arching off the bed. But he gave you no reprieve, pulling out slowly only to thrust in hard and fast. Again and again.
“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so well.” His pace increased to merciless, pounding into you until you could no longer close your mouth. Couldn’t care less about whatever lewd sounds you were making. “God, you feel so good I’m going crazy.”
“Ahn—ahn! Toru—“
“Say my name again.”
“S—Satoru…”
“Again.”
“Satoru,” you cried out. “Gojo Satoru!”
“Good girl.” His hand splayed out on your stomach, pinning you down as he fucked you to oblivion. Until nothing existed but the feel of his cock inside you.
You could die. You could die right now and you wouldn’t care. A hot surge prickled up your spine, up and up to fill your head, but as you were about to tip over the edge, Satoru pulled out.
The sudden emptiness hit you like a brick wall. Your chin snapped down, just as you saw him grab your hips, dragging you forward to the edge of the bed. Satoru stood, half kneeling on the bed, and brought your hips up to meet him before sheathing himself inside you again.
“And now for your reward, sweetheart,” he said. His thumb found your clit, and he flicked it—
Flicked it as he ground inside you.
“Fuck…” you moaned, eyes rolling back. “Toru…”
“Want me to stop?” he teased.
“D-don’t—more… don’t stop…”
The increased pressure on your clit was his reply, stroking hard and fast as Satoru continued fucking you at the same time. Feral. Ruthless. Each pound against your ass filling you up to the hilt, the friction of his thumb never ceasing.
You couldn’t tell where one climax began and ended from the other. Nothing could compare to this. To him. To the way you were coming over and over again, crying out his name while he drove into you, letting you ride out your pleasure to the end before he finally gave in to his own release—a deep, guttural groan as he spent himself inside you.
You were still trying to catch your breath when he gently shifted you back to the middle of the bed, then fell beside you, an arm slung over your stomach to pull you closer. He kissed your temple, then your cheek, then trailed more along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbone while his fingers drew light circles on your skin.
“Wanna go again?” he asked.
“You can’t be serious.”
Those blue eyes met yours. “I am if you are. Always.”
Despite having been utterly ravaged, your cheeks flushed. “Don’t assume this will be a regular occurrence.”
“Can’t it be?” His fingers traced the underside of your breasts. “From what I saw, you were enjoying yourself as much as me, and that’s only the beginning of what I plan to show you.”
“We work together, Satoru. It’ll only… complicate things.”
“I should think it’ll be easier. Like you said, we work together. We see each other almost every day. No one will suspect a thing.”
“You know all it takes is one photo. One.”
“I promise I’ll behave. At least in public.”
You hesitated. “It’s—it’s too risky. That recording—“
“I deleted it.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. What if next time it’s not me who’s recording? They’ll have proof of me coercing you into—“
“Just so you know, we didn’t do anything.”
You blinked, confused. “Huh?”
“That night… Toji was going to send you home first, but you were one red light away from hurling all over the car. My place was nearer. But when we got here, you just complained your back was sore, and then demanded I give you a massage for all the stress I’ve caused you.”
You gaped at him. “But—but all the things I said—“
“You mean the part when I said I belong to you?” His smile turned playful. “Partly my fault. I may have said I wouldn’t mind switching managers if it means you’ll go out with me.”
“You what?”
“Hey, it was a joke. A bad one, come to think of it. But it got you all worked up, which was why you did the recording. Though your exact words were for me to promise I wouldn’t work with anyone else. I just paraphrased it.”
“So… nothing happened?”
Satoru chuckled. “No, sweetheart. Tonight is the first.” He caught your chin, and brushed his lips against yours. “Come on, say yes,” he murmured. “Say I’ll get to have you like this again.”
“I—“ You opened your mouth to reject him, but somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not while he was looking at you like that. Hopeful. Almost… pleading. Not when you knew, without a doubt, that no one could compare to the way he made you feel. He was the forbidden fruit you’d been circling around for years, and now that you’d had a taste, it was impossible not to want more.
“Fine,” you said at last, before you could regret it. “But we have to be careful. If there’s even the tiniest rumour, we’re stopping this. I’m not going to ruin both our careers over a dumb fling.”
Satoru raised a brow. “A fling?”
“And,” you continued. “You’re going to do that movie.”
“Are you bribing me?”
“Take it or leave it.”
Satoru laughed softly, then he was pulling you tighter against him. His mouth caught yours, and you knew his answer. You reached for his face, and with your walls finally down, you did the very thing that had been nagging at you the whole night.
“You have a little bit of…” You swiped at the errant streak of batter on his cheek, then brought your finger to your lips and licked it clean.
Satoru’s eyes darkened, at odds with the indulgent smile he gave you.
“You shouldn’t tempt me like that,” he said, and you felt him hardening against your thigh. “Now the only way you’re going to sleep is if you pass out with me inside you.”
“Satoru, it’s late,” you began to protest. “We have a meeting in the morning to discuss Domain’s tour dates.”
But he was already moving on top of you, arms on either side of your head, caging you in.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He kissed your forehead, then nudged that god-tier cock at your entrance. “I’ll make sure there’s time to properly fuck you in the morning too.”
As promised, Satoru fucked you that morning, then again in the evening. He would have fucked you in that meeting if he could. He’d spent the entirety of it playing footsie with you under the table while you repeatedly swatted away his hand each time he tried slipping it under the hem of your skirt. By the end of it, you couldn’t remember a thing Yaga or the other members had said.
It went on like this for the next three months. Satoru would find any opportunity to be alone with you, and when he wasn’t, he’d find any opportunity to steal a touch, a stroke, a brush, or to simply be next to you.
“Stop being so obvious,” you’d scold him when he’d lean his head on your shoulder and pretend to sleep after another gruelling session at the recording studio. He’d fake a snore and then peck you on the cheek when the others weren’t looking.
He’d also interpreted your warnings to be careful out in public very loosely, often catching up or slowing down so he could walk beside you at events. His face would be arranged in a neutral expression as he bent close to your ear, and to everyone watching, it looked like he was merely discussing something with his manager. But the filthy things he’d whisper in your ear would make your knees go weak, and at the same time paranoid that someone would finally realise you were blushing red as a bloody tomato.
Not only was Satoru inept at being inconspicuous, he had zero filter when he spoke to you, especially while describing what he was going to do to you. And when you did stay over at his, which honestly, was most nights, the sex…
Sex with Gojo Satoru was a league of its own.
“Who’s the best?” he’d demand while pounding you stupid against the panoramic glass window in his living room.
“Ahn! Hngh—you, Satoru…”
“Who’s cock do you want?”
“Yours—I want yours…”
“Say it properly.”
“Gojo Satoru’s cock is the best—ahn!”
In the short span of time since you’d both become more than manager and idol, Satoru had taken you on every possible surface in his penthouse, including the private elevator. His favourite was in the shower. He’d make you use the shower head on yourself while he watched, then lifted you, legs straddling him, and impaled you over and over again.
But it wasn’t his insatiable appetite that you were starting to find a problem.
It was the quiet nights when you weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off. When you were plain exhausted from the week. Satoru would clock it immediately when you trudged into his home, about to tell him you weren’t feeling it tonight, or at least to make it quick.
“Bath. Pyjamas,” he’d say, pointing you up the stairs. “Food will be here when you come down.”
If it was early, he’d cook simple, hearty meals. If it was late, he ordered takeaway. He’d bundle you up in blankets on the couch, put on a movie, and snuggle next to you while you ate off a tray. He’d comment on the scenes, the characters, the lines, an arm slung over the couch as he mindlessly stroked the back of your neck. And when you inevitably dozed off, you’d always find yourself tucked in his bed when you woke.
It was the mornings when he’d hug you from behind as you sat at the kitchen island scrolling through your e-mails, his chin resting on top of your head. The way his eyes lit up every time you walked into the room, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real.
You couldn’t explain the flutters in your stomach, the skipped beat in your chest. Why it was that you found yourself wanting to be around him more and more, and not just for work or sex. Maybe you didn’t want to make sense of it, because doing so would mean facing what you suspected was a truth you weren’t prepared for.
Still, like the gradual yet inevitable shift in seasons, you found yourself in Satoru’s home more and more. Nights became days, and before you knew it, your toothbrush had it’s own cup beside his; your clothes were hanging in his wardrobe; the snacks you liked were in his pantry; you had a favourite chair; the left side of the bed belonged to you.
Conversations with Satoru became a mixture of shameless teasing and inconsequential chatter. You’d share random opinions, he’d tell you about something funny Suguru had said, you’d both bicker over the best way to piece a jigsaw puzzle. Satoru’s text messages volleyed between flirtation, obscenity, and ‘what time r u coming home’, and ‘will be late, pizza in fridge’.
And you couldn’t help but sink deeper and deeper into this new rhythm. This comfort.
Of being with him.
“Sure, keep doing that. You don’t look suspicious at all,” said Satoru as your head snapped around yet again.
“But that lady is staring at us.”
“Because you’re staring at her.”
“We should’ve asked Toji to drive.”
“It’s one block, sweetheart. You’ll survive the walk. There’s no parking there anyway, and no one normal takes a bodyguard to get ice cream.”
You grumbled a little and tugged your cap down further. Satoru chuckled behind his mask, his eyes and stark white hair completely hidden under dark sunglasses and an oversized beanie. You’d made him wear the baggiest clothes he could find so as not to draw any attention to his physique, but his height was still an issue. At six foot three, he towered over every passerby on the sidewalk.
That, and he’d refused to let go of your hand, his fingers locked and intertwined with yours. You could only pray the after lunch hour crowd were too busy rushing back to their offices to stop and really take notice. You’d already passed by two advertisements with his face on them.
“Let’s go out,” he’d said, yet again. It had been six months since… whatever this was between the both of you, and every week or so, Satoru never failed to try and convince you to let him take you on a date.
“What’s the point?” you’d made the same excuse. “It’s not like we don’t see each other every day. It’s too risky. You’re too easy to recognise—”
“No restaurants, no cafes. I know a place,” he’d pressed. “Come on, baby. I’ll be away at the filming site tomorrow. I’m gonna need something to hold on to so I won’t miss my pretty girl too much. Also, heads up, I’m going to fuck you really well tonight.”
“I’m sure you can manage two months on your own, Satoru.”
He’d whined and pestered and low-key threatened to not show up for filming, and out of annoyance, you’d reluctantly agreed to let him drag you to the quaint, little ice cream parlour you were now approaching, tucked away in a forgotten laneway amidst the city’s towering skyscrapers and glitzier establishments.
The bell jingled as Satoru held the door open for you, then flipped the welcome sign around to ’Sorry, We’re Closed’ and turned the lock.
You raised a brow. “You can’t just do that.”
“Not like anyone comes here, and it’s kind of my shop.”
“You own an ice cream shop?”
“Kind of,” Satoru emphasised, while he proceeded to shed the disguises covering up his face and hair. “I bought it for someone. My name’s on the papers, but I don’t run it. I'm really just a customer.”
In that moment, the door to the backroom opened, and out stepped a young boy who looked to be around high school age. He was pretty, with long, spiky black hair and an expression too serious for the baby blue apron he was wearing.
“Oh,” he said, deadpanned. Perhaps slightly annoyed. “It’s you again.”
Satoru swept out his arms, dramatically. “Megumi-channnn! Did you miss me? You did, didn’t you? I can tell.”
Megumi ignored him, his keen gaze settling on you. “So this is the manager you can’t shut up about.”
“The one and only.” Satoru grinned, winding an arm around you. “Sweetheart, meet Megumi-chan, my precious little street urchin that Toji dumped on me to babysit.”
Megumi scowled. “Oi, if you’re going to introduce me to your girlfriend, do it properly.”
You flinched. Did he just call you… your eyes snapped up at Satoru.
“Ahh… I can explain that.” For the first time, Satoru seemed nervous. “The thing is—I may or may not have told Megumi we’re dating.”
“You what?” Your eyes widened.
“Well, we kind of are. We see each other more than anyone else. It’s just not official yet, but I’m going to change that. Which is why we’re here. I wanted to take you out before asking.”
“She doesn’t know?” Megumi snorted. “You know what, I’m not even surprised anymore.” He took off his apron. “I’m going out for lunch. Use the cups this time—don’t dip your spoon in the tubs and mess up all the flavours.”
With that, Megumi gave you a small nod you couldn’t fully understand, and left without another word.
“Satoru, I…” you began, but your words trailed off, at lost of what to say.
But Satoru was steering you gently behind the counter. He pulled open a drawer and took out two spoons, handing you one, then slid open the glass of the ice cream display.
“Megumi makes them himself,” he said. “They’re pretty good. Go on, try them all.”
“But he said not to—“
“I’m going to tell you a story,” he continued. “When I’m done, you can tell me if you liked the ice cream. Or not.”
Your heart skipped a beat. You knew what he was asking—to hear him out. To listen to what he had to say, to everything he hadn’t yet said.
And at the end, for you to make a choice. About him.
Your hand dipped into the cooler to scoop a spoonful from the chocolate tub. “Alright,” you said. “Tell me.”
Satoru sucked in a quiet breath, his gaze fixed entirely on you. Then in a tone so tender, he began. “There’s this girl I met eight years ago. When I wasn’t an idol. When I wasn’t a trainee. When I was just…me. She probably doesn’t remember this—at least I don’t think so. But I do. Every second of it.”
Your spoon froze mid-bite.
“Suguru was the one who wanted to be an idol,” Satoru went on. “He was always going on about us forming a group together and changing the world. I wasn’t interested. I’d just gotten the acceptance letter from Harvard, and all I wanted to do then was bum around before my parents shipped me off to med school. Suguru convinced me to accompany him to audition at Jujutsu Entertainment—said I’d be there for moral support. I knew he was hoping I’d change my mind at the last minute, but as his best friend, I couldn’t say no.”
As if on cue, Domain’s chart-topping single, Limitless, came on the speakers then. Satoru’s magnetic voice, crooning the first verse of the song he wrote, filled the tiny shop.
I was fine just running blind,
Living fast, leaving things behind
“I told him I’d wait outside the building until he was done. I knew he’d pass the audition and was thinking if I should finally buy him a meal. That’s when I see this girl, all sweaty and red-faced as if she’s about to drop dead at any moment from the heat. I’ve never seen someone run so fast while balancing six trays of coffee… it was hilarious.”
Vaguely, you felt the world slipping out from under your feet as a memory, thin and distant, jogged into your mind.
The song had progressed into the pre-chorus.
No map, no end, it’s by design,
My eyes see only clear blue skies
“She was so focused on those coffees she ran right into me before I could stop her. Made a mess on the both us. She panicked, of course. Didn’t even look at me as she apologised and was already about to rush back the other way, all drenched… I assume to buy more coffee. She was mumbling something about not keeping the trainees waiting…”
The chorus played.
I’m limitless, no boundaries,
Gravity bends so easily
“So me being me, I told her that the trainees were assholes for making her carry so many coffees by herself. You know what she said?” Satoru chuckled, fondly. “She scolded me. Quite loudly, I might add. Said I had no right to talk about them like that—that their lives are hard enough as it is. That they never asked her to do this for them, and I was the real asshole for assuming so. That I wouldn’t be thinking this way when I became a trainee myself. Guess she thought I was there for auditions. Don’t blame her though, I am very handsome after all.”
Nanami’s rap for the second verse had ended. Chocolate ice cream was dripping down your spoon, melting on your tongue. But all you could do was stare at Satoru as the memory became clearer and clearer.
“Seriously, I thought, who does this girl think she is? Telling me off when I’m just trying to be nice for once. I got offended. So I told her that if I do become an idol, I was going to make her run errands for me every hour whether she liked it or not until she takes back what she said. I’ll never forget what she told me then.”
The second chorus flowed out the speakers. Satoru reached for you, lifting the cap off your head. His hand cupped your face, warm and steady.
“She told me if I did become an idol, and if she was my manager, that she’ll make sure she’s always on my side. That I will never, ever, have to feel like I’m alone.”
Lives one voice, so right, my guide,
Saying I’ll never stand alone, it’s become my home
Every song I write, it’s you I find
You’re the heart in every line
Ever so softly, Satoru stroked your cheek. “You weren’t the only one who fell that day, kacho-san.”
You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think past everything he’d said. The way he was looking at you, the way he held you, as if you were going to disappear the moment he blinked. As if he was afraid this was nothing but a dream.
He’d written that song for you. Every song Satoru had ever written for Domain… they were about you. And you never once realised it.
Through the speakers, Satoru sang his final solo.
If forever’s taking time,
I will still be here for you to find
“So,” Satoru’s voice was quiet, but his eyes stayed on you, unwavering. “How’s the ice cream?”
You didn’t need to think for your answer.
“It’s good,” you whispered. “But it’s not my favourite.”
He winced a little. His hand retreated. “Oh, I see… sure. We’ll just… go home then, I guess…”
“It’s not my favourite because you are, Satoru.”
You watched his eyes widen, stunned. For a long moment, Satoru just stared at you.
“Wait… say that again.”
You couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, Gojo Satoru, I’ll go out with you.”
“Thank God.” He was lifting you up in his arms in the next second. Your spoon clattered onto the floor as Satoru’s lips found yours.
His kiss was tender. Deep. Unhurried. Like a long held sigh finally let loose. Like you were a desperate wish coming true at last.
When you broke apart, out of breath, Satoru was grinning from ear to ear. So bright. So beautiful.
“Damn, I’m really, really going to miss my girlfriend tomorrow,” he said, before pulling you back in for another kiss.
You forgot all about ice cream after that.
You’d gone and done it now. You were officially dating Gojo Satoru. The world’s number one idol was now your boyfriend, at least in secret.
And Satoru couldn’t help milking it. In fact, he’d taken it upon himself to call you his girlfriend every chance he got.
“What would my lovely girlfriend like to have for dinner? I’m the dessert, of course.”
“Come and take a shower with me, my beautiful girlfriend.”
“God, my girlfriend’s tight, little pussy is the best.”
You’d continued staying at his place while he was away filming. Most of your stuff were here anyway, and it was closer to work and the rest of Domain’s members. Suguru lived in the penthouse two doors down, while Kento and Yu were in the same building around the block.
You’d thought it odd at first that they would choose to live so close to each other, but you’d quickly learned that the bond between them was as unbreakable as steel. It had been that way since their trainee days, and you had no doubt it played a role in their meteoric rise to fame, and why they worked so well as an idol group.
Satoru had wanted to tell them about you immediately, and somehow, you couldn’t deny him. They were his friends. His only real friends. Truth be told, it wasn’t much of a risk. You’d suspected Satoru was already keeping them updated to some extent.
It would definitely explain why, like Megumi, they had showed no surprise when he’d video called the group the moment you got home from the ice cream parlour.
“Congratulations you two!” Yu had cheered, as if Satoru had popped the question.
“Hmm, didn’t think you’d stay professional for this long,” remarked Kento.
“Finally,” Suguru said, calmly. “Now we won’t have to watch you mope around for days whenever she rejects you.”
Besides Megumi, perhaps the only other non-group members who had some idea were Shoko and Toji. You’d never explicitly mentioned anything to Shoko, and she’d never asked, but a shirtless Satoru walking around in the background whenever you had late night video meetings was proof enough. And Toji—
Well, Toji would have to had lost both his ears to not hear all the lewd sounds coming from behind the car’s privacy screen as Satoru ate you out on the way to the airport. Either that, or he simply didn’t give a shit. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know you’d been staying at Satoru’s for awhile now.
It had been a couple of weeks since Satoru was away at filming, giving you time to catch up with work and the rest of Domain. But something had shifted within you. Each time your phone rang or buzzed with a new text, you found yourself hoping it was him, and when it was, you couldn’t help smiling. At nights, the bed felt awfully cold and empty. Your days, your activities, your work, your thoughts, Satoru became the first person you wanted to tell.
No matter how late it was, Satoru would always make sure to call you, even if it was just to say goodnight, and it was no different tonight.
“Baby, are you free to talk?”
You were in your pyjamas with the blanket pulled up to your neck. “Don’t you have to be up at four in the morning? You should get some sleep, Toru.”
“But I can’t sleep without you hugging me.”
“You just finished a ten hour shoot. I’m sure you’re tired enough.”
“I hate it here. I miss you too much. That dumb actress is always trying to worm her way into my trailer to go through lines together. It’s annoying. Can’t I just tell her I have a girlfriend? The prettiest, most gorgeous, irresistible girlfriend I happen to be crazy in love with.”
Your breath hitched. “You—you love me?”
“Hopelessly. I thought that was pretty obvious.”
You didn’t expect your heart to melt the way it did. For the warmth in which he said those words to make you feel so…safe. So complete. Like the last piece of a puzzle finally fitting into place.
You didn’t expect him to feel like home.
“Satoru,” you found yourself saying. “I—I think I—“
Your phone flashed with another incoming call. It was Shoko, and if she was calling this late instead of texting, then it had to be something urgent.
“Call you back,” you told Satoru, and switched lines immediately before he could protest.
“Have you seen it?” Shoko said without preamble. “The netizens are going nuts, and Yaga’s lost his shit.”
“Seen what?” But a cold had started to creep up your spine.
“The text I sent you five minutes ago. Check it.”
Your phone flashed again. It was Satoru. But you ended his call and tapped into Shoko’s message. She’d forwarded a link.
Nothing could prepare you for what you saw the moment the post loaded. Ice bled into your veins, and all you could do was stare at your screen…
The photo was grainy, snapped hastily through a glass window. But there was no mistaking the white-haired man behind the counter of a familiar ice cream parlour, his lips locked with a woman whose back was facing the camera.
Below was another photo, of you and Satoru at the airport. At first glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary. You were just his manager sending him off. But then you spotted it—the glaring evidence like a slap to your face.
You were wearing the exact same cap you had on at the ice cream parlour.
The comment from the original poster only confirmed it:
’Coincidence? I think not. Thought of deleting, but it isn’t fair to y’all.’
They’d posted it barely an hour ago, but the comments section had already blown out of proportion.
All the blood drained from your face. Your phone flashed again. It was the fifth time Satoru was calling. You just stared at his name until the call ended itself.
Why did you ever think things were going to be okay? Somehow, along the way, you’d lost the plot in favour of your feelings. You’d let yourself be lulled into a false sense of security. You’d become too soft. Convinced yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could be happy with Satoru.
That he could be yours.
But the bubble you’d created with him had always been made of glass, and now the glass had shattered.
Text messages upon text messages were flooding your phone. From Shoko, from Yaga, from the Domain members. From Satoru.
Fifteen minutes. That was all the time you gave yourself to ignore everything and spiral. To wallow in your panic.
You took a deep breath, then hauled your feet out of bed and went to grab your laptop before calling Shoko. There would be no sleep for you tonight.
You were going to fix this. Even if Yaga fired you tomorrow, you were going to make sure you did everything you could so Satoru wouldn’t be dragged through the mud along with you. You were going to save his reputation, and if it meant setting yours on fire, so be it.
One and a half months later...
“Kacho-san, are you watching this?” Shoko said as soon as you answered.
Of course you were, and you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. As you watched the livestream of the press conference play out on your laptop, the camera zooming in on Satoru, your heart fell out your throat as he gave a dazzling smile and repeated what he’d said, as if for emphasis.
“She won’t let me be her boyfriend anymore, but she’s still my girlfriend. Does that answer your question?”
Chaos erupted among the reporters. Cameras were flashing non-stop. A million questions were thrown at Satoru all at once.
“Wow, he’s really driving it home, huh?” said Shoko.
“We have to cut the livestream” you said, panicking.
“Too late. There are ten thousand fans watching this. It’ll only piss them off more.”
“Fuck. Why can’t he just stick to the damn script?”
“I don’t think he’s ever known what the word means.”
Throughout the media frenzy, Satoru remained calm, waiting until the questions died down before speaking again.
“I apologise if this has disappointed my fans. Hiding a relationship was never my intention. If I’m being honest, I never wanted to hide her. Not before. Not now. Not ever. But for her sake, I did.” Satoru laughed. “Oh, she’s going kill me for this.”
His gaze shifted to look directly into the camera. At you.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry okay? I’m going to tell them everything. Forgive me?”
Your hands clapped over your mouth as Satoru proceeded to tell them exactly what he’d told you at the ice cream parlour—the day he met you, and how you got mad about what he’d said. That if he were to become an idol, you would make sure he was never truly alone. That he hadn’t realised he’d already fallen for you until you became his manager.
“So you see, this isn’t a fling to me. I’ve waited years for her, and I’ll continue waiting if that’s what she wants.”
Satoru loosened a breath, camera flashes bouncing off his handsome face. When he looked up again, there was only determination in his sky blue eyes, as if he was daring the viewers. Challenging them.
“I wouldn’t be who I am today without my fans, and I love them for everything they’ve given me. And I also love her. Badly. Immeasurably. She’s my guide. The reason I’m an idol. The reason I’m able to give myself so freely. So… can’t we all just get along and share me?” He winked. “That’s all I have to say. Suguru will share the details about the tour.”
And with that, Satoru stood up, so casually as if he hadn’t just broke headlines for the weeks to come, and walked out of the conference hall.
The press was going wild, and so were the comments underneath the livestream.
“Uhh, kacho-san? You still alive?” Shoko’s voice pulled you out of your trance. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”
“Shoko, can I call you back?”
“Sure, take your time. I think I might have to call that ambulance anyway. Utahime looks like her soul has left her body.”
You mumbled a quick goodbye, your feet already moving out your office, then running out the entrance of Jujutsu Entertainment to hail the first taxi you saw.
You knew his schedule by heart. He had a meeting with Yaga after the press conference, but you also knew Satoru well enough that there was no chance he’d bother turning up. Not after the media storm he’d unleashed.
The taxi had barely braked in front of Satoru’s apartment before you were out, flinging a wad of cash at the driver. You didn’t care if it was rude. You didn’t care to greet the doorman. Didn’t care as you fumbled for your keycard while slamming a hand repeatedly on the elevator button.
You didn’t know why you were rushing. It wasn’t as if he was going anywhere. All you knew was that you had to see him. To tell him.
You didn’t want him to wait anymore.
When the doors pinged open, you found him. Pacing about the foyer in the same clothes he’d worn at the press conference. Satoru halted, eyes finding yours as you stepped out, heart pounding.
“You came home,” he said, almost in disbelief.
This time, you didn’t hesitate, and closed the gap between the both of you.
“Yes,” you said, reaching to cup your hands around his beautiful face. “I also came to tell you that I love you too.”
For awhile, Satoru didn’t speak. He simply… stared, a flurry of emotions fleeting through those infinite blue eyes, unguarded.
His throat bobbed. “Say it again. Please.”
You kissed him then. Softly. Gently.
“I love you, Gojo Satoru,” you whispered against his lips. “Shall I say it one mo—“
His mouth was on yours again. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you tight against him, like he never wanted to let go. A tender, desperate kiss. Deep and slow. Devastating and warm. The kind of kiss that only told truth. Of days and months and years chasing the finish line. An endless wait finally seeing light.
“You taste like heaven,” he said when you finally tore apart, the silence of the foyer filling back around you.
You laughed at his cheesiness, but you liked it all the same. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”
Satoru was smiling. “An idiot you love.”
“Yes,” you said, pulling him back in for another kiss. “And for quite some time now.”
After successfully spinning the narrative with his super sincere public declaration in the way only Gojo Satoru could pull off, it didn’t take long for the public’s sentiment to switch from outrage to undying support.
Once again, Satoru had wielded his magic and it had worked. His gamble had paid off, sealing his image and reputation in a whole new stratosphere. The name Gojo Satoru was now untouchable, his influence undeniable. His value in the entertainment industry skyrocketed to boundary breaking heights overnight, and so had Domain’s.
It was the kind of viral whirlwind every idol company dreamed of inciting. You’d prepared for the backlash. For the call from Yaga to fire you. You’d predicted bedlam, and had Shoko and Utahime prepare every possible kind of press release and social media post to hopefully assuage the onslaught.
But you’d made your choice, and this time, you had no regrets.
What you didn’t expect was to end up in hair and makeup, about to do your fifth magazine photoshoot with Satoru this month alone. Six page spread. Multiple outfits. Theme: Devotion.
And no one was enjoying it more than Satoru himself. Now that he had free reign to flaunt your relationship in public, flaunt he did. Boldly. Shamelessly.
“If you keep blushing like that, sweetheart, you’re going to look like a tomato in the photos,” he teased as he held you in pose under the heat of the glaring studio lights, his lips pressed up against the column of your neck as the photographer clicked away at the camera. “A very adorable, very delicious tomato.”
It was no different at interviews. You’d be talking about the tour when he’d suddenly throw out lines like “Your dedication is so sexy, kacho-san,” and “Anyone thinks my manager looks especially beautiful today?”, and completely derail the entire conversation.
Jujutsu Entertainment, for its part, wasted no time in capitalising your relationship with Satoru, marketing the both of you as the ideal, fantasy couple. That the public was aware nothing about you and Satoru was fabricated only sold your new image harder. Not like Jujutsu Entertainment had a choice unless they wanted an angry mob of fans out for their blood, and though the brand pivot was Yaga’s idea, it didn’t stop him from grumbling about the power Satoru now held over the industry.
“Justice for Satoru my ass,” he’d complain. “You know what deserves justice? My damn headache for the last eight years.”
Privacy became a luxury for you, but it was a small price to pay if it meant holding Satoru’s hand whenever you wanted. And it made the days and nights when you and Satoru were finally, truly alone, tucked away from the rest of the world, that much more precious.
“There’s a mistake with the order,” you said, as you stood in the sparsely furnished room Satoru had cleared out to turn into your home office. Since his place was bigger and closer to work, you both had decided you’d rent out your apartment and move in with him. “They sent two chairs instead of one.”
“Nah, it’s correct,” Satoru replied with a boyish grin. “Unless you’d prefer to work sitting on my lap, that is.”
“I thought you said you’d give me a space of my own.”
“Baby, this whole house belongs to you. Do whatever you want—change the furniture, throw out anything you don’t like, paint all the walls pink if it makes you happy. I don’t care. Everything here is yours, including me.”
How could you not melt to that? You let him pick you up and set you on the edge of the large study desk, your legs wrapping around his hips.
Satoru hooked a finger around the necklace you wore, tugging your face inches from his. “Nice piece of jewellery you got here.”
You laughed. “My boyfriend gave it to me.”
“Boyfriend?” His lips grazed yours. “Well, if he managed to get someone like you, he must be very handsome, and very lucky. And very, very good in bed.”
“Hmm, I don’t know about the bed part.”
“Oh? Would you like a reminder?”
And as he worshipped your body like a prayer answered, the half unpacked boxes with all your stuff temporarily forgotten, home no longer felt like a place to you.
Because the home you kept coming back to was always him.
It was the last concert of Domain’s eight month long world tour, and though a little unorthodox, Satoru and the rest had made a last minute request to add one more performance in Tokyo as the finale. In appreciation of their fans, they then went the extra mile and gave up a portion of their concert earnings for the ticket prices to be slashed in half.
As expected, the website crashed. Tickets sold out in less than five minutes.
“Toru…” you panted as he buried his face in your neck, kissing and nipping hungrily. “You’re going to—ngh—ruin your makeup…”
He had you on the dressing table in the green room. Your sleek, tailored pants were unbuttoned and pulled low, panties stretched aside as his hand worked between your thighs, two fingers pumping inside you at a pace he knew you couldn’t resist unravelling to.
“They’ll fix it up,” he murmured against your heated skin. “Besides, I need a little motivation to get me through the next three hours on stage.”
He slipped another finger inside, and you bit back your moan as he stretched you out.
“You’re on in—hahh—thirty minutes… ahn—we should stop—“
“I promise we’ll be done in less than ten, my love.”
“God, Toru…I’m—I’m—“
“That’s it, baby.” His thumb pressed down on your clit while he hooked his fingers inside you, hitting that sensitive spot over and over again. “Show me that face I love.”
Release surged up your spine, and your mind went blank from pure bliss. You whimpered as he continued stroking you through the waves of pleasure, showering you with soft kisses at the same time.
Breaths hot, he licked up the curve of your ear. “Want more?”
Your hand moved to yank down his zip. “Just… be quick, okay?”
It was all the confirmation he needed to flip you around and shove down your panties. His first thrust was deep, filling you completely. You stifled a gasp, clenching around thickness of him.
“Fuck,” he groaned, slamming back into you again. “You’re so perfect, baby. I’ll never get enough.”
“T-Toru—ahn! Not so loud—“
He only fucked you harder. Exactly the way he knew you liked it. Rough. Mind-numbing. It didn’t take long for your second climax to come exploding, his following soon after.
Satoru’s arms wound around you, hugging you from behind until your breaths evened. Then he was gently turning you to face him, brushing the hair from your face.
He kissed you on the forehead. “Round two when we get home?”
“Seriously, where do you find all that energy?”
“Don’t you know?” He grinned. “You’re my fuel, sweetheart.”
“So I’m your guide, and your heart, and your soul, and now I’m petrol?”
He laughed, pulling you closer. “I’ll make it simple for you,” he said, low and tender. “You’re my everything.”
Of course you had to kiss him then. Almost a year of official dating and he still managed to make your heart race and stutter and flip and fall for him all over again.
You gave in to another minute in his arms before the both of you reluctantly tore away to right your clothes and return to work. You had a hundred things to tick off before Domain went on stage. Fitting your earpiece in, you radioed for makeup to come in and was halfway to the door when you realised you forgot the most important thing.
You turned around and went to take Satoru’s hands in yours.
“Good luck out there.”
He beamed, and lifted your hands to his lips. “Thank you, my love. I’m going to need it, especially tonight.”
You didn’t fully grasp his meaning until much, much later, as you stood off the stage’s right wing, out of sight from the roaring arena, attention shifting between the stage and a small screen set up at the side.
It was Domain’s second last song, an all-time favourite—fast, upbeat, with a hint of rock. A behemoth, mirrored staircase towered against the ever-shifting LCD backdrop. Kento was rapping out the second verse at the edge of the runway among a sea of screaming fans and dancing light sticks. And just as he hit the last beat, the spotlight on him cut off.
Darkness swallowed the entire arena for three seconds.
Then millions of tiny stars blinked to life in the backdrop. Two cylinders of light beamed down from above, revealing Suguru and Yu at the top of the staircase, the crystals embedded in their jackets twinkling like they were made of the very stars surrounding them.
Their voices soared out through the arena, delivering the bridge in perfect sync and harmony, the staircase’s mirrored construction making it seem like they were floating in midair.
You waited for the part you dreaded and loved. The safety measures were air tight, the cords and rigging checked, double checked, triple checked, then checked again. But still, you mumbled a prayer under your breath. The same prayer you’d repeated for the last eight months every single time it came to this part of the performance.
The endless stars began spinning. Faster. Faster. Merging into a silver flurry. A great vortex that seemed to suck all the light away into an infinite void. And as sudden as it began, it dispersed. Imploded. A cataclysmic supernova saturating every pixel of the LCD backdrop in brilliant colours.
Suspended alone high above the stage was Satoru, magnificent silver wings sprouting out his back and spread wide, like a bedazzled angel descending from another universe.
His voice filled the vastness of the arena, calm and beguiling, clear and imploring, as he spoke the words to his most iconic line.
“Throughout the heavens and the earth, I alone am the honoured one.”
The music peaked to a crescendo. The arena went wild, going crazy from the spectacle. It was outrageous. Devastating. Overwhelmingly stunning. A fever dream conjured by the single figure being slowly lowered onto the top of the staircase as he serenaded the audience with his solo.
“Don’t fucking fall,” you muttered, and when the soles of his boots finally flattened on solid surface, you breathed a sigh of relief.
Through some kind of stage magic, the wings broke off from Satoru, falling away and disappearing from sight. The staircase began receding, folding down on itself like a paper fan. Kento was moving to join the rest, and together, they powered through the last chorus. Silver glitter rained down on the stage, on them, like a shower of stardust, ending the song with all four members in a striking group pose.
The cheers and roars threatened to split your ears open. It was time for the last song, and the entire Tokyo Dome knew what it would be, and had started chanting.
‘Limitless! Limitless! Limitless!…”
Mei Mei, Domain’s head makeup artist, slid up beside you.
“Kacho-san, your lipstick is smudged,” she said it like an announcement. “Let me fix you up.”
“Oh, um, it’s okay,” you said, but her brush was already halfway to your face, a palette in her other hand. “You don’t need to—“
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been compensated for this. Now hold still.” Her smile alluded you further. She snapped her fingers. “Ui Ui. Five minutes.”
Her understudy, Ui Ui, appeared with more assistants. Before you could protest, they had you in a plastic chair and were attacking your face with six brushes and powder puffs, blocking your view of the stage as the opening melody to Limitless began playing.
Then you heard Satoru’s voice, but he wasn’t singing.
“Ahh… hold on, hold on. Can we pause for a minute, please?”
The music cut short abruptly.
“Done,” Mei Mei declared just as you swatted away the makeup brushes and jolted up from your chair.
Alarm bells pealed in your head as you stared out at the stage.
What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t part of the performance.
A wave of confusion had overtaken the arena as the faces of Domain’s members were blown up on the LCD backdrops.
Satoru shook his head. “Something’s missing.”
“Missing?” Suguru raised a brow, but you caught the slight smile playing on his lips. “What do you mean missing? Did you lose something?”
Your head whipped to the crew around you, but none of them were scurrying about in panic. In fact, they were all smiling. At you.
“Ohhhhh, I know!” Yu exclaimed, excitedly. “You forgot your lucky charm.”
Satoru grinned. “Exactly. Doesn’t seem right to end the tour without it by my side.” He turned to address the arena. “What do you all say? Want to see my lucky charm?”
Cheers filled the air.
Kento cleared his throat. “It’s not appropriate for us to leave and search for it. We’ll have to get someone to bring your charm here. Where did you leave it?”
Your frown turned into wide-eyed shock as Satoru turned and extended an arm towards the right wing, pointing.
At you.
“She’s right there.” His grin widened. “Come on out, sweetheart.”
You froze, the air emptying out your lungs. You felt a hand clap down on your shoulder, and found Shoko beside you.
“You’re up, kacho-san,” she said, giving you a reassuring nod. “Don’t worry. It’s all scripted this time. Well, most of it anyway.”
Then she was steering you out into the lights and noise. To Satoru, who was running over to meet you. To take your hand in his and lead you to the centre of the stage where the rest of Domain were waiting.
The arena was going wild, but you were stuck in your stupor. A deer caught in the headlights.
Satoru pushed his mouth piece away and leaned in next to your ear.
“Breathe, baby,” he said, and squeezed your hand tightly. “Eyes on me. Let me show the world who I belong to.”
He didn’t let go as he addressed the arena. “Found her! Everyone say hello to my lucky charm. Isn’t she beautiful tonight?”
Delighted screams and cheers drowned the entire Tokyo Dome. Chanting followed, but this time, it was a different kind of chant.
“Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!…”
You gaped at the sea of light sticks. At Satoru as his head tipped back in laughter, overjoyed with the reaction.
“Oh, I really want to,” he said. “But first, there’s something I need to get off my chest. Something I’m going to need your support for. You see, I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
Your heart stopped beating altogether. You couldn’t feel your legs, your body. You stared up at Satoru, and if it weren’t for the utter hysteria that descended upon the arena—the shrieks, the cries, the complete meltdown of the entire audience. If it weren’t for the tears streaming down your cheeks for the world to see, you would’ve believed you’d died right then and there.
Paralysed, speechless, you could only watch Satoru slowly lower down on one knee.
“Baby. Sweetheart. Darling.” His gaze was fixed solely on you, those impossible blue eyes bright and filled with hope. The eyes you realised you hadn’t stopped searching for since the day you met him all those years ago. “My love. My home. Please stay with me. Your days, your nights, all the years to come, I want to see them with you. This one life I have, I want to live it with you. Please let me be yours. Marry me?”
It was cheesy, and it was everything. You choked out a sob. Then you were flinging your arms around him, nodding your head furiously.
“Yes.” You forgot your tears. The stage. The cheers soaring throughout the arena. Nothing existed but him. “Yes, you stupid, crazy idiot. I’ll marry you.”
Then he was kissing you. Satoru lifted you up, spinning you around in his arms, your lips meeting his once more as you came back down.
In the next moment, the rest of Domain—Suguru, Kento, Yu—had surrounded you both, and you were swept up in a massive group hug.
“Good luck. You’re stuck with him for good now. And us,” Suguru said as Kento clapped Satoru on the back and Yu announced to the audience, “She said yes!” as if it wasn’t already obvious.
The opening to Limitless replayed. Throughout various parts of the stage, confetti was shooting out of professional grade blasters, raining all over the stage and the celebrating audience. The backdrops switched from yours and Satoru’s faces to shifting clouds. Then—
Clear blue skies.
The boys were taking their places for the final song. Satoru stole another peck on your cheek, and winked. “Now enjoy the show, sweetheart. This song’s for you, after all.”
You stood centerstage, watching Domain bring the tour to an end with their latest single. Watching the group you had grown together with, who had somehow become your family. Watching Satoru, singing his heart out. Laughed as he circled you, twirled you around, held your hand and raised it high in the air.
And all the while, his eyes stayed only on you.
Satoru asked you again that night, quietly, while you were both alone and tangled up in the sheets, exhausted from the tour and from devouring each other once you got home. No spectacle here, no crowds, the only light a dim glow from the bedside lamp.
“Will you marry me?”
Nuzzled against his chest, you peered up at him. “I think the whole world knows the answer to that.”
He was smiling. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the concert. “I want it to be just us this time. And I want only you to hear this—“
He placed a kiss your forehead, and whispered, “You’re the dream I fell in love with that came true. I still can’t quite believe it. I don’t think I ever will.”
You held him tighter. “Yes. The answer is always yes.”
Of course, Satoru being Satoru, didn’t stop there. He asked again the next morning, then the next day, then everyday for the next three months. He asked when your custom-made ring arrived at your home from the jeweller—a humongous, glittering rock that blinded you the moment he opened the box and got down on one knee for the second time.
Your answer was always the same, and he knew it, but he merely told you he loved hearing your voice when you said it.
Another year passed like this. Of you and Satoru juggling work and the media and the public and your private lives. You both had talked about a wedding. Satoru, no surprise, wanted a castle and an orchestra and swans, and only twenty guests.
But both your schedules were so packed you never could agree on a date. Domain was recording a new album, Suguru found a new passion for motivational talks and put you in charge of managing his events, while Kento and Yu had launched a new clothing line and wanted you involved in it.
Meanwhile, the movie Satoru had starred in was a box office hit. Offers for more movies came flooding in, and though hesitant at first because it meant he’d have to be apart from you while he filmed, Satoru eventually signed on to play the lead role in a highly anticipated action movie.
You were worked to the bone, but you’d never been happier.
And finally, when your schedules did align and you both found a free week to spend together, Satoru dragged you straight to the city’s municipal office.
It was there that you officially became husband and wife.
“Forget the wedding,” said Satoru. “I’m taking you somewhere no one can bother you but me.”
Now you were in the passenger seat of his sports car, driving up the winding mountain pass to the private onsen retreat he’d booked out so you both could be the only guests for the week.
Sunglasses balanced on top of his head, Satoru had one hand on the steering wheel as he sang to a juvenile tune he’d just made up.
“My honey bunny, so sweet and yummy, divine and messy, I’ll lick her very—”
“Please don’t put that in the album.”
“Why not? I think it’ll be very popular.”
“Don’t you dare.”
He laughed, warm sunlight drawing golden lines on his face. “So another love song for my beautiful wife, then? About how every day I think I can’t fall any more in love, and find that I still do whenever I look at her.”
You couldn’t help the smile spreading on your lips. A smile for him. For the life he’d spent years chasing to have with you. For the peace you and him had carved out among the glamour and chaos of your careers. And for the years ahead, when the fame and glory days faded away, that he’d still be here, looking at you as how he did now.
As if reading your thoughts, Satoru reached to hold your hand in his. And like a promise, he said, “Because all I will always see is you.”
˙⋆✮ .✦ The End ✦. ✮⋆˙
a little something extra...
a/n: soooo i've actually written out the entire lyrics for domain's song, 'limitless'. >.< it's my first time writing a song, please expect it to be cheesy, but i thought i'd share it anyway to give a full picture of the story. so here it is:
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
Limitless
[Verse 1 – Satoru / Geto / Haibara (harmonies)]
I was fine just running blind,
Living fast, leaving things behind.
You showed up, no warning sign,
Turned my world to one of a kind.
They call me dream, they call me divine,
But I still reach for something mine.
[Pre-Chorus – Satoru]
I run, I chase, I fall, I climb,
Each step closer, one more time.
No map, no end, it's by design,
My eyes see only clear blue skies.
[Chorus – Satoru / Geto / Nanami + Haibara (harmonies)]
I’m limitless, no boundaries,
Gravity bends so easily.
I’m limitless, and through the noise,
The rush, the high,
Lives one voice, so right, my guide,
Saying I’ll never stand alone, it’s become my home.
Every song I write, it’s you I find
You’re the heart in every line.
[Verse 2 Rap – Nanami]
Huh, baby don’t worry, go on keep making that face,
One day you’ll turn around and find me matching your pace,
Look up, watch me, I’ll rearrange our stars back in place,
I’m infinity and you’re my endless race.
[Haibara]
Still can’t hear me, then I’ll shout
Faith’s the thing that never doubts.
[Nanami]
If the road to us is a grind, it’s fine, I’ll bend the time.
I’ll hold up signs ’til you stop and say ‘you’re mine’.
[Pre-Chorus – Satoru]
I run, I chase, I fall, I climb,
Each step closer, one more time.
No map, no end, it's by design,
My eyes see only clear blue skies.
[Chorus – Satoru / Geto / Nanami + Haibara (harmonies)]
I’m limitless, no boundaries,
Gravity bends so easily.
I’m limitless, and through the noise,
The rush, the high,
Lives one voice, so right, my guide,
Saying I’ll never stand alone, it’s become my home.
Every song I write, it’s you I find,
You’re the heart in every line.
[Bridge – Geto + group harmonies / Satoru solo]
[Geto + Group]
Every dream has your face in sight,
Every fear fades in your light.
[Satoru]
If forever’s taking time,
I will still be here for you to find.
[Final Chorus – Full group]
I’m limitless, no boundaries,
Gravity bends so easily.
I’m limitless, I won’t let go,
You’re the tide that pulls me close.
I’m limitless, when you’re with me,
I’m not alone, you are my home.
Every song I write, it’s you I find,
[Satoru]
You’re the heart in every line.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
if you got to this point, i love you. thank you for sticking to the end with idol gojo and Domain! hope you enjoyed the performance, merchandise is still on sale outside the arena ;)
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
⭑.ᐟ please check out my MASTERLIST for my other works <3
*** likes and reblogs make my day, but please do not repost this fic or use it with any form of AI. thank you <3
fake dating sukuna for your brother’s wedding was supposed to be harmless—until he starts acting like he actually wants you, and you can’t tell where the lie ends and the real thing begins.
content warnings ⫶ fake dating, jealousy, tension-heavy dynamic, drinking/alcohol, eventual sexual content (minors dni), light angst, misunderstandings, teasing, hotel room sharing, one bed trope . . . more to come!
serena's note ⫶ like i said i wanna move more into long-ish form work so here's my first attempt <3 i suck at committing to things so this is new to me lol i'll try my best !!
prologue.
chapters.
the drive
act like you’re mine
the reception room key
epilogue.
[ TAGLIST OPEN ]
if you commented on my other post already dw i got you!!
cw — ࣪ ִֶָ☾. NSFW, 18+ MDNI—college AU, established relationship, smut & fluff, kinda pervy reader (she's just horny like the rest of us), teasing & flirting & PDA (hardcore though heh), lapsitting, cockwarming, unprotected piv sex, public sex, creampie, lowk exhibitionism(?), role play, squirting, some cum play, spitting, overstim, whiny & needy kinda sub-Satoru, playing D&D (some inaccuracies probably, i'm still new), Satoru is a repressed little perv and it all comes out in the campaign.
summary — ࣪ ִֶָ☾. you're already pretty into fantasy, so why not join a campaign with Satoru and his party! with some ulterior motives stashed up your sleeve. but by the second session, you realize your boyfriend might not be quite as shy as you thought. time to roll for initiative!
a/n — ࣪ ִֶָ☾. this was supposed to be out earlier as a lil celebration for hitting 1k (wtf how, what are you all doing here??) but it's late bc i get carried away!! huge TY to my soul mate for literally fueling this one and getting me into D&D. this is for you @sadtrash69, my life would be so boring w/o you <3 | amazing art in the banner by @/smokeigheh on insta, dividers by @/cafekitsune & @/bbyg4rlhelps <3 w/c — ࣪ ִֶָ☾. 11.2k (heh oops)
“Wahhh, my name is Satoru and my paladin has shit luck and that’s why I can’t get a decent roll to save my ass. Wah.” You added for emphasis, eyes flicking up momentarily to catch the flat glare, simmering with something that you could practically hear whining about if you didn’t want to hear about nerdy shit, you shouldn’t have agreed to date a fucking nerd.
Satoru’s eyes rolled behind thick lenses, a little smudged with prints, the wire frames low on the sloped bridge of his nose. “First of all, and for the last time, his name is Theono Redone,” You snorted, that name always got you, he always sounded so proud of it. Like naming a child—his hulking, armored child. “And I never said it was his fault, just an unfortunate consequence of having to use up my luck on fucking mana strikes so my entire party doesn’t die and fail miserably whenever we campaign. It’s bullshit, why do I have to expend all my re—hey! You’re not even listening!”
Your eyes peeled off the smutty chapter of the book laid out on Satoru's bed, opened shamelessly to the good stuff, and found his for a moment. Narrowed slits of annoyed azure zeroing in on the ink printed across off white paper that stole your attention off him. Looking at your book like it was public enemy number one. One step away from going full on book-burner.
“I’m listening. I can multitask, y’know?”
Yeah fuckin’ right. If he threw a pop quiz down on the last three sentences out of his mouth your answers would likely make him blush. Beyond the gutters, your mind was swirling around in the sewer with the big-dicked bounty hunter of fairytopia or wherever this thing was set.
Satoru snorted, he knew you and he knew what you were reading. The only multitasking you could do while consuming this shit was doing so while, well, while one handed. “Yeah, and I can roll two nat twenties in a row and suck my own dick.”
Well, that got your attention quick.
He smirked like the little shit just knew it would when your intrigued eyes met his. “Y’know, it’s really not that different from your fantasy… porn,” the word left his mouth quietly with a mildly flustered puh, like he didn’t just say he can suck his own dick.
Jokingly… of course.
“Oh? How so?” You asked, letting your gaze flit over him slowly, sitting in the ergonomic, high backed chair with his laptop balanced over a knee, one leg jumping a little. Eager to see exactly what kind of comparisons he’d draw to rope you into paying attention.
“Well, it’s all still fantasy, you’re just playing it. C'mon, I’ve explained this before, you control the outcome and make the choices that drive—”
“Can the paladin have sex?” Satoru choked on nothing but his own spit as you asked the question brightly, genuinely.
He knew you weren’t joking.
With all the armor and aura or whatever, you were kind of curious, what the hell was underneath it.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, pinching and lifting the frames of his glasses up. “Well, I, um, I don’t… know, actually.” He let his nose go and pressed index and middle fingers to the wire frames, leaving two more smudges behind on prescription glass lenses as he shoved them back up.
A little crease formed between his slim furrowed brows, baby blues on the ground searching for an answer in the pits of hell where you dug that question up from. “That’s not really, like, on the character sheet.” He mumbled, one hand holding onto the edge of his laptop like it could ground him to the reality where his girlfriend didn’t just ask if his beloved Theono could get his dick wet.
The book on Satoru’s bed snapped shut, finality to the thump of filthy ink sprawled on pages being set aside for something far more appealing.
Making Satoru sweat.
“Well, you said that the player controls the outcome, makes all the choices. You can’t tell me that no one in the history of this role playing game has ever made the choice to have some fun, in character.”
Conflict waged a war on Satoru’s features. Gaze flitting around, landing briefly on you as you sat up and scooted to the edge of his bed, getting closer, leaning in with eyes transfixed on his warming face. God, he looked so hot—literally! That hoodie must have been stuffy.
The grip on his laptop tightened a little, long fingers twitching to close harder around the edge. One of those unfairly long legs bouncing away like he was preparing to leap up at any moment, the toe of his beat up sneaker squeaked as that leg shifted. “I mean, I don't doubt someone has done it before, but it’s not—”
“So it is possible?” Your head cocked, lashes batting a few times and those brilliant eyes that undid the complexities of physics theories with such efficiency he put the professors that taught them to shame. Those big, bright blue eyes that undressed numbers as quickly as they did you, landed on you again, and stayed there.
“It’s not… impossible.” He saw exactly how you straightened, how your eyes probably started glittering with possibilities, and shut his laptop, setting it aside on the desk behind him. Attention on you fully now, forearms draped over his thighs to lean forward, he tried to shut you down.
Emphasis on tried.
“But, the point isn’t to fuck your way through a campaign.”
You shrugged. “Why not?”
“What is the point of that?” Satoru countered. Feigning holy innocence he had no room for with the porn you've seen on his laptop with your own eyes.
He was a freak. A repressed and nervous freak, but a freak nonetheless. He’d probably been dreaming about fucking a cute little elf girl and just never had the guts to say it out loud to anyone, let alone his party members.
“It’d be fun. Isn’t that the whole point of D&D? To have fun and do the shit you can’t in real life? I wanna fuck the paladin.” You stated with the same finality with which you’d closed the door on fantasy reading and opened the one to fantasy role-playing.
“Well, I am the paladin. You can just fuck me.” He threw out with a cute little tilt to his head, looking like something out of fantasy himself with locks of snowy hair falling over his brow. Hope in his voice at steering whatever this had devolved into, onto the track where your face ended up buried in his sheets. Or maybe his face buried in the spit slicked mess between your thighs. Or both.
“I do that all the time, I wanna, like, I dunno, bounce on some armored dick.”
Satoru let out a defeated whimper and buried his face in his own hand, dragging it down to sit over his mouth as he pressed back into his chair. Quickly though, a realization snapped into place and his eyes flew open.
“Does… this mean you want to play?” He muttered behind his palm, a brow lifted and glasses slipped down low on his pretty, sloped nose to stare unobstructed at you.
“Mhm, when’s the next party meetup?”
He shook his head quickly, hand dropping away from his face. “Nah, it’s too late for you to join, we’re like two thirds of the way through the campaign.” Your face fell, a pout pushing your lips out.
The fuck?! Getting you all excited about this nerdy rpg just to rip the rug out from under you? This little fuck—
“But we’ll start a new campaign! I’ll help you make a character sheet up and we can party like, next week probably.” Satoru beamed at you as he stood from his chair, turning to rifle through a drawer. Giddiness lifted your features again, sliding off his bed to join him.
Satoru glanced to you, pushing up his glasses as he sat back down with a spare character sheet and a pencil to start scribbling away whatever your fantastical heart desired. And ohhh how your heart was pumping away, flooding whimsical desire through your veins.
“I have a question first,” You slid a leg over Satoru’s lap to straddle him in his geeky gaming chair, built to keep his poor back from sounding like a bag of doritos whenever he moved. It was so cute, the way his eyes always widened a little and you could practically see his breath catch in his throat, the motion of the long pale column as heat started to creep up.
“Shoot,” Those big hands settled on your hips, your arms draped over his broad shoulders to toy a lock of silky platinum hair around your finger.
“What’s Theono’s type?”
A week passed, and you were settled around a table in a communal room in the back of the library on campus. A printed map that took up a majority of the hardwood top laid out in the middle.
Suguru sat at the head on one side, the partition blocking his papers and laptop, Shoko next to you and Kento and Yu across from you both. Satoru at the head opposite Suguru, close enough that you could bump his knee with yours, run the toe of your sneaker up his calf and watch his lips purse in a tight smile.
The game—err, campaign, started out in a small town and your party was tasked with hunting down a group of mercenaries who had stolen an artifact that cast protection over the town.
It didn’t take long for you to get comfortable, joining in on the teasing when Satoru cast a dismal roll for a check, getting a sarcastic pout in return. Tons of bullshitting, bantering and arguing over decisions that would affect the party as a whole—which were most of them—made an hour slip by quickly, and you’d all barely made it to the next big town—Aardia. Nearly getting thrown in jail for a fight with shopkeeper Satoru had tried to press for information.
The opportunity just kind of… fell in your lap. In a square being surrounded by guards ready to try to haul you all away, your attention turned to Suguru, and he turned his to you. A lock of his dark bangs fell over a pierced brow, freed from the neat bun he had half his long, jet black hair up in.
“I want to seduce a guard,” You paused for a moment, and then added. “Or a few.”
Shoko snorted into her hand, Kento’s eyes widened, brows pinched like maybe he didn’t quite hear you right. Yu next to him choked on a sip of soda and spluttered, coughing into his sleeve. Satoru put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, a mildly pathetic sounding whimper slipping out with a, “Dear god,”
Suguru though?
Suguru matched your smile with a smirk, humming as he looked over the papers in front of him, feigning like he had to really think on it.
Shoko snickered, “Girl, what?”
“Well,” You started, tipping your head thoughtfully. “If we fight them all it’ll just be a drain on resources with nothing in return. If we go to jail and break out, it’s a huge waste of time. But if we can convince them to let us go, there’s no harm done and everyone leaves very happy! Right?”
“Is this a group effort, or are you soloing this one?” She countered, propping her chin on a fist, amusement in her amber eyes as she held yours, the beauty mark under her right lifted slightly.
“If anyone wants to join,” You shrugged, “They’re more than welcome to. The more the merrier.”
“Fuck it, why not.” Shoko conceded, needing next to no convincing on the matter.
Yu, recovered from his coughing fit, offered a light, “I guess… it wouldn’t hurt to try.”
“I can’t believe I'm saying this, but… work smarter.” Kento muttered, hazel eyes narrowed on his own character sheet as if apologizing for what he was about to do.
Attention turned to the face still buried in his hands at the head of the table, fingers pressed to his eyes under his glasses. The toe of your sneaker brushed up Satoru’s ankle and he startled, a little huff escaping.
“What about the sexy paladin? Gonna cowboy up and ride for your party?” You chuckled, leaning closer, chin propped on the heel of your palm. He dragged his hands down his face, casting a sidelong look your way, pink dusted high on his pale cheekbones.
“Don’t talk about him like that,” Satoru muttered, shoving his glasses back up with a jerky flick of his wrist.
“C’mon, let him have some fun!” You fluttered your eyelashes, and Satoru threw his hands up.
“We better not get arrested for, like, soliciting instead.” You grinned wide and victorious. If he’d fuck a guard in character, he’d have no problem fucking you too. Your sneaker drifted high, and he swallowed hard.
“Okay,” Suguru interjected, and all attention was back on him as he continued, addressing you directly. “I’ll allow it.”
Your beaming grin returned, but you knew he wasn’t about to say no. He loved messing with Satoru as much as you did. When you said you wanted to fuck with him a little before sitting down, you didn’t even need to offer him the chance to join.
“Since it’s your action leading the group as a whole, you’ll do the initial roll for the action. DC is let's say… fifteen. They'll take some convincing, but they’re definitely not opposed.” Suguru threw a look across the table at Satoru. “Especially not with the sexy paladin in your ranks.”
Satoru grumbled a, “Fuck you, man.” And you snickered along with Shoko and Suguru.
“So it’ll be, um… persuasion, right?” Suguru nodded and you looked over your sheet. Kento passed the d20 your way and you held it up to Satoru in your fist. “For luck?” He rolled his eyes, but leaned over and sent a short huff of air over your fingers, and with that, you tossed the die out on the table.
Breaths held around the table. If you got a fifteen or higher, the action would proceed as planned. Anything lower, and you’d have a hindrance to deal with, or outright failure.
The pale green die dropped, rolling a few times and finally stilling on a fourteen.
You pumped a fist, kicking your feet in pure glee. “Add four for charisma, fuck yes!” You looked out over the group, wiggling your brows. “Alright, everyone ready for an orgy?”
The following week, you were gathered in the communal room to continue the campaign. You were actually enjoying the game. Finding yourself getting excited leading up to the Thursday night you'd all gather again.
This time though, you noticed as the session went on that your jabs and teases weren’t getting the usual reaction from Satoru. Leaning into the jokes and laughing with you instead, a light dusting over his cheeks still as he asked if you wanted to get a room at the inn you had stopped in. Catching you a little off guard, and you looked to Suguru a few times who returned it with raised brows.
Returning from the washroom after a full soda, you pulled out your seat next to Shoko again just for Satoru to catch your arm. Knuckles brushing your elbow with a quirk in the corner of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, feet planted wide and legs spread.
“Wanna sit with me?” He murmured. You blinked, definitely caught off guard by that.
He could barely kiss you in public without blushing all the way to his toes as he did. But you weren’t about to pass up your favorite seat, not when it was in sweatpants you could practically see the outline of his dick pressed against his thigh while sitting like that.
You snatched your character sheet up and slid onto your new seat. Pulling your skirt out to cover both of you, your bare ass—panties stuffed in a pocket somewhere on Satoru like a prize he’d definitely earned a couple of hours ago—met the warm fabric of his sweats and you settled with a little wiggle of your hips. Earning an audible swallow behind you and a hand on your thigh to steady.
“Feel like I'm in a booster seat.” You muttered, straightening your character sheet and meeting Suguru’s eyes across the table. Sharing the look of mild surprise that flickered in his dark irises. He wasn’t expecting it either, but mischievous understanding passed between you with a brief smirk on both your lips. Quickly stifled by Suguru clearing his throat.
“The trees around you begin to thin, still shrouded in shadow and silence—even more so now with the insectoids gone quiet.” Suguru spoke with cadence, voice steady. Deep and theatric, he spun the setting for the next stage.
“The overgrown path winds through, a layer of leaves and broken branches obscuring the dust and dirt. You see it continues towards town, but,” Suguru smirked, looking all of you over as he paused just for the effect.
Satoru snickered, leaning to press his chest to your back, he murmured close to your ear, “What a showoff.”
You gave him a gentle jab with your elbow to the ribs and he chuckled, breath hitting hot on the shell of your ear. Sending a wave of heat tingling through. Your lips pursed, biting back a smile as you tried to focus on Suguru continuing.
“You notice the trees open to your left, a clearing where the grass has wilted and no wildflowers bring color. In the distance, the mouth of a cave set into the face of a jagged cliff yawns wide.” Suguru looked out at you all, waiting for the inevitable eruption of bickering.
Kento spoke up first, heels staked in rationality. “We should stay on the path, we still have the main objective to clear and that group won’t be waiting around for us to catch up after a side quest.” Shoko hummed along with him, ready to get into the next stage and out of the creepy forest. “Besides, who knows how long it’ll go on for.”
“What if we miss out on an important item drop?” Satoru argued behind you, hand sliding absentmindedly over your thigh, pressing closer to make you lean towards the table. “Let’s check it out, see if there's anything worthwhile. If not, we turn around and keep going towards town.”
“What item drop would we need? We’re well equipped, it’s an unnecessary side quest for those easily distracted.” Kento countered with a pointed look at the man pressed to your spine and practically pinning you to the edge of the table with a scoff.
“What if we find some hermit with valuable information?”
Nanami leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. “What if we find a monster?”
“Ooh!” Yu exclaimed next to Kento, “What if we find a dragon? The grass is all wilted, maybe it’s from the sulfur.”
You perked up at that. “A dragon would be pretty cool, would we have to fight it?” Shoko raised her brows at you.
“What else would we do with it?” She asked with a sly lilt in her voice, chin propped in her palm. Satoru shifted, poking his head into your periphery. Cheeky smirk quirking the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah,” He drawled, fingers dragging in the hem of your skirt as his hand slid up your thigh a little. “What else would we be doing with a dragon, hmm?”
Well. You weren’t thinking about it like that. But you guessed after last session, your, uh, intentions were clocked.
Maybe you were also a little curious. Like, come on. It’s a dragon.
“I was asking like, if we did see one, if we would be able to escape. Or would fighting it be the only option?” You looked to Suguru as you asked, but he just shrugged. He wasn’t about to give up any spoilers. “Alright, I guess… I vote we check it out.”
Satrou chuckled behind you, giving your thigh a squeeze. Obviously enjoying having you on his side here. You chewed your lip, pushing your hips back, and his hand tightened as your weight shifted on him. Feeling his dick—hard and trapped between his thigh and your ass.
You kind of wanted to turn and peek at his face. The cute flush you knew was probably spreading quickly. The flutter of pearly thick lashes as you gripped the edge of the table and grinded back. Hearing the breath catch in his throat. The lift of his hips, pushing up against you, unable to stop himself.
The conversation continued around the table and you kept up the motion, shifting around way more than necessary. Every lean to check your sheets had your hips buck back. Rubbing your pussy against the head of his cock a few times just to hear the groan he choked back.
It was decided you’d head into the cave, check it out and see what it had to offer quickly before heading back onto the path into town.
Making eye contact with Suguru a few times, you exchanged stifled smiles. He could definitely see the faces Satoru made behind you, getting a kick out of watching his best friend struggling. He got in on it too, pointing prose at Satoru with terrible timing as you all made your way through the cave.
“You approach another divergence in the path. One side illuminated by light magic crystals inset into the walls, the tunnel cast in a blue glow that staves off shadow.” Suguru’s eyes roved over the group as he took a pause, his voice dropping slightly as he continued. “The other, you see a guardian at the mouth. A skeleton still clad in enchanted armor, it’s eyes glowing a deep vermilion like smoldering embers.”
Satoru poked your side and muttered in your ear. “You wanna try to bone him?”
“Why? You wanna watch?” You retorted quickly, voice low and husky.
“Which path would you like to take?” Suguru asked the group, chin propped on his threaded fingers, a glint of amusement in his deep violet eyes.
“Do we sense any kind of intent from the guardian?” Kento inquired and Suguru shrugged a shoulder.
“Check for insight.”
Kento tossed the d20, and grimaced. “Eight, plus four for intelligence.”
Suguru smirked, “You can sense mana traces from the tunnel with the guardian, but the source of it is unclear.”
“Well shit,” Kento muttered.
“I feel like the tunnel of light is a way more appealing option here.” Shoko threw out, taking a sip off a can of beer. Kento nodded in agreeance but Yu started to object.
“There probably wouldn’t be a guardian unless there was something of worth down there.” Kento shot him side-eye, and Yu shrugged. “Just sayin’.”
“Lets try to talk to th-ngh—” Satoru choked on the word, a shaky death grip on your thigh as you ground a slow circle on his dick. “Th-the, um, the guar-guardian.”
“You good man?” Suguru asked. Coy smile quirking his lips and betraying the feigned concern he was schooling his face into, lifting the edges of his eyes.
Satoru gulped behind you, and you bit a smile back. A wide hand closed around your hip and pulled you down, holding fast with a trembling grip. “Yep. Fine.” He bit out.
His cock pulsed against you, achingly hard. Having brought you to your peak on his tongue a few hours ago and simply pocketed your panties before heading out, claiming you’d be late if you didn’t stop there.
He was probably regretting that decision right about now.
“Would approaching the guardian be like a trigger of some kind?” You asked Satoru, twisting a little to face him finally.
And oh, wow.
God damn, he was so pretty when you pushed him. Just as flushed as you expected, jaw tight and thick lashes low over those brilliant azure irises that burned with a mixture of desire and annoyance. Mostly aimed at you, but probably a little at himself for landing himself here.
“Maybe. I get the feeling that whatever mana is there is coming from deeper in the tu-tunnel, though.” Satoru stuttered on the word, and you batted your lashes like you asked for this.
“You get the feeling it is? What basis do you have for that?” Kento questioned, and Satoru’s eyes flicked to the blond with his head cocked ever so slightly.
“I dunno man. Let’s just do something instead of standing around, now we’re just wasting time.”
“Yeah, we’ve got a dragon to handle!” Yu exclaimed, palms flat on the table and leaning in with pure elation.
Suguru chimed in finally, “So you’re approaching…?” He trailed off with an inflection.
“The guardian?” Satoru suggested. Strongly. Looks were shared around the table, uncertainty and hesitation passed around.
It came down to a vote, and you, Satoru and Yu outnumbered Shoko and Kento. The party didn’t split up, so off to the guardian you went.
The only thing triggered was dialog.
A warning to those who enter, blah blah blah, riches come at a cost, blah blah, heed this warning or you may not see light or loved ones again, blah, pay the ultimate price as I once did. Suguru really sold it.
There was something of worth down there, you all just hoped you’d be prepared to face whatever was really guarding it. You were getting excited. It wouldn’t be the first battle you had done with the party, but it seemed like it would be the most difficult and hopefully the most rewarding.
As the party continued through the tunnel, a light crystal illuminating the way, the group heard a noise, gutturally animalistic with a metallic clatter.
“I want to see what made the noise so I'll scout ahead and try to sneak up on it.” Satoru declared, ever the brave paladin.
“Check for, um… stealth,” Suguru decided with a hand on his chin.
“How noble,” Kento said flatly, leaning to pass the d20 your way. You stood just enough to reach across the table, lifting off Satoru. You felt him shift behind you, hand firm on your hip and he guided you to sit back down.
You barely stifled a squeak.
Your pussy, bare and slick with arousal drooling from grinding on Satoru’s lap for over an hour, met the leaking tip of his cock. Also bare and no longer confined to sweats. You halted, ass frozen and hovering just above him, midi length skirt still out and keeping both of you hidden thank god.
Satoru lifted his hips, pressing harder against you, lips spreading easily for him to nestle right against your hole. Not pushing in.
“Everything okay?” He asked under his breath. Thumb tracing a circle on your hip. Nodding, your lip caught in your teeth and you sucked.
No one was really paying attention, Yu and Kento were muttering about something for a class, Shoko leaned to Suguru to say something. It wouldn’t last long, eyes would be back on you soon and waiting for Satoru to throw the d20.
Heat that had been focused deep in your gut spread, even your face felt hot as you rolled your hips back with a breath, and eased down to sit.
Your brows pinched together. Even after eating you out, the stretch of his cock pushing through the initial resistance made you bite back and swallow a moan. Satoru sucked in a long sharp breath, hissing quietly through clenched teeth as you sank down as quickly as you could with basically no prep.
The dryhumping definitely helped though.
The edges of the d20 bit into your hand, clenched hard around it as your ass met his thighs, sweats still on and pushed down just enough to free his cock. Your walls adjusted to the familiar length snug inside, cunt forced wide open to fit him quickly.
You held your palm up and open to Satoru, controlling your breathing as your face burned being stuffed full. He plucked the dice from your hand, swallowed audibly, and cleared his throat.
“Thanks,” He muttered, a little breathless. He shifted you, pulling your hips back and his cock hit deeper, the curve you knew oh so well angled to drag against a sweet spot that had your cunt fluttering around him.
Sitting up straighter, snug up in your pussy and stilled deep, Satoru brought his fist up to your face. “For luck?” He asked, a cheeky lilt to his voice. Steadier than you would've thought he’d be.
You cast a glance over your shoulder. His cheeks were flushed, the deep pink tinging the tips of his ears, but a sly smirk played on his full lips. Looking like he was up to absolutely no good, and knew it.
Payback. That’s exactly what it felt like. When your breath fanned over his fist and he rolled his pelvis up, one hand on your thigh to keep you spread open.
Satoru tossed the d20. “Fuck yes! Nat twenty, are you for real?!” He pumped his fist, the other arm snaking around your waist and squeezing tight. “Guess I got my lucky charm now.” He murmured, close to your neck and just loud enough for you to hear.
A four leaf clover and your pussy had that in common, you guessed.
Satoru—err, Theono, scouted ahead, and to absolutely nobody’s surprise, a dragon lay in wait inside a cavernous dead end.
Well fuck.
“You wanna try to fuck it?” Satoru teased, poking your side. You clenched, cunt gripping tight around his cock and he choked on his own spit. “F-fuck, okay then.”
You did your best to focus and engage in the conversation going around about whether to proceed, or turn back. The party’s health was good, resources were at a decent level. It would be the first real challenge presented. Dragons were solitary, it would be the only opponent to take hits from and to attack.
So, the party met the challenge head on.
Approaching the dragon's nest, Suguru began the challenge with a smirk, “Alright, roll for initiatives.”
The flush across your chest was anything but discrete, creeping gradually up your neck. Thighs squeezing and hips fidgeting as you tried your damn best to listen to what the hell Suguru was going on about.
How the hell had you ended up here?
And what the hell had happened to your boyfriend?!
Whether it was planned or spontaneous, you totally fell for his, “Wanna sit with me?” With that cute little tilt to his head and an eager half smile that you mistook for innocence and happily slid right onto his lap.
You dumb bitch.
Gone was the repressed pervert who blushed furiously when you regaled him with the latest chapter of fairy smut or update on that one fanfic of your favorite yaoi ship, just to squish your thighs against your tits an hour later and drill you into the mattress like he could actually put you through it.
Satoru Gojo was anything but shy when it came to D&D, you had come to discover.
Satoru had one arm around your waist, thick fingers pressed into the meat of your hip and holding you in place as you tried to resist squirming from fullness.
It had been almost an hour of sitting being stuffed with barely any movement, and you were the one dying. Ready to wail out from the slightest friction when Satoru moved to grab dice or check his sheets, which was a lot considering the party was fighting a god damn dragon. Luckily though, that meant everyone was focused on the game and not your probably fucked out face.
It didn’t detract from the heat flushing every inch of your skin, settling deep and making your stomach clench, thighs tense. Having four other people in the room while Satoru had his dick buried deep and leaking pre-cum into you.
If anything, in a sick way, it kind of added. The risk, having to stay quiet and still and inconspicuous regardless of how fucking badly you needed some god damn friction. If you didn’t get to move soon, you might actually die.
Any time you’d shift or adjust, the arm around you would tighten and you’d get a reminder in your ear of, “Ah, don’t move,” or a, “Shh,” if you couldn’t quite stifle a noise in time. Like you really needed a fucking reminder about the situation you were in.
What the fuck happened to your boyfriend?!
There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he was getting off on one; being inside you in a room full of his friends while playing his favorite rpg, and two; having flipped your fun around on you.
Fucking little pervert.
There might’ve been a god damn puddle on the seat at this point, warm slick leaked out around Satoru’s cock. You could feel when it dripped and the sheer amount that smeared when your thighs closed for a moment so you could lean and grab the dice.
Yeah, you still had to fucking play.
Suguru noticed the shift. That it was you red faced and twitchy instead of Satoru, and you became a target too. That dragon threw attacks at you every opportunity it got, forcing you to strategize and actually think about your next moves while also trying to provide healing and protection spells for the rest of the party. You didn’t die though, of course not. That would just be too easy.
It was a pointed mess, and you swore you’d get Suguru back for it when you weren’t about to blackout on your boyfriend's dick.
Having been at it for going on three hours, once you all cleared the side quest, collected a sweet set of items and a good amount of gold from slaying the dragon, Suguru called the session to a close. Finally.
Now you had to hop off of Satoru. “Help me, please.” You whispered as everyone packed up their stuff.
“Just hold on,” He muttered under his breath to you, and you whimpered. “We're gonna go over some of her spells, don't wait up.”
Everyone called their goodbyes as they filed out, Suguru lagging behind. You shot him a tight smile and he nodded back with a, “Later, don't let him keep you here yapping forever. He will, trust me.”
You nodded, way too quickly to feel convincing, pleading in your mind for him to get the fuck out. Satoru waved him off with a, “Whatever man,”
The door clicked behind Suguru and you sagged immediately, gripping the edge of the table to steady yourself. “Oh my god,” You wailed, practically collapsing forward.
“Sorry,” Satoru mumbled. He wasn't. Big hands sliding under your thighs to steady your trembling legs. You glanced at the large windows along the room looking out into the library. Everyone was gone, nobody else lingered in the library as far as you could see. So, you leaned and let your back rest against Satroru’s chest. “I’ve always kinda wanted to do that.”
“What, play D&D with your dick inside someone?” You chuckled, head lolling back on his shoulder.
“No. Well, I mean, maybe a little.” Satoru laughed a little awkwardly, grip tight on the plush underside of your thighs. He lifted a little, and pulled a fraction out of your cunt. Just that was enough, you moaned, biting your lip to quiet the noise. “But, I meant like, being inside you, but not moving.”
“Like—ah! Li-like cockwarming?” You gasped out as Satoru dropped you back down and rolled his hips a little, barely thrusting up into you. Muffling a whimper with his face buried in your neck, glasses fogging with the heat of your skin and his breath.
“Mhmm,” He hummed, pitched and desperate. Your fingers threaded up into his silky hair, spine bowing a little, tilting your head to let Satoru latch onto the soft skin of your throat.
“You’re such—ahh! A freak!” You gripped his thigh for purchase as he lifted you again. Higher, pulling almost half his cock out. Your hand trembled, legs shaking as friction finally sparked through your walls, chasing it and rocking your hips.
“F-fuck,” He choked out, dropping your thighs and impaling you fully with a sharp buck up. You cried out, clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle it. Cunt fluttering around his cock, throbbing and leaking pre with every twitch and drag along your walls.
Satoru pulled a hand off your thigh and dipped between your legs, pulling your skirt up to bunch around your hips. The pad of his middle finger pressed to your clit and your eyes damn near rolled all the way back into your skull. Hand over your mouth still and muffling the keen as he traced where your pussy stretched around his cock, brushing over your clit. Wetting his finger with the slick dripping and leaking around where you connected.
“You’re s-so wet,” He whined, finger slipping lower, touching his cock and feeling it disappear inside you. “You totally liked it, di-didn’t you? Freak.” His breath hit hot on your neck, lips wet with spit and sliding over your skin.
The glide of Satrou’s hand exploring the connection between you was maddening. You keened, grabbing his wrist, hips gyrating to fuck yourself on his cock with what little leverage you had, grinding a sweet spot against his drooling tip. “Yes! Fuck—oh my god yes! Feel-feels so good Satoru, need you to fuck me,”
He took your hand and glided your own fingers down around his cock, a whine catching in his throat as you touched him, hips lifting to push deeper into you. “Need me to—fuck, ‘m not-not gonna last,”
“I don’t care! I’m going fucking crazy here,” You arched back, spine bowing and gripping his thigh hard, nails digging into the fabric of his pants. “Baby, please.”
The sound of you begging him to fuck you snapped restraint and control free with a low moan. Satoru slid both wide hands under your thighs again. Long thick fingers pressing in hard and dimpling the soft fat of your underthigh.
He slid out, lifting you up a few inches with trembling grip, and plunging back inside with a harsh thrust of his hips. Your head lolled back, hand stilled between your spread legs, feeling his slick cock glide in and out as Satoru pumped up into you.
The pace he set was slow, but desperate, savoring your sticky walls squeezing his cock. Chasing something with every lift up to you. Feeling like a toy to be held in place and fucked, eyes hazy and flicking to the windows every so often to check that you were still alone. Heart pounding with adrenaline at the thought of getting caught.
“Touch yourself,” Satoru breathed, sliding in deep. “Need you to come. Please baby, I need to feel you come.” You nodded, the pleading in his voice going right to your cunt.
Your fingers fumbled, slipping over your clit. Stifling a gasp, electricity zapped through you the moment you rubbed a messy little circle on your twitching, aching clit. Pussy tightening around Satoru. A cracked whine slipping out, his thrust faltering as you gripped him.
Pressure built, the aching tension wrapping through you. That blushing, leaking tip hitting a spot that made stars explode through you with every drag in and out. Your clit buzzed under your slick fingers rubbing sloppy tight circles, writhing in Satoru’s grip as your cunt pulsed.
“F-fuck,” Satoru stuttered, sounding utterly wrecked, and he stopped. Nails biting into your thighs as he let out a shaky breath.
“Don’t stop! Fuck, ‘m so close, Satoru please,” You practically sobbed, hips bucking to chase friction and his cock throbbed, twitching deep.
Satoru threw his head back with a deep groan you felt vibrate against your back, his spine arching, angling to hit a different spot. “Shit—okay okay, but—ugh, I'm-I'm gonna—”
You gasped out, clenching as you rubbed a slow circle on your clit. “Don’t stop, fuck me, paladin,”
You felt it the moment you said it, Satoru's cock twitched hard and a shuddering breath wracked through him. “The fuck—ngh—you-you're evil—hahh, oh my godd,” He gripped you like he was holding on for dear fucking life, and like he wasn’t even in control of himself, drove up into you hard. Bottoming out with a mean kiss to your cervix just to slide out with a wet squelch and slam back home.
You cried out, biting down on your lip to muffle it and Satoru let out a pretty, pitched moan as he split you open with harsh snaps up, cock digging as deep as possible like he needed you to be full of him. Sounding like he'd die if he didn't feel every inch of your velvety insides wrapped around him.
Fingers slipping around, wet from slick forced out with every plunge into you. Being jostled in Satoru’s grip, hands and legs shaking, your eyelids fluttered, mouth hanging open and breaths catching in your throat. Toes curling, skin buzzing alive with risk and pleasure, you felt the first kick deep as he faltered. Satoru’s head fell forward with a moan, starting low and deep in his chest, hips stuttering up. It pitched up, the sound of pure ecstasy right in your ear. His eyes squeezing shut tight and glasses precariously low.
“Ngh—fuck,” He kept fucking you as he started to come. Shallow strokes as his twitching cock pumped you with warm spurts of cum. You keened at the sensation, still rubbing your clit messily.
“Oh my god,” He whined, gripping you tight with shaky hands. “Please—fuck please, I-I n-need you to co-come, please please please!”
Desperate to make you come, begging you for it. Fucking his cum back into you, whining from the overstimulation of it all. Your pussy clenched, eyes squeezing shut tight as electricity buzzed up your arching spine all the way down to your curled toes. Balling Satoru’s pants in your fist, your jaw dropped as he fucked you into an orgasm.
“Mnh—fuck, coming!” You cried, the tight pressure in your stomach finally snapping free. Your hand slipped off your messy clit, wet with gushing slick but Satoru didn't stop. He kept pumping into you, riding out your orgasm even as he jerked and whimpered with your walls squeezing his spent cock.
He was just such a good boy like that.
He took ragged breaths, choking on one almost like a sob as he finally stilled. You sagged back onto his chest as he slumped in the chair, victorious and basking in the sweaty post sex glow.
“You… you came when… when I called you paladin,” You teased, catching your breath with a chuckle. Looking over your shoulder to see Satoru, glasses still low and lenses fogged a little, eyes shut and face flushed. He groaned, slipping his hands out from under your thighs.
“Fuck off,” He grumbled, shoving his glasses back up. One hand on your waist in a soft, possessive grip. “It’s not like it was because of that.” He defended with a pouty little jut of his lip.
“You sure?” You prodded, sliding your hand down his forearm as he slung it over your thigh. “‘Cause I think it's pretty hot,” You purred, and his eyes flicked to yours quickly.
He hesitated for a moment, trying to tell if you were fucking with him or not before lifting a pale brow with a hopeful little, “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” You hummed, “My boyfriend might be jealous if he knew I was fucking a big, strong, sexy paladin.” Satoru's jaw went tight and you smirked as you felt him twitch inside you.
He swallowed hard, adams apple bobbing. “Well, uh, good thing he's not here.” If even possible, he seemed to blush harder and you grinned.
“Mhmm, thank you for saving me from that dragon.” You batted your lashes all damsel-y, “How can I possibly repay a hero like you?”
Satoru leaned in, lips brushing your cheek as he spoke, “Check for insight.”
“Nat fucking twenty.” You winked and he groaned, grip tightening on your waist, cock still buried inside you and twitching back to life.
“God that's so fucking hot,” His head fell back and he took a breath before clearing his throat and meeting your gaze again. “Usually I'd, uh, only take payment in gold pieces, but I couldn’t take money from a beautiful maiden like yourself.”
You giggled at the absurdity of it but composed yourself when Satoru squeezed your waist and shot you a look, and got back into character quickly. “I want to show my gratitude, surely there's some way I can be of service?”
“Holy shit, um, check for persuasion,” He muttered.
You reached up, sliding your hand up his neck and into his hair. “Nat twenty, baby.”
Both hands went to your waist, and Satoru lifted you up, pulling out of your cunt with a low exhale. You braced with both hands on the table and squeezed your legs shut as you stood again, a little wobbly. Feeling a trickle of cum seeping out and down your thigh.
A yelp left your startled lips as Satoru flipped you around to face him, holding your waist to keep you from stumbling. His mouth found yours, lips pressing yours open, tongue sliding inside and overtaking you in a suffocating kiss. Your arms crossed behind his neck, nails trailing through the soft hair at the nape of his neck as he hoisted you to sit on the table.
“I can think of a few ways a pretty thing like you can be of service,” Satoru murmured, lips barely leaving yours. Cock hard again and heavy as it rested low on your stomach. Your legs hitched up around his waist and you pulled one hand off his neck to lift your skirt again.
You hummed, “Mmm, anything you want, I'll give it with pleasure. I'm indebted to you, paladin.” Satoru let out a groan, biting his lip. You moved to press your mouth to the pretty pale column of his throat as his head fell back. He shivered as you licked a stripe up to his jaw, rutting against you, hips driving forward absentmindedly.
“You-you’re a little too good at this.” He sounded breathless again already, lost in the feeling of you sucking and nipping the sensitive skin at his neck. One big hand slid under your shirt, squeezing your breast over your bra and you arched into his palm. Humming deep in his chest, you felt the vibration of it against your lips.
“Is that a bad thing?” You asked between open mouthed pecks, an airy sigh passing through your parted lips as Satoru dipped into your bra to roll and pinch a nipple.
“No, no def-definitely—hah—not.” He stuttered out, “It's just—you're so—I-I never thought you'd be so into—ngh—this stuff.”
“I am, but I'm into you more,” You latched onto his neck, sucking and flicking your tongue. He let out an excited noise, like a dream he didn't even know he had until you put it in place was coming true. All of it overwhelming his poor little nerdy mind.
Satoru pulled back, head dropping to look between you. “Lift your skirt more, maiden.” Glasses slipped low again, he met your gaze under lowered lashes. “You can repay your debt with your pretty cunt.” He smirked, lips twitching with excitement and you obliged happily. Grabbing the hem of your skirt with both hands and bunching it up around your hips.
Satoru’s eyes lowered again and spread your pussy with two fingers. Brows pinching as he watched the creamy, sticky mixture of your slick and his cum drip from your messy hole and you sighed airily.
“Yeah,” He breathed, “That is pretty.”
“Take me, paladin. Need you inside me.” You pouted and Satoru bit his lip again, humming in pleasure as he nodded.
He lined up again, holding the base of his cock as he rubbed against your clit, eyes flicking from your face contorted in pleasure to where he slid through your folds. You both watched as he inched inside, blushing tip swallowed by your cunt. Both moaning at the delicious initial stretch.
He gripped your hip with one hand and squeezed your tit with the other, and your spine arched to push your chest up to him as he brushed your nipple. Head falling back with a drawn out moan as Satoru slid in and seated himself to the hilt. Hitting your cervix with one deep thrust.
“Fuuuuck,” He groaned low and deep, watching himself pull out almost completely, and plunge back in. “If I die on a quest, bury me right—hah—here,” You laughed at that, a quick little giggle cut off by a cry as he started fucking you properly.
You braced back with one hand on the table, the other slung over Satoru’s shoulder and gripping the back of his shirt. With one hand, he yanked your shirt and bra up together, freeing your tits. He whined at the sight and quickly leaned to put his mouth on one. You keened as his hot tongue swirled and flicked your nipple, cock hitting just right. Dragging against a sweet spot deep inside with every thrust that rocked you and the fucking table.
He unlatched from your breast with a wet pop and a string of saliva connected his lips to your nipple. He trailed kisses up your chest and grazed teeth over your jaw, his lips sliding over yours with possessive kisses. Asserting himself as he licked into your mouth, branding your insides with harsh snaps of his hips. You felt every vein and ridge of his cock as he dragged in and out, your pussy squelching obscenely with how soaked you were.
It almost didn't even feel like Satoru. Sure he fucked you hard, but he was sweet and soft.
He was fucking you how a knight might claim a prize, victorious and gritty from battle and finally taking what was theirs.
He laid you back on the table, pulling your ass further to the edge and threw your legs over his shoulders. Curling over you to hit a new angle with his hand planted beside your head. You gasped against his mouth as he dipped just a few inches in and out, over and over. Your eyes rolled a little and you gripped his shirt, your other hand back in his hair to tug a little.
He moaned at the sting and pulled back to look at you. “I wanna spit in your mouth, is-is that okay?”
“Do it, you dirty little—mnh! Fucking freak,” Your jaw dropped, tongue hanging out eagerly and he let out a cute little excited whimper. A drip of saliva left his lips and hit your tongue, warm and tasting solely of Satoru, and you held it in your mouth for a long moment before swallowing it down. Tongue poking out again to show it gone.
Your mouths sealed together in another kiss, tasting him again as his tongue slid with yours. His pace picked up again, fucking into you with a hard, dizzying rhythm as your tongues flicked and lips slid against each other with moans and little chu's.
Your hands slid down over his chest, trailing down his abs appreciatively, lingering and tracing the curved lines at his hips that led right down to that pretty cock buried inside you. Your fingers caught in the hem of his t-shirt, tugging up and he caught up to you quickly. Breaking the kiss and pulling your legs down for a moment. Straightening to yank his shirt off and toss it to the floor. Glasses sitting crooked on his face with the fervor of the motion nearly knocking them off.
Your eyed his body, biting your lip and practically eye fucking him as he leaned over you and resumed actually fucking you.
He almost never actually worked out, aside from working up a sweat like this. Blessed with good genes, you supposed.
Pale hair sticking around his temples, glasses crooked and fogged a little, face flushed deep pink again, he planted a hand next to your head and snapped his hips. A mean thrust that had your jaw dropped in a silent cry as his drooling tip kissed your cervix, the angle with your leg over his shoulder felt like he was in your guts.
Pressure built, pulsing ache winding through with every deep thrust and drag out. Satoru put his face close to yours, breathing hard and fanning hot air against your mouth.
“Better than your—hah—fantasy porn?” He asked, lips grazing yours as he smirked.
A breathless laugh huffed from you, “You need to like, mnnh, ride a-a dragon or something and burn down the opposing—ohh fuck… ki-kingdom and claim me as yours. But yeah, other than that.”
Satoru’s brows pinched together, huffing an annoyed breath. “I slayed a fucking dragon for you, and you think you're—hngh—not mine? That's so cute.” He purred in your face, haughty and condescending, angling his pelvis down and shoving deeper than anyone else before him ever could as if to prove a point. Forcing a cry out as he pounded into that spot over and over.
He clapped a hand over your mouth to cut you off. “Shh, you're—hah—gonna get us caught,” he reprimanded, breathy with a brow up and you nodded once. The reminder that you were in a public school space sending a racing thrum through your veins. Only making all of it hotter.
He slowed a little to savor your walls fluttering around his cock. Electricity tingling up your spine, down through your legs to make your toes curl. Your clit throbbed with need, ready to fucking explode with the first ounce of pressure.
You keened behind his hand still firmly over your mouth, arms wrapped under his, nails raking down his muscled back. Satoru grit his teeth, sharp jaw clenched as he sucked in a breath and let it out with a shudder.
“I'm gonna move my hand, please be quiet. I really don't—hah—wanna get kicked out.” You nodded quickly and Satoru pulled his hand back, dragging his thumb over your puffy, spit slicked lips. Putting his mouth on yours again in another suffocating kiss that fogged his glasses up with heated breaths mingling.
He leaned back again, straightening with one hand clamped over the leg he tossed over his shoulder, the other drifting low to brush his thumb, wet with your saliva, over your clit. You nearly cried out again with that one touch, covering your own mouth barely in time. Cunt clenching hard and Satoru jerked with an, “Ugh fuck,” like you’d punched him in the gut.
He recovered quickly, huffing a few breaths as he pressed firmly on your clit and rubbed mean, tight circles just how he knew would make you scream. Your head flew back, hips lifting up off the table as pressure grew unbearable. Muffling cries and near screams with your palm as Satoru worked you up to another orgasm.
His head dropped low to watch your pussy stretch around him, clit twitching and pulsing under his thumb. Lip caught in his teeth to bite back whines as your walls tightened and squeezed his cock over and over.
“Fuck, so tight, so wet, oh my god—hah—you're so perfect,” He whined, driving into you hard. Breathless desperation and neediness in his voice. “Please, baby, I wanna feel you come. Need to—hah—feel it.”
His pleading tipped you right over, spine bowing off the table, legs shaking as a live wire snapped free and sparks flooded your body. Eyes rolling back as you twitched hard, cunt pulsing as Satoru kept fucking you through it.
Pressure didn't ease, it built and built, and before your mushy mind could gather what was about to happen, Satoru groaned and drove into you again and again. Cock angled to press hard into a sensitive spot, and you screamed behind your hand as your body tensed up and your pussy gushed.
Warm, clear fluid flooded out around his cock, spraying up his abs and pooling on the table under you, dripping down to the floor. Satoru’s eyes went round as he realized what was happening.
Your entire body shook as he slowed to a stop, “Oh my god… did you just—”
“Yes!” You squeaked, cutting him off. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, this is so not the place for this,” You whimpered. Dragging your hand up through your hair as you sagged on the table.
It wasn't a first, but it was definitely a first with Satoru. Who looked like the human equivalent of the error 404 message as he looked you, and the mess you made over.
“Holy shit, I-I didn’t even know you could,” He swallowed a lump down, “squirt,”
You huffed and sat up a little, shoving his shoulder lightly with a pout. “Shut up,”
He caught your wrist, tilting his head to the side. Pieces of platinum hair falling over his brow as a slow smile grew on his face. “I made you squirt,” He teased, leaning in close and you rolled your eyes. “That was so hot—you are so fucking hot,”
Your already warm face heated a little more at that. At his excited, insistent expression. Pride plain as day at making you squirt.
You pulled each other in, mouths crashing together in a deep kiss. Noses bumping as your lips slid over each other's. You bit his gently and sucked, a small excited noise catching in his throat.
He laid you back on the table, still seated deep inside you, lips locked with yours. Your wrists crossed behind his neck, fingers toying with locks of soft hair as he kissed you like a reassurance. Not just lust, but affection poured into you.
Your lips broke apart and he leaned back a little, glancing down as he swiped two fingers through the glistening mess on his abs, the trail of white hair from his flat navel down to his cock drenched.
He examined his slickened fingers for a moment, before licking them experimentally. “Hm,” He hummed and you bit your lip, pussy twitching as you watched Satoru. Partially turned on by the lack of hesitation at tasting just about anything that came from you during sex, partially by the way his cheeks hollowed as he sucked his fingers clean.
“Tastes like, well, like you.” He said plainly and you chuckled.
“No shit, were you expecting sprite or something?” You retorted with a smirk and Satoru rolled his eyes.
“No. There was so much, I could probably drink it like sprite though.”
“You're such a freak,” You teased with a fond smile and a scrunch to your nose that he returned with his own, pushing his glasses up a little.
“Wanna keep going?”
“Mhm,” You hummed quickly. “I still have a debt to repay to my sexy paladin.”
“Yeah you do,” Satoru smirked, a crooked little half smile. “Open your mouth,”
Your jaw dropped and tongue stuck out a little, knowing exactly what was coming. He spat into your open mouth, the drip of saliva tasting of you both this time when it hit your tongue. You held it in your mouth again for a moment, moaning at the taste and feeling Satoru start to thrust into you again. Swallowing it down, he whined a little as you stuck your tongue out at him.
Your legs hitched around his waist as he started to fuck you again, picking up right where you’d left off before he'd found himself in the splash zone. He reached down between you, sliding his hand over your stomach, palm settling low on your abdomen and thumb pressing to your clit again to work you back up. Gasping out as electricity buzzed again, working pressure back up as he rubbed tight circles, slipping a little with how wet you both were.
Quicker than the last one, he brought you up to dangle over the edge with lashes fluttering and grip tightening in his hair. Your clit tingled, pussy squelching wetly with every plunge in and out of your hole. “Ohh fuck… I'm-I'm gonna come,”
Satoru moaned, feeling your cunt pulse as the first wave hit, and pressure finally released. That live wire snapping to send jolts of electricity and ecstasy through your whole body. Your thighs closed and shook around his waist, head thrown back as you convulsed.
He fucked you through it, pace growing erratic and breathing hard. Brows pinched and cheeks flushed again, brilliant azure irises reduced to a bright ring around dilated pupils. Looking utterly wrecked as your pussy tightened and gripped. Pulsing with every sloppy circle he rubbed on your clit.
“Fu-fuck,” He stuttered, and grabbed your arm, pulling it down to replace his hand with yours, and you keened as he pulled out.
“What are—”
“Spread your pussy,” He ordered, breathless and sounding just as wrecked as he looked. “Hold yourself open for me.”
You blinked at the command, fuzzy post-orgasm mind processing for a moment before you glanced down to see his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, pre beading at the slit in his tip as he slid his grip up a little.
Two fingers obliged, index and middle spreading your lips wide. You whined and jolted as Satoru slapped his cock on your pussy a few times. Both of your eyes trained low as he rutted against you. Moaning as he rubbed your sensitive cunt, held open for him.
“Holy shit, ohhh you're so perfect, s-so pretty—fuck your pussy's so fucking pretty.” Satoru gasped out, dipping his leaking tip into your hole, shallow strokes in and out making you keen.
He pulled back and pumped his cock a few times, abs visibly clenched and a pretty, low moan slipped out as he jerked forward, pitching up into a whine as his cock twitched and spurted. Ropes of milky white decorated your pussy. Warm, sticky cum painting your sex held open for him to coat.
He panted to catch his breath over you, letting his cock go, both of you jolting as it hit your pussy with a heavy slap!
“Oh my goddd,” Satoru groaned, falling forward to rest his forehead to yours.
You reached up with your clean hand to push his glasses up and brush some hair out of his eyes and he gave you a weak little smile. Tucking some of your hair behind an ear and cupping your face, lifting your chin to press a light kiss on your lips.
“Guess we gotta deal with all this,” You sighed, gesturing around you both.
“Use my shirt, I've got a hoodie anyways,” Satoru moved back and reached for the discarded t-shirt on the floor and you gasped sharply. “What?!” He jerked upright, whirling around in sheer panic.
“You-your…” You covered your mouth to stifle an astonished chuckle. “Oh my god, your pants.”
He blinked at you, and glanced down at himself. “Holy shit,” He muttered. Finally seeing the massive wet stain that spread down to his thighs. “Fuck, it looks like I pissed myself!”
“I'm sorry! Shit, I-I didn't even think—”
“No! No, no, no, it's not your fault,” He rushed to cut your panic off, moving quickly back to you, shirt in hand. “But, uh, do you wanna come back to my dorm tonight? Stand in front and be my shield in case we see anyone walking back? Please?” He asked, a hopeful lilt in his voice, head cocked like a puppy and you chuckled.
“For you, my sexy paladin, gladly.”
Gathering around the table—cleaned of any evidence of you and Satoru having stuck around the week previous—your party of five with Suguru as dm sat down to resume the campaign. Back on the proper path leading into town and continuing the main quest.
In your proper seat next to Shoko this time around. Close enough you could rub Satoru’s shin with the toe of your sneaker, bump his knee with yours every so often. Getting crooked little smiles and nudges back as you progressed through the next stage of the quest.
Catching the sideways looks he cast your way as you threw a few good rolls of the d20 on checks. Sharing one with lips bitten as you somehow landed nat 20 for a mind read spell on a barkeeper and got just about every bit of information you needed from it to move on to the next stage. Feeling pride at the admiration in his eyes.
Grateful you decided to join in a few weeks ago, even if it had been mostly as a joke, seeing how hard you could push Satoru’s buttons.
It had grown on you, the fun and exhilaration of the game. The challenge of it all, working with the cards you were handed with every roll of the die. Working with the party as a whole, supporting each other, laughing with and at each other and offering strength where others lacked it.
The session went by way too quickly, and three hours zipped away in a blink. You'd all made good headway, especially with the items you'd gotten from the dragon on the last side quest. And everyone packed up their stuff to head out.
Satoru wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his bag slung over his other shoulder and ready to go. You cinched the tie on a little black cotton bag tight and slipped it into your own backpack, beaming up at him.
You'd found the dice set at a hobby shop looking for a figurine for your character together, a pale purple resin with little gold star glitter dispersed inside. Looking like galactic formations cast in the shape of seven dice, and you snatched them up immediately.
Satoru said they were absolutely perfect for you. And you couldn't agree more.
You all chatted as you left the room, opting for engaging in extracurriculars elsewhere this week.
The party split up to head your own ways, and you and Satoru walked through the dim campus path with Suguru. Sandwiched in between them as Satoru teased him again for mixing up his npc's.
He rolled his eyes and muttered something about Satoru trying to dm and keep track of the endless string of random characters.
Suguru bumped Satoru's arm over your shoulders with a passive, “Oh yeah,” like he was remembering something inconsequential, and Satoru hummed, glancing over at him.
“I went back to check for a missing d8 last week,” He drawled, still looking ahead with a little smirk toying the corner of his mouth. “But it looked like the room was still in use.”
Your eyes went round and your head snapped up to look at Satoru. His head creaked around to stare horrified at Suguru. “Oh fuck,” He muttered. Face starting to deepen to a comical shade of red you'd probably laugh at, if you weren't also the butt of this mortifying joke.
“Yeah, choose a room with less windows next time. Fucking exhibitionists.”
Satoru looked like he might disintegrate on the spot. He probably wanted to.
You were definitely horrified, but at least it was just Suguru. He'd keep it as a dirty little secret, maybe hang it over your head a few times until something new and embarrassing happened.
But still, maybe you'd try to be a little more careful next time you tried to fuck a D&D character.
Just maybe.
a/n — ࣪ ִֶָ☾. I hyperfixate hard and watched like 20+ hours of dimension20 on YT for 'research' (lies, it was selfish and maybe why this is so late) and highly recommend the channel to anyone looking for D&D content. DM is amazing and i may have a mild crush on him now. definitely check out this fic by @anubisvoid2 to laugh your ass off at more D&D shenanigans, i did! alsooo, comment on my pinned to be added to a permanent taglist if you'd like :)
gojo loves to treat you like a princess! there's only one little problem - you've never actually met him :\
synopsis: he's been your biggest supporter since you first started your career as a camgirl! so when he has the opportunity to meet you in-person instead of just through his screen? gojo will do (and spend) anything to make you his!
pairing: nerd!Gojo x camgirl!Reader
wc: 10.7k
content: mdni, SMUT!, camgirl, rich nepo baby gojo gifting you a dildo molded after his dick, masturbation, heavy yearning and pining, gojo is absolutely OBSESSED, kissing, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering + finger sucking, unprotected piv sex, mentions of birth control, cowgirl, creampie, loss of virginity, happy ending
a/n: this was a commission for @sadlittlecucumber !! gojo art is by @/to00fu + div by @/thecutestgrotto
blu3yedbigd1ck sent $XXX.XX
blu3yedbigd1ck: Use the blue one for me pretty?
You giggled. Giggled. And Gojo was pretty sure if he jerked off any harder, his dick was going to fall off. Some painfully tight thing throbbing in the pit of his stomach, aching as your delicate hand reached out and wrapped around the pale blue dildo – one he had ordered and shipped to the PO box you posted. Custom-made, of course, perfectly shaped and sized to match his, down to every vein and ridge.
“This one?” You tilted your head to the side, batting those beautiful lashes of yours as you teased him.
He groaned, balls tightening as he struggled not to cum from the sound of your voice alone, his other hand trembling as he typed on the keyboard.
blu3yedbigd1ck: Please baby
“Anything for my favorite fan,” you murmured, spreading your thighs further apart, showing him a full view of those pretty folds of yours while you guided his (fake) tip to the edge of your entrance. Slowly starting to slide it in, a lewd squelch ringing out as his grip on his self-control started to slip. “Toru.”
His breathing hitched, some deep strangled noise torn from his throat right as your face scrunched up in pleasure, bottom lip quivering as his length stretched you out. His name on your lips – one he asked you to call him once in private chats. The warmth coiling in his core had reached his face, cheeks flushing as if you could see him when he snapped. Pale fingers furiously stroking faster as he finished far before you were even close, ropes of sticky white cum about to shoot out when-
He woke up.
Just a wet dream. For the third time this week.
That was what he got for falling asleep to saved screen recordings of his favorite camgirl. Especially the one where you unboxed that special gift of his, beaming all pretty in 4K quality as you read the note he included in the box, thanking him by name.
He’d been watching your videos and livestreams for years now. Since you first started, back when you were only at twenty viewers and he occupied ninety percent of the chat. You were popular now, his messages now just a drop in a sea of men yearning after you or dropping lame lines like nice tits.
So, of course, when you opened up the options for VIP memberships – he signed up before you even mentioned the perks. He had more money than he could ever spend anyway, courtesy of the last name and ample banking accounts he was born with. The boring position he wasted his days at and the long meetings he sometimes snuck out of to watch more videos of you locked in a bathroom stall.
Not a single penny was wasted if he was spending it on you.
Buying pretty lacy lingerie for you to wear on your next stream. Sending in requests to see you in different positions or using different toys. Getting personal chats from you – sometimes even little recordings of your soft voice saying good morning.
Gojo probably replayed that one a hundred times getting ready, running his fingers through his hair to comb it and tossing on a fresh t-shirt and a pair of jeans from his floor after a fast shower, already running late to join Shoko and Suguru for their usual weekend brunch. Racing to make it there, sweat sticking to his arm pits by the time he pushed open the doors to some small hole-in-the-wall diner, the smell of bacon hitting him as he eyed a thick stack of pancakes on the closest table.
“Over here,” Shoko dryly called out, a flash of movement drawing his stare over to where she was sitting next to Suguru in a corner booth.
Gojo half-jogged to join them, mouth open and ready to offer an excuse before Suguru’s judgemental stare dragged over his sorry state.
“You’re late,” he commented. “Jerking off to her again?”
His friends didn’t understand.
Didn’t think that it was actually you, at least, messaging him.
Shoko called him a creep for having a crush on some stranger he’d only seen through a screen. Suguru, though? He was a bit more…creative.
“No,” Gojo defensively said, blushing hard as he slid in the booth across from them.
“Sorry, were you speaking to your AI girlfriend?” He deadpanned, cocking his head to the side. Goji heard it all before, most commonly when they went to the gym together to work out – which he admittedly only started doing when he started privately messaging you.
“She’s not-” Gojo huffed. “I-I-”
Shoko raised an eyebrow, not really believing him either as he stammered out weak protests.
You were real.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, his entire face lighting up as he read the chat. He’d changed your contact to something more intimate, even though logically, he knew it was probably cringy and Suguru would be sure to tell him as much if he ever saw it.
princess <3: toruuuuuuu
princess <3: how are you today?
His fingers were hurrying to type a reply, clumsily hitting letters just to have to furiously erase and fix his typos before he hit send.
blu3yedbigd1ck: Dreamed about you last night.
Suguru reached across the table and snatched his phone, dark brows furrowing as he scanned over the messages before his nose scrunched up in disgust.
“God, dude, could you not have picked something less creepy?” He groaned, tossing it back to him like he might have to pour bleach in his eyes out if he read any more. “You might as well have told her you jerked-”
Buzz. Buzz.
You already replied.
He was ignoring the rest of Suguru’s lecture, looking down at his lit-up screen to see your flirty replies back.
princess <3: oh yeah?
princess <3: what position?
His dick was getting hard again.
Straining inside his underwear as he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. Trying to hide the fact he was about to be sporting a bulge as he stared dumbly at your little contact photo, unable to convince his own thumb to move to type.
But then bubbles popped up, and you were sending a third message.
princess <3: i was actually thinking about u too
That meant something, right? It had to.
“He's not even fucking listening,” Suguru complained, and Shoko was saying something back, pulling out cigarettes from her purse with a sigh, but he couldn't bother to look up.
Glued to the rectangle in his hands as a picture popped up in the chat.
There was nothing lewd about it, a perfectly innocent photo of you smiling in a pretty blue sweatshirt – and it somehow made it so much more intimate.
Blushing as you sent something else, trying to suppress his stuttering and swelling heart as it pounded inside his chest.
princess <3: your favorite color?
blu3yedbigd1ck: My favorite everything.
“Can you pay attention for like, two minutes?” Suguru groaned, and Gojo had to shove his phone back in his pocket, palms sweaty as he tried to focus on his best friend. Suguru was sighing, nodding towards the waitress walking over.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, wiping his hands off on his jeans before glancing over his menu.
But even half a plate of pancakes later, sipping on soda while Suguru talked about his problems with women – ones with warm bodies that had actually been in his bed – he was barely listening at all. Just nodding along, readjusting his glasses up the bridge of his nose and licking the syrup off his fingers. Shoko had stepped outside, her outline visible through the window as she leaned against the wall, the last of a cigarette dangling from her lips as small puffs of smoke floated past.
“You know,” Suguru sighed, dragging Gojo’s back from his daydream about being at a place like this on a date with you. What would you order? Would you sit across from him? Slide into the booth next to him and lean your head on his shoulder?
“Huh?” Gojo blinked, gripping his fork a little too tight.
“I was just saying I could probably hook you up with someone,” he said, thick fingers wrapping around the handle of his coffee mug, one brow arched as he tried to assess Gojo’s reaction.
“Nah,” Gojo shrugged, the idea of going out with any girl that wasn't you making his skin crawl underneath his shirt. “Not interested.”
Suguru’s jaw clenched, ready to call him a moron when Shoko strolled back in, easily reading the situation.
“He said no?” She asked, as if she'd been expecting it.
“I mean, I just don't really have time for a relationship right now, y’know-” Gojo started bluffing, trying to make it sound casual.
“You're too busy talking to a girl who probably uses a chat bot to talk to twenty other guys online,” Suguru sarcastically finished for him.
“She's not like that,” he protested, an ugly feeling stirring up in his stomach.
“You pay her to talk to you,” Suguru reminded him, and even though he was right, it still stung. “Wouldn't you rather be with a girl who likes you for you?”
How was he supposed to explain that he didn't care if you only wanted him for his wallet?
Gojo only wanted you.
But Suguru’s question stuck in his head. Stayed there for the rest of the day, going back home to stare at his chats with you, all the ones where you listened to him rant and ramble about his favorite games and shows, asking questions and exchanging interests. Looking back through the photos you sent him and the few he scrounged up the courage to send back. It was never his whole face, just part of his eyes or his hands. Most of the pictures he sent were of his meals, desserts he made or bought from his favorite sweets shop.
Did you think he was annoying?
Just a loser in love with you?
He turned his phone off, tossing it on his nightstand next to the tissues and lube as he collapsed on his bed, pulling the pillow down over his face as he groaned into it. Even when his eyes were shut, he still saw you behind them.
And the moment his phone started ringing with the specific notification he set to know you were streaming, he was sitting back up, scrambling to grab his laptop and switch to the tab always reserved for you.
It was funny how fast he forgot about everything else the second he saw your pretty face blinking back at him. Sitting up straight in a computer chair this time, no longer in that soft blue sweatshirt and instead in a barely-there nightgown that didn't leave much to the imagination as you greeted people joining the chat.
blu3yedbigd1ck: Hi beautiful
He hesitated, before adding a definitely absurd number of heart emojis he hoped would catch your attention.
“Hi there,” you hummed, face lighting up – and he held onto the hope it was directed towards him. “I have a little announcement to make today.”
You twirled a loose strand of hair around a finger, looking into the camera like you could see him through it.
“In honor of my latest milestone,” you started, smiling so pretty it was practically blinding. Struck with cupid’s arrow as he stared hopelessly at his screen, spit pooling in the back of his mouth and hanging onto your every word. “I wanted to host a very special celebration stream.”
The chat was already going crazy. Message after message being spammed, people sending in requests, emojis, compliments and complaints before you even announced what it’d be. Your eyes flickered over to where the chat was, reading the messages like you were waiting for one.
His fingers were already flying across his keyboard.
blu3yedbigd1ck: You know I’ll be there.
It was probably his imagination, but your face relaxed more, features brightening as you tilted your head to the side.
“One of my lucky top three spenders will get invited at the end of the month to join me on stream,” you softly said, and his brain stopped working.
Your words jumbled up and echoing in his head, pulled apart and pieced back together as he struggled to make sense of it.
Join you? Like, actually, meeting you? And if it was on stream, did you mean-
“Our winner will get to pick whatever they want to do with me,” you winked, before starting to rattle off a few rules and regulations you were obligated to – mentioning that you'd cover the costs of the plane ticket but that they'd have to pass a background check, blah blah blah – but Gojo was still stuck on that first sentence.
Anything he wanted?
Would you really take his virginity? Let him fuck you into those pretty pink sheets of yours until it was stained with your tears and his cum?
(Even if he was probably the one that would end up crying?)
You didn't say it was a competition.
But it immediately came apparent it was one after the donations started flooding in. People desperate to make you theirs. Losers like him itching to feel you for themselves.
Gojo had to fucking win.
He had watched almost every stream of yours. Even ones where you worked with other cam girls or guys, but he didn't know if he'd be able to stand his own jealousy if he wasn't on top.
Or the one underneath you for this.
The other assholes in your chat wouldn't appreciate you as much as he would. Wouldn't worship your body how he would. Adore every little twitch and tremble they earned.
Gojo was fumbling to grab his wallet off his nightstand, flipping through to find his credit card with the highest limit. His fingers were shaking as he typed in the information, barely listening to you talk about how you would donate a portion of the proceeds to some charity, just clicking away before sending an exorbitant sum your way.
A flicker of pride shot through him at how wide your eyes went when you saw it, suddenly stammering as your breath hitched in your throat.
“To-” You stopped yourself, catching the nickname before it could slip off your tongue. “You guys don't have to donate that much, I’m-”
He sent another one just to see the way your lips pressed together as you shut up.
Other people were sending in donations too, but it wasn’t like they could match his. Could measure up to him.
Although some of them tried, a few annoying contenders attempting to catch up when you shifted back to your more normal streaming mode, switching to a different camera and getting settled on your bed. A toy between your thighs, one that sucked softly on your clit as you threw your head back and filled his room with sounds of your breathy moans.
But his eyes were skimming over the chat, scared that his spot as top donator would be replaced. Honestly, it was the first time in fucking forever that he didn’t have his hand down his pants when watching you, too stressed that he might lose an opportunity he didn’t know if he’d ever get again.
He was fucking sweating, white strands of hair sticking to his forehead while he listened to you whine, prettily panting as he squinted at someone complaining that he was probably someone spending his daddy’s money to win.
Which okay, wasn’t totally untrue.
But they’d do the same if they were him.
He’d do anything to be with you.
Even if Suguru thought he was a moron. Even if you were only interested in him for money. Even if the most he’d ever realistically get with you was one night – and that was if he was lucky.
But luck was one of the few things he did have.
Fortune favored him – and after a few weeks of sending in donations every time he thought someone else might manage to usurp him, despite your private messages pleading with him that he really didn’t need to, that he was already in the lead, he couldn’t stop himself.
“Satoru,” you said his name like you were scolding him. “I told you-”
“Have you eaten dinner yet?” He changed the subject, listening to your little huff on the other end of the phone call you asked him for. Another little perk of his VIP membership. Sometimes, he sort of felt more like a sugar daddy, although he didn’t think the kind of guys that did that were usually twenty-something virgins who had never actually experienced the touch of a woman.
“Well, no,” you sighed, and he was already picturing what face you might be making. Were you pouting? Pushing out your bottom lip? Were your brows kitted together?
What kind of faces did you make when no one was around to see them?
“You can order yourself something,” he muttered. There was a brief pause, and he just knew you were still fighting to find something to argue with him with.
Did you not want him to win?
“I just don’t want you to not be able to eat,” you eventually said.
It took him a few seconds to process what you were saying.
That you, of all people, were concerned about him.
That was what Suguru didn’t understand. He didn’t know you. Didn’t get that you weren’t solely selfish or greedy. You cared.
“Sweetheart,” he lightly chuckled, heart soaring. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” You asked, voice lilting like it never did in your streams. It wasn’t practiced or put-together. This version of you, one he couldn’t even see, was somehow more real when it was raw like this. “You’re already like, way ahead of everyone else, y’know, I just-”
“I want to take care of you,” he quietly interrupted, awkward and nervous as he barely managed to not stutter.
Gojo meant it.
And he’d make sure you’d see it. Sooner or later. Still making sure his username stayed at the top in every stream until the end of the month crept closer and closer. Until he was anxiously tapping his foot on the floor of his bedroom, cock aching in his boxers as the moonlight drifted in through his window while he watched the strap of your lingerie slip off your shoulder.
He held his breath, heart thrumming loudly inside his chest as he waited for you to say it. Hoping for you and hating himself at the same time for being so pathetically attached to someone so out of his league.
“I’m going to message our winner of our little contest privately once the stream’s over,” you said, a gleam in your eyes he imagined was only for him as you addressed the audience.
He was pretty sure the seconds stretched out into hours once his screen went dark after you ended it. Staring down at his phone and choking on his own spit, desperately willing for a new message to pop up.
One did, but it was from Suguru, asking if he was busy.
Suguru: Can I drop by? I’m like five minutes from you
Gojo grimaced, ready to throw his phone on the bed, replaying what you’d first mentioned when you announced it. You just said one of the top three spenders, didn't you? So what if the guy in second place got it? Or even third?
Fuck, he should’ve paid more attention, shouldn’t he?
Now there was no fucking chance-
princess <3: soooo are you doing anything on the 30th?
He almost screamed. Or squealed. Or whatever the most manly version of crying in relief was, all the tension in his body suddenly snapping like a rubber band as he read and reread your message.
Gojo won. He won.
blu3yedbigd1ck: Just tell me the time and place and you know I’ll come.
And cum.
He paused, thumb hovering over his screen as he practically hyperventilated, freaking out inside and thankful you couldn’t see his face right now as he stood up just to pace. Did he sound suave? At least a little cool and collected?
princess <3: promise?
princess <3: send me your information?
He still couldn’t believe this was fucking real. That it was really happening to him. He still hesitated to type it out – wondering what you would do once you had his name. What would a background check reveal?
That he was a dork who rarely left his apartment outside of his responsibilities or the occasional hangout with his only two real friends? That he collected Digimon figurines?
He sent everything over with a fear that you’d find something out that would make you change your mind. Maybe you’d think he was just a loser riding on his family’s name like most other people did.
Or you-
Someone knocked on his door hard enough he froze and hit send on accident. His message with his full name in it immediately marked as seen, his cheeks heating up as he forced himself to look up as the pounding outside continued.
“Hey, put your dick up and answer the door,” Suguru called out.
Gojo grabbed his pajamas from where he’d left them on the floor earlier, hurrying to pull them up his legs before groaning at the realization it didn’t have any pockets. You hadn’t replied yet, but he couldn’t bring himself to just leave his phone on his bed, gripping it tightly in his palm as he hurried to go see what Suguru wanted.
His best friend was waiting outside the door for him, leaning against the frame and holding out a bag with to-go boxes.
“Hey,” he greeted, praying Suguru wouldn’t notice or comment on the bulge he was still sporting.
“Am I interrupting something?” Suguru muttered, one pierced brow arching up suspiciously as he still noted how pink his face was.
“Nah, just, um, watching stuff,” Gojo lied, like Suguru wouldn’t be able to see through him. As if in the ten years they’d known each other, he hadn’t figured out what face he made when he was hiding something.
“Me n’ Shoko are worried about you, dude,” Suguru sighed, holding out the bag for him to take before running his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “You never want to go out or do anything anymore.”
He had a point.
Gojo was getting addicted to you.
He wanted to tell Suguru that he was better than okay, that he was about to go out and actually do someone for the first time in his life. But he also knew what Suguru would have to say to that.
Suguru would tell him precisely what an awful idea he thought it was – scold him and say he was getting scammed.
So instead, all he did was grin, clapping his hand on Suguru’s shoulder and shrugging.
“Don’t worry, man,” he chuckled. “I actually just made some plans to go on a little vacation soon.”
He just left out that it was to see you.
It took a few days to sort out – you wanted to buy him plane tickets and book his hotel for him. But when you mentioned that he was closer than you expected, sending an address that was only a couple hours away, he said he’d handle it.
Why bother taking a plane when he could just drive there?
Be able to actually drive you around in his own car once he got to your city, y’know, if you were interested. Besides, he could always pay for his own accommodations – make whatever arrangements he needed without feeling like he was being a burden to you.
You protested, but Gojo won in the end.
He always did.
And on the 30th, he was waiting outside your door, one hand clutching a bouquet he spent thirty minutes struggling to pick out in the closest floral shop, and the other hesitating to actually knock.
He tried to hype himself up.
There were two condoms in his wallet, two gift bags hooked over his elbow, one stuffed full of lingerie in shades of white and blue. The second was something a bit more personal, in a much smaller bag. A gift he wasn't sure you'd even want, half-convinced you would just toss it in the trash once it was all over.
Gojo almost lifted his hand back to finally do it, to tap on the thick wood, but then he started agonizing about what to say when you answered.
‘Hey, it's the guy who pays your rent every month?’
God, no, that made him sound like an asshole. Desperate. Which, yeah, he was the latter, but he didn't want you to think that.
Should he try to act more like Suguru? Girls liked him. Could he pull off the whole quiet and contemplative thing?
The door opened before he could keep deliberating.
You were somehow prettier in person.
Standing there in a cute little dress that was practically sheer, a loose cardigan hanging over your frame that didn't conceal the way the slip clung to you underneath it. He recognized it almost immediately as one he purchased for you, his favorite color even better when it was on your skin.
“Hi,” you half-whispered, and he could almost convince himself you were looking forward to meeting him too.
“Hi,” he breathed back.
Way to go.
“Do, um, do you wanna come inside?”
“Yes,” he bluntly answered, and the tension in your shoulders relaxed, laughing a little as you opened the door wider. He was pretty sure his face had to be red, his filthy mind jumping to both meanings as he tried to get his feet to move and take him past the threshold.
He was staring at you, and you were staring at him.
Your soft eyes searching over him, studying him with an expression he wished he understood better. Dragging over his tall frame before returning to his face, like you couldn’t wrap your brain about it being him.
“It’s kinda silly, but I feel like I already know you. Can I still call you Toru?” You slowly asked, and he was finding it hard to stop himself from bouncing in place at how your voice washed over him. Syrupy, almost sugary, getting stuck on each syllable. “Or do you prefer Satoru?”
“You can call me anything you want,” he said before he could stop himself, hating how much of a fool he already felt like in front of you. Stiffly holding out the flowers for you to take, which you also took longer to accept.
“Thank you,” you smiled, stepping aside so that he could come in. He only managed to step forward when your stare shifted down to the bouquet. He hoped he got it right. Hoped he picked your favorites, and too sheepish to ask.
It wasn’t that he was timid, because he wasn’t, really. Just flickered from overconfident to sure he was being stupid.
“I don’t even think I have a vase,” you laughed a little, like you were trying to ease the tension simmering between you.
Was it just the awkwardness hanging there? Or something else?
“Do you want me to go get you one?” Gojo genuinely offered, wondering if he did something wrong already but you shook your head.
“I’ll figure something out,” you insisted, your free fingers reaching out to brush against his arm – and suddenly he was wishing he hadn’t worn a long-sleeved shirt. “Don’t leave.”
You didn’t need to tell him twice.
He'd go where you want. Do what you want.
Gojo couldn't stop staring at you, fantasizing with you in front of him over this domestic feeling in this chest. The casualness in your steps, padding barefoot over to the joint kitchen area attached to your living room. You started rummaging through cabinets, grabbing an empty glass pitcher and filling it up with water from the sink before stuffing the flowers inside.
“They're pretty,” you complimented, leaning over to sniff the delicate petals.
“Not nearly as pretty as you,” he replied, and you made a sound he had never heard before. A squeak? A squeal?
Something small and light and twinkling and so goddamn cute he stopped breathing for four full seconds.
“I can’t believe you’re actually real,” you exhaled, chest rising and falling just as fast as his was.
He blinked, struggling to figure out what that meant.
You saw his reaction, lips twitching up in a sweet smile like it was a good thing.
“I was kind of scared to get my hopes up,” you confessed, and Gojo felt a cold shard of fear being driven into his heart. Did he disappoint you or-? “But you’re way hotter than me.”
“You can’t just say stuff like that,” he half-whined, his hand reaching up to hide his mouth under his large palm. As if you wouldn’t be able to see the blush creeping up on his cheeks.
He never thought he was unattractive. But he was awkward, uncomfortable when it came to actually going on dates or at the idea of an actual relationship with a girl. He talked too loud, too fast, was the kind of know-it-all most people called annoying.
Maybe you liked his face, but he was really just paying you to tolerate his personality.
“Why not?” You giggled again, moving the flowers before walking back over to him. Tenderly grabbing his fingers before guiding his hand down like you wanted to look at him. Pinching his chin between your smaller fingers, tilting his head from side-to-side like you were appraising him.
Gojo could smell your perfume from here, and he was pretty sure his eyes actually rolled back in his head. It was intoxicating. You smelled like candy, but he bet you tasted even sweeter.
Completely frozen, stuck there as he stared down at you, blue eyes bulging as they zeroed in on the gorgeous little gleam in yours. Your manicured nails digging into his skin, not enough to cut, but to apply enough pressure to keep him still.
“It’s kinda hard to believe a guy like you is actually interested in me,” you freely admitted. Before your brows scrunched and you corrected yourself, “My streams.”
“A guy like me?” He asked, and you swallowed hard this time, avoiding your stare.
“You know what I mean,” you murmured. He didn’t.
“Tell me anyway?” He tried to tease, mouth twitching up in a smirk he hoped was charming.
“Fishing for compliments?” You grinned back, letting go of his chin to briefly cup his cheeks, patting it a little before you turned away.
But your eyes flickered back to the bags he was still holding, like you were silently trying to ask what they were.
He sat both down on the closest piece of furniture, an armchair that looked like it was barely used.
“Are those for the stream or-”
“Just for you,” he answered, and he was pretty sure he’d be chasing the feeling flooding his chest watching you beam back at him.
“Can I open it now or is it for later?” You followed it up, pulling off your cardigan and throwing it over the back of the chair.
It was just your shoulders, more of your arms, but it made him feel like he was seeing something holy, like he should be on his knees worshipping you or taking photos as if you were some piece of art he’d been admiring for so long from afar.
“Whenever,” he shrugged.
Was he being off-putting?
For a guy who always talked too much, who could never get himself to shut up, he suddenly seemed unable to come up with anything to say when all his words got choked up in his throat.
“I guess I’ll save it then,” you muttered, even though you looked like you were itching to open them now. It was better this way, though, he was barely functioning as it was. He wasn't sure his brain would still work if you offered to put on a fashion show for him in the new lingerie he bought you.
“O-okay,” he stammered, already flustered simply at the thought.
“So, um,” you paused, briefly biting your lips before jutting your thumb behind you. “Do you want to see my room?”
He dumbly nodded, feeling like a fucking moron making this more awkward as he trailed after you down the hall. You tried to fill the silence, casually asking questions he dutifully answered, his eyes constantly drifting back to you despite how interested he was in every part of your life he hadn't been privy to before as you pushed open your bedroom door.
It was weird viewing it from this new angle. Able to note new things he’d never gotten a glimpse at. It made him feel special, as if he was sharing this secret with you – although an annoyingly logical part of his brain wanted to suggest you film from a proper set instead of the intimacy of your actual bed.
“I cleaned up before you came,” you hummed in front of him, sitting in the spinning chair by your desk, turning on your computer and starting to adjust the settings for the stream.
“You didn't have to do anything for me,” he quietly said, toning himself down into something he hoped was more appealing to you as he examined the little trinkets on your desks. Stuffed animals you kept out-of-sight on stream.
“I'm, uh, also on birth control, so as long as you're clean, you don't have to wear a condom,” you added, a hint of anxiety bleeding through, as if you were seeking his approval.
“Um, I'm, uh, clean,” he said, turning away so you didn’t notice that he was hard just from the idea of sex with you.
“Satoru,” you spoke his name like it was something precious. Pronouncing the syllables like you were really his friend. “Are you nervous?”
“Is it that obvious?” He chuckled, reluctantly looking back at you to meet your sympathetic stare. “I just, I’ve never…”
Gojo couldn't finish, couldn't stand to tell you he was a virgin.
“Been on camera before?” You asked, innocently tilting your head, coming to the wrong conclusion. “It's okay, if you don't want-”
“I've never wanted anything as much as I want this,” he bluntly interrupted. “You.”
“Oh,” you half-whispered, hiding a smile by looking down before you gestured to your streaming setup. “Guess we should get started then?”
He watched practically in awe at how you turned it on the second the stream was running, chirping as you greeted everyone in chat, taking a minute or two to make sure most of your audience was there before waving him over and introducing him as the winner.
That's what he was, right? He had done it. Made it here. About to lose it all to you – in the same bed he'd been dreaming about doing it for so goddamn long.
Your hands slid up his arm, squeezing his bicep as you pulled him close.
“Our special guest has never been on camera before, so you guys better be nice,” you warned, pouting in frame as you leaned your head against him. “It's his show tonight.”
Whatever he wanted went.
You looked up at him before you switched over to the bed, guiding him there. A tripod was set up, ready to capture every dirty detail and broadcast them. Two fingers poked his chest, getting him to sit on the edge, before you giggled and pushed him back further.
And suddenly you were straddling him, your soft thighs on top of him, your weight shifting and readjusting as you wrapped your wrists around his neck, playing with his soft undercut.
He was fucking terrified to touch you. Scared that it would shatter the moment and he’d realize this was just an illusion, another dream he’d wake up from.
But then you sighed, going to grab one of his hands, guiding it towards your waist, wrinkling that pretty slip of yours as you tilted your head so sweetly. Blinking at him with disbelief that mirrored his own, before you were whispering under your breath, “Hold me.”
“Bu-” He didn’t get more than a single syllable out.
“I want you to,” you murmured, pushing your bottom lip out in another pout.
His heart swelled, and before he could stop himself, he was leaning up to kiss you. Lips crashing together in an admittedly clumsy connection, too aware of the camera currently focused on both of you to direct all of his own focus solely on you. But then your tongue was suddenly in his mouth, tracing over his teeth, and he was pretty sure his mind melted.
All his other kisses were drunk ones at parties Suguru and Shoko dragged him to, sloppy and messy, but this was different. You were different.
It felt fucking magical. The softness of your lips, the taste of mint on your mouth, like you had brushed your teeth before he came over. Sucking on his lower lip, a warm buzz spreading inside his chest at how right this was. One of his hands caressed your cheek, his thumb dragging over your soft skin while his other fingers sank deeper into your waist.
Trying to pull you closer, forgetting about how this was being filmed in favor of kissing you harder.
Gojo didn't want it to end.
He could feel his cock starting to grow, throbbing and aching already underneath the heat of your body, the weight of you on top of him.
God, he was glad he started lifting fucking weights over the last year – because it was easy to lift you up.
He flipped the positions, hearing all the air get knocked out of you when your back hit the bed. Hair splayed out underneath you, lips parted in surprise as you looked up at him.
“What are you going to do to me?” You asked, not scared or nervous, teasing him as you propped yourself up on your elbows, like you wanted another kiss.
Gojo couldn't help but oblige, leaning down to press his mouth to yours again while your words repeated in his ears.
How many nights had he spent asking himself that question? Debating over what he’d do if he ever found himself here?
Take out that custom dildo and take you both ways? Press your thighs to your chest in some mean mating press? Do it doggy style?
“Come on, baby,” you purred, sifting your fingers through his hair as you peppered his face with more kisses. “Tell me what you want.”
All he could think of right now was how much he was dying to taste you.
“I wanna eat you out,” he confessed, coming out hoarser than he intended, his voice just as raw as his heart felt, throat constricting at the idea of you on his tongue.
He pushed you higher up on the bed so he wouldn't have to be on his knees on the ground, spreading your thighs apart with those huge hands of his. Forcing himself to take it slow, palms traveling over your skin in time with his lips. Kiss after kiss, admiring each pretty inch of you before he was face-to-face with the thin lace thong hardly keeping anything covered.
Gojo ripped it off like it was nothing, dropping the little fabric to the floor while you let out a small surprised gasp.
He bought it – so why couldn't he break it too?
The camera hadn't captured precisely how pretty your pussy was in person. Already wet for him, glistening and goading him into doing something about it.
“You're soaked,” he commented, swallowing the spit pooling in the back of his mouth as his eyes drifted up to you.
You made a noise, almost like a whine, shifting your hips and arching them up as you pushed your bottom lip out. “Yeah?”
Gojo wasn't always great with social clues, but he saw it for what it was. An invitation.
One he was more than happy to accept.
Diving in to deliver messy kisses, mouth open as his tongue dragged inside of you – copying the same methods he’d spent the past six months studying in porn scenes, desperate to make you cry out his name.
Until you forgot about the cameras too, so lost in his tongue and his hands that you couldn't remember your own name. Or that he was simply a loser with too much money to spend.
Because if he was just some guy you met on the street, would you ever really let him do this?
Let him wrap his mouth around your cute clit, sucking on it and swirling his tongue over it, painting his own name with his tongue while you twitched? Let him slot two thick fingers inside your dripping cunt, scissoring you open with steady strokes?
He counted them out, tested out what spots you seemed to like the most and made a mental note of them for later. Even if Gojo was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to think of anything once his cock was actually inside of you.
He was already painfully hard, dick throbbing and pulsing for relief as he rutted into your mattress mindlessly. It creaked under your combined weight, but your own moans were louder. Pitchy and airy, filling the room as you tugged harder on his roots. Keeping him close, refusing to let him stray from the task.
He groaned into your sensitive bundle of nerves as your nails raked over his scalp, the vibrations making you whine right there with him. His fingers crooked, curling just enough to have your back arching up, hips trying to work them in even deeper as you chased your climax.
Your thighs closed around his head, holding him hostage there, but honestly? He didn’t mind.
Gojo would live here if he could. Breathe you in and sustain himself with this alone.
He dragged his tongue back over your clit, and you made a sound that almost made him cum. Maybe that was just a habit though, years of training himself to finish when you did, the noise immediately registering as your resolve crumbling and giving into the urge to cum just from his mouth and a couple fingers.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, y-you-”
You sounded desperate, and Gojo decided he'd never heard anything hotter than that. The cute little stuttering, the raw mantra while his tongue tugged you closer to overstimulation, still working on that pretty bud until you pried him back with another pull of his hair.
“You said whatever I want,” he reminded you with a pout that matched yours.
After a stunned pause, you relented though, eyes wavering and wide as you reluctantly started laying back down, but Gojo just chuckled, climbing back on top of you fully, tempted to tear your dress off too so he could feel your skin.
Kissing your mouth again, knowing you could taste yourself on his tongue when he slowly slipped it between your open lips.
Gojo could barely bring himself to part from you, his warm breath on your skin, his nose nudging against yours.
“What do you want to do with me?” He returned the question, holding out the reins for you to take.
Because more than anything, he wanted to make you happy.
You giggled, grinning up at him as your fingers traced over his side, slipping underneath his shirt.
“Take your clothes off,” you instructed.
He listened better than any dog did. Standing up to strip quickly, proudly showing off the muscles he only bothered growing for you, wondering if the lamps in your room lit them well for the cameras.
Your eyes raked over him with appreciation that made his pride flare even more, his fingers fumbling to unzip his jeans and drop them to the floor. You were sitting up now, still breathing a little hard from cumming before. Eyes going wide the second you saw his bulge in his boxers, the damp spot against the thin white fabric from where pre-cum was already leaking.
“Fuck, you’re-” You didn't let yourself finish, voice dying out as his boxers hit the floor next.
Big? Huge? Pretty?
He hoped it was one of the above. Gojo had probably spent too long online browsing the average size of penises, but he was pretty sure his should exceed expectations.
It wasn't as thick as some he'd seen in porn, but it was long, at least. Besides, he'd seen you satisfy himself with the fake one he sent you enough times so shouldn't the real one be even better?
“Like it?” He asked, hope plaguing his tone. Really trying to ask if you liked him.
“Mhm,” you nodded, soft and low as you skimmed your hands over his thick thighs. “Get on your back.”
You wanted to trade spots again.
He was trying to focus, to stop himself from saying or doing anything stupid or giving away just how inexperienced he was when he laid flat on your bed. Pre-cum smeared over his pink tip, throbbing at the open air, glancing over at the camera, seeing the chat flying by on the screen behind you before you were positioning yourself just over his cock.
You didn't look.
Your eyes were only on him. As if the rest of the world didn't exist. Didn't matter anymore.
His hands were shaking a little as he reached for your slip, and you helped him pull it off over your head. Breasts bouncing, your body so much fucking better when he actually got to experience it, to feel your skin under his palms as he ran them over your waist.
There wasn't nearly enough time for him to feel all of you. Torn between making frantic attempts at cataloging you and making the most of the moment while he had it, but you seemed to sense what was brewing inside of him.
Knew how to shut up the voices inside his head.
Your hips sank down, one of your hands resting on his chest to steady yourself before you started taking him in. His tip catching at your entrance at first, but then you readjusted again, wet enough that you didn't need lube for him to nudge inside and-
He shattered.
Sanity splitting into a million tiny little pieces the second he felt your warmth wrapping around him, the tight rubber band of desire inside him threatening to not just snap, but dissolve into straight bliss as you took him in a single rough thrust. Going from nothing to everything all at once, your walls sucking him in.
Nothing could compare to you.
All those times he fucked his fist suddenly seemed futile. Just a pale mockery of what the real thing was like, groaning loudly and throwing his head back as his fingers dug into your hip. He tried to mind his strength, stop himself from bruising you, but he could barely control the guttural sounds coming from the back of his throat.
“Isn’t he cute?” You asked, and his eyes were scrunched too tight to see what face he was making, even if he was sure you were finally acknowledging the rest of your audience. He rolled his hips up, feeling his tip nudge and grind against what he guessed was your cervix, that sweet little spongy spot that had you gasping. He finally cracked his eyes open, thick lashes fluttering at the sight of your gorgeous body grinding down on him. Your nails ran over his chest, tapping over his heart. “My pretty boy.”
If tonight was about him, then maybe you wouldn’t mind him asking you to call him that again.
“Promise?” He asked, his voice wavering and thick as his brain continued to short-circuit.
“Pinky swear,” you smiled, a cute crinkle next to where your makeup was beginning to run. Your usual waterproof mascara had been traded in for something that smeared, like you wanted him to see what a mess he made you.
Gojo grinded up, getting a little more comfortable, holding onto you like you were his last tether to reality, even if it still seemed fake. At his fingers dimpling your flesh, you whined, pushing down until he was completely buried inside you, the muscles in your thighs probably aching from how spread they were.
His cock practically jumped inside you.
Warm pleasure swirling inside him, fraying the rope of rationality he couldn’t believe he was still clinging to. And just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, couldn’t hold out, you started to bounce.
Sliding up-and-down on his thick shaft, letting his ridges and veins drag along your insides, slow at first, but steadily speeding up while he started desperately crying out your name. Not on purpose, just babbling, his thoughts all foggy and dazed as he gripped your waist and tried to help you.
Lifting you up and bringing you back down, muscles working to copy the moves he thought he’d be better at, wishing he’d worn a condom so it wasn’t so hard to not snap.
Gojo refused to cum. Scrunched his eyes shut as he buried his face in your skin, brain flashing any unappealing images he could conjure up and desperately failing to hold himself back.
“F-fuck, you’re so-” He groaned, and you were huffing, leaning forward, pressing your chest against his, skin on skin, your breath on the inside of his neck as your lips left a light kiss on his collarbone. The new angle somehow forced his cock in even deeper, your walls clamping down.
“I’m so what?” You teased, sucking softly, like you were trying to leave a hickey. To mark him as yours. Trailing kisses up to the hard line of his jaw, murmuring softly where he’d be the only one to hear. “Look at me, Toru.”
Gojo looked, and he came.
Thick ropes of cum filling you up, a raw sound ripped from him as he thrusted up uselessly inside of you. Your eyes were gleaming, practically fucking glittering with his reflection in them, lips parted and glossy, your hands on his body and your heat on him, all the simmering sensations driving him fucking crazy as he stopped fighting the impulses burning him up inside.
“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he started rambling, rattling off every word he could think of that fit you as you continued to ride him raw. “Gorgeous, p-pretty, cute, sweet, i-irrestible-”
“S-says you,” you stammered back, face flushing as your own focus slipped.
His fingers slipped between your connected bodies, finding your swollen clit, still sensitive from your first climax, almost distressed as he attempted to get you to cum at the same time as him. Wanting you to feel as good as he felt.
Rubbing circles over it now, putting as much pressure as he could, feeling you respond to him with more broken breathing.
“C’mon,” he grunted, his other hand sliding around to wrap around your back, holding you tight and close, locking you into this position. “Cum for me, please.”
Was begging unattractive? Pleading for you to join him in this intimacy?
Either way, you started trembling, thighs shaking hard as you made some sharp little squeak, whimpering in response as you nodded.
Catching his lips in another kiss, moaning into his mouth like it would do anything to muffle the sound. He swallowed it anyway. Devoured each noise as his own cum continued to leak out inside you, his cock still hard as it nudged against your cervix again. Dampness dripping down your thighs and onto him, probably some getting on your sheets too.
“That’s it, fuck,” he murmured, assurance he didn’t know was meant for you or himself.
“You wanna keep going?” You half-whispered in his ear, lips grazing against his skin – but he shook his head. He liked overstimulation, could probably fuck you for hours, but he wanted to do it in privacy.
Where it was just you and him – where the audience wouldn’t get to see him crying into your skin.
“Turn it off,” he muttered back, and you nodded, leaving another kiss on his forehead before you slid off of him. His arms fell limp to his side, blue eyes hazy, the world blurred around the edges and tinged with leftover pleasure.
He was still trembling, shaking as his spent cock throbbed on his stomach, staring up at your beautiful figure as you shifted off of him.
“Didn’t he do a good job?” You hummed, addressing the chat, back to your casual persona. “Maybe I should keep him.”
It was a joke, something meant to make the mood light – but he wanted so fucking badly for you to keep him. He’d chain himself to your bed if you let him.
You were saying something else, talking about your next normal stream while you said goodbye – and he was reminded that after this, you would both go back to real life. Regularly scheduled programming.
Gojo still sort of felt like a virgin. Utterly inexperienced when he watched you switch off the camera, his stare flicking from the shape of your legs to the way your tits lightly bounced leaning over the computer screen. Scrolling through something on your computer before you glanced back at him, offering a smile that almost felt shy.
“So,” you said, but you didn’t finish your thought.
“That was-” He tried to finish it for you, but it hung out in the open, too many words to choose from that fit. Fantastic? Amazing? Unforgettable?
“Great, yeah,” you nodded, as if you were on the same page. Filling in the blank with one of your own. “Really great.”
“Uh-huh,” he breathed, for once in his life, lacking the ability to say what he wanted.
To tell you how much it meant to him.
“Did you get a hotel?” You asked, holding your own breath as you fiddled with your fingers.
“Um, no, I, uh, drove here,” he stammered out, palms sweating as he sat up in your bed. Only to accidentally dipped his fingers in his own cum stains, immediately lifting it up and looking around for something he could wipe it off with.
You giggled a little, light as you walked back over, getting down on your knees to lick the cum off. He almost came again just from the image alone, cock twitching between his sticky thighs.
The feel of your tongue dragging over his knuckles, sucking until they were clean and the lewd pop! when you pulled them out.
“Do you want to stay the night?”
“Yes,” he quickly answered again, cheeks heating up with embarrassment as he cringed at the neediness in his voice.
“We should probably, like, shower first,” you softened, smiling up at him. “But we could watch one of those movies you told me about?”
Nothing had ever sounded so fucking good.
But the morning after managed to be even better.
Waking up with you nestled in his arms was a feeling he suspected he’d spend the rest of his life chasing. The morning sun drifting in through your pretty lacy curtains. The quiet sound of your breathing. How cute your cheek looked squished on his bicep. The softness of your thigh when you had slotted in between his own.
He couldn’t even blame his morning wood on testosterone.
Gojo slowly snuck out from underneath you, making sure to fix the pillow underneath your head and tuck you back under the blanket before snagging his phone from his jeans on the floor. Padding silently over to your attached bathroom, trying his hardest to shut the door as quietly as possible before flicking on the light and the exhaust fan.
He had more missed messages than he could scroll through the group message between his best friends. It appeared they had somehow managed to figure out that his ‘vacation’ was really just a guise to be with you. Maybe they used his spare key to get in, found his printed out travel plans on the counter or saw any of the messages left up on the computer.
Suguru: Fucking answer asshole.
Shoko: he’s probably asleep
Shoko: or dead lol
Suguru: I might kill him if he isn’t.
Oops?
He sat down on the closed toilet seat, muscled thighs spread out as he ran his fingers through his hair. He hesitated, brows scrunching together as he tried to figure out what to say before settling on announcing his big news.
Although, maybe he should’ve said something other than: Guess who's not a virgin?
Gojo held his breath, nervously tapping his foot on the tiled floor while he waited for the … to pop back up once his message was immediately marked as read.
Suguru: Not funny.
Shoko: ?
Suguru: Where tf are you?
There was a light knock on the bathroom door outside, and Gojo half-jumped up, his still-hard cock springing up at the same time and smacking into his abs just as you called his name outside.
“Satoru?” You yawned, all soft and sweet. Need was pooling back in his stomach, hot and swirling despite him trying to cool it back down with the reminder you were probably just being nice. Only checking on him like a good host would.
“Um, yeah?” He answered, his hand hovering over the door knob as he hesitated to open it. Would you judge him for being hard already?
“Are you okay in there?” You asked, and he almost winced at the earnestness in it. You cared. Even if he was a dork and a loser who had never touched another woman before you. Even if he collected Digimon figures and was more comfortable playing dungeons and dragons than putting his dick in you. “Did I do something-”
“N-no,” he forced out, swinging the door open too fast, panicked by the hint of sadness in your voice, hitting his, uh, most sensitive area with it.
Gojo almost crumpled, a pained moan escaping as you slipped through the crack of the door to see what was wrong.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t-” You started rambling, reaching out like you were going to pat his penis.
“It’s okay,” he groaned, still wincing at the dull ache.
Your frown deepened as you noticed his phone in his hand, but he was already waving it like it would explain itself.
“My friends were worried for me,” he muttered.
“Oh,” you blinked. “Do they-”
“I’ve told them about you,” Gojo added, sighing as he ruffled his fingers through his messy hair. “Like, a lot.”
“Good things?” You asked, rolling your shoulders back like you were getting more comfortable around him.
“Just that I’m completely obsessed with you,” he chuckled, cringing again when it came out less like a joke and more like a truth.
That’s what it was, though, wasn’t it?
Your eyes were on him, your lips just slightly parted like you had something to say and just couldn't work out how to say it.
Gojo hesitantly met your stare, wondering if he was meant to say something, before you abruptly blurted out a question he never thought he'd hear from any woman.
“Do you want to go on a date with me?” You practically squeaked, more high-pitched than you intended, blinking fast and glancing away like you were skittish. The girl who was happy to show off every sensitive spot on camera suddenly shy around him.
“A date?”
Was it really your fault for falling for a guy like him?
You didn’t know when it started. Or well, that wasn’t exactly true. You did remember the first message he ever left for you. It was your third-ever stream, still uncomfortable around the camera as your fingers rubbed over your clit. He called you gorgeous.
He came back for the next stream. And the next.
Actually, he never really left.
Dropping compliments and donations like it was nothing to him, your number one supporter who would shout his approval from the rooftops. He made you smile, lips curling up the second you saw his name in chat – and eventually in your messages too.
From the first kiss, you knew you didn't want to kiss anyone else.
Wanted to spend every morning waking up with him, curled against his chest or sifting your fingers through his soft strands of hair.
You were greedy. You’d always known that.
But that was probably part of the reason it worked so well.
Gojo wanted to spoil you. To take care of you, whether it was tucking your hair behind your ear or buying you presents. Physical and emotional and material, fuck, even spiritually, he fulfilled every need or want – and somehow left you still craving more of him.
He was a little dorky. Giving you lingerie that he thought you liked just to sneak in a second bag with a digimon keychain, stuttering through an explanation that he had one too, that he thought it would be cute if you both had virtual pets together.
But you wouldn’t want him any other way.
It didn’t stop with just one date. Your weekends now spent with him in your bed or on your couch, hand-in-hand going out shopping or listening to him ramble about his latest hyperfixation. He asked you to be his girlfriend in the middle of a movie, his head in your lap while you combed through his pretty white hair, looking up at you like a cute puppy dog. Cuddling one of your plushies against his chest, a new one he you were pretty sure he only bought because you said it reminded you of him.
Satoru sighed into your skin now, fingers skimming over your arm as he pulled you closer into the street. Pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he murmured something about how starving he was.
You glanced up at him, still a little in awe that a guy as handsome as him was with you. And that he’d never actually been with another woman before either. He confessed he’d been a virgin before you took it after a couple weeks after sleepy sex, humming that he was your responsibility now.
One you happily accepted.
“Do you think your friends will like me?” You asked, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You were both supposed to meet them for brunch, assuage some of their fears that he was turning into a recluse.
“I know they will,” Satoru promised, kissing the top of your head now.
You paused in front of the restaurant, one he insisted you’d love, trying to work up the nerve to meet people that he’d told you so much about. The skeptic and the smoker, his closest friends – and ones you so badly wanted the approval of.
Your phone vibrated in your purse, pulling it out to see it was bank calling. Probably to check that the deposit you were trying to put down on a new studio to film at. Satoru had suggested it – and said that he wouldn’t mind starring in a few more videos after how many donations the one he did with you got.
“Shit,” you frowned at your phone. “Go ahead and order for me? This will just take a few minutes.”
You didn’t realize that his friends might have thought he totally lost it until you walked in and overheard the conversation going on.
“What’s next?” The guy sitting across from him sarcastically drawled. “Something will come up and she’ll have to leave before we see her?”
“No,” Satoru protested, but he wasn’t done.
“You can’t seriously expect us to believe that-”
You tapped on his shoulder before he could finish.
Dark hair almost hitting you as he swiveled back, jaw dropping the second he saw you standing there.
“Hi there,” you smiled, holding your hand out to introduce yourself while he squinted at you as if you were some shimmering apparition.
“You're real?”
“Did you think I wasn't?” You giggled, tilting your head to the side as Satoru stood up from the booth, hurrying over to slip an arm around your waist and guide you back to the seat next to him.
“What do you see in him?” The girl, Shoko, deadpanned, poking at the food on her plate and staring between the two of you like she was trying to solve a puzzle.
“He’s your friend, too,” you laughed, shrugging your shoulders and leaning against your boyfriend. “I think Satoru’s sweet. And funny-”
“You think he’s funny?” Geto echoed, like you just said something simply absurd.
Satoru just grinned, squeezing you tight as his brilliant blue eyes flickered between you and his friends.
The boy who was your first kiss that night on the roof top observing stars can't be the Satoru Gojo that stands in front of you now. Once a sweet, shy nerd with his head in the clouds, now he's the popular all star football player and frat leader. You hated him for so long when he ran away after that kiss and avoided you, but what you don't know is Satoru always thought of you. Now at the same university, you're scared of falling again. You two couldn't be more different - are you still the same kids on that rooftop, and why did Satoru run away from it?
pairings - fratboy! gojo x art school! reader
warnings - College AU - Gojo was a nerd who broke your middle school heart, light angst, first loves, a ton of smut, lots of banter, sexual tension, drinking, fingering, oral (f and m receiving) p in v sex, talking you through it, choking, spitting, car sex, creampies, enemies to fuck buddies to lovers, he's down bad (reader is described as being taller and lil' curvy as requested! and she pierced hehe) fluffy ending!
art in the center is by @httpgiovann on X!
This was a commission piece for grungy art school reader and all star football player Toru, with childhood love finding each other again, long oneshot at 20.5k wc!!!
You never thought you’d see Satoru Gojo again.
You're tugging at the ripped hem of your fishnets. Junior year of college, finally at university instead of community. You're smart, but procrastination's a bitch – community college was your only option for a while. Now you’re met with a myriad of familiar faces, friends and acquaintances, but no one like him.
No one who literally was your first fucking kiss, the boy who was nerdy, sweet and shy – who captured your lips, who faltered and flushed. The one where you thought of him so often, after having your family move so far out of town, you never thought you’d see him again, never dreamt of it.
Satoru Gojo wasn’t just university material, he was ivy league, him even being here was a little bit of a throw off, then again you didn’t really know much about him and his life after you all stopped talking. You’d heard things about him being very successful, of course everyone knew the Gojo family, but you tried not to perk up your ears too much, to think too much on it.
Yet here he was in the flesh – nothing like the boy you knew back then. In fact, if it weren’t for the shock of white hair and the unmistakable blue eyes, you might not have even known it was him. You’re sure he probably doesn’t remember you, running across that football field, those numbers in bright maroon across his white football jersey.
He’s laughing with that big grin – no more glasses, no more braces – he’s even more handsome, sure, but there was something about Satoru Gojo with glasses that had been charming in itself. He high-fives his best friend who you recognize a bit as well – Suguru Geto. The pretty cheerleaders are throwing up their pom poms, it’s a dance of glitter and maroon outside of the stadium.
It’s the day of the first big game of the season, you’re just casually watching, more and more curious about him then. It must be him, there’s no other man that even looks like that. Yet, everything about that nerdy boy who loved to look at the stars was utterly different.
He was different.
When those blue eyes hit yours, you don’t like that fucking feeling, not at all… whatever the fuck he does, his snowy lashes flickering as he drinks the sight of you in curiously. You have curves now, you’re taller, you’re not the same girl you were at thirteen than you are at twenty one. You tremble just a bit on the inside, but on the outside?
Bitch face on.
You just look at him, raising a brow curiously, the preppy football captain staring at the goth girl in the stands, it’s the shit movies make fun of, bright and popular Gojo, and bratty emo you. You look down quickly at the book in your hands, leaning back against the metal bleachers, but you feel them lingering along your skin.
That gaze burns into your skin – Satoru Gojo’s gaze – the one that was once behind thick tortoiseshell glasses, the boy who bumped noses with you and apologized. The one who was a blushing mess for you, now instead is surrounded by his teammates, by the cheerleaders, all flocking and complimenting their star player.
Just who was Gojo these days, and did you care?
You hastily go back to your book, earbuds just blaring music at you, trying to keep out the noise, the cheering, the whistles, sketching the scene just a bit. That was the assignment – draw the football practice, something for ‘school spirit’ apparently. Your fingers brush along the parchment, shading and fading the pencil marks a bit, before pausing.
Fuck, you’re drawing Gojo.
Your eyes go back over to him now, to where he’s downing some gatorade, snapping a selfie in front of the team, earning their playful shoves. It’s hard to take your eyes off that familiar face, god he got even taller? You were a taller girl yourself, but Gojo was towering over even the bigger football players, a good head taller than most of them.
Oh, and he’d gotten buff too. You can’t help but notice that fact, he was still lanky and maybe the shoulder pads from his football jersey were adding to it, but it was just impossible not to notice. The things it did to your tummy, the way that it fluttered just watching him run across that field made no sense.
Weren’t you finally over it?
You’d moved on from a middle school love, you had a part time job, college, responsibilities out the ass. You had boyfriends and breakups, a whole life since then – making it feel so distant, so far away from that girl. Yet all it took was just observing him to make you long for something you never really had.
You’re a realist, cynical, not some day dreamer despite being an art school major, you painted and drew what you could see, of course your interpretations came into play, but your head wasn’t in the clouds.
Or was it?
You soon pause and notice you’re drawing glasses on Satoru – a very detailed rendition of Satoru – before you could stop yourself, chuckling a bit diabolically as you make him look more nerdy. You likely look batshit insane to anyone else. You really can’t say that you care much, the opinions of others never really bothered you once you got old enough to practically hate everyone.
So how did you kiss Gojo back then? Nerdy rich-boy Satoru and you, even back then it didn’t make sense, but you could swear your teenage heart fucking felt something. Only for him to blush and avoid you, to practically hide away after it until he moved on, that day he’d given you the first heartbreak, and become someone you avoided like the plague.
Yet still even after those years and all the boys since then, something about him always bothered you, it always got to you, lingering in your mind like the most annoying pest. Just last night you’d dreamt of him so randomly – not how he looks now, no, the skinny nerdy brat that made you cry, not this popular jock with a blindingly straight white smile in the middle of a bunch of cheerleaders.
He’s flirting right back with them, earning your eye roll, as you decide to draw braces along his teeth, and a digimon on his football jersey.
Just as he should be.
You’re laughing and so lost you barely notice Satoru walking up to you, not until he’s blocked your natural sunlight with his huge body, shade covering your notebook. You frown, earbuds still in, lips turning down a little bit at the sudden shade, while Satoru studies your notebook and the drawing, snatching it up and making you gasp.
“What the fuck?” You yank out a earbud, glaring up and standing, fuck he’s even taller than he was before, you don’t usually have to look up at many people, but he’s got a good six inches or so on you.
He’s smirking at the drawing, taking it in and stepping on a higher bleacher, holding the pad from you. “Look at that, aww!”
“Give it back, you little brat.”
He snorts, looking down at you, blue eyes glinting with the way the sun is hitting them. You won’t admit how fucking pretty they are to yourself, instead glaring up at him. “Me, a little brat? Have you seen yourself?”
“Psh,” you’re standing and reaching your arm up as he looks at you, blue eyes running over you with a curious expression. “Seriously go away.”
“You drew me?” He asks, tilting his head to the side and assessing you, you’re not sure if he recognizes you at that moment.
You’ve changed a lot too.
Would he remember some dumb crush he maybe had on you? It was nowhere close to what you felt, clearly. No, that’s nonsense, as is his effects on your physiology being too close. Your heart is pounding in your chest, you’re so fucking embarrassed at being caught doodling him, but you don’t let it show.
You’re not that girl anymore, not the one who cried over his little nerdy ass and his perfect, plump lips and his -
Stop that!
No, you’re tougher now.
You snatch your notebook back, but only because he lets you. “Yeah, so? It’s for an assignment, I needed to draw school spirit.”
He snorts. “School spirit, you, yeah I don’t see it.”
“Well I’m not peppy like you, no, you’re the big football star, right?” You say with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant.
Satoru just chuckles. “You’re brand new here and assume I’m the star, I guess I am that amazing,” he runs a hand through his strands, snowy white and so soft you can’t help but want to reach out and tug at them at the roots.
When did his chuckle get so deep?
When did his fingers get so long?
Fuck stop thinking that!
“I know you,” he says suddenly, eyes narrowing slightly. “You used to live down the street from me.”
“Me? Uh, no way,” you look down, brushing silky locks behind your ears, doing something to Satoru Gojo then. “Don’t know who that girl is, nope.”
“No?” You shake your head, a pink decorating your cheeks, hair falling just a bit in front of your face, making him want to brush it back – but you make him feel so nervous, as if he’s just a fucking teenager again. “Ya really tryin’ to play it off?”
He remembers it all, even as he’s trying to play it off, like he hasn’t dreamt of what would have happened if he didn’t get so shy, so nervous around you after you both kissed. How he could have maybe just asked you out, or at least told you he liked the damn kiss – but Satoru at that age was a nervous little mess, and you were too damn pretty.
Fuck you got hotter, curves filling out in places that drives him to distraction, your slutty little outfit doesn’t help either. He can’t help but notice the hint of piercings where your pierced nipples were clearly puckered up from the cold, making him throb from just that. Satoru isn’t some little nerdy virgin anymore, but precum is leaking from the sight.
If he wasn’t such a conceited little shit he’d immediately simp for you, but he pulls himself together, smiling down at you, snowy lashes lowering. “You’ve not changed that much, and I know you remember me.”
Your heart skips a beat then –
He remembers.
You look away quickly, pretending to be busy packing your stuff to suddenly leave, bending over so he gets a nice view of your ass. God, if you were his? He wouldn’t let you bend over in front of fucking anyone at all, nor would he let you out of the damn door like that, not because he was a man to tell a girl how to dress.
No, the reason would be he wouldn’t be able to let you walk out without filling you with so much cum you’d drip him, you’d remember who you belonged to.
Fuck, thinking like that is insane, it’s not even in his nature – whatever psycho, obsessed ass thoughts that just ran through his head. Your hips are just begging for his hands, your eyes looking up at him like you need to get off, and get off all the time, he’d take care of that for you.
Sinking to his knees on these fucking bleachers runs through his head – all star football, frat leader, most popular guy in college Gojo, reduced to that, to simp behavior.
It's not like he’s hurting for women, they’re all over him, but you’re…
Different. He supposes you always were, the stark contrasts to the girls that were just all over him, the ones that have left their cotton candy body spray clinging to his clothes, you’re not smiling all cute and giggling, not flattering him with little compliments– nah, you’re fucking scowling.
It’s so hot on you.
What’s wrong with him? A blast from the past and he’s down that bad again? Palms sweaty, stammering Gojo?
“Fine, okay – I am. Just… that was a really long time ago. I didn’t think you’d remember,” you finally mumble, like the vulnerability itself hurts. Satoru steps closer, watching your lips part, hearing a sharp intake of breath.
You could act normal all you wanted, but he sure the fuck could read that body. Curvier, taller, but still uniquely you, that scent that has been burned into his senses gently filling his nostrils, while the wind of the fall whips your skirt around. It shows far too much of those thighs, which he can vividly imagine being pressed on either side of his head as you press them together.
“Something got ya excited, sweetheart?” He taunts with a grin, his voice lowering to a seductive tone that makes you wet.
Fuck him for that.
“Hah, me? No, I’m annoyed and…” You peer down at your nipples cursing internally. “And I’m just like cold, okay you perv!?”
“They’re distracting as fuck,” he said that out loud, shit, shit, shit. Play it off, Satoru. “Hah – at least they seem to like me.”
“They do not!” Your glare just makes him wanna know how you look with your mouth open and drooling, with your eyes rolled back in your skull. “Neither do I.”
“Well,” he draws out that word, laughing softly then. “I remember everything about you.”
Oh shit.
“Especially that kiss.”
You freeze, your cheeks flushing despite yourself, trying to seem unbothered, god he’s gotten cocky, the girls are shouting his name like his own personal fucking cheer. “They want you,” you clap your hands and throw em in the air – “Gojo, Gojo, he’s our man!”
You’re mocking him, mocking them, earning his eye roll. “Ah, so you’re just avoiding the answer? You are her…”
He says your name, and just that almost does you in, though you roll your eyes, scoffing.
“Yeah, so what if I am? That kiss it was…” The best you’ve had, and you hate his ass for it, so badly your fingers itch to smack the nerd back into him. “That kiss was like just a peck, really. You know.”
“Ah, so you do remember?”
“Barely!?”
He grins, that cocky jock smile that makes you want to punch him even more. “Then why are you blushing like that?”
“Hah, blushing, me? Nev-”
Before you can finish your comeback, his coach calls him away and whistles, waving at Gojo to come back. Satoru sighs, then winks at you. “See you around, sweetheart.”
That’s what he says!?
“Hey!” He turns and raises a brow, smirking. “I’m not your sweetheart!” You shout out, earning the looks of everyone, but Satoru just fucking grins like he’s won the goddamn lottery.
You watch him jog back to the field and look far too good doing it, your mind racing, seeing him gather up with the team. When did his shoulders get so damn broad – No.
You better stop thinking that way, looking right at him in the damn open like that, and you can tell he’s loving it, especially when he blows you a little kiss and earns your middle finger. Not like it bothers him, he just raises those white brows, wriggling his stupidly long fingers at you.
What the hell just happened?
And why does your heart feel like it’s about to beat out of your chest?
You sink back onto the bleachers dejectedly, your fingers trembling as you flip open your notebook again. Staring at the sketch of Gojo, you realize you’re in for quite a fucking reunion with him, feelings simmering under the surface that you hoped were long, long gone, but now he’s there – in the flesh, looking far too fucking good, suddenly back in your life.
Popular, perfect, pretentious.
He’s nothing like the boy you remember.
*****
Satoru remembers that night vividly – the night he ran away from you.
It all smacks him in the face as he lays in his bed that night after running into you again. The guys from the team all wanted to go out but he couldn’t bring himself to, instead he laid there and pictured you behind his gaze. He saw you across the hall the other day for a brief moment, but before he could even approach you, you turned a corner and dipped.
You’re not really what he remembers any more than what you likely remember – no you were a nerdy little thing just like him in middle school, shy little thing. You were sweet – shit, you even smiled. Now you just have this bitchy, mean look on your face – one that makes him throb just looking at if he’s honest.
You look so fucking angry at him, at everything.
Closed off, that’s the word, your guard up high, leaving him to just wonder exactly what was in your mind, what you’ve been through all these years that he’s missed. He had tried to somewhat explain himself in high school to you, but you weren’t having any of it, already becoming closed off, your eyes just didn’t glimmer the same way, and he can’t help but feel responsible.
You say it was nothing, but he remembers all of it.
“Satoru, I really like you, more than a friend…” his heart had hammered in his thirteen year old chest, his palms were sweaty.
Satoru had planned to ask you out that day officially, but last night his parents had found his note he’d written – immediately recognizing your name. You weren’t from a ‘prestigious family’ no, far from it. You weren’t the ideal girl that they’d eventually want their son with, even this young they’ve damn near planned everything, down to the three other families he would likely marry.
How could he have anything with you knowing they’d potentially make that choice for him? How could he break your heart like that, even if he knows that he is falling for you, there was too much pressure on him as a Gojo – you already had enough pressure too. He couldn’t just do that to you, bring you in on this world of his.
You were crying that day, and he didn’t know how to say the truth, no, instead he cupped your face and softly kissed you one more time. A brief press of his lips before he had to pull back. His glasses were fogged from his breath and the chill in the air that morning as you looked up at him.
“I’m sorry,” was all he managed to say in response before stepping back.
You’d blinked back tears of confusion, your hands clenched at your sides. “Satoru, I can just be your friend, if this is too much,” you mumbled, but he was backing away even more from you. He watched as your lips trembled and tears fell from your eyes. “Do you not like me back?”
No, Satoru loved you.
Enough to not have you anywhere near his family, to fall for a boy who would one day have everything chosen for him.
“I really am… sorry,” he said again, turning and hearing your little sniffles, it had broken his heart. “I have to go.”
“Go where? Satoru, come back I didn’t mean it, okay? Satoru!”
He’d run off, and he’d never forgotten it.
Now, far from his parents' bullshit, finally having told them he’d make his own path in life and that they couldn’t dictate his every move anymore, he’s thought of the girl he sacrificed all those years ago. The one he let slip away because he was too afraid to stand up to them back then.
In a way, his parents ultimately have some control still, their expectations linger – but he’s made sure to pave his own way. Got better at telling them to fuck off, decided to make his own path forward, even if it meant doing things the harder way. The guilt about that girl still eats at him sometimes, late at night when he can’t sleep, but at least now he’s living on his own terms.
His eyes drift shut and he pictures you, the way you bent over, the way you looked at him, and fuck if it doesn’t just make him ache. Was there some way to get you to even talk to him again?
*****
You’re headed to your art class when Satoru Gojo happens to walk by and just slams right into you – you can’t make this shit up. Your pencils go flying, scattering and clattering to the floor in a mess.
“Shit,” you grumble, snatching up what you can, Satoru bends down to help you, chuckling. “What's so funny!?”
“How much are you gonna draw me, hmm?” You curse as a little chibi Satoru lands in his big ass hands. “Aww look! I have a tail here in this one, how cute.”
“It’s not you,” you snatch it back, crumbling the paper ever so slightly, scowling in his direction. “It’s not!”
“I’m your muse,” he flutters his fingers around dramatically, garnering looks in the hall. “I feel so special.”
“You’re not,” he pouts all cutely. “You're always just… in my way.”
“You smacked into me, sweets,” he tilts your chin up right there in the damn hallway, smirking as people around you whisper. “I'm flattered you find me to be such an inspiration for your art, but you do know you could just ask me to pose for you.”
“Hah. You're not at all,” you gather everything with haste, slipping them in your book bag. Satoru's grin is as attractive as it is obnoxious, but when two girls come up to him when you walk away, your head feels dizzy.
Why would you care if his arms are around their shoulders, throwing his head back and laughing just a bit. Yet he looks back at you, those eyes slipping over your baggy shirt and sweats, you couldn't be bothered today to dress up.
Not when you spent all damn night dreaming of dumbass Gojo.
“I can't wait to see another drawing, I really am looking forward to the next drawing, maybe I’ll have some ears too.” He teases you, your damn cheeks burn in embarrassment, before he turns, you flip him off. His damn chuckles echo in the halls, mixing with the little giggles of those cheerleaders.
“Hehehehe,” you mock their laughter to yourself with your fingertips to your lips, echoing in the halls and earning more looks around you.
Great, what an amazing first week, you're really living up to the weird art nerd dream so well. You just glare as meanly as you can – at damn near everyone. “What are you looking at?”
They see, to scatter, you’re trying to shake off the feeling of his damn fingers brushing against yours when you see a sweet girl who's been really nice to you so far, waving your way. You knew her a bit from school and she wasn’t too in your face about making you socialize, just enough to make you leave your room.
“Utahime,” your dorm is right next to hers, she has been trying to get you to hang out but you're a tad introverted. And Satoru running around being all… hot and shit is just annoying. “How are you?”
“Good! Ugh, exams already though,” she shakes her head and sighs. “Listen I know you're not a party girl, but there's a really good one this weekend. You should come!”
You sigh. “I don't know…”
“Seriously there's the frat yeah, but they're like… a nerdy frat? If that makes sense.”
“It does not,” you both walk through the halls and outside, you take a little hint of sunshine, eyes shutting for a moment as you suck that in. “Nerdy huh?”
“Very, the mathletes of the Fratboys,” you can't help but laugh a bit. “It's at eight we can go together?”
“Sure,” she almost squeals, you shake your head. “Don't get too excited, I may go in there then run out.”
“No way it'll be fun!”
*****
Fun.
Fun is not a word you'd use to describe this party, seeing Satoru and all his friends – many of whom unfortunately recognize you – with girls all over them, chugging their drinks from their red solo cups. It smells far too much like axe body spray and victoria’s secret perfume, aside from Satoru’s fancy fucking cologne that permeated the heady atmosphere, straight to your senses.
That cologne that’s three hundred dollars a spray likely, that intoxicating scent that damn near makes you salivate, seeing his blue eyes over that cup, his lips pressed against the white edge of that cup. Everyone is surrounding him, he’s throwing his head back in that perfect laugh, blindingly white teeth glinting underneath the strobing led lights overhead.
You sip your drink as a guy comes up and tries to hit on you, but your mean little scowl makes him back up, Utahime is laughing as she watches them all run off.
“You really do hate parties, huh?”
“Just don’t want some loser touching all up on my ass,” you mumble, feeling the gaze of Satoru damn near burn you across the room. “But yeah, I do.”
“You should let loose and have some fun,” she teases, seeing where your gaze is headed, pausing. “Oh god, Satoru huh? He’s so pretentious.”
“Right?” You pause then, frowning a bit.
It was one thing for you to think it, to say it, but for some reason hearing anyone else say something bad about Satoru made you irritated, like you should defend the boy he was, not knowing the man he’s become. Would you ever really know, it’s not like he likely wanted more than a hook up judging from what you’ve seen and heard.
Yet you remember a different Satoru.
Or is he the same?
‘Look, this constellation is called Sagittarrius,’ Satoru’s thirteen-year-old voice echoed in your memory as clearly as if he was standing beside you now. His thick glasses slid down his nose, his Digimon t-shirt swallowed his lanky frame, the two of you sitting up on the roof of the school.
‘Like the sign?’ You asked curiously, you loved hearing Satoru talk about the stars – you just loved hearing him talk about anything.
There was a meteor shower that night, and a lot of students were coming up to join you all, to catch sight of something that you all would likely not see again until you were good and old. Satoru had his telescope set perfectly, looking down to see you sitting on the floor, pausing.
‘You’ll get cold,’ he had nervously snatched his sweater up off the railing, then knelt to you and slipped those sleeves up your arms. The warm fleece of the backwards hoodie made you tremble just a bit, your heart had been racing. ‘There.’
‘Oh, thank you Toru,’ that’s what you called him all those years ago, when you were hopelessly in puppy love with a boy that had his head in the clouds. Yet you were so sure maybe he saw you, too, especially in moments like that.
You had leaned close, wondering if that was to be your first kiss, only for him to awkwardly brush your hair back like you’re a puppy and he’s petting your damn ears.
‘You look cute like this,’ he’d said, his blue eyes were glowing behind those spectacles, and that was when you knew -
Gojo was it for you.
The dissonance between that boy and the man that was in front of you was hard to explain, Utahime didn’t likely know about the Satoru who’d cried when his favorite character died in his favorite anime, nor did she likely know that Magic card collection he used to have. How could someone meld the two versions together?
“Definitely pretentious,” you murmur thoughtfully, trying to act casual when you can’t take your eyes off him, and you hate that. Utahime snorts in laughter, snapping you back to the frat house’s chaos, away from your daydream.
“Oh god, he’s coming over here,” she grumbles, your fingers tightening around your plastic cup as he suddenly breaks away from his little fan club, blue eyes so goddamn bright they’re hard not to look at.
“Why’s he coming over to us!?” You panic, heart racing as he walks over, one hand with a cup in it, the other tossing a pong ball up and down.
Why was Gojo doing things with just one hand so damn attractive!? Why was he so attractive?
"Still allergic to fun?" Satoru asks Utahime with a mean little smirk, then looks at you. “The two most un- fun girls at my party, aw.”
“Un-fun isn’t a word,” Utahime says, snorting. “I’m just allergic to you.”
Satoru laughs at that, tossing the ball up and moving his hand behind himself to catch it, grinning right at you, earning a roll of your pretty eyes. God they’re pretty, he’s lost in them for a moment even as he puts on his show, plays the role of the frat leader that everyone loves so much.
He was having fun in this role, until you.
“So…” he tugs at a lock of your hair, you smack his hand. He tries to ignore the overwhelming desire to pull it as he hits it from the back.
Or with your lips wrapped, that dark lip shade he wants to smear with his tip, leaking pre from whatever scent that was you’ve always had… vanilla, sugary, something so… homey. He can’t describe it, but it’s nowhere but on you, he’d smelled that scent across the entire field the first time he locked eyes with you again, wondering if it was in his imagination at first.
“So what?” His gaze slips down to your fishnets, imagining the sound of them when he ripped them in half.
“Beer pong competition, are ya up for it?” He tosses it again, swirling the little ball between fingers too big to make sense, ones fucking you up.
“I’m not gonna stay here long,” you grumble, eyeing the large table surrounded by drunk college students. “I just… don’t do parties.”
“A game or two then, hmm? Or are you too scared to lose?”
You snatch the pong ball from his hand, earning his big grin.
“Not at all. Game on.”
If there’s anything you are – it’s competitive, and Satoru Gojo clearly is competitive from birth. Even when he was a nerdy boy, he had no problem decimating anyone in any subject, whether it was debate team or the mathletes, and beer pong was no different.
Pleased smirk on his face, he’s tossing the ball only for you to smack it out of the way on its bounce, making him fucking glare over at you. Satoru’s jaw sets when you bounce one and he flicks it so hard it smacks into the wall, making you glare right back. He tosses another and lands it right in your front cup with a splash, grinning diabolically in victory.
You roll your eyes, leaning forward just a bit, making his eyes dart to those pretty tits in that lacy bustier that fucks with him to distraction. Satoru practically can see those nipples about to bounce out, imagining how perfect one of those peaks would be in his hungry mouth, fingers damn near itching to grip one.
God he hates whatever this effect is you have on him.
He fumbles the next ball because of the sight of them, earning your said tits bouncing, pointing at him and laughing like the little fucking menace you are. Everyone around you both has gathered, starting to place bets, making Satoru even angrier when several men check out that ass.
It’s not like you’re his, fuck you don’t even like him – and he knows it’s probably due to back then. But he’s pretty sure his mouth could make you like him, if you just gave him enough of a chance. Satoru clears his throat, shouting your name across the pong table, giving you pause now.
“Guess what?” He says, walking over to you, holding his hands up to signal a break, you walk to him, crossing your arms, the little open hoodie falling off a shoulder.
He runs his fingertips across the bare skin, making you tremble just a bit, eyes dilating from just that – that’s when he knows, despite all your shit talking and avoidance, you want him too. Maybe not as badly as he wants you, but it’s there, goosebumps on your skin, making you tug it up and raise a brow.
“What, scared I’ll beat you?” You demand, he just chuckles, shaking his head and yanking your messy ponytail too hard again. “You’re such an ass!”
“A bet, best two out of three wins,” he challenges, sipping his drink, a little bit dripping on his plump lips, making you ache to swipe it away with your fingers, but you hold yourself back, flushed now. “Ya up for it?”
“I’m up for anything,” he grins deviously, and you curse. “Shit what’s in that head, lemme guess – public humiliation?”
“Well it’s in my head now,” he sips that drink again, as if to torture you. Why do you have to be ovulating and also buzzed around him!? “But no, sweets.”
Your eyes roll. “What’s the bet, then?”
“Well…” His fingers slip across the line of your jaw, your breath catches in your throat at how good they feel. “You said anything, right?”
“Out with it.” You smack his hand off. “You’re a menace to society, truly.”
“Says you,” he steps too close – why is this fucker so tall by the way!? – making your head tilt back a bit, but you luckily have on heels, making you a little closer to his height.
Satoru loves that.
He loves that he could bend you over in those heels and stuff you so full of his cock, sure he’d have to bend down a bit, but you’re goddamn near the perfect height for it. Except his thoughts right now aren’t necessarily of him fucking your surely pretty cunt… no.
“If I lose, I’ll eat your pretty pussy out,” you gasp now, hating that his husky words in a voice that’s too sexy to belong to this nerd makes you throb around nothing. “What, haven’t you done it yet?”
“Sure I have,” Satoru scowls. “What, you think I’m a virgin?”
“No…” He wishes he could have it first, it’s a fucking batshit thought and nothing he’s ever felt.
He didn’t want a virgin and doesn’t care about a girl’s past, never has, he likes experience. But he’d love to have slipped inside your cunt first – came inside it, made sure it only knew his shape. Toxic nonsense but how can he not when it’s you, the girl who’s been in the back of his mind for most of his life?
“Then why are you blushing again?” He touches your cheek, lips curved up, you just narrow your eyes at him.
“M’not…”
“You always do around me,” his thumb slips down your jaw line. “I’ll eat you better than anyone, you won’t even be able to stand up when I’m done.”
“You’re the most conceited, cocky ass man ever I swear…” You trail off just a bit though, thinking about it, his long fingers inside you?
Fuck….
“Conceited, hmm?”
“Will you finger me too?” Satoru blinks in surprise, and you blush more. “Can’t use both at once? Amateur.”
“You’re a slutty little thing, aren’t you?”
He tilts your chin up, your silky locks falling partly out of that ponytail over your pretty face. God he’s leaking too much pre, sticking to his jeans to the point that anyone could see his huge dick print at this point.
“You want my fingers?”
“They’re… well, long, okay?” His laugh is deep ass, seductive ass way that isn’t even fair to your fucking ovaries. “Don’t get too flattered.”
“All right, I’ll use them both, since you’re greedy,” your walls clench just picturing those thick fingers, damn him. “If I lose, that is.”
“And if I lose?” You take a sip of your drink, and his face is devious. “Oh god, you want a blow job, huh?”
“You’ll still cum, sweetheart,” he taps your nose and it scrunches up, making him think how cute you were for an evil succubus. “You’ll get my fingers then too, but not my mouth.”
“Well…” That sounds like a win either way, it’s not like you don’t want that thick cock in your mouth, looking down at the outline then.
If you can fit it all, that is.
“If you lose I won’t get you off,” you just smile all meanly at him. “You can jerk it in front of me though.”
“You’re so evil,” he sighs, god he needs you – mean thing that you are. He’s shaking his head, snorting – as if he wasn’t going to jerk his cock eating your pussy. “Deal.”
“But just know… we aren’t cool, just…”
“Just you wanna fuck me?”
“Hah – no!? I’m horny and competitive,” you shove him now. “Go on, you’ve got a game to lose.”
“Psh,” Satoru thinks he’s still as in love with you as he’s always been, when you were a sweet little thing. God, maybe he’s more in love. “Practice working that jaw, you’ll need it.”
You scoff and shove his big ass again, running back to your side of the table, shaking your head and throwing another ball before he can register, landing another and grinning. “Hah! That’s three.”
“Lucky shots for an amateur,” a girl comes up to Satoru, whispering in his ear, making your heart sink.
Why?
He doesn’t even acknowledge her really, bright blue eyes glinting, throwing the ball and landing it, making you have to drink again. “What is it, sweets? Kinda busy beating the new girl.”
“Well, I just thought…” She trails her fingertips across Satoru’s abs over that thin white material, he grabs her wrist and stops her, shaking his head. “Oh, maybe another time?”
Not if he gets a taste of you, no – you’ll fucking ruin him – he can already feel it, but he smiles, she has hooked up with him before and is a sweet girl. He doesn’t know what happened but since the moment he locked eyes with you at the football practice he’s been far too obsessed with you.
Constantly thinking of how and when he’d see you again, obsessive insane thoughts running through his head, how you’d look bent over, those tattoos right on the backs of those thighs begging for his hands. Leave prints all over your bratty ass, littering you with marks – bites, lip prints, suck the skin on your neck until you’re bruised with him.
“I’m busy for the rest of the evening,” he says, shrugging at her, seeing the way you look at him from his peripherals. “But thanks.”
She frowns and walks away, you smirk like you’re fucking thrilled he sent her off. Satoru tosses the ball and it bounces, you smack it away easily. “Aw, ya jealous?”
“No!? Why would I be?” You lie to yourself as much as you lie to him, and he knows it, tossing another ball and landing it in your cup with a little splash.
“Drink,” he orders, you roll your eyes and pick up that red solo cup, putting your lips to it. “That’s one.”
“You’re such an ass.”
“I know,” Satoru blows you a kiss, and you flip him off, earning the whispers and laughter around you both, mingling with the loud thrum of the bass, the music playing. “You’re losing, aww look how many cups you have!”
“Shut it,” You toss the ball again, and it lands right in his cup, making him glare. “Okay, it’s on.”
“Distracted me, just a lucky one.”
Do you think she can beat Satoru?
No way, he’s always the winner.
Satoru wins at everything!
Do you think they want each other or… hate each other?
Hmm, both.
Both of you are drinking again as each ball lands, and Satoru notices those hips of yours swaying a bit to the music, the slutty pleated skirt riding up just a little when you lean forward. He’s grabbing a ball that’s fallen on the floor, far too close to those thighs, imagining ripping those fishnets before he buries his face.
He looks up at you while he’s down there, almost under your skirt, you gasp and shove him. “You perv!”
“Can’t get a glimpse before I lose?”
“So you admit you are gonna lose,” you’re snickering, and he can’t help but wonder – are you wearing a thong or boyshorts? He saw a hint of black lace. “Get back over there, stop staring.”
He presses a sneaky kiss on your thigh, grinning all boyish and cute, making your heart hammer, thighs pressing together at his proximity. It’s hard to remember all the differences between you both – the pretty boy, popular jock and you – the social outcast. Once, you both weren’t so different, and in that moment he looks like a nerdy little teenager.
Is he still in there, the boy your little pre teen heart fell for?
Satoru’s back on his side, throwing a ball and missing on purpose – for once he was okay losing if it meant drinking your pussy. He can’t help but imagine pressing his tongue against your wetness through the fabric, eating you over those panties until they’re a mess. He’s sure it’s soaked, he just wants to fucking get drunk on you, if he loses or not he’s planning on licking all that angst right out of you.
He tosses the next ball, making another horrible shot, he’s too distracted thinking of your pretty pussy. You laugh and toss yours and he catches it.
“Shit!”
“Drink up,” he grins, tossing another and landing it. “Two, sweetheart.”
“Ugh m’not your sweetheart,” you drink quickly, tossing it down your throat, feeling dizzy. You’re fine either way getting Gojo’s fingers, but the way he’s licking his lips makes you crave winning even more. You toss the ball and land it in his cup, making him just grin. “That’s three.”
“I’m still winning,” he says cockily, leaning forward again. “You’re not gonna win, baby.”
“You don’t know that, and I’m not your baby either,” you toss the ball, missing and cursing, he lands another one. “No fair, you were yapping too much!”
“Such a sore loser, drink.” Satoru leans on the table now all casual, just smirking at you all victorious. “That’s three, you’re about to lose.”
“No the fuck I’m not,” you toss the ball, missing again, he laughs. “Damn it!”
You change tactics then.
Leaning forward, breasts almost spilling out of your little cami top, fluttering your lashes with a pretty pout and looking right at him. “Satoru…”
Fuck, when you call him that? His heart hammers, already so warm from the drinks, he can’t stand what your eyes are doing, your lips still somehow swathed with that dark lipstick he wants to kiss off you, wants it dragged across your cheeks and smeared as you drool on him. He…
“You little…” He realizes you distracted him on purpose with your mean little smile, sinking another, now two up. “Your slutty tactics won’t work on me again, trust.”
Shit, she’s winning?
Putting twenty on her.
I’ll put twenty on Satoru!
It is best two out of three, and each of you has won a competition, making it go down to the last couple throws, the beer pong is so fucking serious it’s like it is some damn sports match. People have money exchanged placing bets, you’re surprised when people start chanting his name – not yours though, they just go –
New girl!
“Distraction won’t work this time, sweetheart,” Satoru puts more emphasis on that word just to fuck with you. You sigh, rolling your eyes, throwing your shot in, sinking it then.
Oh shit.
You sink another, the alcohol making it even easier, laughing maniacally like an evil succubus, which he’s convinced that you are. You’re throwing those balls over and over, and he’s missing all his damn shots, as the entire frat and most of the sorority – along with many other students and all their friends, watch Satoru Gojo lose to a damn art student goth.
The Satoru Gojo!
Before you cognitively realize what’s happening, he’s got you up the flight of stairs in his room at the frat, and he’s kissing you so differently from back then, when he was clumsy and your noses hit, when his braces brushed against your lips. No, he’s messy and filthy with just that kiss, possessing your mouth, tongue fighting yours for dominance.
You both stumble in there, hungry and needy, you almost trip on your heels as you cling to him tighter than you should, cunt already dripping when his thigh presses between your. His hands are slipping down your body, plush lips drinking up moans you wish weren’t that loud, little desperate breaths as his lips trail down your throat.
“Fuck this is crazy…”
“Is it?” He asks, pulling back from sucking on your pulse point that’s fluttering frantically underneath your skin. “Do you want it?”
You swallow then, biting down on your lip, lashes lowering.
Fuck, that look almost does him in.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” your eyes lock up then, seeing the same boy for the briefest moment, even hidden behind the height, the broad shoulders underneath your fingers, the cocky attitude. “Bet or not.”
He was still Satoru somewhere.
Your answer is not in sweet little words, it’s taking those fingers and trailing them down your body, slowly letting his fingertips brush over your outfit, until they touch you underneath your skirt. He moans softly, feeling the soaking mess you’ve made them into, sticky as his fingers swirl around it.
“Your answer,” you manage to say, biting down so hard your lip almost bleeds when his fingers press up between your slit. “Mnh!”
“You’re not too drunk?” He asks quietly, you see it again, the care in his bright blue eyes, even when he clearly wants you.
“I’m not,” you answer softly. “A little buzzed, but in my right mind.”
“Don’t you hate me though?” He’s taunting you even as he’s sinking to his knees, huge hands pressing your skirt up, looking at you in a way that ruins you.
You did say it the last time you saw him.
‘I hate you for… breaking my heart!’ you’d run off in tears, not realizing the reason Satoru couldn’t be with you.
It was because he was scared of you being affected by the fact that none of his life – including love – would ever be his choice. Yet he stood there holding it all back, unable to say his true feelings, fucking tongue tied.
And the day you ran away he swore one day he’d make it right.
If making it right was done by him sinking to his knees in front of you, Satoru Gojo was ready for it – looking at the slick glimmering in your inner thigh, toying with the nylon of your stockings and grinning deviously then.
“Hmm, how much were these?”
You blink a bit, trying to act like you’re not trembling from his breath against your skin. “Like five bucks, why? Ah!”
Rip.
Satoru moans as he slowly rips himself a trail, exposing your overheated cunt underneath those panties, the dark spot there drooling. You’re shaking with need, head falling back against that door, pretending like you’re anything other than soaking wet and needy for him.
“Really? You could have just asked me to take them off!?”
“Not as hot that way,” he murmurs, lapping the slick off your thigh first like he’s thirsty, cursing softly then as your flavor hits. “Fuck…”
“Mnh!” That’s the only sound you’re able to make, nails pressing into his shoulders, trying to stabilize yourself as his nose nudges you, as if he’s inhaling your essence, and then he opens his lips.
The first flick of Satoru Gojo’s tongue along your panties was torture, the way his pretty blue eyes looked up under those lashes was too much, him on his knees with his hands pressing into the meat of your hips. You gasp out, head falling back, your lashes fluttering shut, desperate little pathetic moan that doesn’t even make sense escaping your throat.
“Hah - cute little pussy,” he cooes those words, just endlessly annoying you even as he’s lapping at the cotton with his tongue, making it soaked. “Need something?”
“Y-you lost that bet,” you manage to whisper out. “So get to work.”
God, Satoru thinks he’s in love.
He tugs those panties to the side, looking at your perfect cunt, one he dreamed of jerking off so many times over the years it was just embarrassing, but nothing really prepares him for it. Glistening, puffy folds that are drooling for him, glossy and slick, your clit twitching when he lifts that hood and breathes on it ever so teasingly, making your nails press into his shoulders so hard they dig in and leave marks.
“Hah, you’re that soaked? I haven’t even started to touch you yet,” he taunts, swiping just his fingertip through the mess you’ve made, exhaling again and making your hips jerk. “Beer pong gets you wet?”
“Beating you at something did,” you whisper with a little satisfied smile, earning his glare, snowy lashes lowering. Then Satoru smacks your cunt, a sharp thwap echoing in his room, mingling with your panting breaths. “Ah!”
“You’re just so messy,” he’s grinning as you scowl down at him, hooking your thigh high now over a broad shoulder, so his tongue can tease your leaky hole for just a moment, groaning when your flavor soaks into his tastebuds. “You’re that easy for me, hmm?”
“F-fuck no m’not,” you’re trembling from a few flicks of his long pink tongue, hands enwrapping in those snowy locks. You don’t want to admit how good it feels – how good Satoru Gojo looks on his knees. “Will you just…”
“Just what? Ask me nice and I-”
You shove his face right against your cunt before finishing your sentence, and you feel that damn smile against your bare skin before he obliges eagerly, tongue slipping up your messy slit, gathering all that arousal that’s pooling. He drinks you up, his huge hands pressing on either side of the meat of your hips, picturing how good it’ll look when he hits it from the back.
Your eyes roll back in your skull – Satoru’s mouth had no right to be that talented, that hot and wet, he had no right to look so fucking good down there kneeling before you, his eyes locking so intense you can’t look away. Locked in the intimacy and rolling your hips as he moans from just your taste, your arousal pooling from your hole, already messy.
You struggle to cling to any sort of calm, you don’t want to act like you’re so affected, that long tongue slipping between your lips, flicking your little clit sharply. Fingers press into your flesh, parting your folds to open your hole for his tongue to fuck into, sticking the entirety of that pink muscle, letting those walls just flutter around it.
“Oh f-fuck…” Your back vibrates from the base of the music outside the little room the two of you are alone in, your lips still swollen from his kisses, mouth dropped open. “There, there!”
You’re not shy when you drag him where you need, Satoru moans, shifting on his knees and curling his tongue deep, spongy spot pressing and making you gush, so wet he’s missing rivulets, slipping down his pink lips, his chin. You’re rolling those hips like you’re riding his face, head slamming back hard with a thud, ragged gasps just urging him on more.
You’ve got him covered in your slick, his tongue lapping a filthy stripe with the flat of it, hands digging in and lifting your thigh higher and slipping a finger inside. “Oh my g-god…”
“You’re so tight, fuck…” He moans when he feels your cunt contracting on his fingers, spasming and drooling when he buries it to the knuckle, teeth nipping your clit with a sharp motion, you shove at him, screaming out now.
“D-don’t bite - oh m-my… gonna cum, gonna… stay…” You’re done trying to make sense of anything, you can’t remember why you were so hurt by him for so long.
You’ll think of that tomorrow.
Tonight?
You let Satoru swallow you, drink you up, hearing the slurp and the wet, messy noises echoing in your ears, fingers finding purchase in silky white locks and pulling at the roots.
“Oh yes,” he whispers, looking at you with blown out pupils. “Fuck my face, sweetheart.”
You’re doing just that, gliding your pretty cunt all over Satoru Gojo’s face – he slips two impossibly thick fingers inside you, buried to the hilt. You’re lost in it, cunt squelching and mixing with his own moans, his swallowing and gulping, you’re making noises you’ve never thought you could, screaming out and trembling as he pushes you over the edge.
“Cum for me,” he whispers, a little smirk on a face that’s embarrassingly soaked with your cunt, grippin’ his fingers so tight she’s sucking him in. “That’s it, lemme fuckin’ feel it, lemme see it sweetheart.”
You can’t remember exactly why you ever thought you ‘hated’ Gojo.
Deep down you know you’ll always love him, that he was it for you – terrified that this is just fun for him, and you’ll still go along with it. The way he makes you feel so fucking filthy yet precious, worshipped yet devoured, you lose all your senses but just how fucking good it feels.
Your thighs are shaky, he’s damn near holding you up while wetness drips down them, cumming so hard you can’t think, can’t see anything but white stars that blind you behind your closed eyes. “S-Satoru!”
Fuck, when you say his name?
Satoru palms his cock, throbbing and insistent, moaning at how fucking good your juices feel in his mouth, gulping them down – adam’s apple bobbing with every greedy swallow as he watches you come undone. He eases his thrusts of those long fingers, teasing flicks prolonging that orgasm until you lightly just squirt in little spurts down him.
“Look at you all fucked out,” you barely manage to open your eyes – Gojo looks positively ruined from drinking you, as fucked out as you are, his white hair sticking to his forehead just a bit, cheeks flushed pink.
How can he look that good?
He chuckles a bit – that cocky boy is still there – licking his lips as he pulls back slightly, fingers still buried deep inside you, curling just right, grinning as you jerk your hips.
“Too much, mnh!” You’re arching your back, tits bouncing at this angle he can’t help but imagine how you’ll ride his cock, which is leaking so much pre he’s sticking to his boxers.
He’s slipping those fingers out with a suctioned pop, the slick sound. Gojo brings them to his lips and slides the slick on his lips like a gloss, standing slowly, letting your thigh fall gently, you wobble.
“Aww, can’t stand? That fucked up from a little kiss?”
“Kiss!? You’re… so insane…”
Gojo is not just covered in you, he’s sucking them clean with deliberate slowness, his eyes dark aside from a light blue ring, and they’re fucking hungry. "So sweet for such a mean little girl.”
“Little girl,” you scoff, but you’re shaking, your own hands sliding up his chest, head falling back while he drinks you up, moaning. “You can’t call me that, m’not a little girl.”
“Bet you’ll call me daddy,” he taunts, you shake your head at him while he brushes your hair back gently. "Look at you, made such a mess of me."
You whimper – yeah you fucking whimper, damn him – clenching around nothing. "Not calling you that, but…”
He raises a brow, grinning. “But?”
You sigh. “You are… you do…”
“The best oral you’ve had?”
“Fuck you, yes,” he chuckles, for a moment his fingers brush your cheek, and you can’t help but lean close. You want him. “In this, you win. Not beer pong.”
“Tch, let you win,” you giggle – yeah you, you giggle then, the sound reminding him of a time long ago. He sighs now, studying your face carefully. “So, I’ll let you decide. You want more?"
Before you can answer, he leans in, kissing you deeply, you lean into it, arms wrapping his neck, sucking in a breath as you continue to pulse around nothing, nodding just a bit.
“Ah- ah,” he whispers, tilting your chin up, swapping your taste between you both. “You have to tell me.”
“Yes, I want more.” Satoru carries you over to the bed then with ease like it’s just nothing, the strong muscles underneath his skin bunching as he lays you on it, hovering over you and just looking then. “Satoru…”
“Want my cock to ruin your pretty cunt?” You didn’t expect that – the once nerdy, shy Gojo to say that, even now you’re at a loss for words, lips parting. “I have to warn you, no one will be able to hit it like me after.”
“You’re so conceited,” you mumble, but when he slips up your top and your tits bounce out for his view, you’re soaked all over again, still sticky from his spit coating your puffy folds.
That’s when Satoru is quiet.
Fuck your tits are so perfect, he can’t help but pause and grip them, feeling their weight in his palm, thumbs brushing them and watching the areolas tighten. “Oh just, look at how pretty they are.”
He’s not cocky then, no he’s enamored, lashes casting shadows as his mouth descends, sucking a nipple into it hungrily, flicking his tongue on that little piercing. You gasp out at it, his other hand gripping your left tit as he sucks your right, making you so sensitive. He moans, vibrating against your skin, your tummy clenched with hot need all over again.
“S’perfect,” his mumbled words mean way more than they should, your heart hammering in your chest like you are some little virgin again, all shy almost when he pulls back, kissing the soft mounds and pressing them together.
“Just fuck me, okay? Stop all… that.”
He chuckles a bit, sucking your other nipple with a messy pop, his fingers slipping over your trembling tummy to toy with your twitchy clit he’d just suck on, fingering the mess. “Stop what, the foreplay? Haven’t had much, huh?”
“Shut up - mnh!” He sinks a finger back inside, lips just an inch from yours, you taste the sweetness of him mixed with the alcohol from tonight, see his cheeks flushed with pink. “No, not really okay?”
“I’ll make up for it,” how could anyone get to touch your body, it makes him so angry, so possessive then that it’s nonsense. His hands glide over your curves before he flips you on your stomach, you gasp out. “Arch f’me.”
You do just that without thinking of a bratty retort, you’re not a submissive girl by any means and you still have so much hurt from Gojo, but you’re eagerly arching your ass, waiting for his cock. He unzips his pants eagerly, breath catching at the sight of your hole clenching around nothin’ in little spasms.
“She’s so needy,” his words mix with a trail of spit, spreading your cheeks wide, it slips from your puckered ass hole to your milky cunt in a bubbly trail. “Tell me what you want, use those words.”
“I told you, mnh! W-want you in me…”
“No,” he teases his fat cockhead through your glistening folds, huge hands gripping each ass cheek and watching them jiggle, mesmerized.
“What do you mean, no? Want your dick, okay?” Your words are slurred, about to cum when he slips his cock teasingly between your swollen folds, gliding with the mix of your slick and his spit.
The sounds are filthy as he fucks your thighs and nudges your cunt, not going in to torture you. “There, you have my dick.”
“I swear to – Gojo! Put it in,” you’re arching for more but he’s just pressing the fat of your cunt down so he can fuck your slit over and over, tip nudging your clit and making you gasp out. “Mmph!”
“What, did you want it inside you?”
“That’s what I s-said,” you’re close to cumming again from just his damn teasing, gripping those sheets underneath you. Your head falls back, Satoru leans on his knees and pulls it, making your spine curve.
“Want me to fuck your cunt raw, then? Cum inside her?” Satoru’s lost and pussy drunk, he’s never even fucked without a condom but he can’t imagine the barrier when he wants to feel those gummy walls on his cock.
“Y-yes,” you can’t believe you’re saying that shit then, but you’re too far gone, cunt still spasming, your nipples sensitive as they brush the soft fabric. “Just fuck me, god…”
“Impatient little thing,” his words are loving, his hands devotedly brushing up and down your waist, your hips. “I’ll give it to you.”
You look back at him, hair all falling over your face, Satoru pulls it into a pony tail, seeing the lightness of your irises swallowed by black, your lipstick all smeared off, revealing traces of the pink of your lips. You bite the lower one then, taking a shaky little breath.
“It’s just… mnh, sex?” You manage to ask, Satoru pauses then.
Of course it’s always just sex with him with any girl, he doesn’t get too attached, he doesn’t reveal all of himself.
Yet, for you? The girl who knew him way before, when he was just nerdy little Gojo playing DnD and a mathlete? You, whose eyes look drunk as you look back at him, your perfect ass arched in the air, fishnets ripped completely at the seams, the leftover material slightly pressing into your thighs.
You’re different, and he knows that, and it’s fucking terrifying, Satoru takes a breath then, gauging the situation, leaning over you to smack your ass, watching it bounce. He moans, smacking the other cheek, your cunt slips more and more sticky clear arousal out of it. He pulls at your hair, you eagerly arch.
You want him to dominate you – you, a dominant brat.
“Ya want me to make that perfect pussy cum? Over and over?” He asks softly, you swallow, nodding, hair tugging at the roots. “You want me to take you over, fuckin’ ruin you hmm?”
“Ruin me,” you gasp out, far past your usual act of hating Satoru. Maybe you do hate what he does to you, making a strong, dominant woman submit, beg, eagerly obey to his every command. But in that moment, you’d do anything to have that cock that he’s teasing deep inside. “Do it, fuck…”
“Say please,” you scoff, shaking your head.
“You say please,” you pull off and he drags you back, laughing softly, his teeth nipping your shoulder as his cock presses against your entrance. “Say it, – ‘please let me fuck your pussy’.”
“Hah, no,” when you clamp down on his tip that’s just barely popped into your hole, however? “Oh my f-fine, please, lemme fuck this pussy.”
You smile against the pillow he presses your head down on, arching impossible more than. “Then do it, Satoru.”
Satoru eases in at first, but then he fills you in three strokes, messy, filthy ones until your greedy cunt just sucks him up. “Oh my… g-god, s’tight baby fuck…”
“You’re s-so big I… mnh!” You want to be bitchy, you want to clap back, but all you can think of is just how full Satoru Gojo has stuffed you, how each drag of his cock is destroying your pussy, your mind, forgetting anything and everything but how good he feels throbbing inside of you.
“Perfect little cunt,” he mumbles, done for as he presses you down between your shoulder blades, easing back to watch your ass jiggle with every thrust, to see your greedy cunt suckin’ him up. “Look at you, takin’ me like this? Good girl.”
You want to laugh but…
You’re wetter.
Impossibly wet, every glide easier while Satoru Gojo buries his cock inside you to the hilt, hitting your cervix with every mean slap, his heavy balls hitting your clit as his fingers spread your ass cheeks, groaning at the sight. Your slick has coated all of his veiny length, every – fwap fwap fwap – sound echoing and mixing with the hum of the music lingering from outside the door.
Fuck any party, it’s just you, all you, surrounding and gripping his cock so good he can’t fucking stand it. He moans your name and it comes out like a whimper, but there’s no stopping anything from spilling from his lips, not when you’re taking him like that, not when he’s fucking your cunt so good all he can think of is making you his – all his.
Is it just sex? What a question, as if Satoru Gojo hasn’t been in love with you since he laid eyes on you, as if he didn’t jerk it to you the moment he saw you at that football practice with your slutty clothes, with those fishnets that still rest on your body, pressing into the flesh of your ass at the sides.
Ripped wide open he uses them as leverage, hearing your desperate shaky gasps around him, fucking into you so hard you scream out, head falling back. He moans and tugs at the black nylon, letting it press into your skin in little diamond patterns, cock twitching inside your slick heat.
That cock is so deep you feel him fucking everywhere, especially at this angle – bottoming out in your cunt finally and groaning in your ear, just the sounds of him alone are enough you’d record it and touch yourself to it. You don’t want to be so desperate, so needy, but you can’t stop it, not when he’s ruining you, not when his tip is pummeling your cervix.
The sounds echoing in the room are lewd, squishing, slapping, squelching, both of your whines high pitched and needy. Satoru’s grabbing your hips on either side now, drunker off you than off anything. He bites back nonsense like ‘i love you’ because he knows you still hate him, and he doesn’t want to scare you off.
Eventually, you’ll be all his.
For now – he fucks you brutally, but you want it, need it, crave it. Walls clamping down around his thickness like a vise, Satoru groans as you do, rocking his hips and feeling you start to spasm.
“Gonna cum again? So easy,” he whispers, as if he’s not two seconds from busting in your perfect cunt.
“Fuck off,” you respond back hoarsely, as if he’s not right, cocky ass hole that he is with his huge cock curving up deep in your snug channel. “Make me cum.”
He almost says ‘yes mommy’ but bites it back.
“Make you cum,” he grins and lays on top of you prone, his knee on one side of you, resting on an elbow and dragging you down his cock in a mean angle. “Then go ahead, let your slutty little hole squirt on me.”
“Ngh!” You’re shattering for him when he fucks you laying on top, cock moving your stomach with every filthy motion. You feel Satoru’s cock twitch inside you as your cunt spasms around him, clenching down so hard he groans – pressing his forehead to your shoulder, damp with perspiration, groaning softly.
His hand wraps your throat, taking you over completely, your eyes rolling back in your skull just blinded by pleasure, head falling back against his chest. His cock is stretching you beyond your means, but you’re so wet he’s slipping in even easier, squelching wetness dripping down between your thighs and his cock, slipping onto the blanket as he bruises that cervix.
“Takin’ it like you’re made for it,” he murmurs in your ear, lips brushing that delicate earlobe, you grip that wrist of the hand wrapping your throat, pressing. “Ah, want me to choke you? You’re a slutty, needy girl, aren’t you?”
“Mmhmm,” you just press and nod, giving Satoru permission, giving him so much trust with his long fingers that now encircle your neck. “D-do it.”
Long fingers tighten on either side of your windpipe, his length moving in and out of that messy hole, pounding harder, seeing what you can take as he squeezes just a little more. The pleasure is too much, taking over your entire body – that heady, fuzzy feeling addictive, making you chase that feeling, that release.
When he kisses you?
That’s when you lose any control or act you had left – pretending like this will just be once, like you’re not still hopeless for him, like you’re not about to spill your feelings if he doesn’t choke you more.
“Harder,” is your weak little command, mascara streaking down your cheeks as he slams his cock bruisingly inside your pretty cunt. “Please.”
“Sayin’ please, hah – you’re such a good girl,” he knows it fucks you up, damn him, you can just tell his conceited self loves making you like this. You’ll let him have an ear full later.
For now you just let his cock reshape your entire cunt to mold to his shape, just like he said, overwhelmed by every sensation that washes through you. You cum so hard again you choke – his hands gripping so tightly they’ll leave little bruises on your skin, a messy drool line spilling from the corner of your mouth.
“That’s it, so pretty, just a mess,” he whispers in your ear, letting go of your throat so you can gasp in greedy gulps, his thumb swipes off that mess and his lips press on yours, drinking your cries.
Those narrow hips of his that were in a perfect rhythm stutter at that kiss, thrusts becoming just a little messy and erratic, your walls quivering and pushing him over the edge. “Mnh, fuck…”
“Feel too good,” he’s so drunk off your messy hole, so fucking close to pumping everything inside of you, lashes fluttering shut when he whimpers.
Fuck, did you make him whimper?
You are too fucked out to notice, the smacking sounds of his pelvis hitting your ass cheeks echo louder now, those big hands sliding down to grip your hips, fingers digging in possessively. He murmurs your name like a devotion, his breath ghosting across a shoulder blade, teeth nipping the sensitive curve of it.
"Feel her," he rasps, voice thick with lust. "Take me s’good... aw, sweetheart you’re wrecked."
You whimper as he pulls out almost entirely, leaving just the tip inside, teasing your entrance and then pressing back in. "Please," you choke out, arching. "Back in me."
He’s so close, taking a breath and pausing, turning your face to him. “You want all this inside you, or painted on that perfect ass?”
There’s no hesitation, your eyes looking back at his, lidded and dazed, sweat slicked skin brushing against each other. “In me.”
Satoru’s done for at your hasty little reply – slamming back inside so deep it hurts, busting his load so deep against your cervix, balls contracting as they fill you to the brim, leaking down him with how your muscles contract. “Oh f-fuck…”
He has no words for how perfect it feels cumming inside your messy little hole, flooding those walls and coating them in white, slowing his strokes and making you feel every inch as it drags on the spots in those spongy walls. He’s crying out softly, fingers dipping into the crook of your waist, pumping impossibly more inside, until you’re both so sensitive you’re just messes.
“Took me like that?” He whispers, easing out of you and looking at the mess you’ve both made, his chest heaving up and down with his breaths, fingers skimming your pretty ass and brushing over marks blooming. “Did such a good job.”
You take a moment, just trembling – Satoru watches his milky seed pool and bubble out of your hole, fingering the sticky mess and slipping it in his lips, moaning out. “Did you… taste us?”
“Mmm, of course I am. You should too,” he flips you on your back, leaning over you, your hands slip up his shoulders when the intimacy catches you, when he pours his own cum right back in your mouth. “Swallow.”
You obediently listen, before kissing him again, his still semi hard cock heavy against your inner thigh, even more spurts of white pumping hot and sticky. You’re shaking, breaths coming quicker and quicker, strings of saliva and white dripping between your lips. You taste his cum off him, the action so filthy, his fingers nudging the mess to shove it right back in your hole.
“Ah! Too much, j-jerk,” you huff, he chuckles then, shaking his head and sighing, lifting your thighs to spread them and eye that pretty sight of an utterly destroyed and puffy cunt. “You’re just… looking at it!”
“Yes I am, I beat it up,” he has the audacity to whistle, when there are knocks on the door. He glares back at it as you close your thighs, sucking in a breath at how sore you are. “What?”
“Gojo, they’re all saying you’re a little bitch for losing to a girl,” you snicker and Satoru scowls deeper. “Sukuna is saying he’ll stomp your ass at the keg stand record too.”
“Tch, he fucking wishes,” he sighs, not about to leave you, but you’re already standing, shaky legs having you almost wobbling. “Give me a bit.”
“You’re good, promise,” you murmur, grabbing your top and slipping it over you, he aches when he watches those tits gently bounce. “I should get going, I have a big ass test in the morning.”
“Leaving already?” He frowns, standing with his cock just hanging, your tummy clenches at the sight of it, with white and clear strands all around the thick length.
“I should,” you murmur, stepping back a bit when he comes close, leaning down over you. Your back against the wall, his palm on one side of your head. “You’re still naked, Satoru.”
“Sure am,” he nudges his cock again, slipping between your pressed thighs, earning a desperate little whine. “You don’t have to go.”
He hates how vulnerable he sounds, him so desperate, but he’s never felt anything like you, like that, the moments you took his breath away not just with sex, but with everything about you. “You don’t wanna win?”
“Of course I do,” you laugh, softly then, knowing if you stay – you’ll fall all over again, for this different Gojo who still has your heart. “Doesn’t mean you can’t stay the night.”
“I don’t wanna make it weird,” he opens his lips and you lean up, a hand entangled in his hair. “I… Is this just once?”
Satoru swallows nervously, looking at you carefully. “I don’t know, is it?”
You both just stand there, you don’t know how to answer his question – with so much left unsaid, but you press a quick kiss on his lips before you talk yourself out of it, and then just run out of the room.
He leans his head on that door, fists clenching, trying to think of anything he could say. He could say – no, it’s not just sex, not with you, how could it be?
But he froze.
You’re leaning against that door – heart hammering in your chest, a palm on it to feel it racing, head resting for just a moment until people start running around, too close to you. You try to gather your bearings, try to remember that it was likely a hook up for him, and you couldn’t do it again.
No way, when he almost casually fucked an I love you from his lips.
That night you dream of him, waking up in a cold sweat, staring at the mirror and seeing how fucked up you were off him.
Surely, he went back to playing games.
That night Satoru lays there, sighing and swiping a hand down his face, turning in bed that night, touching the rumpled sheets, inhaling your scent off that pillow.
This can’t be the only fucking time.
There’s never really been anyone but you, but especially now he realizes, he’s ruined from you.
*****
“Need a ride?” The voice echoes outside, and you know exactly who it is.
It’s piss pouring rain a week later, you’d avoided Satoru like the plague since then, you didn’t even have a number if you wanted to reach out.
What would you even say – oh hey, childhood crush of mine, I apparently got fucked so dumb I’m prety sure I’m still in love?
No way.
Yet there’s his voice, there’s his presence right next to you now, too close – when you stand under the awning in front of one of the college buildings, the sound of it pounding on the metal makes you almost tired, looking up to see Satoru with an umbrella in his hand.
“I’ll wait it out,” you mumble, the last thing you need is to jump him the way you keep thinking of, to say dumb shit that’ll make him run away again.
That’s your biggest fear, really, that he’ll just run off like he did that year after your kiss, that he’ll move on and this was just fun, a challenge, a fling. A guy like Satoru could just have whoever he wanted, he’s so unserious, you’re sure you’re the one who is concocting it all inside your mind.
“It’ll be raining all afternoon,” he says then, thumb slipping up the screen on his phone, raising a brow at you. “And all night.”
“Shit… I mean I don’t have too far to go, maybe you can… be generous and just lend me your umbrella?”
“Or maybe,” he leans close now, silky white locks falling over his brow, cupping your face. “You can stop being so stubborn and take a fucking ride.”
Your heart is racing, you’re ovulating and you shouldn’t be near Mr. Broke your heart, Mr. Three hundred dollar a spray cologne, especially with the rain enshrouding you both, with his heat too close. You clear your throat and press your hand on a chest that’s too hard, too muscular, too warm.
“I’m good.”
Satoru’s eyes narrow at you, a vein pressed up underneath his skin. “Just take a ride, I won’t… try shit if that’s your concern. You pretty much made it clear you only wanted it once, I get it okay?”
You blink then, stepping back. “You think… I don’t ever think you’d try something, okay? That’s not it.”
“It’s not?” His brows draw together. “You don’t regret it?”
“No,” you shake your head, sighing then. “I didn’t know you were thinking that way about it.”
“How am I supposed to think?” There’s a harshness to his words then, your hands still resting as he steps even closer. “You haven’t said shit since you darted out of my room, drippin’ my cum.”
You almost whine out then and there, shaking your head again. You can’t say the truth – that it scared you, the intensity, the feelings.
“I had fun that night,” that’s an understatement. “A lot of fun, yeah? You felt… good in me.”
He almost moans out loud, looking at your pretty lashes lowering, this long pointed line of eyeliner just a little smudged off each eye. He runs a hand down the small of your back as people rush off to their cars, hidden under umbrellas or jackets over their heads.
“Yeah?” He asks softly, you roll those pretty eyes at him.
“You already know I liked it, it’s just… do we do it more or… do we just forget it?”
“Forget it?” His brows lower then, the thunder clapping from the distance. “You think I’d forget?”
“It’s probably not shit to you,” he glares, his jaw setting now. “You should go before the storm gets bad.”
“And you’re coming with me.”
“You can't just tell me what to do –” Satoru is already grabbing your hand, pulling you toward the parking lot. His umbrella pops open, a big clear one that you instantly recognize.
It's the same he had the day you met all those years ago.
Affection tears at your chest though you feign the irritation when he's tugging you under it, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you close. The proximity makes you too warm, tugged against his lithe frame while the rain pours, wind picking up.
You weren't dressed for soaking rain clearly, shivering when your boots rushed across forming puddles on the road, cold droplets hitting your bare legs. You're still firmly pressed against his side, feeling the heat of him through his letterman's jacket, smelling that familiar expensive ass cologne mixed with rain. Thunder cracks overhead, making you jump just a bit, and his grip tightens.
“Almost there,” He's calming when he speaks, almost soothing actually, you swallow nervously, heart hammering as you remember the last time you saw him.
Underneath him.
His fingers pressing into your throat, cock wrecking you. Fuck you hadn't been able to even walk the next day, you'd taken a day from classes to just soak in the bath. He had every right to be cocky when it came not just to his size but how he worked it.
It makes you blush thinking how he'd been inside you, you hardly can focus on anything but the burning memories in your brain as you get to his pretty silver sports car.
"Shit it's gonna get bad, let’s go," he mutters, fumbling with his keys when you reach the Mercedes, rain pelting the sleek black exterior. His hands are shaking – from cold or something else, you can't tell. The locks finally beep and he's yanking the passenger door open, you rush inside before you watch him jogging around to the driver's side.
His door slams shut behind him, pushing to start the car and letting the heat start up, shaking off the umbrella into the back seat as the storm worsens around you both. Suddenly it's quiet, just the muffled drumming of rain on the windshield, soft music turns on when he presses the button.
You're both just a little out of breath, a couple little drops of water dripping from your hair down your neck, the heat warming you as you shiver. The windows are already starting to fog just a bit from the condensations and your breaths.
“You good?” He asks then, you nod quickly, holding your books close to your lap for a moment. “Any new cool drawings of me?”
“You wish,” he chuckles just a bit, looking back and putting an arm over the back of your seat, looking impossibly attractive as he backs up, the line of his jaw illuminated with a little flash of lightning.
You could draw him right now, too damn attractive to even exist, his blue eyes flickering across your face for a brief moment. “You’re quiet.”
“Well, I’m quiet in general,” he scoffs, turning to start down the quick little road towards your dorm. “What? I am.”
“You weren’t quiet underneath me,” you roll your eyes and glare all cute, his jaw sets a bit, tongue against his cheek. “Did you not wanna do it again?”
“I just figured it was… the bet, the drinks, the…”
“Yeah, you think all that?” You don’t know what to fucking think.
“Doesn’t that happen a lot at your parties?”
“Ya callin’ me a slut?”
“Very much so, I’ve heard of many escapades.” Satoru snorts and shakes his head, hand turning the wheel with ease. There’s something so comfy and homey about being around him again, even with the awkward tension lingering.
You remember so much.
“It’s raining bad, here,” Satoru held an umbrella up for you, smiling all nervous, his cute little bowtie just askew, glasses fogged up from the rain pouring.
“Oh, thanks…” You’re not a talker, you’re a little shy, and now a boy is talking to you. He brushes the damp strands of your hair back, and you look up at the clear umbrella, watching the rain pummel it, bouncing off in a little halo around you both in the darkness.
“You should carry one, y’know.”
“Yeah, I always forget,” you mumble, you’re so close to him. “You’re Satoru Gojo, right?”
“You know me?” He blushes and you do just the same, he turns a bit. “Yeah, that’s me. Are you waiting on your parents?”
You almost laugh.
It’s not like your parents would ever pick you up, half the time they forget to get anything for you to pack for lunch. “No.”
“My driver will be here soon,” you blink in confusion, he uses his free hand to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah, my parents don’t pick me up either.”
“So they suck too.”
He laughs, a little nervous one, before sobering up. “Do yours suck?”
“Bad,” you mumble. “I’ll be okay if I get a little closer to-”
“Let me have them drive you, they make plenty of money, not like they’ll mind.”
“I couldn’t!”
“Sure you can,” he takes your hand then. “Come on.”
“You’re very quiet now,” his voice breaks your day dream, you realize you’re already in front of your dorm, having been lost in the memory. “Where’s that pretty head at?”
Pretty.
Satoru called you pretty.
A lot of people do, it’s not like men don’t shoot their shot at you, it’s more… you’re uninterested in them all. The men you’ve been with have just been out of boredom or craving experience. Yet when he says it, there are two different feelings.
One, he means it. Two, he just says that.
You see the girls around him constantly, you’d even snuck into his game to watch him the other day – not that you’d ever admit it. He was truly amazing, not just ‘some jock’ no – he excelled at it. Everyone cheered his name, girls all around him, men even cheering for him, everyone around the school as you hid behind the standing crowd, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
Satoru probably wouldn’t even consider you now, if he didn’t then.
“Just thinking I guess, of that time we met,” shit, you hadn’t meant to let it slip like that, but it’s there, lingering in the warmth of his car. “You had a whole driver.”
“Yeah, I guess I still could, but now I am on my own,” you blink a bit at that, seeing his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “They wanted to mold me into their perfect CEO and I really make ‘em mad, not mad enough to fuck my trust fund though.”
“Hence this,” you brush a finger on his gear shift, he grins. “I kind of told my parents to fuck off too. Art school is not it.”
“Especially after they were mad you wanted to do astronomy,” your lips part. “Yeah, I remember.”
“And now you’re doing it.”
“Astrophysics, yes,” he sighs, relaxing just a bit. “I kind of think I wanna teach it one day. Is it weird to think, a rich heir of the Gojo corp wanting to teach?”
“No, I think that shit’s cool as fuck,” he turns toward you, lips quirking up. Lips that were all over your body, a mouth that was on your pussy. The memories have your heart pounding in your ribcage like it’s just gonna fall out, hands gripping the papers, seeing the storm still raging. “You always were meant to study those stars.”
Satoru can’t take it.
He can’t take knowing he could have had years of this, of a high school sweetheart by his side, but he pushed it off – he thought for your own good, but now he sees the damage. In every apprehensive movement, in every bite of your lips that are just a little chapped from the chill.
“You think that?”
You turn your head, and he’s close – too close, so much so you taste his breath on yours, something sweet and so Gojo. You nod just a bit, leaning into his touch when he runs the backs of his knuckles across your cheek, the one reacting to his touch by getting so warm,
“I do.”
You can’t stop yourself from kissing him then and there – you lean and kiss him this time – his lips pause just a brief moment, parting in shock, before his arm wraps you, dragging you against him, a soft moan drank into your own mouth. The kiss means more than you can even admit, than you can comprehend in that heady moment, warm and cozy as it is sensual.
You’re leaning back in the passenger seat of Satoru’s fancy Mercedes benz, ostentatious and annoying sure, yet – you love it, you love being in there with him. You love the rain bouncing on the windshield and creating a halo around the car, enshrouding the two of you.
You love his lips on yours, love his hand entangling in your hair, his teeth nipping your lower lip hungrily, pushing him to sit as you take over the kiss now. He lets you eagerly, your hand slipping down his flat stomach, feeling each rippling muscle over his soft tee shirt, the windshield wipers flicking rain side to side with quick clicks.
“Fuck,” he murmurs then, looking up at you, pink cheeked and big blue eyes blown out. You see it then.
The boy he was.
Your first kiss, your first love.
Your kisses move down his neck, hearing his hitches of breath, a hand gripping your little black sweater as his head falls to the side for you. At this moment he’s not cocky Satoru Gojo – all star, no he’s soft and sweet, cock tenting his jeans when you rub him over it.
“Keep doin’ that and I’ll die, sweetheart,” he mumbles, you can’t help but giggle, the sound making him leak more. “I’m serious.”
“You mean you’ll cum?” You tease now, pulling back and turning so you’re on your knees in the passenger.
Satoru’s heart pounds in his chest, he’s experienced of course but thinking of you sucking him is like some insane dream that he can’t believe exists. He tries to keep it together, brushing your hair back when it falls to the side like a curtain hiding your pretty face, your movements firmer over his thickness.
“Yeah, I’ll cum,” he manages to breathe out.
“Good.” Satoru’s lips part when you undo his belt buckle, his own chest rising and falling with his quick breaths.
“Thought you said only once?” He taunts, when you eagerly unzip him, pressing your thighs together with need. You scoff, rolling your eyes and then swallowing nervously when you see his cock.
“I never said that. You just thought it.”
You had it inside of you, but you didn’t really see it, pink tip leaking so much pre, it’s fat and thick, so big you know it’ll choke you. You spit down on it, earning his surprised gasp, swirling the stream of spit around his cockhead then ever so slowly, feeling his hand entangle in your silky locks.
“Mmm!” His little moan makes you ache.
“Haven’t had a good blow job I bet,” you taunt him like he did. Satoru snorts then, but once your lips wrap his tip, he’s whining out. You giggle as you pull back, and he grips your hair harder, tugging you up. “You just whimpered.”
“Fuck off,” he grumbles, cock already pushing more milky drops out of that little hole. “Thought you hated me?”
You don’t, not really.
“Don’t you hate me?” You ask, he lowers his gaze.
No.
“You’re just a mean ass brat, that’s all,” he says softly, touching your bottom lip and feeling the plush of it. His hands are rough from years of football, slipping across your skin. “The emo girl, so edgy.”
“Edgy?” It’s too intimate, making you swallow nervously. “Do you want me to suck you, Satoru?”
His answer is a little nod, before he says something fucking dumb, and you lavish his tip with your tongue, swirling it around and sucking hard enough to make him cry out before he can control it, arching his hips up for more of your mouth. You push your mouth down deeper, taking as much of his thick cock as you can, gagging yourself a little and making that drool spill.
“Oh f-fuckkk,” he’s moaning now, feeling you sucking him up and down deeper into your throat as the rain pummels the windshield out side. You feel tears pricking your eyes when he hits the back of your throat – he’s thick and long and you can’t fit him all at this angle, but you make sure to fucking try. “Just like that.”
Your spit coats him and makes him glossy as your hand moves in time with every messy stroke, filthy suctioned pops and the gagging in your throat mixing with that thrumming rain in the background and Satoru’s breathy cries. Those fingers tighten in your hair, forcing you down even harder as you work him, hearing every hitched breath escaping his lips.
“That’s it, g-god you’re s’good,” he’s babbling, every time he hits your throat your core clenches, cunt dripping, soaking through your panties. He senses it or something, reaching around to rub his fingers over them, cursing softly. “Ya this wet suckin’ me off, soaked…”
You want to tell him to fuck off – that’s sort of your love language – but you are that needy, that desperate, every glide of his cock in your throat making you choke on him. You breathe through your nose, letting him fuck up into it, stroking your clit with his impossibly long arm reached around your arched ass.
Your throat flutters around his cock, he’s so sensitive then, feeling your little throat stretch, forcing your head down even deeper. Your long nails dig into the denim, pressing against his thighs, ass working up and down, dying for more when he just teases your slit instead.
“Mnh…” You’re moaning, your eyes watering with the stretch, with the need building for the boy you loved.
Love.
You still love him, you know it even as you act so casually, when it’s intimate, all of it – Satoru’s ragged groans, the drumming rain, your slick sounds as you choke on his length. His salty pre pulsing against your tongue as you drag him closer, your own drool slipping down your hand, feeling him thicken in your mouth.
Satoru arches against the leather seat, his trembling fingers of his left hand guide your head, while his right ones continue to toy with the mess your panties have become, snug on your plump pussy.
“Taking all of me?” He huffs out, your answer is a whimper. “Oh sweetheart, y-you…” His voice breaks when you glance up through smudged eyelashes, your dark mascara trailing down your cheeks from where you’ve gagged on him. “You’re so goddamn pretty like this.”
“Mmm…” You pull back a bit, spit collected in strings as you look up at him – his face is flushed, pupils blown dark, lips parted, he’s utterly wrecked. “I want your cum in my mouth.”
You’re a demon, Satoru is sure of it.
You’re sucking that throbbing cock again harder, taking him even deeper than you thought you could, when he yanks you up suddenly by your hair. You gasp – thrown on his lap so quickly you’re dizzy, he drags you down for a kiss, lapping his own cock off your lips. “No, I wanna cum inside that pretty cunt.”
Satoru lifts your hips up so you’re on your knees and grips his sticky cock at the base, his pretty tip already spurting white when it bumps your clit, you’re clinging to him, thighs shaking.
“Satoru, what are you doing…”
That cock gliding against puffy folds sends hot waves of pleasure through your mind, making you whimper against his mouth as rain drums harder on the roof. The windows are completely fogged now, the car humid, leather sticking to your thighs as you sink down on him, that gear shift pressing on your thigh when he sinks inside, stretching you out.
“Too tight,” he murmurs, pulling back and spitting on his tip, smearing it before slipping it back to your hole, pushing in a couple more inches. “Take me, go ahead, lemme see you.”
Your nails press into his shoulders over that jacket as you move just a bit, angling so you’re gliding easier and easier on him, ragged little gasp escaping as he shoves you down even harder, filling you to the fucking brim suddenly, both of you gasping out, your head falling back for his mouth to press kisses up it.
"Fuck – so deep I – ah!" You're so full, stretched around him in the cramped space, your back hitting the steering wheel as he grips your hips and guides you down further. "S'too much, I can't–"
"You can," he breathes out, forehead pressed to yours, blue eyes hazy and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache. "Take all of me, sweetheart. Please..."
That undoes you.
‘Please.’
You're riding him now, gliding up and down on his lengthy cock, steering wheel against your ass, his hands lifting you and slamming you down. They're everywhere he can reach, almost fumbling in his eagerness to claim every part of you. Grippin' him too tight, you're not stretched enough to take him so she's strangling his cock.
His hands slip from your ass up to your tits, one gripping and squishing it while the other moves to your throat – like he can't decide where to touch, like he needs all of you underneath his fingers then and there. Rain streaks down the windows in fat drops, the world outside completely disappearing.
It's just his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars, just his eyes, just his lips, just that tip grinding on your cervix, white soft hair over his cock grinding your neglected clit. You reach down to toy with it when he grips your wrist, leaning back and putting his thumb there instead.
"Need your cute little clit played with?" He huffs those words out, you nod eagerly, no pretense left, whining and grinding. "There you go, look at you riding me."
"Gonna cum," you gasp out, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, little circles working faster. "Satoru, I'm–"
"Look at me," he demands, hand cupping your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. "Wanna see you fall apart on my cock."
You do just as he asks then, like you're obeying his soft, sweet little demand – clenching around him as pleasure crashes through you, and he follows with a broken moan of your name, spilling inside you as he pulls you impossibly closer. His cum spills down him with that gravity, but he keeps lifting you and lowering you gently, his lips never leaving yours.
You fall into the kisses, into the aftermath that’s so heavy, the very atmosphere so thick with tension that both of you can't breathe, the heat still blaring, bringing a slick of sweat to your skin. His palms reach underneath your top, slipping up your spine soothingly, his eyes fucked out and dilated.
What does he say?
What do you say?
You're both breathing hard, bodies still connected so intimately the lightening pattering of rain the only sound now aside from that, you hear your own racing heart just thudding in your ears. The rough pad of his thumb traces your cheekbone, wiping away a little streak of smudged mascara, and there's something in his expression that makes your heart ache.
"That was…" He starts to say something, but it wouldn’t even come close to describing what just happens. He just… trails off slowly, swallowing
‘Just sex’, ‘just fun’, you keep thinking, waiting for him to say it. ‘Such a fun hookup’. Just–
"Y-yeah," you whisper, climbing off him before he can finish, before you hear words that'll shatter you, your guard is already down, you’re already too terrified of what may be the truth.
You thought you could have control, but you pounced him, you sucked him and begged for him to cum inside you again. You’re struggling to control your racing mind then as the leather squeaks underneath your movements. You adjust your clothes with shaking hands, fumbling with your zipper, slipping over to the other side, just lost in your own fucking brain.
Does he feel anything? Or is this just another conquest, another girl in his car. Some fun with a girl of his past?
"Wait–" His hand catches your wrist, but you're already reaching for the door handle, gathering your books in your arms.
"It's fine, Satoru. The rain... it's all lightened up now."
"Just wait a minute, fuck," he exhales, tugging you close against him, you still feel cum dripping from your cunt, so intimate - something about it, about how he just looked at you, even now, cupping your face, drowning in you. "What are you doing tonight, hmm? Drawing me as a cat in some emo ass outfit, staring out your window all sad?"
You can't help but laugh a little, the tension easing just the smallest bit. You’re shaking your head. "No, I’m not drawing you tonight."
"Ah," he adjusts himself, sighing, looking as the rain eases, a light drizzle now. "I have a party tonight, maybe we can redo that beer pong match?"
"You want your ass beat again?" He smirks, it's easy again, so much fucking left unsaid between you both however, tension filling his little car.
"If you think you can beat me, by all means sweetheart," he tilts your chin up, sighing now. "We didn't talk about..."
"I'm on the pill," you murmur softly, clearing your throat and seeing his eyes dart to your skirt, his thumb slipping up your inner thigh, touching the creamy drips slipping down. "And I'm clean, I've never not used protection."
"I haven't either," a faint blush decorates his cheeks.
"Really?"
"Yeah, we seem to... get caught up," he manages to say, as if he doesn't just wanna cum inside you for all kinds of reasons. Possessive, insane fucking reasons. "So I am too."
"That's good to know, like if you ever…” You trail off, blushing now. “You know, hook up regularly with someone else... Will you tell me?" You ask, brushing your hair back.
"Yeah, of course," as if there's anyone but you in his fucking mind now. "Would you tell me?"
"Not much chance of that happening, I don't like people," he chuckles, then the laugh grows, throwing his head back, earning your scowl. "What is so funny, hmm?"
"You hate me but you sure have no problem cumming all over my cock," his hand entangles in the nape of your neck, tugging and making you gasp out in pleasure. "Or do you actually like me?"
"Psh, you wish," you love his ass, even now you fucking know it, but you can't let him know. That little girl deep inside you still hurts. "Do you even like me?"
"Maybe I do," he smiles too fucking cute. You roll your eyes at him. "You think I don't like you? Should I show you how much, pretty girl?"
"Pretty girl, you're so cringe Toru... I mean... Satoru," you called him that name you did as a kid, it makes his heart hammer in his chest.
"Can't call ya pretty?”
"I mean you can," he chuckles again. "What!?"
"Your blush, it's all over your neck, even your chest," he says all husky, tugging at your top and exhaling, studying the blush your skin has taken. "Blush everywhere, you like me calling you pretty."
You do.
But fuck saying that.
"I'm just overheated," he smirks, lidded gaze penetrating through you, the soft sloshing of mist still making noise on the road around you both. "That's all."
"Mmm, sure sweets," you gather your things carefully, trying to avoid that knowing, cocky ass gaze of Satoru Gojo's. "Will you come?"
"You're actually inviting me huh?" He nods. "All right, what time?"
"Ten ish, come whenever, I'll be ready for the rematch."
*****
Seeing Satoru at that party tonight was a rude awakening.
The girls and guys around him as always, they’d just nailed a game – yeah, you watched it again, damn near incognito in your hoodie, the way he ran across that damn field was more than impressive, it was insane. He so clearly had fun too, seeing him after with all his friends and the entirety of the college almost cheering.
Tonight was absolutely a celebration of the team, and a celebration of Satoru himself. Bright, laughing, beautiful Gojo, catching sight of you from across that room, lips parted ever so slightly, before smiling at you. You’re nervous suddenly, you’ve worn this little red plaid skirt and another pair of fishnets.
You’re praying he’ll rip those too.
It’s toxic of you, you’d just had him inside of you in the car earlier, but all you can think is how much more you need – let him fill you constantly, let him touch you anywhere he wants. Yet you realize when you look around the crowded frathouse, with the music blaring and everyone hyped up from the game?
You’ll never, ever fit in, never be that cute girl by his side who is murmuring something in his ear. You’re not peppy, you’re not ‘full of school spirit’ , you're just a girl hopelessly in love with a boy you don’t know anymore. You really do want to learn more of him, you can’t help but think of how badly you do.
Can you let go of the past with no explanation?
Are you overthinking it?
You’re so lost in thought you don’t notice a guy asking you to dance with him, he’s all sweaty and his cheeks are flushed, you straight up say – no – and then say that to the next guy that comes up too, as Satoru tries to make a way over to you. You’re so uncomfortable then, you can hardly take it.
He’s so far away, in too many ways, every motion closer he’s stopped by someone gushing over him. Satoru Gojo, the most popular boy in school, whose eyes keep locking on you. Instead of coming over to him however, you just go grab a drink hastily, downing it and feeling tears burn your eyes.
Why?
Why were you this affected? And you chose it, asking him to come inside you not once but twice, kissing him and initiating it, begging to suck him. He brings out things that are too hard to admit, too hard to let rise to the surface, making you remember the girl you were back then, when you came really far to be the woman you are now.
“Sweetheart,” his murmur touches you, his hand on your waist, you blush nervously, looking around. “You came.”
“Um, yeah, Satoru, they'll think…”
“Think what?” His words make you tremble, tilting your chin up a bit when he gets called over again. He sighs, rolling his eyes and looking back.
“Speech, speech!”
“They’re annoying,” he grumbles. You shake your head, trembling lips curving in a weird attempt at a smile.
“Go ahead all star, give ‘em the speech.”
You watch a bit of it before you can’t anymore, maybe he’s looking at you still? You’re not sure. Every time you peek up his smile lights the entire room, people are cheering loudly, chanting his name. He owns them entirely, owns this moment.
You turn and someone bumps into you harshly, beer spills onto your skirt. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s fine,” you mutter, grabbing paper towels and dabbing at the wet stain.
“Let me help?” He asks, you feel like crying from something this dumb!?
What’s wrong with you?
“No, it’s fine really,” you clean yourself up, heading through the crowded room of bodies slowly, making your way, looking over your shoulder and losing sight of him.
You shouldn’t have come.
The party's too loud, too crowded, and you find yourself slipping out to the back porch, then further – to the patch of grass behind the frat house where the noise fades to a dull thrum. You're tugging at the ripped hem of your skirt, a little nervous habit you’ve grown to have, looking up at the sky, trying to find constellations through the light pollution.
You remember that night so vividly.
"Running away from my party?"
You don't even turn around, somehow you hoped he'd follow you out, feeling his warmth permeate from behind you. You lean back just a bit against him, eyes fluttering shut at how good it feels, strong hands pressing into your arms gently, slipping down and leaving goosebumps in their wake.
"Your party's giving me a headache," you mutter, not looking at him as he drops his hands, before sitting down beside you on the grass, you sit next to him, hugging yourself around your knees. "Too many people pretending to like each other."
"Grungy as ever," he teases, but there's something affectionate in his voice. He lies back on the soft bed of grass, hands behind his head, looking up. "Remember when we used to do this?"
Of course you do.
“Yeah, I remember,” you admit, resting your chin on your knees, so many feelings coming to the surface.
It’s a quiet, comfortable silence as the breeze gently blows your hair around your face, coolness brushing against your bare skin, doing nothing to calm how overheated you are, how many words are threatening to spill. Things you have been trying to hold back, to try to compartmentalize in your head.
You’re thinking too much about a physical connection, seeing how Satoru was and how you were? You’re too different, how would you fit into his world? And would he even ever want you to?
"You pointed out Cassiopeia,” he breaks the silence, you gasp, looking down at him, catching the glint of his pretty eyes in the night. “You said you wanted to study astronomy, map the stars, and get as far away from here as possible."
Your chest tightens. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything about you," he whispers, you tremble now, feeling emotions hot and heavy in your throat. “Every moment.”
“How? With your life now do you… remember me?”
“How could I not?” He tugs you down to lay next to him on that soft grass tickling your skin, you turn to your side and look at him. "So what happened? Why aren't you at some observatory right now, doing what you love? Or do you just… enjoy drawing them instead? That’s okay too, you know."
You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Life happened, I didn’t get the best grades for a scholarship. Money happened. But also yes, I did end up falling in love with art.”
Satoru brushes his fingers across your cheek, sighing. “You’re amazing at it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” his gaze dips to your lips. “Do you ever draw the stars anymore?”
“No, I guess I don’t," you finally look up at him, fingers gripping around his wrist now, thumb brushing the veins that press up. "It was more you that I loved to…”
Shit.
His lips part as you trail off, shaking your head.
It was never the stars you loved, it was the boy who looked at them.
“What about you?” You ask instead, not ready to say it all. “You were supposed to go to MIT. Your family had it all planned out I think, from young even."
His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing a bit. "Yeah, well. Fuck his plans."
You blink a bit, sensing his pain. "Oh, Satoru… I…"
“You don’t know, I never told you,” he turns back to look up at the stars, eyes fluttering shut. “All I was supposed to do was study business, finance, and take over the ‘family company’. All that bullshit. And that included…”
You lean closer, a hand on his chest, your eyelashes lowering just a bit as you study the boy you love. “Included what?”
You’re so beautiful then, with the glimmery stars as your background, perhaps the prettiest thing Satoru has ever seen, the combination of the two things he’s loved for so long. Your hair falls to the side like a curtain, he brushes the silky tresses back and sighs.
“They wouldn’t let me date you if I wanted to back then, not anyone… not from money. Because they’re fucking shit.”
“Oh,” you blink back tears. “And I…”
“I never wanted to hurt you with them,” he takes his own breath, leaning up on an elbow, bringing his lips so close. “I should have just told you, but then I was so scared, even when I finally got free of them… Well, you hated me.”
“Satoru, I never hated you, not really,” you’re swallowing down your tears now. “I just was hurt.”
“For good reason,” he muses, sighing now. “To answer your question, I’m not at Ivy league because they wanted me there. I want to study what I want, I’m playing ball because I like it, not because they ever wanted that. And I don’t regret it, despite how fucking mad they are."
“How can they be mad? You’re top at everything?”
He laughs without humor. “They’d only be happy if I married a rich girl, gave them heirs immediately, became a stuck up upper crust fuck. No amount of good grades made them proud, or accomplishments. I’m a Gojo, and that’s all I am supposed to be.”
You cup his face now, shaking your head, the warmth of his palm seeps into your bare skin at your waist, hair tickling his collar bone. “You’re much more than that, you’re… you’re Satoru, okay? Former nerd, conceited little shit, annoying ass Satoru.”
He chuckles then, shaking his head at you, sighing. “Yeah?” You just nod, swallowing down your emotions.
“You should have just told me.”
“I know,” he tilts your chin up a bit, tracing the curve of your jaw. “You know one good thing about being here? Being where you are, getting to kiss you again."
Your breath catches. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
You back off, blinking hot tears that slip down your cheeks. "Don't say shit like that when you've got cheerleaders waiting inside for you. When you're this,” you gesture at him, "And I'm still just..."
"Still just the girl who kissed me under the stars?” You shake your head, he’s pulling too many emotions and you don’t know how long you can hold them back. “The pretty artist, the mean little brat that has me fucked up over her?”
“Satoru…”
“The girl who wanted me for me,” his own emotions catch in his throat, swiping a tear that’s just a little black from your mascara. His voice drops an octave, spreading through you like honey. “You’re just the only person who ever made me want to be myself instead of what everyone else wanted?"
You're both quiet then as his words fall from his lips, the distant bass of the party thrumming and fading, the wind gently blowing his soft white hair around him. “I made you want that?”
“You accepted me for who I was, a nerd yeah,” you giggle through your tears, and Satoru laughs with you. “I never regretted anything more than just running away after that kiss. I was so scared of it, of everything I felt with you.”
“I was scared too,” you admit, swiping tears now. “I was mad at you for a long time.”
“Ya still mad?” He asks softly, tugging you onto his lap now, you brace yourself over him, your silhouette shaded by starlight. “I don’t want any of those girls.”
“But they’re-”
“Not you,” he cuts you off now, hands pressing into your hips as he sits up, kissing your brow. “They’re not you. They want the all star, popular, rich Satoru Gojo – they don’t want that skinny little nerd I was.”
He kisses your nose, a sweet little peck, your arms wrap his neck, feeling his cock pressing against your heat and exhaling, eyes locking. “I liked you as the skinny nerd, with your cute little braces. With your big glasses and how you didn’t know how to kiss for shit.”
Satoru glares now, you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You sucked back then too, you were just so pretty I didn’t say so.”
“You’re such an ass!” You playfully push him down onto the ground, only for him to flip your positions, hovering over you – and for just a moment, he's that nervous boy again, and you're that girl who loves him.
The space closes as he leans down, studying your face carefully. “You got much better at it, but I can’t help but be so fucking mad it wasn’t me who taught you.”
“Yeah, I feel the same,” you arch your hips, earning snowy lashes fluttering shut, his breath ghosting against your skin. “All those girls got you first.”
“Guess what?” He lifts a thigh, pressing his cock against your heat – you gasp out at it, biting down at your lip.
“W-what, manwhore fratboy,” he smirks.
“Slutty goth girl.”
“Conceited dick,” you’re arching for more, he pins your wrist to the soft earth below, weight pressing over you. “Say it, then.”
“I am still in love with that girl on the rooftop,” you take a shaky breath, breasts rising and falling then. “I never fell out of love with her. I was just fucking dumb and ran away, and I’m hoping she’ll forgive me, and that she’ll date a conceited jock idiot.”
“He’s still a nerd deep down,” you answer, lips trembling now. “You’re gonna make me mushy, you dick.”
“Good, I want to see mushy, I wanna see what’s under your mean little exterior,” he whispers, pressing again. “Like when you’re a mess underneath me.”
“Satoru…” You drag him down for a kiss, mouths clashing, tongues dancing along each other, the sound of his soft moan and the grass underneath you mixing with your little whimper. “Mmm, Satoru, I fucking love you too. Okay!?”
The words hang in the air between you both.
Satoru just stares at you for a moment, his blue eyes wide and vulnerable in a way you've never seen before. His lips part like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out, closing again, before his Adam's apple bobs up and down, taking a breath.
"You…" His voice cracks. "You still love me?"
“Of course I do dummy,” you whisper, but your own voice is shaking, vision swimming with all of those emotions coming to the surface. His forehead presses to yours, his hands trembling where they cup your face.
"I thought I'd fucked it up so bad that you'd never… that we'd never…"
“No, Satoru, you were just a kid,” you sigh now, tears slipping down your cheek. “I was scared that this was just fun with the weirdo from your past.”
“No, sweetheart,” he shakes his head, swiping more of your tears. “It was never just that.” He laughs then, shaking his head at you.
“What’s so funny?” You shove at him, glaring as he continues to laugh.
“What an fucking angry love confession that was!?”
“Don’t you complain,” you shove playfully, sniffling tears that are a mix of love, emotions, desire. “I’m also a jealous bitch, so if I see those girls on you after we’re official? I’ll throw down.”
“God you’re making me even harder,” his grin is devious, but then he’s tugging your panties to the side, fingers finding you. “Guess what, sweetheart?”
“What - ngh!” Satoru’s fingers stretch open before they scissor you, watching the mess you are underneath him, your hair spread all over like a fucking dream.
“You won’t be allowed to leave slutty like this,” you gasp, shoving at him and glaring, but he’s grinning psychotically. “Not without me fucking all my cum into you first, that is.”
“Psycho,” you mumble it affectionately, he grins wider, curling those fingers and hearing the messy sounds of your cunt. “That makes me wetter.”
“You’re toxic too,” you arch for more, drowning in him, the soft moonlight glowing behind his form. “You’ll drip me at campus, you’ll stop hiding from me when you go to all my football games,” your eyes widened. “Yeah, I see you, think you’re slick?”
“I just… fuck off and kiss me.”
You drag him down, and his mouth moves over yours, fingers scissoring in and out, causing so much pressure you’re about too cum. “So easy f’me, you’ll let me fuck you before you go to any class, won’t you?”
“Mmm, says you, ready to beat a bunch of cheerleaders for me?” You drag him down again.
“Shh,” Satoru’s yanking those fingers out, slipping your own slick across your lips and then kissing you with it. You hastily slip open his jeans, gasping out when his tip presses. “In me, please.”
“You’re sweet when it comes to my cock,” he taunts, lifting your thigh even higher, blue eyes dilated almost black. “Tell me you love me again.”
“You mushy ass,” you grumble, shaking your head only to get his tip pressing up your slit against your clit. “Mnh!”
“You’ll fuck me right outside where anyone can see?”
“You talk too much,” you’re rolling your hips, dying for him to slip inside you again, but Satoru pulls back even more, kissing up the side of your neck. “Mnh, please… I said please, okay?”
“Wanna hear it,” he whispers, brushing your hair off your face, cock throbbing and leaking on your puffy folds, lips hovering. “Say it.”
“You’re so conceited,” he grins, making you sigh, leaning up on your elbows and brushing his hair back, feeling its silky texture through your fingers. “I love you. I have always loved you, even when I hated you. Okay?”
He kisses you deep, messy, sliding in and filling you full in one stroke, yanking a pretty tit out and moaning, tongue lapping around it and bringing you higher. “I love your tits god.”
“Just them!?”
“Your pussy too.”
“Satoru!” He chuckles, looking down at your cute little glare.
“Your drawings of me, the way you look at me like you wanna kill me and fuck me,” he pulls back and slams in again, fucking you right behind that party, where you’re both all alone under the stars. He exhales and touches your tummy, moaning. “Love how I fill you up here. Gonna pump so much cum inside you.”
“Mnh,” you’re flipped on top of him in a quick motion, so Satoru can look at your silhouette again, groaning as you ride him up and down, rolling your hips.
“Love those too,” he grips them, exhaling. “Mean little goth.”
“I love you, nerd wanna be fratboy,” he glares and you glare right back, until Satoru presses up inside you, hugging you around the waist, capturing your lips in his.
“Fuck I love you,” he whispers, letting you slam down on him and groaning against your collarbone, teeth nipping the skin, murmuring your name as he fills you up completely.
A jock and a grungy art girl riding his cock on the outside – but deep down you’re just two nerdy kids that loved to look at the stars, and loved each other.
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oh, oh, you and sukuna's tape got leaked. The media didn't even know that you two dated, nevertheless broke up. how will you survive this attack on your image, not to mention how will whoever leaked the tape survive sukuna after they hurt you?
pairing: f1driver!sukuna x popstar!reader
content: angst, implied smut, leaked sex tape trope, language, tension, trauma reactions, reader has a stage name.
“FAMOUS POP PRINCESS GETS LEAKED!
LATE LAST NIGHT, A VIDEO SURGED ON X WITH RYOMEN SUKUNA, THE MENACING DRIVER FOR RED BULL, AND NEW COMING POPSTAR Y/N (STAGE NAME VENUS) ENGAGING IN INTIMATE AFFAIRS.
THERE HAS BEEN A LOT OF SPECULATION ON WHO THE NEW PRINCESS OF POP IS DATING. MANY ASSUMED THAT SHE WAS IN A DEEPLY ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP WITH PRODUCER SUGURU GETO. THEY HAVE BEEN SEEN HUGGING AND GOING ON DATES TOGETHER, BUT THE DUO NEVER CONFIRMED ANYTHING.
LAST THEY WERE SEEN, THEY WERE IN THE BARCELONA GRAND PRIX, SITTING FRONT SEAT. WHO WON THAT RACE? RYOMEN SUKUNA. IT CLEARLY ISN’T A COINCIDENCE. SOME PEOPLE ARE EVEN SPECULATING THAT HER SONG TEST DRIVE IS ABOUT THEIR FIRST ENCOUNTER.
THE TIMELINE OF THIS LOVE AFFAIR IS MESSY DUE TO THE FACT THAT THE INFORMATION IS SPARCE. WHO KNOWS WHAT GOES ON IN THOSE CIRCLES OF FAME. MAYBE THEY’RE ALL TOGETHER AND THE LEAKED TAPE IS JUST A LOOK INTO THE DEPRAVITY.
THE TAPE HAS BEEN SHARED OVER TEN THOUSAND TIMES, AND BOTH REDBULL AND SPECIAL GRADE RECORDS HAVE YET TO PURSUE LEGAL ACTION ON BEHALF OF THEIR ASSETS.
ANYWAYS, ALL THE ON GOING DETAILS WILL BE GIVEN TO YOU BY US, THE DAILY CROW.”
You just stared at the blinding white screen, reading the words over and over again. This could not be happening.
“NO:( I totally shipped her and her producer. They were so hot together.”
“Bet her producer was the one filming them. She probably wanted her Kim K moment.”
“I feel so bad for them that they got their business out but GAH DAMN WAS SUKUNA FINE AS HELL IN THAT VID.”
You didn’t even feel the tears falling down your tears until one fell on your screen. You let out a sob, trembling before you sat up from under the covers, throwing your phone to the other side of the room, cracking it.
How did it even get leaked? You were so sure that it would never see the light of day, you deleted it from your phone before you threw it away. Did…did Ryomen leak it? No, he wouldn’t even be that salty about the break up since he’s the one that broke up with you.
You sighed, wiping your cheeks as you begrudgingly got up, walking over to your phone to pick it up.
“Fucking gossip sites.” You mumbled, not being able to resist the temptation of going on twitter.
You sat down in front of your vanity, bracing yourself when you saw the first post on your feed being…that.
You remembered that night. You two went to his penthouse to celebrate his win and he asked if he could film you.
You agreed, a bit uncomfortable before he explained that since you were going on tour and he had to go back to Japan to train he wanted to have a reminder of you.
Ryomen promised you that nobody but him and you would see him, but now it’s on everybody’s feed no matter how many people you tried to report.
“You’re fucking kidding me.” The sharp cackle of Toji’s laugh reverberated around the training room.
Sukuna ignored him, continuing his reps in front of the mirror, his muscles rippling from the force while his manager sat in the white coach.
The music blaring through the speakers prevented the pink haired man from listening to whatever Toji was doing, but curiosity got the best of him.
He quickly finished his set, leaving the weights on the floor while walking over to the raven-haired man, grabbing a Red Bull from his minifridge and a towel to wipe his sweat.
Sukuna plopped down on the couch, manspreading and leaving the towel on his face.
“What?”
“Some pop star's sex tape got leaked.” Toji answered. “With her producer boyfriend or something.”
The pang of concern that shot through Sukuna’s chest felt as if his heart completely stopped.
He blinked, immediately sitting up. “Put it on the tv.” He said gruffly.
“Put the fucking tape.” Sukuna snarled, glaring at Toji in a way that clearly showed that someone was going to be strangled.
Toji grumbled under his breath, going on his twitter to find the tape. “Here.” He handed over the phone.
Sukuna grabbed the phone, pressing play.
It was a large room, the background only large window panes that showed city lights. On the bed was a girl, naked and giggling shyly.
“Turn the light on, baby. I can’t see anything.” She mumbled softly.
Sukuna froze, staring at the screen. He recognized that voice, those words. That fucking silhouette. This was yours.
The few seconds later where he appeared on screen only confirmed his thoughts. He blinked, setting the phone down.
He wanted to strangle someone. He was probably going to the moment he finds out who did this to you.
He didn't care that he was in it. But he promised you that nobody would ever see it. And he was going to keep that promise.
“How quickly can you get us a flight to the U.S?” He asked.
Toji sighed, grabbing his phone. “Already texting Shiu to get the jet ready. And I’ll go contact the lawyer.”
Sukuna gave a curt nod, getting back up and leaving the gym.
Once he was out, he pulled out his phone, unlocking it. Your picture was still his screen saver, even after two months broken up.
He fucked up, and now he realized that the universe really went out of its way to right his wrongs. Maybe this happened for you two to meet again.
He grimaced at the thought, remembering your heart broken expression when he broke everything off in Monaco. Remembering the tears he’s only ever shed. For you.
With a frustrated sigh, he opened his contacts, clicking on ‘Pop princess.’
“Hey, sorry to call you but…I guess you heard the news. Can we meet up?”
a/n: taglist is open. I'll tag the first thirty people who ask. please interact if y'all loved this and want more!!
— my boyfriend, his stupid plants, and that bitch with the bangs
feat. nanami kento
summary. you don’t get jealous — people get jealous of you. so why are you crying in a cinema bathroom over nanami kento explaining photosynthesis to another girl? after an emotional meltdown worthy of an award, nanami steps up to prove you’re his priority—setting boundaries, choosing you loudly, and holding you through every tear and tantrum. slowly, painfully, beautifully, you relearn what it means to be loved without having to perform for it.
triggers/warnings. non-sorcerer au x college au, jealousy, emotional breakdown, crying in a public bathroom, mild emotional manipulation (unhinged brat behavior), swearing, threats of violence (mostly botanical-themed), possessiveness, and unhealthy coping mechanisms that eventually lead to healthy communication and comfort.
the day was offensively bright, the kind of sunlight that made glass buildings glitter like they were mocking anyone who couldn’t afford to exist beautifully, and you—obviously—were the exception; if the universe had taste, it would put a spotlight on you the moment you stepped out, and today felt like one of those days where the pavement should’ve rolled out a red carpet simply because your shoes touched it.
the campus was buzzing in that nauseatingly enthusiastic way students got after midterms, everyone acting like sun exposure and iced coffee was enough to cure the generational trauma of academia, and god, just breathing the same air as these people felt like charity work.
still, you strutted down the pathway leading to the campus café—miu miu cropped knit in a red so sinful it should’ve come with a warning label, the tiny matching buttons straining against the shape of your chest in a way you knew made nanami rub his forehead like he suddenly had a migraine from “dealing with you,” which translated directly to “you look too good and it stresses him out.” your black alaïa pleated mini skirt swayed with each unapologetically privileged step, wolford sheer tights hugging your legs like a second skin, white miu miu socks folded just right above your glossy chanel mary janes, each click of your heel on the pavement sounding like a verdict—everyone else was underdressed.
you held your iced latte—oat milk, two pumps of vanilla, and emotional superiority—raised delicately between manicured fingers as if the cup itself was beneath you, but unfortunately necessary for survival. the tiny vintage chanel handbag slung over your shoulder bounced against your rib as you walked, and you didn’t even bother pretending you were rushing because punctuality was for people with nothing better to do. truthfully? you didn’t even go to class today. like hell you were going to drag your soul out of your egyptian-cotton-bed cocoon before noon just to listen to some underpaid academic talk about things google could teach you in five minutes. but nanami didn’t need to know that. your boyfriend would give you that glare—the one that could make a country surrender—and you really weren’t in the mood to be lectured by the only man who could make discipline sound like intimacy.
you approached the café, a place plagued by the aesthetic curse of trying too hard to look indie and failing spectacularly. the outdoor seating was crowded with students who thought reading murakami made them profound, but your eyes zeroed in on the table by the glass wall—the round one far too small for six people, which was exactly why those idiots chose it. gojo’s white hair was like a flag of chaos even from a distance, geto lounged like the cult leader he could easily become, shoko looked chronically done with everyone including herself, and haibara radiated optimism like a deranged labrador. but none of them mattered the second you saw nanami’s back.
the black short-sleeved knit polo you picked for him stretched over his shoulders like the fabric was praying for mercy, the sleeves hugging his biceps tight enough that your teeth tingled with the urge to leave evidence. his arm rested on the table, forearm flexed casually, veins visible—disgustingly attractive. he sat so straight, so composed, like he personally invented posture and everyone else should pay him royalties. even from behind, you could sense that irritating calm aura of his—your own personal grounded planet you orbited, even if you’d rather die than admit it out loud.
you didn’t slow down. you didn’t greet them like a normal person. no, normalcy was too cheap for you.
your free hand slid onto nanami’s shoulder the moment you reached them, fingers pressing into the warm, firm muscle like you were checking if heaven was solid. you leaned forward just enough to cast your shadow across their conversation, smiling like a disney villain in silk gloves.
“afternoon, children,” you said, voice honeyed and teasing, because you knew how to command a room without even trying.
gojo looked up first, his grin instantaneous. “look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” he said. shoko muttered something you didn't bother to hear, but you were already sliding into place, which meant you didn’t have to answer.
nanami turned, eyes already giving away that quiet mix of exasperation and affection he reserved solely for you. you leaned down, pressed a kiss against his cheek like you were marking territory, murmuring, “hi, baby.”
he hummed low in his throat, one arm looping around your waist in automatic surrender. the other hand—warm, steady—rested on your thigh, thumb brushing over the sheer fabric of your tights like he was reminding you to behave, though you both knew that was a lost cause.
“you’re late,” he said quietly.
“i’m fashionable,” you corrected, twisting slightly so you could face the table, still perched neatly on his lap. “there’s a difference.”
gojo snorted into his drink. “yeah, about three hours’ worth.”
“you can count? proud of you, sugarcube.”
haibara laughed, bless his innocent heart, and geto just smiled behind his cup like he’d seen this play a hundred times before. nanami’s fingers tightened on your thigh, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you that the show had an audience.
you tilted your head, looking down at him. “you missed me?”
he didn’t look up, but the smallest smirk tugged at his mouth. “you were gone for four hours.”
“and that’s four hours too long,” you said, leaning in until your lips brushed his jaw. “don’t be shy, you can say it.”
his eyes flicked to you—sharp, restrained, golden under the café light. “behave,” he murmured, just for you.
you smiled sweetly. “no.”
shoko groaned. “if you two start making out, i’m leaving.”
“then leave,” gojo offered. “less witnesses.”
“you’re all disgusting,” shoko said flatly, sipping her drink anyway.
you grinned, cheek lean on nanami’s head. “we’re adorable.”
“you’re unbearable,” nanami corrected.
but his hand didn’t move from your thigh.
you basked in the warmth of him, the way his presence steadied you even as you tried to poke holes in it. he was too serious, too controlled, and you were everything he shouldn’t have fallen for—spoiled, dramatic, perpetually five minutes away from chaos. it wasn’t that you wanted to make him jealous or tired or undone. it’s just that you loved watching the cracks form in that composure. loved being the one person who could unmake him.
the conversation at the table moved around you—movie plans, class gossip, haibara’s endless optimism—but your focus stayed where it always did. the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, the quiet flex of muscle under his sleeve, the pulse that beat steady against your thigh.
gojo squinted at you over the rim of his iced matcha like a nosy suburban aunt pretending to be subtle, which, obviously, he wasn’t. his sunglasses were perched unnecessarily on his head despite being indoors, because he had a disease called “attention-seeking,” and he leaned forward with that shit-eating grin that made you want to shove his face into the table.
“question,” he announced, finger pointed at you like a courtroom accusation, “why didn’t i see you anywhere on campus today? don’t tell me you skipped again.”
you didn’t react at first. you simply blinked, slow, turning your gaze towards him as if he had personally offended your bloodline. then, with the grace of a woman who knew silence was powerful, you dragged your eyes from gojo to nanami—very slowly—because if anyone was going to kill the mood, it was the tax-paying adult you were dating.
nanami’s profile was stoic, but his head turned just a fraction, not enough to be dramatic, just enough to say: i heard that. answer correctly if you value your life. his hand remained on your thigh, thumb frozen mid-stroke, waiting. he didn’t speak—nanami didn’t need to. his expectation sat in the air like a guillotine.
you shook your head quickly, too quickly, a little too eager to throw the lie forward before anyone could breathe. “no,” you said, voice falsely innocent, like a kid denying stealing cookies while covered in crumbs. “i did not skip class, actually. thanks for the concern, satoru, really. very touching.”
your friends reacted like you’d just given the worst performance in the history of lying. haibara tried to hide his laugh behind his hand, geto smirked into his drink, and shoko—who didn’t believe in sugarcoating unless it was on donuts—snorted so loud the table next to you turned.
“you definitely skipped,” shoko said flatly, deadpan as if stating the weather. “i was looking for you in lecture earlier and you were nowhere. not even in the bathroom pretending to cry so someone would comfort you.”
you gasped at the accusation and placed a hand on your chest, clutching invisible pearls because real pearls would’ve required more wardrobe planning this morning. “excuse me? i did fucking not skip.”
geto didn’t even look up. he just lifted a brow lazily. “yeah? then where were you?”
your mouth opened… and absolutely nothing came out. your brain went to file excuses and found the cabinet completely empty except for a metaphorical moth. you inhaled sharply, turned away from all the eyes staring at you, and reached for nanami’s drink like it was diplomatic immunity. you took a sip—an unnecessarily long sip—as if green tea could save your soul from the social execution happening around you.
nanami let you drink it, which should’ve been a red flag in itself. he only let you touch his drink when he was either (1) too tired to argue or (2) preparing to lecture you.
you placed the glass back, very gently, very slowly, the way one disarms a bomb, and then turned to face nanami with your sweetest, most weaponized smile—the one that got you out of legal consequences once.
“baby, listen—”
he didn’t raise his voice. nanami didn’t need theatrics. his disappointment alone could level civilizations.
“you skipped class.”
“i— no, i didn’t skip, i just… didn’t attend,” you argued, hands moving in useless little gestures as if rearranging air could make your excuse sound less idiotic. “there’s a difference.”
nanami blinked once. slowly. the way a man does when mentally calculating if prison is worth it. “and what,” he said, tone calm to the point of terrifying, “is the difference, sweetheart?”
gojo leaned in like a hyena. “yeah, educate us, princess.”
you shot satoru a look that could curdle milk. “the difference,” you said, straightening your back on nanami’s lap, as if delivering a thesis, “is that skipping sounds intentional and irresponsible. i simply chose peace and preserved my mental health by not exposing myself to academic distress. self-care. you should try it.”
shoko wheezed. geto covered his smile with his hand like a scandalized victorian woman in church. haibara actually clapped quietly, the traitor.
nanami stared. “you overslept.”
“i—” you lifted a finger, offended, “no. i rested.”
“until one in the afternoon,” nanami clarified, because of course he checked.
you clicked your tongue, rolling your eyes and looking away because you refused to be wrong in front of an audience. “god, you say that like it’s a crime.”
“it is when you’re paying for courses you don’t attend,” nanami replied, adjusting your position on his lap like he was grounding you into sanity. “do you intend to graduate, or do you plan to survive on generational wealth alone?”
gojo grinned. “i vote for generational wealth. it suits her.”
“shut up, satoru!” you snapped, smacking his arm across the table.
nanami caught your wrist mid-swing—gentle, firm, thumb pressing into your pulse like a warning. he leaned in, voice low enough that it curled down your spine like expensive silk. “behave.”
and your friends, the demons you called family, burst into laughter like they’d been waiting for that exact moment.
your face heated—not embarrassed, because you didn’t do embarrassment—just… strategically annoyed. “are you all done enjoying my suffering, or should i perform a tap dance too?”
geto raised his cup. “please do, bonus points if you fall.” you scowled, sinking further into nanami’s chest, arms crossed like a brat, mumbling, “you’re all mentally ill.” shoko took a drag from her vape and exhaled smoke right over your hair. “and yet, we go to class.”
six of you slipped back into conversation, the kind that required zero brain cells—mostly gojo lying, geto enabling it, haibara believing it, and shoko regretting her existence—but it was comfortable chaos, and nanami’s arm around your waist grounded you, thumb tracing slow circles on your thigh in that absent-minded you’re mine, don’t start way he did.
and then she appeared.
a girl materialized beside the table with the unwanted presence of an unsolicited ad popup. weird bangs—like she cut them during a psychotic episode or let a blindfolded toddler do it—long black hair, cardigan buttoned wrong like a cry for help. she beams at gojo first, all teeth, dimples, and misguided optimism.
“gojo-kun! hey!”
of course she knew him. everyone with bad decision-making skills did.
gojo lit up like a dumb golden retriever who just saw its leash. “ohhh, utahime! guys, this is utahime! she’s in my and nanamin’s major.”
you zoned out at the name because it sounded like a villain from a discount fairytale. irrelevant. what wasn’t irrelevant was gojo pulling out a chair for her—the chair right across from nanami.
oh. so this is the type of day we’re having.
“utahime, this is geto, shoko, haibara, and—” gojo gestured vaguely at you and nanami, “—nanami and his girlfriend.”
you lifted your hand with the grace of royalty blessing peasants. “hello.”
she glanced at you for half a millisecond, uttered a bland “hi,” then turned fully to nanami like you were an aesthetic prop that came with the table.
“nanami, right? i think i’ve seen you around in the literature department.”
you stared at her like she’d grown a second head. you were literally sitting on his lap and she still managed to mentally crop you out of the frame like a bad ex. the audacity smelled like drugstore perfume.
nanami nodded politely, because unfortunately he was raised with manners. “yes, we share a few lectures.”
she smiled at him. smiled. like she had teeth specifically for him. “i thought so. you always look very focused. it’s impressive.” your eyelid twitched. impressed? what was he, a circus act?
nanami, oblivious to your growing homicidal aura, replied with that calm, respectful tone that made professors love him. “i just prefer not to fall behind.”
gojo elbowed geto under the table, whispering loudly, “she’s so into him.”
geto hummed. “dead on arrival. she has no idea who she’s messing with.” shoko exhaled smoke into the shape of a middle finger. “she’s brave. or stupid. likely both.”
utahime didn’t hear—tragedy. she settled in, and somehow, like a cursed domino effect, the conversation shifted. you were mid-complaint to shoko about how leggings weren’t pants when you noticed nanami and utahime were… talking.
like, actually talking.
animated.
engaged.
she asked about some assignment or some book, and nanami—your nanami, the man who rationed his words like they were wartime supplies—responded with actual sentences.
you narrowed your eyes. suspicious.
you tuned back in when you heard utahime say, “you’re part of the campus horticulture and sustainable agriculture society, right?”
you blinked. the campus what?
nanami nodded. “yes. the horticulture and sustainable agriculture society—HSAS. we’re focusing on soil health improvement this semester. most students ignore the foundational care required for—”
“soil health,” you repeated blankly under your breath, like the words themselves gave you indigestion.
shoko chuckled. “oh look, your boyfriend’s having his plant ted talk.”
utahime leaned in, elbows on the table, chin in hands, like nanami was reciting poetry in italian. “that’s fascinating. i’ve been wanting to grow herbs in my apartment but everything i touch dies. what soil do you recommend for beginner plants?”
nanami actually warmed up. warmed up. his voice gained depth, like she just unlocked npc dialogue level two. “well, herbs require well-draining soil. most beginners overwater because they assume more water means faster growth, but it increases the risk of root rot—”
you stared. root rot? this man barely used more than five words with anyone and suddenly he was the david attenborough of basil plants?
gojo leaned toward you with a grin that deserved jail time. “look at nanamin go. bro’s flirting plant-style.”
you hissed, “one more sound and i will shove your matcha straw so far up your nose you’ll taste grass.”
haibara laughed nervously. “guys, be nice…”
geto sipped his drink, amused. “this is fantastic. i’ve never seen nanami talk so much to anyone who wasn’t her.” he tilted his head at you. “how does it feel to be replaced by fertilizer talk?”
you glared at him, jaw tightening. “i’m not bothered.”
you were absolutely bothered.
it was like watching your golden retriever boyfriend suddenly become conversational with a passing pigeon. who the fuck was she to get this much dialogue from him?
nanami continued, utterly unaware of the storm brewing on his lap. “if you’re new to plants, start with mint or rosemary. they’re resilient and don’t require much intervention.”
“wow,” utahime said softly, eyes big enough to irritate you on a spiritual level, “you know so much.”
you could feel your soul leave your body, hover above the table, and consider flipping it.
shoko leaned over and whispered, “you gonna let her herb-flirt with your man like that?”
“i’m unbothered,” you repeated, nails digging into nanami’s thigh hard enough to pierce through his soul. nanami’s hand tightened on your waist—not painfully, just enough to say behave without interrupting his fucking spinach seminar.
geto smirked. “you look seconds away from committing eco-friendly homicide.”
you whispered through a closed-teeth smile, maintaining your princess composure, “i swear to god if that girl asks him one more plant question, i’m ripping the rosemary out of her hypothetical garden and making her eat it.”
gojo cackled. “i will literally pay to see that.”
and nanami, sweet plant-talking, politely smiling nanami—was still answering her question about sunlight exposure like he wasn’t currently sitting under a girlfriend-shaped nuclear bomb.
you inhaled, slow, deliberate, eyes narrowing as utahime leaned closer to him again.
your grip on nanami’s thigh tightened, nails sinking in.
he paused mid-sentence, finally turning his head just enough to look at you, brow slightly raised—only a millimeter, but on nanami that equaled what are you plotting.
you smiled, all teeth.
if he didn’t stop this herbal bonding session soon, you were about to water that girl with holy water and bury her in “well-draining soil.”
as everyone left the café to walk toward the cinema, the situation deteriorated with the same speed as your patience. what was supposed to be your afternoon—your boyfriend, your friends, your post-class movie date—had now been hijacked by the bangs-gone-wrong herbal witch who somehow glued herself to nanami’s side like an unwanted sticker on a luxury bag.
you should’ve known gojo was capable of this level of treason. he was skipping ahead like a golden retriever who found a ball, proudly leading utahime into your circle as if he’d discovered fire. the bitch was now walking in front, beside nanami—beside your nanami—talking about plants. still. they were still talking about the horticulture club (you mentally renamed it the horti-culture-of-ruining-your-day-club), her voice full of curiosity and fake academic interest, while nanami nodded and responded like he was a responsible mentor in a children’s education program.
normally, nanami would hold your hand, walk beside you, adjust your pace like you were the center of his orbit. now? you were behind him. behind. like a side character. a background extra. a cautionary tale.
gojo slung an arm over your shoulder, grinning like he was waiting for popcorn to watch you combust. shoko walked on your other side, hands in her pocket, already scrolling her phone. behind you, geto and haibara chatted about something that wasn’t nearly as important as your personal crisis.
you crossed your arms over your chest, eyes drilling holes into the back of utahime’s skull. maybe if i stare hard enough, a giant plant pot will fall on her head from a cosmic balcony and she’ll go back to photosynthesis permanently. you were not wishing for her death—you were merely manifesting a gardening accident poetic enough to send her away.
gojo glanced down at you, smirk widening. “you look like you’re planning a homicide using fertilizer.”
“don’t tempt me,” you muttered, voice low, venom-dipped. “i’m one intrusive thought away from repotting her six feet under.”
shoko snorted without looking up. “you’re dramatic.”
you whipped your head toward her, offended. “i am realistic.”
gojo gasped in exaggerated betrayal. “so you’re jealous.”
you turned slowly, face blank, tone flat but dangerous. “jealous? of who? of that… bangs-with-a-personality-disorder? please. the only thing i envy is the delusion she has that she belongs here.”
geto actually choked on air behind you.
gojo wiggled his eyebrows. “she’s just talking to nanami. they’re bonding.”
“over fucking soil, satoru. soil.” you hissed, voice cracking like your sanity. “tell me why my boyfriend is suddenly the plant whisperer for an outsider? what is he, some kind of agricultural tinder? people swipe right and he waters their basil?”
shoko sighed. “you’re spiraling.”
“i’m descending,” you corrected, gesturing passionately with one hand while the other murderously clutched your chanel bag. “this is a free-fall.”
nanami glanced back briefly—just a fraction—to check if you were keeping up. normally that look would soften you, but today it made your rage glitter. he didn’t even offer his hand. he just turned back to the demon-spawn herb girl and resumed discussing mint infestations like he was the ceo of oregano.
you leaned in to your friends, voice dangerously polite. “look at them. walking together. talking. breathing the same oxygen. disgusting.”
haibara, sweet innocent soul, tried to reassure you. “i’m sure nanami is just being polite—”
“polite?” you snapped softly. “he is my boyfriend. the bare minimum is him being rude to other women. loyal men don’t discuss rosemary ratios with anyone except their girlfriend. i should be the only herb in his life.”
gojo wheezed. “you did not just call yourself a herb.”
“shut your mouth before i season you with salt and eat you alive.”
utahime laughed at something nanami said. oh, she laughed. she laughed like she understood him. like she had the right. your eye twitched so hard it could’ve powered a light bulb.
“i hope,” you said calmly, like a villain making a vow, “she tries to plant basil and it sprouts a fungus. i hope her rosemary wilts. i hope her soil becomes a cursed wasteland. and i hope nanami’s watering can leaks all over his shoes so he remembers this betrayal every time he walks.”
shoko stared at you. “…girl. therapy is right there.”
you ignored that. “and him.” you gestured toward nanami, voice rising an octave of offended royalty. “he should know better. he shouldn’t look at other women—”
“he’s not,” haibara pointed out gently, “he’s literally staring at the pavement while talking.”
“bare minimum!” you shriek-whispered. “he shouldn’t talk to other women either! silence is free!”
gojo hummed. “so you want nanami to be mute to everyone except you?”
“yes,” you said without hesitation. “and to plants, apparently, since that’s his thing now.”
geto laughed quietly. “you’re insane.”
“i’m in love,” you corrected, nose in the air. “there’s a difference. love makes you gracious and kind.”
shoko stared. “you literally manifested a potted-plant accident five minutes ago.”
you shrugged. “compassion has levels.”
ahead of you, utahime giggled again—at something plant-related—and nanami, sweet oblivious nanami, slightly nodded along like he was a guest speaker at a gardening conference. you inhaled sharply. “i’m about to photosynthesize rage.”
you kept walking, seething so loudly it was a miracle the concrete under your feet didn’t crack from the sheer force of your offended aura. the world should’ve stopped. the sky should’ve darkened. alarms should’ve gone off. your boyfriend was talking to another woman—and about botany, of all the unsexy, grandma-coded subjects—and everyone around you was acting like this wasn’t a catastrophic betrayal of romance, loyalty, and personal branding.
you sped up half a step so you could hear them better—because how dare he have a conversation you weren’t the main character of—and the words “nitrogen fixation” drifted back to you like a personal insult.
you gagged dramatically. “jesus christ, he’s talking about soil nutrients. does he want to get cheated on? because that’s how men get cheated on.”
gojo raised both brows, arm still lazily over your shoulder. “wow. plants are now infidelity?”
you turned to him, eyes wide with religious conviction. “plants are a gateway drug to emotional affairs, satoru. first it’s rosemary, then it’s sharing gardening tools, and next thing you know she’s repotting her heart into his hands.”
shoko made a noise that was half-laugh, half-choke. “you’re sick.”
you ignored her diagnosis.
up ahead, utahime tucked her limp tragic hair behind her ear, leaning a little too close to nanami as she asked something about photosynthesis like it wasn’t common knowledge taught to six-year-olds with crayons and carrot sticks. nanami answered with that calm, informative tone he used when guiding lost children or explaining tax forms to you so you wouldn’t cry.
he didn’t look at her—no eye contact, bare minimum, congratulations—but he responded. willingly. completely. as if she deserved personalized nanami tutoring services.
you stared at the back of his head like you were trying to set his hair on fire telepathically.
“i can’t believe this is happening,” you muttered, crossing your arms tighter, suffocating in betrayal and your own expensive perfume. “this was supposed to be our movie time. our date. our quality time with the background characters we call friends. and now?? now we’re the supporting cast in gojo’s charity show-and-tell featuring some stray cat with bangs.”
gojo snorted. “be nice, she’s new.”
“and she can stay new,” you shot back. “new and far away. new and outside the group. new as in return to sender.”
geto chimed in from behind, amused. “you realize she can’t hear you, right?”
you whipped around so fast your hair nearly slapped him. “trust me, if she could, she would compost herself on the spot.”
haibara, ever the sunshine idiot, tried to calm you. “maybe she just wants to make friends?”
“oh, please. look at her.” you gestured violently at utahime’s back, nearly elbowing gojo in the ribs. “she’s walking like she’s auditioning to become the new moral compass of this group. we don’t need a moral compass. we barely need a compass. we are lost and we like it.”
shoko raised a brow. “you? moral compass? please. you’d sell this group for a birkin bag.”
you blinked. “shoko. don’t be ridiculous.” you paused. “it would have to be a limited edition birkin. crocodile leather. gold hardware. preferably one-of-one.”
“see?” shoko mumbled.
you ignored the truth because it was inconvenient.
you focused on your boyfriend again—your gorgeous, infuriating, plant-talking boyfriend who should’ve been holding your hand, kissing your temple, ignoring every female organism in a 50-meter radius—and instead he was giving unsolicited gardening advice like some attractive greenhouse consultant.
you hissed under your breath, “he shouldn’t be talking to her. he shouldn’t be talking to anyone. he should be carrying me like a princess and stepping on rose petals while doing it.”
gojo actually laughed. “you want nanami to be your servant?”
“i want nanami to act like a man in love,” you snapped. “not a walking national geographic episode.”
geto added, “you could just walk next to him, you know.”
you gasped as if he suggested you lick hospital floor tiles. “i will not chase him. i am not a golden retriever. i am the ball. people chase me.”
shoko pinched the bridge of her nose. “you are not the ball.”
“i am the ball, the player, the coach, and the entire damn tournament. everyone attends because of me.”
you said this right as utahime laughed again at whatever nanami said and your blood pressure skyrocketed so hard you nearly astral projected.
“i hope,” you said with the serenity of a cursed prophet, “that she wakes up tomorrow and every plant she owns is dead. i hope the leaves turn black. i hope her basil commits suicide. i hope her fertilizer expires. i hope her watering can cracks. and i hope nanami—”
gojo perked up. “ooo, what do you hope happens to nanamin?”
you inhaled deeply. “i hope nanami’s plants grow mold. i hope his little gardening gloves shrink. i hope his stupid herb club—”
“horticulture society,” haibara corrected softly.
“—i hope his STUPID herb club,” you emphasized, “loses funding and they have to sell carrots on the street like failed vegetables.”
shoko stared at you, dead-eyed. “seek help.”
you ignored that. again.
“he should only discuss plants with me,” you muttered, wounded, betrayed, dramatically heartbroken. “i don’t even like plants. but he should only talk to me about them.”
and with that, you stared ahead, at the back of your boyfriend walking beside another woman, and you thought, in the most poetic, dostoevsky-meets-deranged-princess way possible:
if this is what love is, no wonder russian literature is full of suffering.
when you all reach the theatre entrance, the neon lights flickering like a cheap attempt at glamour, gojo’s arm is still slung over your shoulder, the weight of it both grounding and irritating because it wasn’t the arm you wanted. nanami was still walking beside utahime, still talking, still breathing the same air as her, and your eye twitched so violently you were convinced you developed a new facial tic.
gojo followed your burning stare, eyes darting from nanami to you, and with a dramatic sigh—like he was babysitting a rabid raccoon in couture—he tugged you toward the ticket counters. “come on, princess,” he muttered, steering you away, “let’s just forget about him. ignore him too.”
he didn’t even wait for your response, just dragged you away, and you let yourself be pulled only because your body had entered that numb, offended, heart-bruised autopilot that happened once every blue moon—specifically when nanami kento, the one man in the universe who never, ever, not even for one second, failed to give you attention—shifted it to someone who wasn’t you.
you looked over your shoulder at them, your steps slowing, just to witness nanami tilt his head slightly toward utahime as she spoke, his hands in his pockets, posture polite but relaxed—not intimate, not flirtatious, just… engaged. it wasn’t even what he was saying. it was the absence of what he usually did with you—glancing at you, checking if you were next to him, adjusting your bag strap, brushing your hair behind your ear, telling you to watch your step, holding your waist in crowded places.
those things didn’t exist right now.
you faced forward again, jaw locking. you tried not to care, truly, you tried to swallow it with the dignity of a queen who refused to crumble in public, but the petulant, deeply spoiled part of you—the part nanami privately adored and publicly tamed—was clawing at your ribs like how dare he.
nanami had never denied you. not attention, not affection, not his time. you were the center of his carefully organized galaxy and he orbited you with steady devotion. and now? one afternoon of neglect and you felt like the moon had been kicked out of the solar system.
and the worst part? beneath the rage, beneath the jealousy, beneath the desire to poison a plant so it symbolically represented your emotional suffering—there was something softer, uglier, something you hated admitting even to yourself: it hurt.
after gojo paid for the tickets—because you sure as hell weren’t taking out your card for anything under a thousand dollars—he pulled you toward the concession stand where shoko, haibara, and geto were gathering with popcorn and drinks.
the moment they saw you approach—quiet, stiff, lips pressed together—they exchanged glances like doctors diagnosing a terminally ill patient who still thought she had the flu. geto’s eyes flicked over your shoulder, confirming the sight of nanami still with utahime before his gaze returned to your face.
he leaned closer, voice low, non-judgmental but smug enough to rankle. “are you actually upset about them?”
you didn’t trust your voice, so you hummed—short, flat, unimpressed—lifting one shoulder like an attempt at nonchalance, but the tension in your jaw exposed you like a confession written in blood.
geto hummed back, almost sympathetic, handing you a drink like it was medication. “then talk to nanami. if you feel ignored, tell him.”
of course, gojo—diplomatic as a drunk pigeon—ruined the moment.
“oh please,” he scoffed, snatching a handful of popcorn with his free hand, “she feels ignored when a houseplant gets more sunlight than her. miss spotlight here needs constant admiration or she wilts.”
you elbowed him in the stomach, sharp and precise, making him grunt. “shut the fuck up, satoru, before i rearrange your ribs into modern art.”
shoko snorted into her drink, haibara coughed to hide a laugh, and geto smiled behind his cup like he was enjoying a theatre show that didn’t require tickets.
you inhaled sharply through your nose, lifted your chin, and let the dam break.
“he should give me attention,” you snapped, keeping your voice low enough not to cause a public scene but sharp enough to cut god, “he is my boyfriend. my boyfriend. i shouldn’t have to beg for it like some charity case. i shouldn’t have to tap him on the shoulder like a fucking waiter asking for the bill. attention is part of his job description. loving me includes looking at me.”
your words were venom-wrapped silk, but your fingers—clenching your straw, the slight tremble at the tips—betrayed the vulnerable thread under the rage.
geto exhaled through his nose, head tilting, his voice kinder this time, “it makes sense you feel that way. you’re used to him being… very present with you. he set that standard, so it’s normal you expect it.”
you blinked at him, thrown off for a second by the emotional validation that hit you like someone offering you a blanket mid-tantrum.
but geto wasn’t done.
“just… maybe give him a minute? she’s new, he’s trying to be polite—”
you scoffed instantly, an unhinged, offended laugh escaping. “polite? no. no. absolutely not. nanami does not get to be ‘polite.’ he is not a community library. he is not available for public use. if he wants to be polite he can hold the door, say thank you, and move the fuck on. conversation is intimacy and intimacy is mine.”
gojo burst out laughing, a hand slapping his knee. “oh my god. you sound like a medieval king guarding his royal concubine.”
you raised your cup and pointed the straw at gojo’s throat with threatening precision. “say one more word and i will introduce your face to the popcorn machine and butter you like a croissant.”
gojo, shaking with laughter, held his hands up in surrender. “fine, fine—jealousy looks adorable on you. like a chihuahua guarding a yacht.”
“i’m a rottweiler,” you growled.
“you’re a poodle with diamond fur,” he corrected.
you glared at him, then turned to geto, voice dropping, unfiltered, raw, but still dipped in drama.
“if my boyfriend wants to suddenly audition for earth’s next top botanist with bangs mcgee, he can enjoy watering plants alone in his dorm for the rest of his natural life. because i swear, if i have to tell my boyfriend to notice me? to look at me? to choose me? i would rather swallow fertilizer.”
shoko blinked slowly. “please don’t.”
you shrugged. “depends on how long they keep talking.”
and geto, annoyingly calm, annoyingly wise, annoyingly right, just corrected quietly, “you don’t have to ask him to choose you. he already does. every day. you just haven’t told him you feel ignored.”
you hated that logic.
you hated that he was right.
you hated most of all that it made your anger taste like sadness. and you crossed your arms, chin raised, choosing violence over vulnerability—for now.
the popcorn machine hummed behind you, the smell of butter thick in the air, sticking to your skin and your mood alike, and you stood there rigid, spine straight, arms crossed so tight across your chest your bracelets dug into your skin, like your body was trying to hold your ego together before it shattered on the sticky cinema floor. geto’s words lingered like a bitter aftertaste—annoyingly sensible, nauseatingly calm, the verbal equivalent of someone placing a warm blanket on you while you’re trying to commit arson.
you stared at him, lips curling, because if there was one thing you hated more than utahime’s haircut, it was being psychoanalyzed correctly.
“oh look at you,” you muttered, shifting your weight onto one leg, jutting your hip out, your manicured nails tapping sharply against your bicep, “dr. phil reincarnated with a man bun. how poetic. how wise. how about you diagnose my foot up someone’s ass too while you’re at it?”
geto didn’t flinch—he never did, which made him infinitely more punchable in moments like this. he held your gaze, eyes soft, voice level, his cup cradled loosely between his palms like he was warming his hands on the heat of your fury. “you’re allowed to feel ignored. anyone would be upset if their partner suddenly shifted attention. it’s valid.”
you scoffed, dramatic and sharp, head tossing back as if you’d been insulted by god personally. “oh great, thank you, priest suguru, for telling me my feelings are valid. how groundbreaking. next you’ll tell me water is wet and gojo is stupid.”
gojo, who was now sipping his drink like he was watching a romcom unfold, lifted a lazy hand. “both true.”
you ignored him and leaned closer to geto, your voice lowering into that venom-laced whisper reserved for emotional emergency or homicide, whichever came first. “validation doesn’t fix shit. i don’t want to feel better about being ignored. i want him to stop fucking ignoring me.”
you felt your throat tighten—not enough to show, never enough to show—but enough to force you to look away, down at your own fingers gripping your cup like it might explode if you loosened your hold. you repositioned your stance, shifting the weight of your body just slightly so you leaned against the counter, but even that wasn’t relaxed; it was defensive, closed off, chin tilted up in futile superiority.
geto exhaled through his nose, elbows resting on the counter, leaning a little closer so you couldn’t run from the truth he was about to drop like a boulder onto your fragile, dramatic ego. “you’re hurting because you expect the version of nanami who’s always glued to you. but he’s allowed to exist as his own person too. you want devotion, not a hostage.”
your brows flew up, disbelief etched across your face as you pointed your straw at him like a weapon. “first of all, how dare you speak logic to me when i’m actively spiraling. second, nanami being obsessed with me is not hostage behavior, it’s romance. third, don’t stand there with your jesus hair and tell me to be understanding. i’m rich. i don’t do understanding. i do receiving.”
gojo wheezed.
shoko pinched the bridge of her nose, already exhausted.
haibara looked like he was watching a car crash in slow motion.
geto, still impossibly calm, still infuriatingly kind, lifted a hand in surrender. “fine. you don’t have to understand. but talk to him. he doesn’t know you feel this way yet.”
you gave him a slow, sarcastic blink. “wow. brilliant. stunning. inspiring. what a fabulous idea. i should talk to my boyfriend. how revolutionary. no one in the history of existence has ever thought of communication before. should we hold a press conference? maybe write a thesis?”
geto raised a brow. “so you won’t talk to him.”
you inhaled sharply through your teeth. “of course i will not talk to him. talking requires vulnerability. vulnerability requires humility. i have neither.”
gojo cackled. “at least she’s self-aware.”
you snapped your head toward him, eyes blazing. “self-awareness is not the virtue you think it is. it’s the burden of the elite.”
geto sighed but the corner of his mouth twitched, because even when you were insufferable, you were entertaining. “he cares about you. deeply. you know that.”
you bit down a bitter laugh. your throat felt tight, your stomach twisting, nails scraping lightly against your arm through your sweater sleeve. “yeah? well he should show it. i shouldn’t have to perform emotional gymnastics to earn the attention he used to give freely. if i wanted to beg for scraps, i’d date a man who makes minimum wage.”
shoko actually choked on her drink this time, coughing. “jesus christ.”
geto stared at you. “you do realize nanami is allowed to have conversations with other women, right?”
your head snapped toward him so fast your hair whipped over your shoulder like a weapon. “and you do realize i don’t give a singular microscopic fuck about what men are ‘allowed’ to do, right? he is my boyfriend. my emotional support adult. my legally binding emotional investment. if he wants to discuss rosemary with another woman, that woman better be me in a wig.”
haibara blinked slowly. “why would you need a wig?”
you waved him off. “for dramatics, haibara, please keep up.”
and there it was—the truth sitting on your tongue, bitter and humiliating, but ready to spill because no amount of sarcasm could bury it forever.
you exhaled shakily, your voice dropping half an octave, quieter but no less sharp. “i just… i shouldn’t have to ask to be seen.”
and the silence that followed was loud—accompanied only by the violent popping of kernels in the machine behind you, like applause for the tragedy of your own making.
the waiting area outside the theatre was cramped and buzzing, the kind of space where the floor was sticky with decades of spilled soda and regret, circular tables placed close enough that strangers’ conversations bled into each other. all six of you crowded around one of those round tables, chairs stolen from nearby like barbarians claiming land. the digital screen above the hallway flickered with “screen 4 – seats cleaning, please wait”, and everyone settled into that pre-movie limbo — except you, who sat with your back painfully straight, pretending nanami wasn’t sitting right beside you with his hand on your thigh like he owned real estate there.
you tried to ignore him. ignore the warmth of his palm through the sheer wolford tights, ignore the weight of his fingers curving around the top of your thigh like you were his favorite page-turning novel, ignore the small absent-minded circles his thumb drew — gentle, steady, familiar — the exact type of touch that usually melted you, soothed you, tethered you to him.
but right now? it felt like salt on a wound.
because while his hand was on you, his attention wasn’t. nanami was still talking to utahime. still. like the universe hated you personally.
you stared at the table, chin tilted slightly away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your eyes, while on your left, geto raised his brows at you, a silent talk to him written across his face. you shook your head once, small, stubborn, your lips tightening, and he sighed, leaning back like he was watching a predictable tragedy unfold.
nanami didn’t seem to notice your emotional apocalypse. his posture was relaxed, other hand resting on the table, his voice low and polite as utahime asked him something about club meetings or plant pots — you didn’t care, you refused to care, but it clawed at you anyway.
you snapped.
you slowly leaned in, one elbow on the table, your body turning toward nanami, your hair falling like a curtain over your shoulder, your voice dipped in honeyed poison. “what were you two talking about?”
nanami turned instantly — and god, you hated that your heart reacted before your brain could block it. his gaze softened the moment it met yours, that small, warm smile appearing — the one that was just for you, the one that made you feel chosen, the one that usually cured every storm inside you.
his knuckles brushed your cheekbone, tender, affectionate, familiar enough to make your inhale stutter. “just some things about the plants,” he dismissed gently, thumb brushing your skin like he was smoothing your irritation away. “utahime is thinking of joining the horticulture club.”
the club again. as if the word itself didn’t sound like an allergy.
you hummed, but your eyes didn’t soften, and your jaw was wired tight. “what things?” you asked, voice light to the untrained ear, but razor-edged if anyone listened with their soul. “tell me.”
it wasn’t a question. it was a command masked as a request. you wanted him to elaborate, to include you, to bring you into the conversation where you belonged — beside him, not outside of him.
nanami exhaled, a small barely-there laugh from his nose, the kind a man makes when he thinks you’re cute for being ridiculous. “you wouldn’t understand, sweetheart,” he murmured, tone meant to soothe, not belittle — yet it sliced through you cleanly anyway. “don’t stress your pretty head about it.”
and then — the fucking bastard — he turned his attention back to utahime as if you hadn’t just spoken. as if your opinion, your presence, didn’t demand the gravitational pull it always had.
you froze.
your frown carved in deeper, lips pressing so tightly together your lipstick nearly cracked. your chest hollowed in that humiliating, nauseating way pride bleeds when pricked. and from the corner of your eye, you caught it — the smallest twitch of utahime’s lips. not a smile. a smirk. subtle, fleeting, but you saw it. the kind of expression one makes when they think they’ve been chosen over someone else.
you bit the inside of your cheek so hard the metallic taste of blood bloomed on your tongue.
nanami kento had just dismissed you. in public. in front of people. for plant girl.
humiliation and fury tangled inside you like barbed wire.
you didn’t speak. you couldn’t — because to speak now would be to either cry (never allowed) or stab (socially frowned upon). your pride was a spoiled, overfed beast, raised in luxury, pampered with attention, never starved a day in its life — and suddenly nanami had fed someone else first. your ego didn’t know how to process deprivation. it was built on the unshakeable fact that you were the exception to rules, not subject to them.
nanami had always been one of those things placed into your palms without effort — not because he was easy, no, he was one of the only things you actually wanted badly enough to hold with care — but because he chose you endlessly, without hesitation, without question, making you believe his devotion was fixed, guaranteed, unshakable.
and now? now he had shifted his attention for a moment too long, and it felt like a throne had been pulled an inch from under you. not enough to fall — just enough to wobble, enough to threaten your crown.
your voice finally emerged, low, venom-soaked, each syllable enunciated like a curse. “you know,” you said, staring at the table because if you looked at him you’d either combust or kiss him and both would be humiliating, “i must be delusional to expect my boyfriend to act like he gives a shit when i’m sitting right next to him.”
nanami blinked, head turning slowly back toward you, brows gently knitting, confusion and concern surfacing in equal measure. “i do give a—”
you cut him off, a cold laugh escaping you, sharp enough to slice the air. “really? because you’re acting like i’m some decorative throw pillow you keep around for aesthetics. should i sit on the floor so you can focus better on your little garden club recruitment?”
geto sucked in a breath. shoko mumbled “oh, fuck.” gojo was already grinning like a hyena at a feast.
nanami’s hand on your thigh tightened, firm, grounding, not rough but authoritative enough to demand your gaze — so you turned, finally meeting his eyes, and god, you hated that the warmth there made your chest ache.
“i wasn’t ignoring you,” he said softly, calmly, trying to stay level-headed like he always did with you. “she asked questions. i answered. it wasn’t meant to make you feel left out.”
you tilted your head, smile slow and poisonous. “well congratulations, you failed. gold star. ten out of ten on the ‘make my girlfriend feel like a side character in her own life’ scale.”
nanami sighed — not annoyed, not angry — but patient, because of course he was patient. “i’m sorry you felt that way. but you know you’re important to me.”
your lips curled again, a mocking echo of sweetness. “important? i’m not asking to be important, nanami. i’m asking to be prioritized. you can’t treat me like the main course one day and a mint garnish the next. pick a menu.”
and even as you stabbed him with your words, your chest throbbed with something awful, something you didn’t allow to surface: you were scared. scared of being replaceable. scared of indifference. scared because nanami was the one person you didn’t know how to exist without winning.
he held your gaze, thumb rubbing soothing circles again — this time not absent-minded, but intentional. “i should’ve paid more attention to you,” he admitted quietly.
you wanted that to fix it.
it didn’t.
not yet.
and that line — “i should’ve paid more attention to you” — should’ve knocked the fury out of your bones, wrapped you in silk, lulled you into that soft spoiled-brat slumber where you win simply because nanami surrendered first. it should’ve been enough to stop the spiral dead in its tracks.
because nanami didn’t deny you, didn’t gaslight you, didn’t tell you you were “doing too much.” he validated you. he handed you the crown back with his own hands, kissed your ego gently and placed it on the throne again — no resistance, no argument, no double meaning. pure, steady sincerity.
but you?
you were a dramatic piece of shit.
your entire existence was built on ego the way temples were built on sacred ground — your pride wasn’t a personality trait, it was the spine you walked with. one microscopic moment of humiliation felt like being stripped naked in public. you weren’t wired to crumble gracefully. you were wired to explode, self-destruct, resurrect, and then deny it ever happened.
you prided yourself on being untouchable, above nonsense, above insecurities. you prided yourself on being that girl — the one who didn’t flinch, didn’t break, didn’t chase. the one who ignored gojo’s existence for an entire freshman year because he annoyed you and you refused to give his ego oxygen. you were a monument of indifference when you wanted to be.
so admitting something got to you? that a girl with tragic bangs shook your composure enough to make you feel?
fucking humiliating.
you were supposed to be the one people cried over — not the one hiding tears.
and the worst part was knowing utahime heard you argue, saw you demand attention, witnessed the crack in your armor. she should’ve been the one feeling threatened by you — not you feeling anything over her.
your chair scraped back sharply, the sound slicing through the table’s chatter. nanami’s hand instantly reached for your wrist, instinct kicking in, but you jerked your hand away like his touch burned. the shock that flickered across his face — brief, quiet, wounded — nearly broke something inside your ribcage, but you bit down on it, rose to your feet with your chin high, spine rigid, and walked away.
you didn’t look back.
you refused to give them the image of your eyes shining.
you could hear footsteps behind you — one pair, steady, controlled (nanami), another lighter and lazier (gojo), and a third too bored to hurry (shoko). you prayed it wasn’t nanami, because if he saw your eyes, saw the crack, saw the tear that fought to slip free, your pride would shatter so loudly the universe would hear it.
you pushed the bathroom door open with more force than necessary, the fluorescent lights too bright, mirrors too reflective for fragile emotions. it was empty — stalls open, silence echoing off the tiles — a sanctuary for humiliation to decompose in peace.
you braced your palms on the counter, head tilted up toward the ceiling like you were begging gravity to pull the tears back into your skull instead of down your face. you grabbed tissues, folding them like they were fine linen napkins, pressing them beneath your waterline carefully — because you would rather die than let mascara betray you. ugly crying on top of public humiliation? no. you had standards, even in breakdowns.
your shoulders trembled once — quickly — the way a spoiled princess shakes only in private, only for a second, only before putting the mask back on.
the door creaked open. shoko entered, leaning against the sink beside you, arms crossed, chewing her gum like she was watching a circus she didn’t buy tickets for.
“that was dramatic as hell,” she sighed, like this was episode twelve of a show she couldn’t stop watching. “even for you.”
you snapped your head toward her, eyes glossy but sharp, whisper-hissed so your voice wouldn’t crack, “shut the fuck up, shoko, unless you want to be the next victim in my emotional homicide spree.”
she raised both brows, unimpressed. “i’m just saying — storming off mid-conversation like a telenovela villain after her husband cheats with the maid? iconic, but dramatic.”
you glared, aggressively patting the tissue under your eyes with the precision of someone defusing a bomb. your voice was tight, vibrating with swallowed rage. “i am trying not to cry, okay? if uta-fucking-hime makes me cry just by breathing in the direction of my man, i’ll bury her in the community garden next to the fucking carrots.”
shoko huffed a laugh, shaking her head as she grabbed another tissue and handed it to you. “you’re insane.”
“i’m territorial,” you corrected sharply, dabbing at the corner of your eye, making sure your eyeliner stayed crisp. “and i refuse to let some no-name, middle-class herb girl with a discount shampoo routine see me cry. she will not get that satisfaction. i will set myself on fire first.”
shoko shrugged, leaning next to you in the mirror. “you know nanami didn’t mean to hurt you.”
you threw the tissue away like it offended you. “he dismissed me, shoko. me. in front of her. do you know how humiliating that is for someone with my upbringing? i grew up in a house where the sun rose when i woke up. i am not emotionally equipped to be treated like… like fucking background noise!”
shoko sighed, but there was something gentler in it this time. “you felt replaced for a second. it happens.”
you clenched the edges of the sink, knuckles white, nails digging into porcelain. “i don’t get replaced.”
your voice broke on that line — just slightly, enough that shoko’s gaze softened — and you sniffed, anger and vulnerability tangling in your throat like poison.
“i don’t get replaced,” you repeated, quieter, like you were reminding the universe. “especially not by basil-enthusiast barbie.”
shoko handed you another tissue, her tone flat but honest. “you won’t be. nanami’s obsessed with you. it’s gross.”
you swallowed hard, eyes lifting to your reflection — furious, wounded, beautiful, trembling. you whispered, voice shaking but trying so hard not to break, “then why did it feel like i was… optional?”
the door creaked again, interrupting the moment before your throat could fully tighten around the confession, and a voice—annoyingly recognizable, obnoxiously casual—floated in:
“you’re not optional.”
you closed your eyes like god was testing you personally. shoko didn’t even react—meaning she expected this circus act.
gojo stepped in, sunglasses pushed up on his head like a headband, hair a mess like he styled it with electricity. he took in the scene—your glossy eyes, shoko leaning like a bored therapist, tissues everywhere—and he sighed dramatically.
“jesus, you’re really in here having a main-character mental breakdown in a bathroom,” he muttered, walking closer. “and not even a luxury bathroom. this is tragic. i expected better from you.”
you glared at him, voice already cracking with rage and humiliation. “fuck off, satoru.”
he didn’t. he reached out, plucked the tissue from your hand with surprising gentleness, and guided your chin upward with two fingers so you were forced to look at him. his movements were slow, almost annoyingly tender, as he dabbed beneath your lashes to catch the tears before they could fall.
“nanamin is disgustingly obsessed with you,” he said, tone matter-of-fact, almost bored. “like, clinically. it’s gross. if he could lock you in a little glass display case so no one breathed the same air as you, he would. he’s feral about you.”
you scoffed, voice trembling not from disbelief but from how badly you wanted to believe him. “this is my fucking fault,” you muttered, shoulders curling inward as you snatched the tissue back just to shred it between your fingers. “all my fucking fault.”
gojo hummed. “yeah. kinda.”
shoko’s head whipped toward him. “satoru—”
but you raised a hand sharply to stop her, because weirdly, you needed the honesty, even if it sliced. “no. he’s right. it’s my fault because i let myself get… bothered.” the word felt dirty, like weakness, like rust on a crown. “i shouldn’t be this… affected. i shouldn’t fucking care. i’m me. i don’t do insecure. i don’t do threatened. but here i am—crying in a fucking cinema bathroom like a side character in a netflix teen drama.”
you gestured around wildly, voice rising again, hysteria bubbling because once you started, you couldn’t stop. “and not even a nice bathroom! do you see the tiles? this place looks like it was decorated by a depressed cockroach. if i have to emotionally collapse in public it should at least be inside a hotel restroom with marble counters and a couch.”
gojo nodded seriously. “you deserve chandeliers with your breakdowns.”
“exactly!” you snapped, pointing at him like he was the only person with IQ in the room. “i am too expensive for this kind of emotional scenery.”
shoko leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you unravel like yarn. “you’re spiraling.”
you shot her a glare through the mirror. “i am aware. now shut up and let me spiral with dignity.”
you turned back to gojo, eyes burning. “and it’s your fault too.”
gojo blinked. “my fault? how did i enter the chat?”
you jabbed a finger into his chest with the force of an entitled squirrel on caffeine. “you brought that farm-fresh disney side character into our group. you let her tag along. you encouraged her. and now i’m crying over miss herbal-essence-reject because she dared to breathe within ten inches of my boyfriend.”
gojo’s lips twitched. “okay, fair, i’ll take partial responsibility for releasing the eco-friendly demon into our circle.”
shoko snorted.
you ran both hands through your hair, pacing a small circle, your heels tapping aggressively against the tiles, movements sharp, emotional energy radiating like static. “i am so embarrassed. do you understand? embarrassed. i do not feel. i make other people feel. i do not chase, i get chased. i do not compete, i get worshipped. and suddenly i’m… this.” you gestured to yourself like you were a cursed portrait. “this pathetic puddle of emotional goo because my boyfriend decided to talk about fucking plants with someone who isn’t me.”
gojo placed a hand on his chest, tone solemn. “plants are disrespectful like that.”
you nearly laughed—almost—before the ache returned, tightening your throat.
“i hate that i care,” you whispered, eyes dropping again, thumb rubbing at the tissue in your hand like you could scrub the feeling away. “i hate that she got under my skin. i hate that he let her. i hate that she saw me crack.” you swallowed, voice thinning with raw embarrassment. “she’s not even on my level. i shouldn’t feel anything. she should feel inferior, insecure, irrelevant — not me.”
and there it was again—your truth, ugly and spoiled, but honest.
gojo’s voice softened just slightly, just enough to cut through your tantrum. “you care because he matters. that’s not pathetic. it’s just… love. the messy, vomit-inducing kind.”
you clenched your jaw, lip trembling despite your effort to kill it. “i don’t want love to make me look stupid.”
shoko spoke this time, voice dry but real. “yeah, well… that’s kind of the default package. love fries brain cells.”
you stared at your reflection. eyeliner still sharp. mascara intact. lipstick only slightly smudged. you looked angry and beautiful and fragile and terrifying all at once. you exhaled shakily, like forcing out poisoned air, “if loving someone means i cry in a public bathroom that smells like buttered trauma, then i want a refund.”
gojo stared at you for a moment, the playful glint in his eyes dimming just enough to reveal something almost… human. sympathy, guilt, the faint wrinkle of someone realizing oh shit, i accidentally kicked a puppy while trying to pet it. he let out a breath, long and uncharacteristically genuine, his hand settling briefly on your shoulder—not heavy, not mocking, just there.
“okay,” he said quietly, “i’m sorry. i didn’t think bringing her would… you know, make you feel like this. i didn’t mean to dump emotional compost on your royal garden of delusion.”
you sniffed, wiping the corner of your eye with a new tissue as if dabbing at expensive wine spilled on silk. “as you should be sorry.” your voice was hoarse but sharp. “you’re lucky i’m emotionally unstable right now or i’d be charging you for emotional damages. and trust me, my invoices come with interest.”
a small laugh puffed out of him, but he nodded. “i know. you come first. always. dramatic loyalty oath or whatever.”
you flicked your wrist like a queen accepting tribute. “good. as you should choose me first. imagine picking her.” you scoffed like the idea itself was beneath language. “ew.”
gojo leaned back against the sink next to shoko, crossing his arms, shoulders slumping, expression turning thoughtful in a way that made him look borderline competent. “you know,” he said, head tilting, “if i did actually like her—like like her—I’d be spiraling, too. probably worse than you.”
you gestured at him with the damp tissue. “exactly. you are the blueprint of being a dramatic clingy bitch in this friend group. i learned from the best.”
shoko snorted, arms crossed as she leaned beside him. “he’s dramatic, not psychotic. your issue is… more advanced.”
you didn’t hesitate. you threw the crumpled tissue at her face with perfect aim.
“shut the fuck up, shoko, or I’ll flush your vape down the toilet.”
she caught it mid-air, dropped it in the trash, and exhaled like dealing with you aged her in dog years.
you turned back to gojo, brows furrowing as you wiped under your eye again carefully, preserving the wing of your eyeliner like it was a fragile national treasure. “seriously, though. how are you not losing your shit? miss herbal shampoo is out there flirting with nanami in 4k, and you’re just… breathing. like normal. aren’t you supposed to be performing a one-man telenovela by now? throwing yourself dramatically over the concession counter? faking a fainting spell? something?”
gojo shrugged, pushing his sunglasses further into his hair as he examined his nails like he was filing his feelings away. “i mean, i don’t really care-care. she’s cute, but not ‘cry-in-a-bathroom’ level. the crush wasn’t crushing, you know?”
you gawked at him, scandalized. “so you brought a girl you didn’t even like like into our sacred circle of dysfunction? you contaminated the ecosystem for a lukewarm crush? are you deranged?”
he lifted both hands, palms out. “in my defense, my standards are confusing even to me.”
you threw your hands up. “so you emotionally derailed me for absolutely no fucking reason except your brain short-circuited and thought ‘hey let’s invite the human embodiment of a compostable tea bag to movie night’?”
he opened his mouth. closed it. then nodded. “yeah that sounds about right.”
you gasped, pressing a hand to your chest like a heart-broken victorian widow. “i swear to god, satoru, if i ever commit a felony, you will be the reason.”
shoko muttered under her breath, “you’ll commit a felony no matter what.”
you shot her a look. “not the point.”
you turned to the mirror again, tilting your head to assess your reflection—puffy waterline, makeup still salvageable, lashes intact, lip gloss slightly faded but fixable. good. you could still walk out there and look untouchable. but the humiliation? still boiling.
your voice softened—not weak, but the kind of softness anger uses when it starts eating itself.
“i just… i hate that someone like her got under my skin,” you admitted, picking at your thumbnail, your reflection looking back at you like a stranger you didn’t consent to be. “i hate that i cracked over something so… beneath me. she’s not even competition. i shouldn’t have felt anything.” your throat bobbed, your pride bleeding slowly. “i’m supposed to be the storm. not the one caught in it.”
gojo bumped your shoulder lightly with his. a rare, gentle gesture. “storms still get tired.”
you stared at him through the mirror, eyes narrowing as if evaluating whether to accept the comfort or set him on fire.
“i don’t get tired,” you muttered.
he arched a brow. “you’re literally crying next to a hand dryer.”
you inhaled sharply, scanning your reflection once more, lifting your chin a millimeter higher, as if that alone could glue your dignity back into place.
“fine,” you said, swallowing pride like poison. “maybe i got… temporarily… inconvenienced by emotion.”
shoko snorted. “inconvenienced? you sprinted out of there like nanami announced he was marrying utahime on wednesday.”
you pointed at her again. “keep talking and i will bite your face.”
but your reflection didn’t lie: you were shaken, cracked, and scrambling to rebuild the throne inside your chest before anyone else saw the fracture.
you weren’t done spiraling—but you were done being seen falling apart.
and just as you braced your palms on the sink to steady yourself, the bathroom door opened again.
this time, footsteps were steady. familiar. slow.
nanami.
the sound of those footsteps—measured, unhurried, familiar in their quiet certainty—slithered under the bathroom door crack and hit your spine before the door even opened. nanami’s footsteps always sounded like intention, like calm inevitability, like consequences arriving dressed in beige and self-restraint.
the door pushed open with a soft click. gojo and shoko both straightened, not out of respect but because nanami Kento entering a bathroom while you were mid-breakdown was the emotional equivalent of a nuclear inspector walking into a live warzone.
nanami stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him, his eyes scanning the room until they found you. his posture was composed, hands in his pockets, shoulders squared yet soft, like he was approaching a frightened animal he didn’t want to spook. his gaze moved from your blotchy waterline to the tissue shreds on the counter, and something in his expression shifted—pain, regret, a flicker of guilt tightening the muscles of his jaw.
gojo cleared his throat, stepping slightly in front of you like a bodyguard wearing clown shoes. “hey, we’re having a very important emotional meltdown here—private screening, by invitation only.”
nanami didn’t look away from you. “step aside, gojo.”
gojo opened his mouth to argue—then saw the look in nanami’s eyes and decided he valued his life. he lifted both hands in surrender. “roger that. therapist daddy mode activated, we’ll leave.” shoko followed him out, but not before patting your shoulder like she was petting a traumatized cat.
the door shut again. silence fell, thick and suffocating as expensive velvet.
nanami took one step closer. you instinctively straightened, lifted your chin, wiped the corner of your eye with a sharp swipe like erasing evidence. your arms crossed over your chest, your body angling away from him—not quite running, not quite ready to forgive, suspended in the ugly in-between of pride and pain.
he spoke first, voice low, steady, the kind that softened even when saying hard things. “you walked out. can we talk?”
you scoffed, avoiding his gaze in the mirror, fixing an imaginary smudge on your eyeliner. “wow, you noticed. truly a christmas miracle.”
he exhaled slowly, stepping closer but leaving enough space so you didn’t feel cornered. “i noticed the second you stood up.”
“congratulations,” you muttered, tossing the ruined tissue into the trash with surgical precision. “a little late though, don’t you think? maybe if you had noticed i existed five minutes earlier, we wouldn’t be starring in this bathroom drama.”
he ran a hand through his hair—once, a small tell he was gathering patience. “i wasn’t ignoring you.”
you spun around to face him fully, arms still crossed, heart still bleeding but covered in barbed wire. “you dismissed me, nanami. in front of her. i asked you to include me and you basically told me to go play with crayons because my stupid little brain couldn’t understand your plant science shit.”
nanami’s brows knit, genuinely pained. “that’s not what i meant. i wasn’t belittling you. i thought you were frustrated already and—”
“oh, so now i’m fragile? delicate? mentally allergic to academia?” your laugh was dark, humorless. “please, enlighten me, professor horticulture—explain how telling your girlfriend ‘don’t stress your pretty head’ while turning your back to her isn’t dismissive. i’ll wait.”
he closed the distance by half a step, hands lifting but not touching you yet, as if waiting for permission you would never verbally give. “i was trying to keep the conversation light, not make you feel inferior.”
your throat tightened. you hated how badly you wanted to believe him. how much you wanted him to fix the bruise he caused.
you turned away again, pacing a small line near the sinks, heels clicking like punctuation to your rant.
“do you have any idea how humiliating that was?” your voice cracked before you forced it steady again. “i don’t do… this.” you gestured angrily to the bathroom, your face, your reflection—your vulnerability. “i don’t get affected. i don’t compete. i don’t chase attention. i am the attention.”
nanami’s voice softened. “you are.”
you ignored the way that hit you. “and suddenly i’m crying in a public bathroom that smells like expired mops because some random girl dared to speak to my boyfriend like she—” your breath wavered, “like she was entitled to his time.”
nanami’s shoulders softened, and he stepped closer again, slow, deliberate. “you are not optional. you are not second to anyone.”
you snapped your gaze to him, eyes burning. “then why did i feel like a placeholder? like a side character sitting there while you entertained fan mail from some herb-obsessed homewrecker apprentice?”
nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling, then met your eyes again—direct, unwavering. “i should have put my attention on you. i should have noticed you were upset. i got caught up in answering her questions and didn’t see how it affected you. i’m sorry.”
his apology wasn’t defensive. wasn’t performative. wasn’t sugar-coated.
it made it worse.
because now you had no villain to fight but your own fear.
you scoffed to keep from letting it soften you. “sorry doesn’t un-humiliate me. sorry doesn’t make her forget she saw me beg for attention like some common mortal.”
“you didn’t beg,” he said firmly. “you asked. because it mattered to you.”
you bit back the ache behind your teeth. “well, it shouldn’t have. i shouldn’t care this much. tears over plants? is this what i’ve become? an emotionally unstable salad?”
nanami’s lips twitched—not mocking, but like he wanted to smile at the sheer absurdity of you. “you care because you love me.”
you rolled your eyes so fast you saw heaven. “don’t say it like that. it makes me sound weak.”
“loving someone isn’t weakness.”
you scoffed, pacing again, resorting to sarcasm like armor. “easy for you to say. you weren’t the one crying next to the tampon dispenser.”
nanami took another step, closing the gap, his voice low. “i love you. i am allowed to talk to others, but you are the one I choose. always.”
you swallowed, hating how your pulse reacted to hearing him say it plainly.
you lifted your chin, clinging to the last shard of drama left. “you better. because if i have to keep sharing your attention with some botanical disney princess, i swear i will uproot her entire bloodline, replant them, and watch them wilt.”
nanami nodded, dead serious. “noted. i’ll make it clear to her that we won’t be having more one-on-one conversations.”
you blinked. “…oh.”
your ego perked up like a spoiled cat being offered caviar again.
his hand finally reached for yours—slow, giving you time to pull away if you wanted—but you didn’t. he held your fingers carefully, like they were something precious he almost dropped once and refused to lose again.
“you come first,” he said quietly. “if i made you feel anything else, i’ll fix it.”
and for once, you had no witty comeback ready.
your pride hated how good that felt.
and yet—because you were you—you sniffed, wiped under your eye again, and muttered, “you better, because i refuse to cry in a 2-star bathroom twice in one day. my reputation can survive one mental breakdown per quarter at most.”
but here’s the universal truth mothers should stitch into baby blankets so no girl grows up delusional: men are fucking liars. even the good ones. even the morally-upright, self–righteous, tax-paying, cardigan-wearing, philosopher-souled species of man. the ones who read books without pictures, the ones who sort their recycling, the ones who speak gently to old people and cats.
yes—even nanami kento.
your precious boyfriend, the man who lectured you about honesty like it was a religion and he was the last pope standing—turned out to be a man with a mouth capable of lies. small ones, yes, but lies nonetheless. lies sprinkled in moral salt. lies marinated in good intentions. but lies.
because after all that cinematic bathroom telenovela meltdown, after all the comforting, the forehead kisses, the “i’ll fix it,” the “you come first”…
utahime was still there.
not only there.
everywhere.
the bitch multiplied like mold in humidity.
somehow, she burrowed into nanami’s horticulture club like a tick with a dream. and because the club wasn’t just weekly—it was meetings, garden maintenance, farmer’s market volunteering, seed exchange events, greenhouse cleanup, weekend plant fairs—she was suddenly permanently glued to his schedule like ivy choking a wall.
every time you turned a corner on campus—she was there. carrying a watering can. laughing too loudly. holding seedling trays like they were newborns.
every time you looked out the window during class—you saw her walking with nanami to the greenhouse.
every time you checked instagram—someone posted a story of the club and guess who was standing too close to him?
every time you waited outside his lecture—she walked out with him, talking, giggling (yes, giggling—like you didn’t threaten to bury her under a basil farm).
she joined the same library study group.
she sat two rows behind him in lectures she didn’t even take.
she suddenly found “reasons” to be in the cafeteria when he got lunch.
the girl was haunting your life like a stalker ghost with bangs.
and worse? nanami didn’t shut her down like he promised he would.
so you did what any self-respecting spoiled princess with injured pride and an inflated sense of self-worth would do:
you ignored him.
full commitment. full silent-treatment olympics. gold medal performance.
you didn’t text first.
you didn’t sit next to him in class.
you left his messages on read and sometimes—just to inflict psychological warfare—delivered.
you walked past him in hallways with your chin up like a widow attending the funeral of a husband who died in dishonor.
and the audacity of nanami?
the man noticed and chased.
today, he cornered you outside the library, hand gently curling around your wrist—not forceful, just enough to halt your dramatic strut. his voice soft, tired, laced with concern.
“you’ve been ignoring me.”
you turned slowly, sunglasses on despite being in the shade, chewing gum like violence, your posture dripping with aristocratic disdain. arms crossed, hip popped, chin lifted—your entire body language declared: try me, peasant.
you took a long, theatrical breath. “ignore you? no, darling, i simply redirected my attention. i’m sure utahime is thrilled to receive the overflow.”
nanami’s jaw flexed—a tell. “you know it isn’t like that.”
you barked a dry laugh, head tilting with enough sarcasm to slice a man. “really? because from where i stand, it looks exactly like that. she’s glued to your side like you’re the last functioning brain cell on this campus.”
his brows knit, his hand loosening slightly on your wrist so he wouldn’t hold you if you pulled away. “she keeps approaching me. i’m not entertaining anything inappropriate. i’m just being courteous.”
you ripped your hand out of his hold, stepping back like his touch burned. “courteous? you were supposed to make it clear—your words, not mine—that there would be no one-on-one interactions. ring a bell or do you need me to write it on your forehead with permanent marker?”
nanami sighed through his nose, the way he did when he was trying so hard to remain patient with your unfiltered psychopath era. “i didn’t want to embarrass her in front of the club. she’s new. she hasn’t done anything wrong.”
your head snapped back as if slapped by the stupidity of that sentence. “not done anything wrong? existing near you is wrong enough for me. breathing your air is a felony in my book.”
“you’re being unreasonable,” he murmured gently.
your spine straightened, chin lifting a millimeter higher, eyes narrowing into slits of diamond-cut rage. “don’t you dare call me unreasonable. i am extremely reasonable for a woman who hasn’t committed aggravated assault yet.”
he stepped closer, voice lower. “i understand you’re upset. but i’m doing my best to handle this without causing unnecessary conflict.”
you scoffed, folding your arms tighter across your chest. “newsflash, nanami: conflict is necessary. humiliation isn’t. and you let me look like a clown that day. so now? i’m protecting my dignity.”
his expression softened in that maddeningly stable nanami-way. “you’re not a clown.”
you shrugged, indifferent mask slipping back on. “maybe not. but i felt like one. and you didn’t stop it.”
a beat of silence.
the truth sat between you like a wounded animal.
nanami’s voice came quieter, careful, the way a man sounds when stepping on emotional landmines. “i should’ve set boundaries more firmly. i thought I could handle it politely, but I see now that it hurt you. I’m sorry.”
and god, he made it so hard to stay angry when he did that—when he offered accountability instead of excuses.
but you weren’t done bleeding yet.
you clicked your tongue, looking him up and down like he was a disappointing purchase you were considering returning. “sorry isn’t enough this time. fix it. or i swear i will start a rumor that you and your plants are in a polyamorous relationship.”
nanami blinked. “that… doesn’t even make sense.”
you smirked coldly, leaning closer, voice dropping to a whisper of rich, spoiled poison. “watch me make it make sense.”
and then, because pride demanded a dramatic exit, you turned on your heel and walked away—leaving the scent of expensive perfume, ego, and emotional carnage in your wake.
but here’s the cruelty in the universe that no one warns you about because it would make little girls grow up violent: men will swear on their grandmother’s grave that they won’t do something… and then go do that exact thing with clean conscience and a student-discount coffee in hand.
and nanami kento — your nanami, the man built from ethics and moral consistency, the man who looked like he’d file a police report if he saw someone cut in line — turned out to be a man, too.
a man capable of promising and then failing.
after the cinema meltdown, after the bathroom breakdown, after nanami held your hand and said the equivalent of you’re my priority, after he placed metaphorical rose petals on your ego and vowed to do better…
utahime didn’t disappear.
no, the bitch multiplied.
like she was photosynthesizing off your rage.
and the worst part? she wasn’t just present. she was strategic.
she was everywhere nanami was — like she subscribed to his personal movement calendar.
everywhere, meaning: when you went to meet nanami after class? utahime was there, “coincidentally” packing her bag slower than a glacier melts. when nanami had club duty in the greenhouse? she was already inside with gloves on, hair clipped back all “i’m such a hardworking little plant fairy” aesthetic.
library study sessions? somehow she “didn’t understand the homework” and asked nanami for help. she sat next to him — next — not across, not diagonally. group lunch with your friends? she slithered in like a side character trying to make herself relevant, tray in hand, pretending she “just happened to be here too.”
and your friends saw it. gojo saw it first (and enjoyed it like live theatre). geto sighed like a disappointed parent. shoko made nicotine-laced commentary. haibara tried to “give her a chance” until you threatened to drown him in fertilizer.
you did what any self-respecting, pride-soaked, ego-driven, spoiled girlfriend with an image to protect would do: you went full cold war.
if nanami wanted politeness, he could enjoy silence instead. you ignored him with the elegance of a duchess excommunicating a traitor. and nanami noticed immediately because you didn’t just ignore — you withdrew.
you didn’t sit next to him in class — you sat between gojo and your bag like a chastity belt.
you didn’t touch him — no hand on his arm, no kiss on the cheek, not even a hair tuck.
you didn’t text first — and when he texted, your responses were so short they were practically Morse code:
him: are you free after class?
you: busy.
him: can i call you?
you: no.
him: are you upset with me?
you: ask your club member.
you left his “goodnight”s on read.
you left his “are you okay?” on delivered because read would be too generous.
in the group, it was worse — because nanami tried public damage control, which was humiliating for you and painful for him.
like earlier today, all of you were at your usual table in the campus café. you arrived last, sunglasses on, iced latte in hand, a picture of uninterested royalty. nanami pulled out the chair beside him for you — your usual seat — and you walked right past it and sat between shoko and geto instead, crossing your legs like a throne had been rolled under you.
nanami’s hand hesitated mid-air before lowering. everyone saw.
a muscle in his jaw ticked, but he said nothing — at first.
then, after ten minutes of group chatter, he tried to join your space.
he leaned slightly toward your side of the table, voice low enough for you but audible to others, “you’re quiet today.”
you didn’t look at him. you sipped your drink, adjusting your sunglasses, and responded with a tone dry enough to produce drought:
“maybe i’m photosynthesizing.”
gojo choked on his muffin. shoko coughed to hide a laugh. geto stared into his drink like it was a portal to escape reality.
nanami inhaled, patient but cracking. “can we talk later?”
you smiled — cold, polite, corporate-HR-email kind of smile. “why? so you can politely ignore me again in favor of plant girl? i’m busy later. very, extremely, unprecedentedly busy.”
“you’re upset,” nanami said softly — and god, he sounded like he was trying not to touch a wild animal, “and I understand why, but i told you, i’m not entertaining anything. she’s new and i’m trying to be decent.”
you turned your head just enough to look at him over the rim of your sunglasses — only the lower half of your gaze visible, dripping with contempt and luxury.
one brow lifted. “decent? don’t use words you clearly don’t understand. decent would’ve been keeping your promise.”
geto winced. haibara whispered “oh no.” gojo grabbed popcorn like entertainment had begun.
nanami kept his voice steady, though his fingers tapped once against his cup — a tiny crack in composure. “i didn’t break the promise. i haven’t spoken to her alone outside of club responsibilities, and when she—”
you cut him off with a laugh — sharp, cruel, aristocratic. the kind a queen gives when a peasant offers excuses.
“club responsibilities,” you repeated, mockingly. “what a sexy phrase. truly. i’m so thrilled you found a morally sound loophole in your vow. maybe next you’ll say ‘we only breathed air in the same vicinity for charity reasons.’”
his brows pulled together — he was trying, really trying. “you’re twisting my words.”
“no,” you said, leaning back with one arm draped over the back of your chair, looking him dead in the eyes, “i’m repeating them. just slower. so they sound as stupid as they actually are.”
nanami exhaled, steady but strained, and the worst part? he still validated you because he loved you like it was a discipline. “i understand why you’re hurt. you’re right to feel neglected. i should’ve enforced stronger boundaries.”
you shrugged, inspecting your nails like the conversation bored you. “words, words, words. if i wanted rehearsed accountability, i’d date a politician. i wanted results.”
nanami’s voice dipped lower. “i’m trying to fix it.”
you stared at him, expression blank, voice sugar-poisoned, “try harder.” and after that, you went back to ignoring him — because you weren’t done punishing him yet. your pride demanded interest.
nanami kento, for all his monk-like patience and buddhist-level self-control, was still a man with limits, and you—blessed, cursed, loved, unbearable you—had been kicking those limits like a toddler on a sugar high. he missed you. painfully. he missed the chaos, the clinginess disguised as entitlement, the way you demanded affection like it was your birthright, how you’d climb into his lap without asking because why the fuck would you ask, the iced coffee orders you shoved into his hand when he picked you up, the kisses you gave like they were currency and he was the only bank that accepted them.
he missed you so much it made him irritable, and nanami kento being irritable was a rare supernatural event—like the northern lights or a government official being honest.
so he did the only logical thing: he showed up at your stupidly large house.
the house you didn’t call a mansion because “mansion sounds tacky” but where the staff wore uniforms and the ceiling height legally required a parachute. the kind of house that had wings—plural—as in east wing, west wing, wife’s-attitude-control wing.
the workers knew him by now. the butler gave a respectful nod. one of the maids greeted him by name. none of them questioned the expensive, tall, blond man walking through the front door like he paid the mortgage. nanami climbed the spiraling staircase—custom marble, cold under his palms when he used the railing—and walked the long hallway to your room at the far end, because of course the princess needed isolation and acoustics for dramatic exits.
your door was ajar just enough for him to push gently, and he entered quietly.
there you were.
sitting in the center of your ridiculous, king-plus sized bed like a pissed-off deity. silk pajamas clinging to your shoulders, the color soft and expensive, the kind of fabric that looked like it refused to touch poor people. your hair damp from a recent shower, strands falling around your face, lashes dark against your cheeks, skin still warm from steam. you looked soft enough to hold and sharp enough to stab—your default state.
you looked up, saw him, and rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle you didn’t see your brain. you didn’t say a word. not “why are you here,” not “go away,” not even “fuck off.” nothing. the silence itself was an insult.
nanami closed the door behind him with a quiet click that echoed in the large room, and walked further in, footsteps slow, gaze steady on your face—even if your expression screamed i hope you step on lego barefoot for eternity. he took a moment to just look at you, as if memorizing your resentment was better than not seeing you at all.
you snapped, voice sharp and flat: “what.”
nanami hummed, that infuriatingly calm, deep hum of his. “can we talk?”
you scoffed, leaning back on your palms, chin tilting with aristocratic disgust. “i don’t talk to pieces of shit. and you’re a big one. like, family-sized. extra value pack.”
nanami blinked once, head tilting a fraction, absorbing the insult without flinching. “i’m a piece of shit?” he repeated, tone so soft it made the words sting more.
you crossed your arms tight over your chest, silk rustling. “yes. obviously. congratulations on finally joining the rest of your gender.”
instead of defending himself like most men would—loudly, stupidly—nanami did something worse.
he accepted it.
he quietly dragged one of your chairs—one of those stupidly soft velvet ones meant for “decorative reading” you never actually used—across the floor and set it directly in front of you. he sat down, knees spread slightly, forearms resting gently on his thighs, posture straight but not intimidating. it was the posture of a man prepared to listen, not fight. which made your chest tighten and your temper spike—because you wanted to be angry, not understood.
he met your eyes, unwavering, voice low, even, heartbreaking in its steadiness.
“then tell me why,” he said. “why am i a piece of shit?”
and just like that, the floor was yours—your stage, your arena, your battlefield. and nanami kento sat there, ready to let you stab him with every word.
you stared at him for a long moment, the kind of stare that wasn’t silent—no, it was loud, screaming, accusing, trembling at the edges with wounded pride you refused to show. your jaw tightened, your fingers curled into the silk pooling around your thighs, and when you finally spoke, your voice came out low, cracked with disbelief and venom.
“do you ever think,” you began slowly, eyes narrowing at him, “how fucking humiliating it was for me to sit there—your girlfriend—fighting for your attention against nobody but uta-fucking-hime?”
nanami didn’t flinch, but his throat bobbed.
you continued, leaning forward, one finger stabbing the air at him like you were pointing at a suspect in court, “she’s not even competition. she’s a filler character, a background extra with tragic bangs and soil under her nails. i shouldn’t have to compete with that. i shouldn’t have to try. but there i was, reduced to fighting for scraps like some desperate peasant dog waiting for the king to drop crumbs from the fucking banquet table.”
nanami opened his mouth, but you kept going, steamrolling him because if he spoke now, you’d crumble, and weakness was not on tonight’s agenda.
you huffed a humorless laugh, sitting upright again, crossing your arms tight across your chest, chin lifting with aristocratic disgust. “do you understand how degrading it felt? i don’t fight for attention. i’m used to being the center of gravity. people orbit me. planets shift because of me. i don’t beg. i don’t chase. i don’t sit there like some forgotten decorative pillow while you—” your voice sharpened, “—politely entertain some herb-collecting homewrecker apprentice.”
nanami inhaled, eyes soft but steady. “i never expected you to fight for my attention. i’m sorry you felt you had to.”
you scoffed, rolling your eyes and looking away because his softness was a knife to your ribs. “yeah, well, congratulations, you put me in that position. so yes, you’re a piece of shit.”
you extended a hand toward him like you were listing charges in court, each finger flicking upward with another bullet of rage.
“one: you dismissed me. like i was some stupid little decoration on your arm. like i was a shiny accessory you forgot to polish that day.”
nanami sat straighter, hands clasping gently between his knees, voice calm. “i didn’t intend to dismiss you. i thought—”
“wrong,” you cut him off, glare sharp, “your intentions don’t fucking matter if the result still makes me want to drown myself in fertilizer.”
nanami pressed his lips together, accepting the hit.
you held up a second finger.
“two: you told me you would set boundaries. you said you’d stop the little one-on-one herb therapy sessions with her. and guess what? she’s still glued to you like mold on bread. if this is your definition of ‘boundaries,’ i fear what chaos your freedom must look like.”
nanami exhaled a long, controlled breath. “i did limit our interactions. i haven’t spoken to her outside the club and—”
you barked a laugh that was almost a choke. “oh, outside the club—wow. such discipline. such restraint. truly, a saint among idiots. i’m so touched. should i nominate you for boyfriend of the year or just frame your bullshit and hang it in a museum?”
his brows pulled together, a muscle flexing in his jaw—but he stayed calm, infuriatingly so. “i’m telling you the truth. i’m not entertaining her.”
you leaned closer, voice dropping to a slow, lethal whisper. “you don’t have to entertain her for it to still feel like betrayal. the bare minimum for a boyfriend is to make sure his girlfriend never questions whether she comes first. and you didn’t do that. you left space. you left opportunity. you left room—and she ran into it like a stray dog finding an open door.”
that one hit. nanami looked down for a second, breath steadying, his hands loosening on his thighs as if unclenching invisible tension. “you’re right. i shouldn’t have left any room for doubt.”
and god, the way he agreed so easily made your anger burn hotter—not colder—because part of you needed him to fight back so you could keep throwing knives. his accountability cornered you into feeling instead of yelling, and you hated it.
your voice wavered very slightly, and you looked away quickly to hide it. “and three,” you whispered, throat tight, “you made me feel small. and i don’t get to feel small. ever.”
nanami’s head lifted, eyes on you instantly, body leaning forward just enough to reach you if you needed grounding. “you’re never small to me. not for a second.”
you swallowed, back stiffening, legs crossing and uncrossing because the vulnerability made your skin itch. “well, that’s what it felt like. and feelings are facts now because mine are expensive.”
nanami nodded once, accepting your twisted logic as truth because to you, it was. “then i’m sorry. for every part of this that made you feel less.”
you blinked hard, jaw clenching, because his calm acceptance was suffocating in the most disarming way.
you wanted to stay angry. you wanted to scream. you wanted him to beg. but he just sat there—quiet, steady, unshaken—offering himself as the place for your rage to land, not deflecting it.
and that—somehow—was worse.
so instead of softening, you scoffed again, looking away with a shaky breath, because god forbid he sees the crack forming.
“you should be sorry,” you muttered, voice smaller than you meant, “because if i ever have to feel that kind of humiliation again, i’m burning down the greenhouse with you both inside. i’m not joking, nanami. i will commit arson in the name of love.”
you weren’t done—oh no, your rage had chapters, footnotes, an appendix, and a director’s cut. and nanami sitting there so calmly, giving you space to unravel, only fed the fire.
you pushed off the mattress and sat up straighter, the silk of your pajama shirt sliding against your skin as you hugged your knees loosely to your chest, posture defensive but regal, like a dethroned princess still wearing the crown out of spite. your fingers dug into the soft duvet, knuckles whitening as the words clawed up your throat.
“and another thing,” you snapped, pointing at him again, your voice shaking—not with fear, but with insulted pride, “you made me look fucking stupid.”
nanami’s brows drew in, but he didn’t speak—he knew better than to interrupt when you were winding up.
“do you have any idea how that felt?” you continued, your tone rising in waves, “you made me sound like some brain-dead bimbo who couldn’t comprehend the basic concept of sunlight and leaves. like i’m incapable of understanding the most entry-level plant shit. me. you treated me like i’m stupid.”
nanami shook his head, voice quiet, “that wasn’t my intention.”
“but that’s what you did,” you shot back immediately, not letting softness leak in. “i asked what you two were talking about at the cinema—my boyfriend, talking to another girl—and you dismissed me. like i was some annoying toddler interrupting grown-ups having a cultured conversation. like i couldn’t hold a single fucking sentence about your club.”
your voice cracked, and you hated that it did.
your fingers curled tighter into the blanket, nails sinking into the velvet fabric.
“before,” you went on, quieter for a second, “when i asked about your club, when i tried to show interest in the nerd shit you like, you’d tell me things. short things, but still things. and i listened. i tried.”
nanami opened his mouth slightly, and you saw the apology forming, but you didn’t let it land—you surged forward, fueled by humiliation you hadn’t digested yet.
“but the moment uta-fucking-hime bats her dollar store lashes and asks you something?” your voice rose again, bitter, sarcastic, acidic, “suddenly you’re hosting a fucking TED Talk on soil acidity and root trauma. suddenly you’re plant Jesus delivering parables. suddenly you found the fucking words you never bothered using with me.”
nanami’s chest expanded with a slow inhale, his elbows resting lightly on his knees, fingers intertwined—not defensive, not reacting, just listening, which somehow made it worse.
you dragged a hand through your damp hair, pushing it back sharply, pacing a few steps in front of him like your body couldn’t contain the indignation.
“do you know how fucking humiliating that was?” your voice trembled as you paced, silk pajamas swaying with every sharp turn. “you didn’t just ignore me. you made me feel like i wasn’t smart enough to be included. like i didn’t belong in your world when i’m the one who’s supposed to be in it the most.”
nanami finally spoke, tone soft but steady, “i didn’t share more with her because she’s special. i did it because she asked specific questions, and i—”
you spun on him, eyes burning. “so when i ask, what? my questions aren’t specific enough? sorry for not speaking fluent Plant Nerdish. should i learn latin and photosynthesis formulas to earn basic politeness?”
he shook his head immediately, “that’s not what I—”
“because it sure as hell felt like it,” you spit out, arms crossing again, hugging yourself without wanting to look like you needed comfort. “felt like i wasn’t worth the same energy. like you didn’t think i’d care. like you assumed i’m too shallow to understand anything that isn’t shopping, lipstick, or chaos.”
nanami’s eyes softened further—the exact softness you avoid because it disarms you. “i never thought that of you. i know you can understand anything you want to. i just didn’t want to bore you or overwhelm you when you already seemed upset.”
you stared at him, chest rising and falling quickly, the fight still trembling inside you like a caged animal.
he continued gently, “with utahime… i wasn’t thinking about you in that moment the way i should have. i should’ve noticed how it made you feel and prioritized you instead. i’m sorry.”
and because your pride was a skyscraper—tall, expensive, reinforced with ego—you refused to let his sincerity dissolve your anger.
you scoffed, wiping under your eye with the back of your hand before the tear could fall. “you better be sorry. because if i ever have to watch you give some other girl a powerpoint presentation while i get the toddler-version explanation again, i’ll personally make sure your precious rosemary never sees sunlight again.”
nanami actually huffed a quiet breath—half a sigh, half a disbelieving laugh.
you leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing like a warning blade, voice low and lethal:
“try me, kento. i’ll turn your little greenhouse into a botanical graveyard.”
he stared at you gently, the smallest curve at the corner of his lips—not mocking, but full of something unbearably tender.
“i believe you,” he said.
and for a split second, the room pulsed with something that wasn’t anger—but you shoved it back into its cage before it could soften you.
you sat down on the very edge of the bed, like the mattress might swallow you whole if you dared to sit properly, silk pajamas pooling around your thighs, your spine stiff and your hands gripping the duvet so tightly the fabric bunched under your fingers. your legs were tense, knees angled inward, like you were holding yourself together through sheer ego alone. your chin trembled—not enough to expose you, just enough to betray the strain of holding everything in.
your eyes burned, lashes wet, vision blurring in that humiliating way that felt like defeat. you blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall because crying in front of him felt like handing over your crown—but your voice betrayed you, coming out raw, cracked, furious.
“do i have to learn fucking plants now?” you snapped, glaring at the floor because looking at him would break you. “is that it? i have to memorize soil pH and fucking photosynthesis just so you don’t have to talk to uta-fucking-hime?”
nanami inhaled, slow, steady, as if bracing himself to not crumble at the sight of you unraveling. “no,” he said gently, “you don’t—”
you cut him off with an unhinged laugh, bitter and broken at the edges. “because apparently that’s what it takes to get your attention these days. maybe i should start growing basil out of my ass too. will that help?”
nanami’s eyes widened a fraction—not at your vulgarity (he was used to that) but at the complete sincerity under the sarcasm. he took a slow breath, leaning slightly forward in the chair, hands clasping together, his voice careful. “you don’t need to learn any of that. i don’t want you to change. you don’t have to pretend to care about something just because I do.”
your head snapped up at that, eyes flashing, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “aren’t i already pretending?” your voice wavered, then steadied through force. “i sat there, listening to you talk about leaves and soil and mint like it was the fucking cure to cancer, trying so goddamn hard to look interested, to support you—because it mattered to you, so i made myself care.”
nanami’s face softened, guilt pooling in the lines of his expression, but you continued before he could speak.
“and the one time—ONE TIME—I ask to be included, to be part of your little plant world, you shut me out like i’m some airheaded idiot you have to protect from botany knowledge.” your hand flew to your chest, pressing there like the pressure could keep your heart from cracking open. “what is that? what do you think i am?”
nanami’s voice dropped, quiet but urgent, “i didn’t shut you out because i think you’re stupid—”
“no?” you snapped, leaning forward, your anger trembling with hurt. “then why did you treat me like i’d break a nail if you explained what fucking soil is? why did she get the encyclopedia version while i got the kindergarten summary with sparkles and crayons?”
his brows pulled together, jaw tightening, but his voice stayed gentle—too gentle. “i thought I was making it easier for you. i didn’t want to overwhelm you with details when you were already upset.”
you scoffed again, wiping under your eye aggressively with the heel of your hand, smudging nothing because your skincare was too expensive to budge. “then you should’ve shut up, not dumb it down. i don’t need you to simplify the world for me like i’m some fragile porcelain doll who’ll shatter if exposed to big words.”
your throat tightened painfully, words spilling before pride could stop them.
“i’m not broken,” you whispered, then louder, sharper, “i’m NOT stupid.”
nanami’s face softened entirely, his voice warm and low and infuriatingly tender. “i know you’re not.”
your lips trembled, but you forced them still.
he tried to reach for your hand, slow and deliberate, giving you time to pull away—but you did, snatching your hand back to your lap, your body curling slightly inward, shoulders tightening, like you were trying to shrink away from the hurt without letting him see the wound.
“i don’t want to learn about plants,” you spat, voice thick with tears you refused to let fall. “i don’t want to join your stupid club. i don’t want to talk about soil or herbs or whatever the fuck rosemary trauma you deal with. i just…” your breath shook, “i just want you. and i shouldn’t have to study for the role of being your girlfriend.”
nanami’s eyes softened further—dangerously, heartbreakingly so—and he leaned forward just a little, elbows on his knees, voice steady in a way that threatened to unravel you completely.
“you already have me.”
you laughed—ugly, shaky, self-mocking. “do i? because it sure as hell didn’t feel like it when you were looking everywhere but at me.”
the tear finally escaped.
you swiped it away so fast it barely had time to fall.
he saw that tear—just one, microscopic, fast—but nanami was the kind of man who could feel an earthquake from a single tremor. his expression shifted, softened, his breath leaving him in something almost pained as he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped loosely like he was holding the weight of this carefully, terrified of crushing it.
“i’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice low, raw, without any of the neat composure he’d tried to maintain. “i hurt you. i shouldn’t have dismissed you, and i shouldn’t have allowed room for you to feel replaced or lesser. that was my failure.”
you scoffed instantly, curling further away from his sincerity like it burned. “oh, wow. an apology. revolutionary. should i clap? maybe roll out a red carpet? you want a medal for saying sorry like a big boy?”
nanami accepted the jab without flinching. “i’m not asking for praise. i’m telling you the truth—i’m sorry.”
“yeah, well,” you muttered, sniffing harshly as you dragged the sleeve of your silk pajama top across the corner of your eye before the next tear could betray you, “sorry doesn’t erase the fact that i looked like a fucking clown.”
nanami’s brows pinched at the word, but his voice stayed steady. “you didn’t look like a clown.”
you laughed—sharp, bitter. “don’t lie to me now. i humiliated myself for a man—you, unfortunately—and she watched. that’s worse than death. i should fake my own disappearance and move to monaco under a new name at this point.”
he shook his head, leaning closer on instinct, like his body couldn’t stand the space between you. “you reacted because you care about us. there’s nothing humiliating about caring.”
you snapped your gaze to him again, fury flaring through the heartbreak. “stop saying caring like it’s cute. it’s pathetic. i don’t do pathetic. i’ve never been pathetic. i don’t cry over boys. boys cry over me. that’s the natural order of the universe.”
nanami’s voice softened even more—a tone you hated because it saw right through you. “you’re not pathetic. you’re hurt. because I made you feel like you weren’t valued. that’s on me.”
you shook your head fiercely, hair falling forward, fingers tugging at the silk on your thigh like you needed something to anchor you. “you made me feel like some… irrelevant, dumb, useless accessory. and i know i’m spoiled and dramatic and ridiculous but—” your breath broke again, “but i shouldn’t have to beg to matter to the one person who’s supposed to love me most.”
nanami swallowed hard, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, thicker. “you never have to beg for that. you never should have felt you did.”
you scoffed again, but weaker, because his sincerity was cracking your armor. “well, congratulations, you made me feel exactly that. you can add it to your achievement list: hurt your spoiled girlfriend enough to make her almost learn about basil.” you sniffed deeply, then glared at him like it was his fault oxygen existed. “do you know how low that is? i almost googled plants for idiots. that’s rock bottom.”
nanami blinked, then exhaled a breath that was almost—almost—an amused disbelief, but he restrained it because he knew laughing now was equivalent to suicide. “you don’t need to learn anything for me. i don’t want you to pretend interest for my sake.”
“but she asked,” you hissed, leaning forward, hands dropping to the mattress, gripping the edge as if the bed would levitate otherwise, “and you gave her the whole encyclopedia of plant shit like you were teaching a masterclass. meanwhile, when i ask, i get don’t stress your pretty head. do you hear how insulting that is?”
nanami closed his eyes briefly—guilt flickering across his features like a shadow—and when he opened them, he held your gaze firmly. “you’re right. that was condescending. i thought i was protecting you from stress, but i see now that it sounded like I was belittling you. that wasn’t my intention, but it doesn’t change how it made you feel.”
you stared at him, breath shaky, throat tight, and your voice dropped into something almost small—but still edged with venom because you refused to hand him the pure version of your pain.
“i don’t need protection from information. if i don’t understand, i’ll ask. i’m not fragile.”
nanami leaned forward more, hands loosening, as if fighting the urge to reach for you but respecting the invisible wall you kept between you. “i know you’re not. you’re strong, sharper than anyone I know. i should’ve respected that instead of trying to soften things for you.”
the compliment, the acknowledgment, the correction—it hit somewhere deep you didn’t want him to reach, so you snapped, defensive:
“you should have. because now? now i look like the stupid girlfriend who can’t keep up, while miss horticulture homewrecker gets the professor edition.”
“you’re not stupid,” nanami repeated, firm enough to anchor the air around you.
you looked away again, jaw clenching, your voice barely above a whisper: “but you made me feel like i was.”
he inhaled deeply, voice steady but pained. “then i failed you. and i’m sorry.”
this time, the apology didn’t feel like words— it felt like weight. and your pride, your last line of defense, forced your chin up, even as your voice cracked, “you should be. because if you ever make me feel like that again, i’m ending us both. emotionally, socially, and possibly legally.”
he apologized again—soft, steady, without flinching—and you opened your mouth, ready to snap back with one of your signature lines that would absolutely emotionally assassinate him and then ruin your life five seconds later, but he lifted a hand ever so slightly.
not commanding.
not silencing.
asking.
“can you… listen to me first?” he said, voice low, gentle, the kind that didn’t demand obedience but somehow earned it.
you hated that tone.
because for all your unhinged chaos, you weren’t heartless—you weren’t immune to the way nanami spoke when he genuinely needed you to hear him. his voice dipped lower, his posture leaned in—not towering, not intimidating, not challenging—just close enough to show sincerity, far enough to give you space to breathe.
you clenched your jaw, eyes narrowing, but you nodded once—sharp, reluctant—like you were granting an audience to a criminal on trial.
your body language screamed i’m listening against my will, but you stayed quiet, arms still folded, nails digging into your silk sleeves, your chin tilted up just a fraction as if to remind him you were still pissed, still wounded, still royalty on her throne of spite.
nanami exhaled, relieved you didn’t storm out or throw a pillow at his head.
his voice stayed calm, steady—because he was talking to a hurricane, not a person, and he knew it.
“i didn’t handle things correctly,” he began, his tone soft but anchored. his hands rested on his thighs, fingers relaxed now, not clasped tight like before. “i thought I was doing the considerate thing. you were upset that day, and I didn’t want to overwhelm you with details or make you feel out of your depth. i thought simplifying things would help. i see now it came across as dismissive and condescending.”
your lips twitched—because yes, that’s exactly what it was—but you held yourself back, biting your tongue, letting him continue because you agreed to listen and your pride wouldn’t let you break your own rule.
he kept going, breathing slow, every word careful:
“with utahime, I didn’t realize how it looked. she kept asking questions, and I answered because I thought I was being polite, not because I found her more deserving of my time.”
he swallowed once, eyes softening as they held yours. “but intention doesn’t erase impact. and the impact was that you felt second. that’s on me.”
the words hung in the room like incense—heavy, honest, impossible to ignore.
you shifted on the bed, uncrossing your arms just to cross them again tighter, because your heart tried to soften and your pride screamed no, not yet. your foot tapped once against the floor—restless, emotional energy leaking out in movement because sitting still with feelings was dangerous territory.
nanami continued, leaning in a little—not invading, just closer, grounding:
“you felt replaced. dismissed. stupid. and that’s the last thing I ever wanted you to feel. you’re the person I respect most. you’re the person whose attention I cherish, not hers. you matter to me more than anyone else does.”
your throat tightened. you looked away, staring at the edge of your vanity table, anywhere but at him, because if you looked directly at the warmth in his eyes you would break.
he let the silence settle a moment—not awkward, not rushed—just enough for his words to land, to breathe, to reach the place in you that still cared through all the rage.
“i should’ve shut the conversation down sooner,” he admitted quietly. “i thought staying polite would avoid unnecessary tension, but it cost you peace instead. and that isn’t worth it to me.”
your hands loosened just a little in your sleeves—barely—but enough for him to notice.
nanami breathed out, voice softer:
“I’ll fix it. properly this time. not just with words, but with action. I won’t let you feel sidelined again.”
you sat there in silence for a few seconds, your heart pounding against your ribs like a prisoner demanding release, your pride fencing every emotion like a guard dog on steroids.
and because you can never sit in vulnerability without throwing a knife to feel balanced, you finally muttered, voice low, biting, but thinner around the edges:
“if you start defending her, i swear to god i’ll shove your plants up your ass root-first.”
nanami blinked, then nodded, dead serious, as if you hadn’t just threatened him with horticultural assault. “i’m not defending her. i’m explaining myself to you, because you deserve that.”
your jaw clenched again, and though the rage was still there, the ice around it had begun—just barely—to crack.
you sighed, dramatic, exhausted, wiping at your lower lash line with your thumb like the tears were dust you could remove and pretend never existed.
“okay,” you muttered, still refusing to fully face him. “go on. i’m listening. finish the monologue before i change my mind and kick you out.”
and nanami—ever patient, ever steady—continued. and the more he spoke, the harder it became to keep your armor intact. his voice wasn’t trembling or begging, he wasn’t groveling or panicking — no, that would’ve been easier to reject. instead, he spoke in that devastatingly calm, steady, nanami way, the way that slipped past your defenses because he wasn’t trying to win, he was trying to understand you.
“you don’t deserve to share space with doubt,” he said, tone low, warm, maddeningly sincere. “you don’t deserve to question your place in my life. you are the person i choose, every day, in every room. i should’ve made that impossible to doubt — especially for you.”
you swallowed, your throat clicking, jaw locked so tightly that your teeth ached. you looked everywhere but at him: the chandelier reflection in your mirror, your perfume bottles arranged like a shrine to your vanity, your silk pillowcases, the edge of your nail on your thumb — anything that wasn’t his eyes because you knew one direct second of eye contact would flatten you.
nanami didn’t move closer, didn’t reach out, didn’t try to touch you before you allowed it — and that alone made your chest twist painfully. he knew pressure would make you bolt, so he simply sat there, giving you space to break at your own pace.
“i love you,” he continued, voice smoothing out like velvet pulled taut, “and i don’t expect you to hide your feelings or pretend you’re unaffected. you feel deeply — loudly — and it’s overwhelming sometimes, yes, but it’s also one of the things i adore most about you. you love in color. in flame. in extremes. i would never want to dim that.”
your lip trembled — actually trembled — and you pressed your teeth into it to physically punish the weakness.
nanami’s voice gentled even more, if that was somehow possible. “i will make sure you never feel like a second option again. i will be clearer. firmer. i will not leave room for anyone to assume my attention is available. i’m yours. you don’t need to fight for that.”
you breathed out — a fragile, uneven sound that almost wasn’t a breath at all. something in your ribcage shifted.
your shoulders sank an inch.
your fists loosened.
your vision clouded.
you hated it.
you hated how easily he could peel your rage back and expose the soft, shaking thing beneath. hated how his calm didn’t belittle your chaos — it held it. hated how he didn’t match your fire with ice or irritation, but with something worse: understanding.
you blinked, and a second tear slipped — traitorous, slow, warm against your skin. you swiped it away angrily, like it offended you. “fuck you,” you muttered — not hateful, not sharp — just broken. “fuck you for talking like that. i can’t stay mad when you talk like that.”
nanami’s gaze softened so achingly you had to glance away again. “i don’t want you to stay mad. i just want you to feel safe with me.”
your breath hitched — actually hitched — and suddenly the space between you felt unbearable. the absence of his touch felt like a scream against your skin.
you slid forward on the bed — once, hesitantly, like pride was clinging to your ankles — then again, knees brushing his, breath shaky, silk whispering across your thighs. nanami didn’t move, didn’t reach first, didn’t break the fragile consent of your approach — he waited, letting you choose him.
you moved that final inch — your knees between his legs, your hands trembling as they reached for his shoulders — and then you climbed into his lap, settling with your legs curled around him, your forehead pressing into the warm column of his neck like you were hiding in him, not hugging him.
the moment you made contact, nanami’s arms came up — slow, careful, then firm — wrapping around your waist with the kind of hold that said i’m not letting you go unless you ask me to. one hand cradled the back of your head, fingers sinking into your damp hair, the other anchored at your spine, steady, grounding, warm.
the first sob was silent — a sharp inhale into his shirt, your nails clutching at his shoulders like you were falling and he was the only surface left on earth. the second made a sound, a small broken one, like a wineglass cracking.
nanami tightened his arms around you, one thumb stroking the back of your head, his lips brushing your temple, voice low against your skin. “i’ve got you. i’m here.”
you hated how safe it felt — hated how quickly you melted — hated that after all your swearing and threatening arson and botanically themed murder monologues… you were crying in his lap anyway.
you sniffed against his neck, voice muffled, angry even through tears: “you’re still a piece of shit.”
nanami nodded into your hair. “i know.”
you curled tighter into him, your pride bleeding into his shirt, your voice cracking, “but you’re my piece of shit.”
his hand stroked your back, slow, intentional — the kind of touch that rebuilt things quietly. “always.”
and just like that, the storm inside you finally collapsed — not because he forced it to, but because he sat in it with you until you could breathe again.
it took a while—long enough for your breathing to steady, long enough for your fists to unclench in the fabric of his shirt, long enough for the heat behind your eyes to settle into a dull throb instead of a storm. you stayed in his lap even after the crying slowed, face tucked into the warm crook of his neck, your weight fully resting on him now like your body had finally surrendered to the truth that you felt safest with the same man you threatened to bury alive with his plants.
his palm stroked your back in slow, absent circles, the kind that weren’t meant to hush you but to anchor you. it was disgusting how much it worked.
after a long stretch of quiet—your kind of quiet, the heavy kind where pride is still limping around the room—you exhaled against his skin, voice rough, reluctant, and grudgingly soft.
“…i shouldn’t have… lost my shit like that.”
nanami didn’t speak, just hummed, a subtle vibration against your cheek that meant i’m listening.
you shifted slightly on his lap so you could look at him, but you didn’t move far—you stayed close enough to breathe the same air, your fingers still curled lightly over his shoulder, your forehead almost touching his. your voice stayed low, as if it would break if you raised it.
“i was fucking mean,” you muttered, eyes darting away because eye contact made honesty more painful, “i insulted your hobby like it’s stupid and i know it’s not stupid. it makes you happy. it gives you peace or whatever. and i shit all over it like a bitch having a tantrum.”
nanami cupped your jaw with one hand—not forcing you to look at him, just holding you gently, thumb brushing your cheek with steady warmth. “you were hurt. you reacted from that place. i don’t take it personally.”
you rolled your eyes with a watery scoff, wiping your face with the sleeve of your silk top, smearing your expensive moisturizer but not caring for once. “you should take it personally. i called you soil jesus. who even says that? what the fuck is wrong with me?”
the corner of his mouth twitched—the ghost of a smile—but he kept it small, respectful of your fragile dignity. “you’re passionate. and dramatic. it’s part of who you are.”
you glared half-heartedly. “that’s a diplomatic way to say i’m a fucking menace.”
“you are,” he agreed evenly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear with maddening tenderness. “but you’re my menace.”
you inhaled sharply, offended at how easily that softened you again. “stop saying things like that. it makes it hard to stay mad and i deserve to be mad for at least another six business days.”
nanami leaned in just enough that his forehead almost touched yours, his voice dipping lower, sincere in a way that stripped you bare. “you don’t need to punish yourself for feeling jealous. or threatened. you’re human.”
you clicked your tongue. “i don’t want to be human. i want to be a god. untouchable.”
nanami’s thumb stroked your cheek again, slow, grounding, annoyingly gentle. “i don’t want an untouchable goddess. i want you. spoiled, dramatic, sharp-tongued, mean when you’re hurt, soft when you think no one is watching—you.”
your chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t painful, it was warm and terrifying.
you sniffed once, shifting again in his lap to hide the growing softness in your features. “i’m still sorry for being… like that. insulting your club. your plants didn’t deserve that verbal abuse.”
“no,” nanami said calmly, “they didn’t.”
you glared, offended that he agreed so easily. “you’re supposed to say ‘no, baby, you were totally valid in threatening my rosemary.’”
nanami’s lips curved slightly. “you weren’t valid in threatening my rosemary.”
“fuck you,” you muttered, but it had no heat. “i’ll poison your basil first.”
he nodded, indulgent. “i know.”
you sighed—heavy, dramatic, collapsing your full weight against his chest like the universe exhausted you. your fingers fisted lightly in his shirt for stability as you mumbled into his collarbone, voice muffled:
“i am such a bitch sometimes.”
nanami’s hand slid up your back, resting at the nape of your neck, his thumb rubbing small, rhythmic circles there that made your muscles melt one by one. “yes,” he said softly, honestly. “you can be… very mean.”
you jerked back just enough to glare at him, eyes still glossy, mouth open in disbelief. “you’re supposed to disagree, you emotionally constipated goldfish!”
nanami held your glare without flinching. “you asked me to listen and be honest.”
you blinked at him, then let out a short, incredulous laugh. “…i hate that you’re right.”
“i know,” he repeated, with infuriating calm.
you stared at him a second longer, lips parted, then shook your head slowly, your voice lowering into something almost vulnerable, almost small.
“and you still want me? like this? spoiled, mean, psychotic gremlin behavior and all?”
nanami didn’t hesitate. not even a breath.
“i like my girl spoiled and mean,” he said, voice warm and sure, eyes steady on yours. “i love you exactly as you are.”
something inside you cracked again—but this time it didn’t shatter into sharp pieces.
it softened. melted.
you swallowed, heat burning behind your eyes again, but you didn’t fight it this time as you leaned forward and rested your forehead against his, your voice breaking in a whisper, “you’re still a piece of shit.” nanami smiled—small, real, adoring—and whispered back, “i know.”
you end up horizontal without even remembering the transition — one moment you were sitting on his lap falling apart like a wet cupcake in the sun, the next nanami was lying beside you on your absurdly large bed, both of you under the soft weight of your overpriced duvet. the room was dim now, only the soft bedside lamp on, throwing a warm gold across his cheekbone and making him look disgustingly gentle, the kind of gentle that made your chest ache in that embarrassing, sentimental way you would sooner die than admit in daylight.
you were curled against him, your head on his chest, your leg thrown over his like you owned every square inch of him (you did), and his hand was in your hair — fingers combing through the damp strands slowly, over and over, like he was memorizing the texture of you. his other arm was wrapped around your waist, palm splayed over your back, thumb tracing slow circles beneath the silk that made your skin warm.
your voice came out small, muffled against his shirt, “are you staying tonight?”
you hated how you sounded — soft, almost shy, like a child asking if the thunder would stop — but nanami didn’t tease, didn’t smirk, didn’t make you regret vulnerability. he tightened his arm around you, his nose brushing your hair as he answered, voice low enough to settle into your bones,
“yes. i’m not going anywhere.”
you exhaled, long and slow, your fingers fisting lightly in the fabric at his chest, not in anger this time but in that instinctive don’t leave yet way that made your throat squeeze. “good. because if you left after all that emotional nonsense i’d actually pull a juliet and poison myself.”
he huffed a laugh against your forehead — quiet, warm, fond — and pressed a soft kiss there, his lips lingering like he was sealing the promise into your skin. “please don’t poison yourself. it would ruin the sheets.”
you swatted his chest weakly, raising your head to glare at him with no heat left in your body. “i hate you.”
he tipped his head slightly, eyes half-lidded, soft in the lamplight as his thumb brushed your cheekbone. “you love me.”
your lips twitched. “tragically.”
he smiled — a real one, warm and a little tired from the emotional hurricane you put him through — and he pulled you closer, tucking you just under his chin so he could speak against your hair. “i love you more than i know how to say. more than anything.”
his fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, not stopping for even a moment, like he needed the contact as much as you did. you let yourself melt into him fully now, all the claws retracted, all the sharpness dimmed. it was embarrassing how good it felt to be held like this — safe, wanted, adored — and you hated how much your body relaxed because of him.
“i missed you,” you murmured into the fabric of his shirt, and this time your voice didn’t come out defensive or dramatic — just honest, soft in a way only nanami ever got to hear. “i was so pissed at you and i still missed you the whole time.”
he angled his head down, his lips brushing your temple again, then your hairline, then the corner of your forehead — as if he was following a map of where to place comfort. “i missed you too. more than i expected. i didn’t like the distance. not from you.”
you shifted up just enough so that your face hovered near his, your nose brushing his jaw, your fingers moving to lightly trace the line of his throat — slow, absent, intimate. “you better never do that again,” you whispered, soft threat with no teeth left behind it. “i can’t handle missing you and being mad at you at the same time. it’s emotionally exhausting. i could’ve died.”
nanami smiled into your hair, one hand sliding down from your back to your hip, resting there with a protective weight that made your heart turn into warm pudding. “i won’t. i’ll do better. i promise.”
you sniffed, leaning up to press a tiny, barely-there kiss at the corner of his jaw — feather light, like your lips were shy now that they weren’t arguing. “good. because you’re mine. and i’m yours. and i don’t share.”
his grip tightened at your hip, gentle but firm, like the words hit him somewhere deep. “i know. and i don’t want you to.”
you hummed, content now, your body molded against him like you were crafted to fit there. his hand drifted up again, sliding into your hair, fingers massaging your scalp slowly, like he wasn’t even thinking about it — just needed to touch you in some way, any way, constantly.
“you’re very clingy,” you whispered, eyes growing heavy.
he kissed the top of your head again — slow, deliberate, warm.
“only with you.”
you smiled — soft, sleepy, safe — and buried your face in his chest again, breathing him in like warmth, like home. for once, you didn’t feel like you had to perform, or prove, or defend, or win. you just existed in his arms, and he held you like that was enough.
it turned out nanami wasn’t just a man who talked pretty—he actually followed through, which was infinitely more dangerous for your heart because now you couldn’t even stay mad at him for fun. the very next day, when you showed up at the greenhouse after class — not because you suddenly cared about plants, but because you needed to see his promise in action — he proved himself in 4k HD.
you arrived looking like sin among seedlings: hair perfect, lip gloss expensive, outfit curated to silently declare “i own the man in charge here”. the greenhouse smelled like damp soil and mint and academic overachievement. nanami was inside, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing while watering something green you didn’t know the name of but decided to internally call “future pesto.”
he noticed you instantly — his entire posture softened, jaw unclenching like you were oxygen. he put the watering can down and walked straight to you, one hand sliding around your waist with a confidence that made your pride purr. he pressed a brief kiss to your temple in greeting, low enough for only you to hear when he murmured, “hi, sweetheart.”
and then—she appeared.
utahime and her tragic bangs, holding a notebook like she was auditioning for a role in “botany for people with no charisma.” she approached, clearing her throat, and launched into yet another question, voice way too chipper for a woman who should’ve learned fear by now.
“nanami, can you explain again why the rosemary is wilting even though i watered it twice? i think i’m still doing something wrong—”
nanami didn’t even let her finish.
he turned slightly, keeping you tucked to his side, his hand on your waist tightening possessively — polite, but unmistakably boundary-marking — and said in a level, courteous tone that somehow carried a scalpel:
“i’ve explained that twice already. i’m spending time with my girlfriend now — you can ask one of the senior members for help.”
the silence that followed was delicious, like a gourmet dessert made of karma.
utahime blinked, startled, clearly not expecting the polite brick wall. “oh, i— right. sorry, i didn’t mean to—”
you smiled sweetly, leaning your head onto nanami’s shoulder, nails tracing along his forearm as you added, voice dripping with honeyed poison:
“maybe try listening next time. watering every time you feel emotional isn’t how plants work, babe.”
utahime stiffened. nanami squeezed your waist — warning, but gentle — though you could feel him trying not to laugh. she retreated toward some other helpless club member, and nanami turned his face into your hair for a second, exhaling like he was holding back amusement.
“be nice,” he murmured.
you scoffed, pulling back to look at him. “i was educationally constructive. i’m contributing to the learning environment.”
he kissed your cheek. “you’re impossible.”
you smirked, looping your arms around his neck. “and you like it.”
later that week, the friend group witnessed Proof #2: nanami’s boundary olympics.
you were all at your usual table — coffee, snacks, gossip, geto reading something philosophical he didn’t understand. you sat on nanami’s lap, his arm around your waist like a permanent seatbelt, your legs draped over his like you owned the throne and the king.
utahime walked into the café — of course — and spotted you all. either god hated you or you were starring in a sitcom. she approached, smiling like she wasn’t the antagonist in your personal novella.
“oh! i didn’t know you guys were here. do you mind if i join?”
already pulling a chair. already delusional.
before you could unsheathe your verbal knives, nanami beat you to it — politely, gently, firmly.
“we’re having quality time with our friend group right now,” he said, voice almost warm but with an iron spine. “maybe another time.”
shoko, sipping her iced coffee, didn’t miss a beat. “yeah, we’re trauma-bonding. it’s exclusive.”
gojo grinned with all teeth, draping himself over the back of his chair. “also we’re at maximum capacity for straight-laced energy. one more person with no sense of humor and we’ll combust.”
geto added thoughtfully, “we reached our quota of new people three years ago.”
haibara waved apologetically, “maybe next time! like… next century.”
utahime froze, blinked, and did the walk of shame back to the counter.
you leaned in, whispering into nanami’s ear with prideful satisfaction, “i could kiss you right now.”
nanami didn’t hesitate — he turned and kissed you softly in front of everyone.
gojo gagged loudly. “okay but i didn’t mean in front of me, have some respect for my single trauma.”
you flipped him off without looking.
and the thing is — nanami didn’t just do it once for show.
he kept doing it.
day after day, little actions stacking like bricks rebuilding trust. when utahime approached him during club, he redirected her to literally anyone else. he kept you close — hand at your back, fingers intertwined, lips brushing your hair, gentle touches that said mine without needing to say it
he included you deliberately in plant conversations, explaining things properly — not simplified, not dismissive. he sent you photos of his plants with captions like “this is thriving. like us.”. when people asked about his schedule, he said, “i’m with my girlfriend,” like it was a valid unbreakable appointment (it was). he texted you good morning and goodnight like rituals of devotion. he left club early to walk you to class, iced coffee in hand, your order memorized down to ice quantity and foam thickness
and slowly — painfully, annoyingly, wonderfully — your anger had nothing left to feed on. nanami didn’t leave space for doubt anymore. he made it obvious — to you, to your friends, to utahime, to the plants, to the universe — that you were his priority.
one evening, as you curled into his side again, your voice barely above a whisper, you muttered, “…you’re still a piece of shit.”
nanami kissed your forehead, fingers tracing your spine.
Synopsis. Toji Fushiguro: MMA light heavyweight champion, tyrant in the ring, the strongest man in the world. But after a sudden losing streak leaves him without his title, Toji realizes that he suffers from a certain…jinx. The cure: you, his new physical therapist - and what’s between those pretty legs of yours!
Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!physical therapist!reader, MMA fighter!Toji, Jinx (the manhwa) AU, he’s mean, matches, slight vioIence (to his opponents), Shiu cameo, jinxes, pússydrunk Toji, oraI (fem rec.), face-sítting, fíngering, spítting, p sIapping, SO MUCH manhandling, HEADLOCKS, slight chokíng, rough s, cervíx kíssing, folding you, p talking, he’s rude, creampíes, cúmplay, tasting it, getting together, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 12.2k
A/N. PHEW-
“Ouch! Huge overhand right—Toji Fushiguro is on his last leg, ladies and gentlemen and everyone in-between. I repeat-”
Toji scowls as the commentator’s voice bellows in his ears, like lightning flashes of derision through the thunder of the crowd. Those bastards, he seethes, they sure were singing his praises last season…
He sways ever-so-slightly, and throws a punch- misses- then gets hit with an uppercut that he really should’ve dodged.
Should’ve.
“That is some damage- wow! A shocking turn of events for the once-champion, it seems like Toji is already down for the count tonight.”
The hell are they talking about? He tries to glare down at the table of commentators (which would’ve been easier if said table wasn’t so…tilted).
Why was the world spinning?
Before he knows it, Toji’s on the mat. He feels the referee rush to his side, slamming the ground in countdown. He feels the crowd roar as he’s announced his defeat, yet again. And in that moment, he knows.
It’s a jinx.
.
.
.
“—devastating loss for the man that once ruled the octagon.”
“The latest in his recent losing streak, fans are left wondering when their light heavyweight champion will make his comeback. And what changes have to be made in order to—”
“—almost as if he’s been jinxed, hah!”
You hasten to turn down the volume on your phone. Despite having your earphones connected, all those screams n’ cries n’ protests still melded together into a powerful whirlwind, blaring out from the cheap speakers.
Tinny. The disappointment of the vast audience on-screen was far too much for your device to contain.
And not wishing to draw any more dirty looks from the other passengers on your bus, you muted the video and paused it on a still of Toji Fushiguro.
It was right after his defeat in the preliminaries; his skin glistening in fervent sweat, a cut bleeding from his brow, face scrunched as he rejected the help of someone from his own team. Instead, choosing to get up by himself.
Still silenced, you let the video play on a little longer - and you take in the glump slump of his shoulders. Oh-so-toned. You take in the way he stalks grimly off of the octagon-shaped battleground that the MMA was most famous for.
From here, you could tell that Toji towered above all of the crew- hell, he even towered above his opponent.
So why did he lose?
Alright, so you weren’t an expert in all things mixed-martial arts - but as a physical therapist you think you had some sort of say in the matter!
From here, you determine that this should’ve been an easy win for him. Terribly easy. Practically handed to him: for Toji was built considerably larger, stronger, about 6’3 with a ripped physique that made you understand exactly why the fighter had graced every single sports magazine in existence last season. Every TV show. Every sports exclusive. He’d taken the fighting world by storm at his debut, and he’d held that title ever since.
Infamous.
A wonder to watch on the screen.
A deep v-line. Arms the size of your head.
Those sage, half-lidded eyes of his were intense - especially now, as they blazed with injustice. You could remember feeling them follow your every move, prowling, from the athletics section on every magazine aisle. You think you’d picked up those exact magazines a few times, just to make sure that they weren’t somehow actually following you.
One time, you even remember the shop employee nodding approvingly at your choice.
Everyone knew Toji Fushiguro.
If not from his legendary MMA reputation, then from his irresistible looks. If not from his irresistible looks, then from his reputation as a tyrant in the ring.
If from neither then from his recent streak of losses that shook the fighting world.
It’d come out of nowhere. And no athlete quite expects to lose, but this seemed to have come as a surprise especially to Toji and his team, crew to an athlete that should’ve been at the top of his game.
You ponder - perhaps it was some wear on the joints, or maybe he hasn’t been getting enough electrolytes this season…
You’re pulled out of your little reverie by a cough from the kind ol’ lady seated beside you; the type that was less a necessity of the body, and more a pointed intonation of ‘I don’t know what you’re doing and it seems like neither do you’.
And, suddenly, you realize that you hadn’t just been staring into space as you’d thought- no, you’d been staring (quite passionately) at a paused frame of Toji Fushiguro in all his shirtless, sweaty glory. A close-up of his built figure. A close-up of the tattoo on the side of his toned hip.
Which, you had to admit was quite…attractive- pull yourself together! You turn off the phone that you’d pulled out in the first place for research, lest anyone else on the bus start thinking that you were some kind of pervert (it might already be too late for that, the elderly woman was tittering to herself). Ducking your head in shame, you sigh out in relief as you notice that your stop is near.
“The next stop is Sendagaya Station, Shibuya.” The lilting voice of the conductor rings out, “Please prepare your fares.”
You were glad to finally get off this bus, after a long ride spent toiling to yourself. In no time, you’d paid your fare and was stepping out into the bustling city.
Conveniently, right in front of the gymnasium you were supposed to arrive at: TEAM BLACK, TOKYO MMA GYM. 5F.
To work for Toji Fushiguro.
You check your watch—five minutes early. Dressed in your crisp scrubs, you adjust the glinting golden badge engraved with your name and your position as physical therapist.
And then you step in.
The sound of gloves connecting with flesh, of groaning punching bags, and shouts greet you immediately as you enter. There were a multitude of fights that were ongoing in the expansive gym, but there was only one that you couldn’t take your eyes off of - right in the middle, pummeling his bloodied opponent, was Toji Fushiguro.
From around the ring, teammates and coaches were yelling at the dark-haired man to stop. But he doesn’t.
His stone-cold face specks with blood, and he still doesn’t stop. His opponent taps at the mat to halt the match, and he still doesn’t stop. One of the other fighters in the gym runs up to grab him, and he still doesn’t stop.
Ultimately, you watch as it takes about five men to even match Toji’s strength- forget about overpowering.
“What’s wrong with you?!” One of the men cried out, “‘Free sparring’ doesn’t mean you should actually take the guy apart- someone could have gotten injured!”
“You okay? You seemed lost there, man…”
“Is this about the loss from a few weeks ago- eek!” Several of them stumble backwards as Toji glares at them for that particular comment, and suddenly you’re reminded of the match you’d just watched on the way here. That devastating loss.
You look over and can’t help but notice that the man inside the ring right now is much bigger than the one he’d fought during that match. Much stronger, it seems.
And again, you’re wondering - why the hell couldn’t he win?
“The punk wanted to spar, s’not my fuckin’ problem he couldn’t handle it.” Toji grunts, and it’s the first time you’re hearing his low baritone. Slightly husky.
He rolls his eyes as he shoves off the other fighters, and pulls aside the colored ropes ring to step out. Which is when, slowly, magnetically, his eyes meet yours.
“Who’s this?”
Toji’s in front of you in a split-second, his broad shape looming. His twinkling irises staring down. His black t-shirt skin-tight. His scarred lips slightly quirking upwards—
And before you can even think of responding, you hear a call of your name.
From the other side of the gym, a clean-cut man with a slight spattering of scruff was pacing his way over. He was well-built, like the other fighters here, though with an air of authority with which he wielded a clipboard.
In front of you, Toji repeats your name. Like he was tasting it.
“Ah, you must be the new physical therapist!” The man announces once he’s close enough, and you bow politely to which he does the same. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. The name’s Shiu Kong, m’the manager of these animals- so if there’s anything you need to ask, you ask me.”
“Thank you for having me, and for the opportunity.” You smile, seeing Toji’s stunned expression from the edge of your peripheral vision.
He scoffs, “And what do we need a physical therapist for?”
Shiu instantly smacks him with his clipboard, “Have you had one too many blows to the head?” He barks out, in a tone that was the complete opposite of the gentle way he’d spoken to you. “Huh? Have you? Have you forgotten the fact that you’ve done more losing than winning this season-”
“Alright alright-” Toji waves off, “The fuck? They should put you in the ring next.”
And then he turns to you and sweeps his eyes up and down. Deciding to take a chance, you thrust your hand out in the attempt of a handshake- only for him to take it in his much-larger, roughened one. And instead he flips your palm over and bends- almost like he’s bowing, almost like you’re royalty - and grins. “Pleasure.”
He doesn’t introduce himself, he knows he doesn’t have to.
And with only a slight smirk thrown your way, Toji turns on his heel and heads in the direction of one of the clinical-looking rooms in the gymnasium. Away from all the fighting, you assumed that this will be your office going forward.
Toji’s already there when you enter, and he’s-
…shirtless?
His broad back was all on display for you, every curve n’ divot, every one of his eight washboard abs, every flex of his muscles. He was glimmering with a sheen of sweat that brought out just how toned he was- and you think you could see, closer than ever, the inky spirals of a snake on his hip.
“My clothes are soaked in sweat-” Toji turns to look at you, and you feel your heart race at being caught staring. “I can do this in my boxers, right?”
“Ah, yes!” You try to keep your tone even, and help your client - your client - lay down on the examination table. But oh- he really was attractive. Painfully so.
Not even those smokin’ hot magazines and edits on social media (all part of your…research, of course) had done him justice.
But you had a job to do, and you’re getting started right away. “Do you have any specific concerns?” You ask, pulling a thin towel over Toji’s crotch area as he reclines. And he only sighs and rests his head upon his palms, muscles rippling as he does so.
“Just do your thing.”
“Yes, sir.” You nod, “Then, I’ll give you the full body sports oil massage.”
“Mn.”
You start from his broad shoulders, and then down to his pecs.
And he really wasn’t like any of the clients you’d had prior - no one came even close. You could feel the power in his body, the firmness, the training. Any time you glissade your lotionized hands across Toji’s muscles, he grunts- and, oh, you have to squeeze your thighs together to stop from thinking anything stupid.
You kneaded your way down from his bulging biceps, and onto the side of his hips - where you got a really good look at the snake tattoo. You notice that it also had flowers inked around it.
And then onto his thighs…you’re raising them in external rotations. All the while looking up at his ridiculously handsome face to check whether it hurt, you didn’t register the way your hands somewhat struggled to get a proper grasp on his meaty thighs, especially with the sweat.
You didn’t register the way your fingertips slightly scoured downwards-
“Oh, shit!” You hiss, jumping your hand back. In the few seconds that you’d been distracted by his looks, you’d somehow traced the crown head of something long…and hard.
Looking down, you realize that Toji’s erection was throbbing against the thin layer of his boxers. Barely even hidden by the cover of the towel, the lengthy cylindrical outline was there for your eyes to see - and for your hand to accidentally touch.
Your eyes widen.
How was he so big?
“My- my apologies, sir!” You sputter out, resting your treasonous hands against your sides. “It’s a very common physiological response to get hard- ah- an erection during a massage, and it’s completely my mistake for not noticing. Again, my apologies, I completely understand if you wish to-”
“Whaddaya doing just standing there?” Toji cuts you off gruffly, and you look up at his face in surprise. He raises a dark brow, “Aren’t you gonna finish what you started?”
You blink, “Finish what I…”
“The massage.” He cocks his head, though there’s a knowing smile on his lips - how devilish he looked this way. “That damn Shiu’s gonna give me hell if I don’t get it- so hurry it up, will ya?”
That was close. Hastily nodding, you reach over to massage his thigh once more. “Right at once, sir.”
Looking down, you chose not to make eye-contact with him for the rest of the session. Instead, focusing your entire attention on perfectly executing the massage, step by step - you wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened before!
Toji, however, stared at you through his partially-lidded eyes the entire time.
.
.
.
“That wraps up your treatment for today. Thank you for your patience, Mr. Fushiguro.” You step to the side, giving the athlete the space to stretch out his long limbs and feel the effects of your massage- which, you had to admit yourself, was amongst some of the best in the academy.
He takes his time rolling his shoulders, feeling the way the blood vessels on his muscles flow smoothly. Energized.
“Hm, not bad.” Toji muses, more to himself. “Most of the punks here call me ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Fushiguro’-” He nods at you, “You can just call me Toji.”
“Oh- I’m honored, sir- I mean-” Your veins blister with heat, and you think that the slight quirk of his lips might have something to do with it. “—Toji.” It felt so wrong on your tongue, and yet so right.
And before you can let anything further slip (because, really, you’d never been close enough to a client to address them by their first name, let alone be told to do so after the very first session), you turn away from the handsome man to grab your bag of supplies, your coat, and step to fumble with the door handle. “And now- if that’s all, then I’ll be going now. Have a nice day, sir- I mean-”
As you make your very evident escape, Toji can only watch. Can only stare.
He feels his massive erection still throb furiously between his legs, still ravenous. Like never before. And one of his hands snakes down to squeeze—“How…interesting.”
Before the door swings open once more and in comes Shiu, prattling away something about how you ‘left in such a hurry’ and what a ‘sweet lil’ thing’ you were- Toji casually throws a second hand towel over his lap as his best friend (and manager) comes to slap him on the shoulder. “Feeling refreshed, eh? I can see it in your eyes- with her, we might just have hope about winning that next match.”
“Yeah.” He rasps out, throat dry. Toji watches where you left, he can still feel your soft hands tingling on his skin. “Yeah, we might just.”
.
.
.
“Fuck-” The champion spits between his clenched canines- well, future champion. But it didn’t hurt to be a lil’ optimistic, did it? “Oh, fuck- I’ve never been fuckin’ harder.”
He didn’t fucking care. Not right now, not when he had his strong hand rested against the glistening tile of the stall. His head bent forwards, his back wet with the pouring shower, his right hand slipped below his v-line and furiously pumping his cock.
Up and down. Up and down.
Fuck, he was jerking himself off like he never had before. Until the friction of his roughened palm left his long, hot length all red n’ raw- and yet, he still wasn’t stopping. Still couldn’t.
He remembers the feeling of your soft hands on his thighs and Toji bucks-
“F-fuck-” The fighter gnaws down on his scarred bottom lip, trying desperately not to make a sound that will echo out in the gym’s empty locker room. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- s’not supposed to feel this good.” Sure, they had stalls - but right now even the slightest flick of his thumb, right underneath his mushroomy tip, felt so good that he might as well moan out loud.
And the worst part was that he’s sure his very first moan would be your name.
“Fuck, mama, s’not supposed to feel this good.” He snarls, entire body wracking with shivers. The bulging biceps on his arms ripple as he glides his hand down to his base. And all the way back up.
Abs tensing. Veins on his pelvis popping.
With a few more vulgar strokes, he’s hoverin’ his thumb right over the divot on the middle of his cockhead. It was all pink n’ needy, dribbling out in syrupy white cum in absolutely no time- “Look what you’ve done to me.” Toji watches himself through his shaggy black bangs, wet with water and perspiration, cumming all over his hands. “I don’t know what blessing- what c-curse you’ve put on me, but…” Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?
He rides out his high on his right hand, fucking his fist like he imagines you might tease him through it- just like the way you’d teasingly grazed his tip. Just grazed.
You’d probably take it like such a good girl. Let him paint his gluey white cum all over your face, and just across your lips - it would probably match your scrubs, heh. Biting back a groan, those lecherous thoughts of his only make him finish even faster.
And once the sparks of his high have finally bated - the fountain of his ivory sap stopping - Toji washes off the remnants of his lewd act. Spurting out some cool body wash and cleaning himself off, he slicks back his hair with clean hands now.
Head throwing back, he knew he had to get his mind in focus for the upcoming match - just in a few hours, actually. The car was supposed to be waiting for him outside the gym by now. It was some sort of rebound match of Legends vs. Rookies that Shiu had managed to scrounge together, and it should be displeased at the fact that he was supposed to fight some no-good, hotshot punk- but, honestly he had a good feeling about this one.
Toji’s thoughts stray back to you, and he finds himself cracking a snicker- “You’ve fuckin’ cursed me, woman. You plague me. But…” A thrill zaps through his strong body, “…I like it.”
.
.
.
Toji Fushiguro won the Legends vs. Rookies event.
A wipe-out so clean that everyone was sure it’d go down in history. A comeback so strong that it had already gone down in history.
After that, it was a streak of absolute demolition: the preliminaries, the co-main events, the PPV matches, each and every single fight that was thrown his way- Toji Fushiguro was sure to win without even breaking a sweat (metaphorically).
Hell, at one point even some of his past contenders from his losing streak had demanded rematches, perhaps thinking that they could put the legend in his place once more.
He’d won those, too.
After a season-long losing streak, it was months of winning. And you were giving him his massages on the days before every match.
And Toji was back on the magazine covers, the interviews, the brand deals. Right now you couldn’t even step outside your humble apartment building without being met with at least four different billboards and several commercials featuring him. It was quite strange - seeing the rugged persona in those mediums, and then his still-rugged demeanour in real life.
Though, slightly less so.
There was a faint gentleness to the way that Toji was (when you’d brought this up with some of the other fighters you’d grown close to, they’d fervently denied and showed off their bruises from the pummelings that Toji gave them in the ring).
But you were sure it was there: in the way that he’d always be first in the office, in the way he’d lightly murmur greetings to you and only you, in the way he’d hold open doors and look away as if he wasn’t, in the way that there was a drink of your favorite preference on your desk every morning. And you’d asked around, wondering if it was perhaps Shiu or any of the rookies that was doing so- but they all denied it.
All but one of them.
Toji.
Even Shiu seemed to have noticed that something had shifted in his best fighter. Hell, he was on a winning streak after so long, so of course there had to have been a change.
The other man couldn’t quite pinpoint it, though he gave most of the credit to you and your massages. ‘They must be some sort of magic work!’ He’d exclaimed to you one day, after a particularly tough opponent that Toji had easily beat.
And you yourself couldn’t quite be sure, though you didn’t want to give yourself all the credit. You were only glad that your favorite fighter (yes, after being around MMA fighters for long enough now, you’d determined that Toji was your favorite) was back to winning again.
Only glad you could help.
Which is why, in the ghost entrails of the early morning, at exactly 2:36AM, when Toji texted you - you answered.
2:36AM - Toji (MMA fighter): I need you.
2:38AM - Toji (MMA fighter): For another one of those full body massages.
2:42AM - Toji (MMA fighter): Please.
2:42AM - You: On my way!
As you jumped out of your bed to get dressed, you noticed that you had several missed calls from Shiu, as well. After calling him right back, he informed you that just last week, Toji had come up on a draw during his last match, which was yet another co-main event for the #1 Contender spot.
Of course, you knew of this, you’d watched the match on the gymnasium television. And though it wasn’t the worst of outcomes (especially considering that this was world-class fighting, at a light heavyweight level), considering his winning streak, you were somewhat surprised. And slightly afraid that he’d go back into his rut of losing, just as Shiu was.
Which was why he, too, wanted to reach out to inquire whether you could do one of your ‘magical’ full-body massages on Toji on the night before one of his biggest matches yet. A rematch for the #1 Contender spot - the audiences loved him.
Shiu told you he’d seen Toji moping around after that devastating draw, and knew that the only one who just might have the ability to brighten his mood would be you. So please, if you could go at 2:45AM to the penthouse apartment of a celebrity MMA fighter to give him a massage?
Of course, you said yes.
It seems that Toji’s team had arranged for everything already, and a flashy black car was already waiting outside your apartment building to whisk you off to your destination. You twiddled your thumbs, slightly nervous (for what? You weren’t quite sure) as the car parked in front of a set of gleaming skyscrapers. Apartment buildings of a calibre that you’d only seen in architectural magazines.
Escorted upwards by a few of Toji’s own personal bodyguards past an entrance larger than your entire apartment, and a lobby that practically screamed luxury.
You didn’t even know that Tokyo had such a place.
Massive. Concierges that bowed as soon as they saw you. An orchestra that still played in the dead of night. Chandeliers like miniature suns that lined the ceiling.
Damn, maybe you should’ve become a famous fighter, you whistled. It made sense, though, he is one of the highest-paid athletes in the country. Even the elevators were gilded, shining so brightly that you could make out every inch of your face on its reflection. And the bodyguard’s, too- you quickly straightened up and tried to look as casual as possible as he led you to the very top floor.
A large glowing button simply labelled with a ‘P’.
The penthouse floor had a wide carpeted corridor leading up to it, all golds and reds like the rest of the apartment. You walked up to the expensive-looking door at the end of it, and buzzed the doorbell on its touchpad.
Bzzzz—!
The door swings open.
And there stands Toji Fushiguro, in all his sweaty, shirtless glory.
It almost reminded you of the first time you gave him a massage. Chest heaving. Vision bleary. A glittering bead of sweat lines the curve of his jawline, ending at his chin and dripping downwards. Down, down, down the valley of his pecs.
There was a lewd little flush that overtook his tannish skin.
Like he was…sex-flushed.
Spreading out across his tense shoulders, and all the way down his chest. The back of his neck. You don’t think it even ends as it follows the line of his dark happy trail, those curly lil’ hairs at the bottom of his navel, and then even further down—
Toji’s grey sweatpants hung low on his hips.
Dangerously low.
And you have to force yourself to look away. You swallow as he raises one big, beefy arm and rests it on the top of the door frame. Looking at you through the gaps in his damp bangs, “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, mama.”
“O-oh.” You immediately close your mouth, realizing that you’d been gawking at him for far too long now (how unprofessional!) Sheepishly, you raise your bag of supplies and shake it ever-so-slightly. “I uh- got your text! And Shiu also called to tell me that you wanted an extra round of physical therapy before your match, sir-”
“Toji.”
“Toji-” You amend. Before taking on a stern tone, “And it looks to me like you’d already been up working out before your match. Overstressing your joints will wear them out, you know!”
He scratches the back of his head, a sleazy smile overtaking his face. “Working out- right.”
Tutting, “What you need now is a nice massage and some relaxation. I’ll do your usual with some added therapy for your blood pressure, how about that?”
“Perfect.” Toji grins, and he cracks the doorway open. Just slightly open. So that you have to squeeze yourself between the doorway and his chiselled body - not that you were complaining. “Come on in and give me a- hah, real workout then, how about it?”
“Relaxation, Toji.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Ignoring his teasing, you step inside. It’s a luxurious apartment - one of those stylishly modern types, black and white, with flares of Toji’s MMA career. Boxing gloves on the sprawling couch. A TV that takes up an entire wall, paused on highlights from his last match. A cabinet overspilling with trophies and belts.
Led by him, you stumble past towering artworks that likely cost about five of these penthouses - and that’s about ten thousand of your own apartment.
He walks you through winding hallways, and ultimately into what you guess is the master bedroom.
His bedroom.
The first thing you notice as you step in isn’t the rich furniture, or the king-sized bed, or the draping curtains that were cracked ever-so-slightly to let a sliver of the city seep through. No- it’s the mountain of tissues scattered on the wine-red carpet, the bottle of lotion on his bedside table, the way the dark bedsheets looked like he’d just been thrashing on it.
Toji casually lays back down on his wrinkled bed, and rests his clammy head on two hands. Stretching out.
You hasten to set out your work, coating your palms in lotion, and beginning your massage. As you start off warming up his obliques, you can’t help but blurt out- “M-my apologies for assuming it was a workout-”
Fuck.
Why would you say that?
You gasp, “I mean-”
“Why?” Toji croons, tilting his head to look at you. Trying to avoid his gaze, you quickly shift to extending his legs instead. “It was a workout, heh.”
Your veins bubble, “Oh…”
“And it’s a workout I need before every match, y’know?” Looking at you closely, still, you’re too aware of the fact that you’re massaging his thigh. “The fact that m’fuckin’ my fist like some lecher before every match, you don’t think that’s strange?”
“I see. I don’t really…” Your throat is drier than the Sahara, you have no idea what to say - though, you admit, a part of you wants to hear more. So that’s what he’d been doing, in this very room, on this very bed, just before you’d arrived.
Another part of you is thrilled. Another part of you is confused why you’re thrilled- which quickly morphs into understanding once your brain conjures up a sizzling image of Toji Fushiguro alone with his sweatpants at his ankles, hands fisting his rock-hard cock.
Shaking your head free of those lecherous visions, you attempt to lighten the mood- “Is that why you’ve been winning all these matches lately, hah?”
“Exactly.” And Toji sounded dead-fucking-serious. Rising, he looks you squarely in the eyes with his slightly murky ones. “See, the thing is, I have this jinx.”
Your eyes widen.
“That’s why I was on a losing streak- no matter what happens, it turns out I needa have a real good high the night before a match.” Your hands have stopped their movements, yet he shifts to edge them up higher. Closer. “N’ it needs to be truly satisfying for me to win.”
“So- so these past few matches?”
“Mhm, you’re a smart one, mama.” He shifts on the bed, sitting up. Even closer. “You could say it’s my routine, and it’s very important to me.” His verdant gaze shifts from your right eye, to your left, to your lips. A triangle. “And…I’d found my fix. Just fucking my fist to the thought of her was enough- but lately…lately, I dunno if that’s all I want.”
Your breath catches—he was talking about…“I see- th-that must be quite challenging.”
“Heh, it looks like you still don’t get it.”
Before you know it, his hand grasps yours. And he’s bringing it up- to press an innocent peck on the back of your hand, though the burning look in his eyes was anything but.
Scarred lips murmuring against your skin, “Why’d ya think that on the crucial night before a match, I’d go through all the trouble of calling my manager, informing security, and having you come over?” He chuckles, “And if you still don’t get it-”
And that sweet, sweet kiss he was pressing to your hand?
Well, Toji’s canines slip outwards to lightly bite down - just teasingly. He looks at you through his long, Stygian lashes. “I know the way you look at me, ya aren’t slick- hah! If you want - only if you want - you should know.” Sighing out. A confession. “It’s always been you, doll. Always.”
So he really was talking about you earlier.
Your heart stutters, and the only thing you can think to do - let your hand slip up, just the way it had on the first day you’d given him a massage.
And sure as day, there it was, the massive fucking erection that raged beneath his sweatpants. Just as large - if not even larger - than how you’d remembered him.
Just as needy - if not needier.
You gulp, “Well, I am your physical therapist intended to help you…” You stare at him dead-on in the eyes: they were drunk with lust. Looking as if he was on the very urge of shattering if you just say the word. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think of him in that way, either. “-win.”
.
.
.
“Oh fuck, you taste so good, mama. Just a lil’ wider now—just a little wider.” At Toji’s throaty beckons, you’re stretchin’ your thighs further apart with a whimper.
Feeling the scorchin’ hot gust of his breath against your core, you arch your back with a yelp once you feel him swat his calloused fingertips against your folds.
Teasingly, he runs his fat thumb right past your pussylips- snagging down on your clit to make you even wetter above him. “Wiiider now- lemme see her properly, mama.” He huffs out, demanding. “No need to be shy with me.”
“M’already stretching.” You’re rebutting, grabbing onto a few tufts of his raven bangs to balance yourself. You knew you didn’t need to be gentle with him- in fact, Toji groans at the feeling of you pulling on his hair, using it as leverage.
After all, he’d been the one to insist on making out with your cunt this way: your thighs straddling either side of his face, your cunt hovering above his mouth.
A beaded droplet of slick dribbles into his mouth and he has his tongue out n’ ready to catch it. Pryin’ your swollen folds even further apart with his thumb, “Atta girl-” As you leak out at his words- “Atta girl, s’exactly how wet I want you.”
“Hmpf- and you haven’t even kissed me yet.” You point out, stubbornly.
To which Toji only grins - oh, how cute you were. “You wan’ me to kiss you? There-” And before you know it, you’re feeling something cold and wet cling onto your pussy. Only later are you realizing that he’d just spat on your cunt, letting the lewd slurp-slurp-sluuuurp ring out for both your ears to hear. “Those lips happy now, or do you want tongue?”
“You’re just so mean- ngh-”
Another probing press of his crowned thumb, once more rolling over your clit perfectly. “Oh, so you do want tongue.”
And Toji says it so casually, as if he’d just stumbled across an epiphany. As if he normally did communicate through the squelching slurps your pussy was giving out-
Because then he’s delving his tongue into you like an animal.
Barely even prepping you, barely even warning you- not before the scourin’ tip of his tongue then enters past your folds. Striking directly against some tender inner part of your walls, before he’s darting it back out and fucking you with his long muscle.
Rutting.
Again and again and again.
You feel your thighs shiver hopelessly at the sheer length of Toji’s tongue - so fucking long that you could feel his ridged tastebuds aim for your very cervix. As if he could reach. “O-oh my god. How are you so big, Toji?”
“Mmm, and I haven’t even put my cock in yet, doll.” He smiles priggishly, his tongue slurping up every wadded ounce of slick that leaves you. “How are you gonna take that then, huh?”
“I don’t know- ngh.” He’s mazing another inch of his tongue in, thoroughly. And it’s enough to leave your body all loose n’ wobbly with pleasure- stupidly, you attempt to hold onto the towering headboard on his bed, but Toji can’t have that, now, can he?
Not when he was the one pounding your pretty pussy with all his tastebuds.
Glued to the slick-filled orifices of your cunt, he’s unhooking your hands from the headboard and bringing it back down to hold onto his scalp. To pull. To rough him up a little. “Don’t even think about it-” He can’t even speak through the rough, open-mouthed kisses he was leaving on your puckered hole. Wetly. Gasping for air- for more tastes of your candied cunt. “In fact…”
Your hips flinch ever-so-slightly once Toji raises his head up - which, with his powerful body, was absolutely nothing even with your weight on top of him. And through his long bangs he takes a gooood, long look at you.
At your cunt.
At the way you were still hovering your hips, and then he’s spanking his familiar hand down on the tip-top of your clit. Making you gasp- “Did you just-”
“Whoops.” Faux-innocently, Toji acts all nice then - pinpointing the top of his tongue into each of those tender spots you loved so much. He unhinges his jaw even further to make sure that he isn’t leaving a single spot unkissed. Long and hard.
Smack!
And again, you’re finding the most tender outer part of your pussy slapped. “Aww, not again.” Toji has the audacity to pout on your behalf. Meanly, his free hand slides over to grip your ass and pull you down. “Anyways…why don’tcha properly fuckin’ sit, mama. Maybe then my hands will stop- heh, slipping.”
And as if to prove his point, his prolonged tongue skids all the way from your glossy hole to your clit. “I mean…”
“Like- fuck!” Still urging you to sit properly with his hands, on the verge of manhandling you. “Who the fuck do ya think you are, honey?”
You shyly try to listen to what he says, grindin’ your treacly cunt all over his open mouth. And oh- oh, it was like heaven for him. He has his greedy maw unfastened and his tongue slurping all over, stickin’ into every orifice even deeper than he had before. “I worry- hngh! I just worry that I might-” But he still wanted more. Still had his neck craning up n’ down to take in everything you gave him. “-suffocate you if you go on like this.”
And it was a realistic concern- fuck, you were hovering your waist right now and still Toji wasn’t stopping to take a breath. Wasn’t even slowing down.
He’s burying himself nose-deep between your pussylips and letting his mouth do more stirrin’ than talking. And it’s only after a few more vulgar fucking strokes of his tongue, a few more swabs inside your pussy that he can even wrench himself away to answer you. “Ohhhh, I get it.” Tugging on your trembling thighs, “You think I can’t handle it, huh?”
“I didn’t say- oh, fuck-”
Without hesitation, Toji plants a rude slap on your pussy once more. Letting those glittering beads of slick splatter all over, “You think m’fucking weak?” He seethes, half-joking. But half-wanting. “Let me get one thing fuckin’ clear, doll.”
And you’re listening intently - because if he sensed you were becoming too far one on the way his tongue lavishly licks, then Toji would once again swat your cunt. Drawing your attention once more.
The fighter stares deeply into your hazed peripherals as he lets his lengthy tongue flop out. Slitherin’ that honed tip right in- “No matter what you weigh, I can bench press more than five of you.” And he gives your pussylips yet another sinful spank! “Now- fucking- sit.”
You’re being seated with an unceremoniously loud sluuuuurp.
Of his tongue stickin’ deep inside you, his upper lip practically glued to your clit. With you riding his face, Toji fills out every tiny geysering nook and cranny. Grazing every velvety bundle of nerves that makes you see stars.
“Oh- please-” He was just ruthless. As if you didn’t know whether to fuck back or run forwards, you’re jolting your hips sloppily up and down. Slick, needy drags to match his lapping tongue.
Again and again.
Slurp after squelch.
Before you know it, Toji wants more - needs more. Even having you on top of him like this, his mouth was ravenous. Licking. Leaning up from the pillows to let you ride his face; all the way from the curve of his chin n’ up to the tip of his straight nosebridge.
As you come back down from one of these particular gyrations, Toji holds you still and - before you know it - you’re feeling the sensation of something elongated and thick entering your cunt.
“Sh-shit, that’s not your tongue…” You blink away the tears in your eyes and look downwards, where the protruding edges of his joints were stretching you intensely.
Two of them- even though it felt like four, with how big his fingers were.
As you wail n’ wobble on top of him, Toji crushes you to his mouth ferociously. And you marvel at the stretch that keeps you hostage - you can’t do anything but take it. But let your mouth fall ajar, and your head throw back, at the feeling of his probing thrusts.
Sultry tastebuds flickering over your clit- “Mmm, s’not my tongue- good catch, doll.” He snickers, “Thought that such a goooood pussy deserved a little something m-more-”
You catch the way that his dark brows furrow, a slight flush tinting what little you could see of his ears. “Wait- Toji, did you just stutter-”
“No the fuck I didn’t-” He’s snapping back.
And in response, you’re having your gummy walls pummeled with some of the rudest jackhammers you’ve ever felt in your entire life. Oh, he’s just swabbing his fingerpads in so deep, mouth pursing to spit against your entrance once more n’ lick it all up.
Letting himself salivate.
Toji drools down a waterfall of your slick, his fingers tuggin’ apart your tight hole to squeeze-squeeze-squeeze in a third finger. “Don’t make me lose focus now.” Grumbling from underneath you, the fighter pins you down with a big, beefy arm wrapped ‘round your waist. Tight. You’re in awe of his sheer inhuman strength. “Don’tcha remember? I’ve gotta- ngh- win tomorrow, n’ this pretty pussy is the key to it, mama. So let me focus alllll my attention on h-her…”
You gasp, “So you did stutter-” And soon enough, you feel yourself growing even wetter at the implication that the strong, cocky Toji Fushiguro was so pussydrunk right now that he was slurring his words.
Gone on your cunt. The way you clenched ‘round his rovering fingers- oh.
And, of course, Toji wasn’t complaining about the fact that you were soaking yourself even more. Only gaping his maw further open, “Mmm, tch-” His fingers pull out with a squelch to spank the front of your core, “-these lips are much nicer t’me.”
“Hey—” You huff, “Just because I got you all ngh- pussydrunk doesn’t mean- oh fuck!”
“What were you saying—?” And then he’d bullied in four fingers - four. Four entire, long digits- he ends off by hitting his mountainous knuckles against your folds with a smack! Smack after smack. Until the skin on his hands were rubbed all raw, Toji probes his fingers inside your cunt. “Oh yes, I think someone was talkin’ all big w’me. Do you know who that, mmm, might be?”
You shake on top of him, his cushy fingertips were glissading oh-so-close to your g-spot. With every rapid thrust, they inched in—“I-I don’t-”
“I see.” And then he’s rolling his tongue ruthlessly against your clit with a few wettened noises. “Do you know then?”
“What do you-”
“Shhh, not you.” Toji rolls his half-lidded eyes. And his vibratin’ words zap through your entire body - he always did make sure to lean in reeeeal close whenever he spoke, but right now, he was tracing his canines over your swollen clit and lightly gnawing. “M’talking to her- aren’t I?”
“F-fuuuck–!” Just then, he’s striking your g-spot. Thunderously. Just then, he’s realizing he did- and repeating the motion in quick, frenzied half-thrusts.
Barely even pulling properly to tease your elastic hole, barely even letting you register the way he bashes your bundle of nerves before he repeats the act. Toji was just vicious with how he batters in your poor cunt, “Yeah? Yeah yeah yeah- ya like that?” He spits, “Who’s stuttering now, mama? Got anythin’ else to say?”
You whimper, “Mm-mm-”
“Mhm, I knew she was chattier anyway.”
Talking to your pussy, Toji nods along like he’s part of the conversation. All those pretty, pretty sounds that he almost wishes he could record and listen to on loop.
So it was only a matter of time before he’s feeling the way your clampin’ walls reach a feverpitch, the way your damp noises only seem to get damper.
And the fighter looks up at you with a glint of excitement in his partially-lidded eyes, “Oh, she’s close, doll.”
“How did you-” Your breath catches- fuck, he’s only accelerating his thorough pushes. The only thing you could register at this point was the perfect way he knew how to work your pussy, all those deepest, most fragile spots.
Quickly enough, those twinges of pleasure at the pit of your stomach are turning into waves.
And you can feel your thighs tremor on top of him, struggling to support your body when your orgasm quakes. “Toji, m’close-” You tug on his sweaty hair, “I think m’gonna c-cum soon.”
“So cum on my face, then?” He answers, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Determined, you don’t even need to hold up your own self anymore - he’s doing so with one hand glued to the side of your hips, the other pressing and probin’ until you’re being fucked by both his mouth n’ his fingers- straight into your high.
Crash-landing into your orgasm, it takes you entirely by surprise.
You jerk your cunt against his mouth, and Toji groans with delight. Back arching. Toes curling. You close your eyes and see entirely white as the surge of euphoria takes over your body.
“Oh my- ngh, fuck. M’cumming, m’cumming m’cumming and it feels so good-” He’s just digging his veiny fingers against every sensitive ridge on your walls, just the way you liked. “Right there, keep going just like that, Toji.”
And usually this would be the point where he says something to tease you. The point where he says something to make you whine n’ try to shut him up with your bloated pussylips.
But he was fucking you so thoroughly through your high that he doesn’t even have the time for that anymore, doesn’t have the patience.
With his scarred lips smoochin’ away at your clit, Toji lets his plump fingertips hit your g-spot. Constantly. With those keen senses of his (honestly you blame the reflexes from MMA), he pinpoints the exact tempo of your high.
Every peak- he bashes in with a swat! at your bundle of nerves. Letting his mouth salivate all down your runny slit, drinking up every sip of your sweet, sweet juices. Like honey. “And you called me p-pussydrunk, heh.” Toji titters away, noticing the glazed look in your eyes. “As if you’re not the one gone on my tongue, doll. As if you’re not the one salivating all like that. As if you’re not the one with the pussy that’s fuckin’ ruined me- fuck.”
Both of you register what he’s said at the same time.
Toji with a sudden gasp, and you with a smug smirk. The strongest of your high has bated by now to nothing more than a few tingles, and you have half the mind to look down at him and ask. “So…ruined you, huh?”
“Sh-shut up.”
That pussydrunkness - oh, Toji Fushiguro was fighting against it. Trying not to cave in. But alas, he couldn’t be in denial any longer after your orgasm has ended, and you’re trying to pull off of his mouth- only for Toji to hold onto your thighs and chase after your cunt.
You whimper from overstimulation as he licks at your teary crevice a few more times, before you the pleasure is too much and you really have to push his sweaty crown away.
“Toji- ngh, m’sensitive.” You squeal, to which he grunts in nonchalance. Still addicted to tastin’ you. Realizing this, you finally huff, “If you let me go now, then maybe I wanna take a shot at- hah, paying you back…”
And that finally makes him pull off. With a raised brow, “Cheh, go easy on yerself- you can’t take me that easily.”
“Oh? Scared?”
“You wish.”
In fact, there was a hint of challenge in Toji’s dazed eyes. In no time, you’re plopped off of his mouth with the most lecherous noise. Seated on the edge of the bed, he got off and tugged down on the flimsy fabric of his sweatpants.
Resting his fist on the dark curls at his base, you’re being introduced to Toji’s proud length.
Tanned. Rock-hard.
Even larger than you’d imagined from all his…accidental erections during your sessions. Long. And he wasn’t lacking in the girth department, either - the plumpest tip, all covered in a layer of creamy pre. It dripped down the nozzle of his cockhead, n’ allllll the way down his shaft.
Body moving before your mind, you’re reaching out to grab at his tannish cock. The flatness of your thumb easily smears the lines of precum he was leaking out, letting them glide along the veins that decorated either side of his shaft.
So textured, you wondered how it would feel inside-
“So?” Toji grunts out from above you, peering down. You notice that he still has the remnants of your slick plastered all across his chin, mouth, all the way up to his cheekbones. Worn like some medallion. He sinks his fangs into his lower lip to stop from making too many needy noises as you inspected his sheer size, “Not too late to back out now, doll- heh- oh.”
You’re making him swallow that cocky laughter of his back.
Because in a few sultry split-seconds, you have your mouth pointed right above the divot on his shaft. Spitting. You let the dollop of spittle ooze down his shaft for a bit, before immediately taking his tip into your mouth.
Oh, he’s reaching for the roof of your mouth instantly.
So thick. So plump. You shut your eyes and groan at the salty-sweet taste that greets you, it’s surprisingly not unpleasant.
And Toji lets off a low whistle at the slobbered display, “Oho?” Looking at you through his lashes, you stare up with doey, teary eyes and he feels himself throb at near the back of your throat. “Sh-shit- dooon’t fucking look at me like that. Oh, you know what you’re doing, woman.”
“Mmmpf-” You moan, your lips ‘round his sensitive slit. They send sinful vibrations that makes the larger man hiss.
“Fuck yeah, you do.” With a mean hand, the fighter grips onto the back of your scalp. Manhandling you slightly, “C’mon, doll. C’mon- let’s see if that slutty mouth o’ yours is just talk.”
And then he’s rutting slightly upwards - gently.
At least, for him. But for you, you’re clawing down the lines of his toned pelvis, struggling to catch your breath-
“Oh? Some claws on ya, girl. Don’t tell me you’re tapping out already? I haven’t even fucked ya dumb yet.” And he has the audacity to make that mocking pout again, “Y’know I’ve been fuckin’ my cock to the, mm, thought of you for months now. And- oh, fuck- keep doing that with your tongue—ngh.”
Your jaw aches, and yet you unhinge it even deeper to let the tip of your tastebuds trace patterns all across the line of his slit. All pinkish and slicked with precum.
He continues, “You wanna know a secret?” It was such a heavenly sight, watching you try to nod with Toji’s fat cock stuffed between your lips. Hell, you hadn’t even taken him all yet. “Right before you came here-” Leaning in, whispering. “-I was jerking my cock- oh-”
“Mhmm—?”
“-to your text, doll.”
Oh, fuck.
You’re plucking yourself off of Toji’s thick crown to gasp- but he doesn’t let you get too far before grabbing you with one hand at your throat. Lightly putting pressure at your sides, he’s crashing his lips onto yours.
“Mmm—” He groans against your lips, tasting you, tasting himself, tasting you. “Get on the middle of the bed, all fours. Wanna see if those other lips of yours are just talk, too.”
“They’re not.” You huff, but do as he says anyway.
Those overworked bedsprings creak as you both reposition yourselves: you on your hands and knees, your face pushed into one of the pillows, and Toji right behind you.
His rough hands bend your spine into a cute lil’ curvature, and then proceeds to bang the ends of his fingertips against your weepy pussy. “Easy there, mama.” Toji coos once you buck with a whimper, “Toji’s here n’ you just have to be my good girl and take it, alright?”
You’re nodding, “Just shut up and fuh-fuck me already.”
“Tut tut, greedy girl.”
But he’s doing as you say anyway - oh, he’d do anything you say, to be quite honest. You’re inching your needy cunt closer to where his erection was upright, and Toji holds onto the base of his cock to just slightly eeeeease his way in.
His plump, puckered tip pries apart your folds.
From his honed end, all the way down to where his cockhead swells, you’re feeling him stretch you wiiide open as he enters. “Oh my- fuck! You feel even bigger than you looked-”
“Why, thank you…heh.” And you swear you can feel his red-hot girth throb even bigger. Wider. Since Toji was rock-fucking-hard, you could sense any and every change in his size. “Now don’t run, alright?”
“Why would I-” You’re cutting your own self off, feeling him give the slightest half-thrust from behind. And it’s enough to make you lurch your hand out and grab onto one of the spindles of his headboard. “-oh- oh, I get it now.”
“Mhm—knew you’d wanna run, all talk.” Shaking his head and his shaggy strands, Toji had to have some extra, extra precaution, you see.
Just a warning wasn’t enough. So without further ado, his beefy forearm reaches out to hold tightly onto your neck. Squeezing either side of it, he feels the way your pulse thunders underneath his touch.
Throat strangled with spittle and whines. “Oh my god-” Even more so when he starts rutting his hips like an animal.
“Easy there, eeeeasy there.” He’s reassuring you from behind, as if his achingly hard cock wasn’t splitting you open incredibly. “S’just the tip, doll. You can take it- shhh, you can take it.”
“Whaddaya mean this is just the tip?” You gasp, feeling your body being pulled into his like a ragdoll. He manhandles you as if you’re nothing, constantly grinding your hips back against that scruffy happy trail of his.
“Well, just the tip aaaaand…” You’re quickly learning that whenever Toji elongates his words, he’s dragging out his thrusts, too.
Letting the thick, vein-covered length of his shaft gliiiide all across your walls and then right back. Baaaack and forth. Baaaack and forth. With a sensual pace, he’s inching his way in- the fat, bulbous end of his shaft acting like the headlight. Spearing. He snickers, “-an inch more. Two.”
Tears stream down your cheeks, and Toji’s lavish tongue careens out to lick at them deliciously. “A-and- oh, how much more is there?”
He casually leans his weight back to check, and the fighter’s greedy gaze gets stuck on the sight of your pussy suckin’ him up. Slurping him.
It’s like your pussylips were stretched apart so widely and struggling to take his merciless pace- yet still clamping down, still glistening with wetness after each one of his rugged strikes. “Oh, just about two inches…three…four-” Toji whispers hotly against your ear, “Y’know what- how about I just tell you after you’ve taken all, mm, nine inches, doll?”
Nine inches?
Oh, you were done for.
You weren’t walking out of this very penthouse.
“Yeah, you’re not.” He confirms your thought- shit, you’d said that out loud. Just so dickmatized by the way his flared ridges were swervin’ all around your tight walls.
The curvaceous line of his cockhead nudges apart your channel, and you feel his hold tighten even further. “But the good news- you’re gonna take- ngh, my entire cock, won’t you?” Breathy. He was speeding up his cadence now. Long, thorough strokes. “Gonna take e-every single inch?”
“Yes-” You claw at the headboard, “Yes yes yes yes-”
And then rings the loudest squeeeelch ever as he’s fitting in a few more inches, “Mhmmm, and you’re gonna- ngh- love it.”
Both you and your sloppy pussy do - and he can tell.
All that arousal. All those cute noises you were making. You’re feeling the exact way the zig-zagged pattern of his veins massages your cunt, just perfectly scratching every carnal inch. And he’s almost bottoming-out, almost feeling his reddened tip hit the back of your pussy-
Before you clench around his rude cock—
And you hear the exact, shattered moment that Toji’s breath catches. “Oh fuck-” He stills, “Oh fuck, this won’t work-”
Blinking over your shoulder, “Toji?”
“Fuck.”
His bass cracks at the tail end of that profanity.
And in a mere instant - so fast that you don’t even have enough time to compute - you’re finding your head trapped in one of Toji’s infamous headlocks.
Sure, he’d often used it in a much less attractive way with his opponents.
But never had he used it like this. And you’re choking at the restraint of his flexing muscles, all bulged and big. His biceps digs perfectly against the front of your throat, and you feel your saliva come out in heaps- “Toji- Toji Toji Toji- oh, I can feel you hit my c-cervix.”
Sure enough, he’d dragged you back to bottom out.
The curvy tip of his shaft cutely bumpin’ your cervix, you feel a sticky layer of his precum drip out at the fact. Pulling back, back, baaaaack - right until his plump crown kisses your hole, and then all the way back in again.
In and out. In and out.
So thoroughly, he’s fucking his rock-hard cock into you. Leaving absolutely no hidden spot unturned, leaving your fuzzy brain in absolute shambles.
“You said- hah, you said I didn’t kiss you, right?” Toji rasps against the shell of your ear, his heated proximity making goosebumps run down your spine. And, honestly, at this point you can barely even remember the conversation that’d led up to him saying this. “Well, here I am now-”
“What you do…oh.”
His cock was hitting your cervix- smooching it. Hard, wettened kisses.
Over and over. Toji smashes you back against his pistoning hips, and with his other hand he’s sliding slithering a hand down to your pussy - spanking. “See? M’kissing her, too, now.” He’s tittering, so thoroughly proud of the way your mouth waters.
“That doesn’t cou-”
Smack!
“What was that—?”
The force of it is so pleasurable that your body automatically holds onto the headboard and tries to heave yourself upwards. Thrashing. To which Toji turns his beady eyes down at the futile escape route-
And immediately slams his hand down on the flat top of the headboard.
“Speak t’me, mama- what was, ngh, that?”
Splitting it straight down in two.
You gape stupidly at the way the bed frame easily cracks underneath his strength, and Toji’s taking the slight distraction as an opportunity to lean back onto his haunches.
And he’s taking you right with him.
Toji’s sitting back on his heels, his buttocks resting on the balls of his feet. And you’re somewhat seated on his lap, still having him fuck upwards into you- with this position, he’s reaching his globular tip so deeply.
Even further than he ever had before, he wetly glissades his tip to pierce your womb. “Ngh- fuck.” Grunting in your ear, “You can’t tell me that doesn’t count, doll.” So he did know what you were about to say.
Stirrin’ up your goopy insides, he feels like velvet inside. And you think he’s slowly molding your cunt to his exact size, every line of his vein, every inch. “See? One kiss.” Toji counts out, and immediately you’re feeling his cocktip swipe your cervix. Thudding. “Two kisses.” Another one. “Three kisses-”
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven- it’s on this one that his glistening wet tip manages to locate your g-spot. Since his shaft was more right-leaning, it was oh-so-easy for him to constantly glide down that one spot.
“E-eight-” You count out, by yourself.
And if you could see him right now, you’d have noticed the way that Toji’s predatory eyes widened with pleasant surprise. Oh, you were cockdrunk. He holds you down to him, “Oho? You can count it by yourself now, huh? Then- haaaah, how about- this?”
“Nine-” You blurt out, saliva sploshin’ down the entire front of your chin. “Ten- ngh, eleven.”
“That was actually twelve, but close enough.” He rolls his eyes - he couldn’t punish you too much for that, just a few sodden spanks at the forefront of your cunt. And that was it, really. He’d decided to go easy on you this time, really. Now for him to smoothly shovel his shaft into you, until you were idly reaching your second orgasm of the night.
Hah- as if.
After two slaps to your clit, the fighter edges himself close to your ear and mutters out. “If you can’t do that- could you at least, mm, fuck back into me.”
You whine, “Do I have to? But you do it so good…”
“Spoiled brat.” Yet another swat down on your slit, he caresses your clit as if making up for it. And before long, you’re feeling the spearheading tempo of his cock slow down. “C’mon now- up! There we go- get to work, doll.”
“Mmpf- you’re gonna pay for this.” You growl, doing your very best to try and get your legs to work. They’d been taking it for so long, limp at the pressure, that your hamstrings were positively screaming now. “Shit- but I wanna go faster, oh.”
Toji rolls his eyes with a scoff, “So go faster, girl. What’s the hold up?”
“It just feels so- so- oh.” It just felt so good is what you wanted to say - but you don’t sputter out the words right at that moment (you didn’t want to feed his ego too much).
“So so oh?” He mocks, “Didn’t I say this pretty pussy of yours was- oh, chattier? Think she might just be more articulate, too- heh.”
“Sh-shut up.”
And as if to prove a point, your sloppy drags only made your cunt echo out even louder. The skin on your ass cheeks burned after each slam against his hips, and Toji was just so ripped that every rut left the indentations of his v-line stinging.
“Ngh- fuck.” You arch your back and attempt to slide down his thick cock easier, rubbin’ that part of your g-spot against where his veins were most prominent.
You hated to admit it, but your limbs were growing all weary. And Toji lets out a huff of breathy laughter as he noticed the way your cadence seemed to be slowing down, “Mmm, feelin’ tired, are we? You’re not tapping out any time soon, m’kay?”
“But- but I’m so-” You whine, your fingers fisting in the silk bedsheets. They seemed to be the expensive type, yet ruined with a damp layer of sweat n’ slick. Soon enough, you’re dropping to the bed with a weary mewl. “-shit, I don’t know if I can go any longer-”
You don’t even get to finish your sentence.
You don’t even get to finish the lone, sloppy thrust that you were stumblin’ across
Not before Toji’s then taking over. He gets up off his haunches, pushing you rudely onto all fours again.
And this time? He wasn’t holding back.
“Allll that talk- cheh.” Toji’s spitting down at your pussy, lubricating it once again despite you not even needing it. Before long, you’re being pounded by his long, heavy cock- feeling every single inch in your throat. “But your Toji just has to finish this pretty pussy off, hm?”
“Yes- yes-” You don’t even feel slightly embarrassed in admitting, “Jus’ wanna cum, Toji- ngh, I’m so close.”
“Oh, mama, I know.” Two rugged pads of his fingers come down to slap your clit, smoothing it over with a few gentle rolls. But you’re so far gone at this point that even that makes you see stars- “And you’re gonna cum allll over my- hah, cock, alright? All over.”
Nodding pathetically, you were just drippin’ in spit and sweat. Body shaking with the pangs of pleasure already- “All over b-but you then you have to cum right in here, okay?”
His breath catches, “Wh-where?” Toji stutters.
Blissfully ignorant, you point down the front of your stomach. Drawing a line right where you could feel his rotund tip bottoming out after every thrust, “I don’t think m’gonna last that long.”
“Oh.”
There was something broken in his voice as he registers what you were just telling him with your actions - that you wanted him to finish inside. To pump you so full of cum that it’ll drip out of you. To make sure you feel him from the outside and the inside.
He’s fucking you so hard that the skin ‘round his pelvis had begun to rub raw, slightly overstimulating his tip against the softness of your cunt. Toji pushes down on your body, pinning you down with his weight.
Manhandling you.
So much manhandling.
In this mean doggy position, he leans down and pinches your clit. “Oh, doll, you can’t even imagine what m’gonna do to ya-” Ruined. Shattered baritone. “-don’t even know how far m’gonna fill you up with my cum. You’re gonna be- ngh, overspilling.”
“Yes yes yes- I want it.” And now you’re gyrating your hips back into his- hah, he could almost tease you for it. So you had the desperation now? “Please- give it t’me-”
“Nuh uh, you have to cum first.”
“But- ngh.” A pinch at your clit, a puckering kiss. And Toji hits your g-spot so hard that you swear you see the pearly gates of heaven: you’re cumming.
Wave after wave of your white-hot high.
The pleasure thrums in your veins, and you’re crying out as Toji hits every precious spot with his globular tip. Pinpointed precisely. Your knees weaken- you were mistaken earlier, this was the best orgasm you’ve ever had.
He’s not too far behind.
With a grunt, Toji cums. And after every riveting peak of your high, he’s pourin’ out in sticky wads of cum. It’s like an ivory sap that takes over every inch of your insides, hot and wet.
You squeal as you feel the gluey layer of it stuff you to the brim, ultimately ending up formulating a ring of white around the girth of his hilt. “Cumming-” You blabber tearily, your brain foggy with the feeling of him cumming inside you. Turning around to face him, “I’m c-cumming, Toji.”
“Mmm, you are. So pretty takin’ my- ngh, cum.” Toji’s rough lips kiss down the line of your spine, and his fingers dip from your clit to tease your creamy slit. “I love this view.”
The more he’s swiping away the droplets of cum that pour out of your pussy, the more that keeps sprinkling out - and he honestly doesn’t know whether that’s his fault or yours.
Letting the treacly glaze drip down to his wrist, Toji brings his sticky hand up to your mouth. “Spread those lips f’me, doll- yeahhh, like that.” He murmurs, thickly. And you whimper as he sticks his adhesive-like fingertips into your mouth, making you suck on the salty sap.
Cleaning it off.
It feels like years - almost like eons - until Toji’s finally finished riding out his high, just as strong as yours. He hunches over as he cums-
“Oh, we’re not done y-yet, doll.” Too soon, you’re being dragged back into his hulking body. And since he was finally done with webbing up your insides, now came the fun part where he was fucking it in. Each n’ every gooey wad seeped into your innards. Those earlier specks that’d leaked out from before? Well he’s using his fingers to push those in, too. “You didn’t think that a world-class fighter had a stamina that low, did ya?”
Gasping, you don’t think you can trust your very eardrums right now. “So you mean to say…”
“Mhm.” Toji’s fucking you into utter stupidity- easily flipping you over, you’re being folded into the sloppiest mating press in existence. He mutters to you as he throws your legs over his shoulders, bending you down. “Y’know…MMA championships have five rounds.”
“Oh- and?”
Toji just grins, drilling out a heavy thrust. “One down, four to go, mama.”
.
.
.
“Wow! That was a mean right hook, I definitely wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that strength.” You bite back a grin at the commentator’s voice—oh, how you knew. “Toji Fushiguro sends Naoya Zenin flying–”
You can’t bring yourself to wince as the two-tone-haired man lands on the other side of the octagon with a shuddering thud.
Too excited from your seat in the cageside area - the closest you could be to the fighters - as part of the team. It was your first time officially accompanying Toji to one of his big fights, as his physical therapist.
And his lover.
Though, that part was a secret (more or less, you swear you’d seen most of the gym giving you knowing looks whenever you clocked into work walking a little funny, or whenever Toji had sauntered into the locker room; hickies, nail marks, and all). But for now you settled into your role as the alert physical therapist, watching out for any points in which Toji showed signs of discomfort or soreness.
“Can you hear the crowd- they’re in uproar!”
“Well, it’s no wonder. Toji Fushiguro’s comeback has been long-awaited- ouch, that’s a nice uppercut from Toji.” Another voice bellows.
And the others hum in agreement. “And after his unfortunate streak last year, the champion found his footing once more. With a winning streak that’s one of the longest recorded in recent years, the man is unstoppable!”
“I guess the million dollar question of the night is - can he win the finals tonight?”
Though your efforts were likely for naught, because your boyfriend was at the top of his game.
Without letting Naoya even get up (some rookie hotshot, according to Toji, who had to be put in his place), the older man is pummeling him with a right hook, left hook, right hook, left hook. Until that cocky face of his looked mangled.
And the referee is rushing to his side- about to crouch on the floor for the countdown. The commentators have their announcement of his win on the tip of their tongue. The crows is already reaching a fever point-
It’s in that moment that Toji looks at you.
Towering, the lone fighter standing in the middle of the cage, he stares.
He smiles.
He points.
“Aaaaand the countdown is over—Naoya Zenin down! Toji Fushiguro has won the title of world light heavyweight champion once more! It’s a historical win for Toji!”
You’re all on your feet. The team claps each other on the back, the commentators are shaking hands. Shiu catches the way that Toji immediately heads for you - barely waiting till the heavy golden belt was draped across his body, barely letting the referee raise his hand in the air. Victory.
And he chuckles, “I already knew.” Taking a celebratory drag of his cigarette, “Guess I’m winning the bet.”
Your eyes bulge, “You guys bet on us?”
“Ever since the first day you walked in, sugar.” He chuffs, and lightly nudges your shoulder with his. “No go to him- before he tears down the cage, that is.”
Shiu was right to be worried. By the time you’re reaching the edge of the octagon, Toji has already jumped down from it- and you’re barely registering his brilliant grin before you’re in his arms. His face crushed into the nook of your neck. Arms looped around your waist.
In the distance, it seems, you can hear reporters and fans alike scream questions about you and your relationship. Something you’re sure will end up on every headline and front page of those sports gossip magazines that you now read. Hell, you can even hear the members of your team catcall and howl from the sidelines.
But right now, it’s as if Toji’s voice is the only sound in your ears. “We won.”
You smile, “You won.”
He shakes his head, “Come off it, silly girl. We won.” And even in front of everyone else, even in front of the cameras, he nods down at the very obvious bite marks on your neck. The way your knees were slightly weak. Your core was slightly sore. Evidence of last night. “And m’gonna win a whole lot more tonight-”
“Five rounds just like this championship, then?” You tease, squirming in his strong arms. And he only pulls you even tighter to him-
“Actually, I hear the IMMAF is trying to make it six rounds…”
A/N. Listen I don’t condone J*o J*ekyung but Toji?? Gimme.
