୨ mdni ୧ dirty talk. wally cums on reader's pussy. p in v. horny!wally. squirting. pet names ( baby/babe. ) praise. established relationship. humping. backshots. ass job. afab!reader. boob play. semi-public sex. handsy!wally. hes so fine its not fair :(.
Wally was a fan of the beach. He liked the hot blazing sun, he liked the rushing waves, the sand between his toes, and how pretty you looked in your bikini. He's got wandering eyes, everybody and their grandma knows that. He'd been unable to take his eyes off of you when the two of you had gotten down to your area on the sand—when you'd bent over to set up the beach chairs he'd practically drooled down himself at the sight of your panties so tight around your ass.
"Think the sun really brings out your eyes," Wally flashes a grin almost as bright as the sun itself. His eyes are warm, all shiny with that giddy glint in his eyes at seeing you illuminated by the sun's rays. You're flattered, of course. Your boyfriend wasn't one to shy away from compliments but every single time it felt incredible to hear it from him.
A soft laugh comes from you, "Yeah? Do I look radiant, babe?"
Wally lets out a low sound of amusement, tongue poking out of his mouth in a tease. "Hey, radiant doesn't even begin to describe it," It really didn't. He adores the way you look all the time but now, you're stunning. Perhaps it's the way your bikini top clings to your tits, pushing them up so nicely that it's a miracle Wally hasn't reached out to play with them yet. It was like they were calling out to him!
"If you take a picture, it might just last longer," Wally scoffs at your words, rolling his eyes. That most definitely was one of his lines that you'd stolen from him—it was often said when you'd gotten caught staring at him after a shower.
Wally's eyes raked over your thighs, dropping down to the space between your legs momentarily. "Pretty thing," he croons, that boyish smile on his lips as per usual. It was absolute torture to try to contain himself and behave when his girl was looking so sexy. "How'd I get so lucky?" His tongue comes out to sweep over his bottom lip, a familiar glint in his eyes.
He sighs heavily, shaking his head. Wally wanted to get his hands all over you. Glancing out towards the water, he considers it for a moment before he settles himself down onto the beach chair and folds his arms across his chest. "You need sunscreen?" An excuse to feel you up. "It'd be such a shame if you got burnt, baby. What kinda boyfriend would I be if I let my girl shrivel up into a crisp? C'mon now."
You give him a long look, hands on your hips as you try to gauge the innocence of his question and request. There's a small part of you that's skeptical, knowing there was some sort of ulterior motive to his wanting to help. But you did need sunscreen, after all... soon, you nod your head, rummaging through your handbag to find the bottle of sunscreen.
When you throw it over to him, Wally catches it without missing a beat, opening it up. He squeezed a fat glob of the substance into his palm, closing the lid with his free hand before he stood. Nodding you over to the beach chair, he hums, "You're in a safe hands, baby, I promise." Safe, incredibly touchy and grabby hands, of course.
You concede to his whims, lying yourself down onto the chair on your front. The hot sun beams down onto your back, and you have to admit, the sunscreen was very much needed as he had said. Wally gives a quick glance around the beach, and he's never been more glad for your eye for quiet spots. It's some isolated area, away from the more populated parts.
Perfect for what he wants to do with you.
Before Wally can inact his plan of making you squeal and squirm and moan his name, he has to actually lather you up in sunscreen. He places down his hand onto the middle of your back, slowly spreading around the cream before he uses the other hand too and begins to rub it into your skin.
"Told you you're safe with me," He teases easily, liking the way you start making those pretty sounds he likes. Thank goodness you're facing away; you're unable to see the raging boner he's sporting in his swim shorts. Honestly? It's getting painful. In his position, he's sort of straddling your ass, not pressing down just yet.
You press your face down into the beach chair, lips parted as you start to mewl a little at his firm hands. He very much knows what he's doing. You're almost surprised he hadn't been talking out of his ass, but he's always been good with words. "That.. is good..." Your body shivers a little, relaxing beneath his touch.
Wally makes a mental note of how your legs spread beneath him. Not intentional, no, but a consequence of your relaxing figure. He keeps up his service of covering you in sunscreen for a few more minutes, being the wonderful boyfriend that he is. "That feel better, hm?" He asks quietly, glancing over towards the sun's rays and feeling a tad better in himself knowing you wouldn't be scorched.
He can't stop his eyes from flitting downwards again. Your plump folds press against the thin fabric of your underwear, peeking out a little bit. It's a sight that makes Wally even harder. Swallowing thickly, he shuts his eyes and lets out a quiet breath.
Wally's voice is quiet when he speaks next. "You look real pretty like this, baby," he shifts a little bit, scooting down your behind a little and encasing your thighs with his own. He looks up once more. His eyes flit around, just checking for anyone else, before he slowly starts to run his hands over your ass.
"So fuckin' soft..." He's reverent, fingers slowly digging into the soft flesh. You're taken off guard, not having expected him to start groping you out in public like this. But Wally's always been a bit of a wild card, hasn't he? When you start to protest, he murmurs, "Shh, there's no one there. No one's gonna interrupt us. I've got you."
"Wally..." You hate the way you subconsciously start to rock your hips up against the beach chair, dragging your heat over the surface beneath you as Wally kneads your ass. It feels good, it's a nice pressure and his hands are so warm. The feeling of his bulge pressing up against you makes you shiver, want to rock back up against it.
"Oh, baby..." Wally pauses, biting his lip. He considered himself for a long time before he threw all caution to the wind and curled his fingers beneath the fabric of your bikini bottoms. Lifting them up a little, he slipped his free hand to his swimshorts and tugged them down enough to free his cock.
"This okay, baby? Just wanna.. wanna feel you against me," Wally mumbles, his voice thick with a needy lilt. You can't really say no to him, not with how you're making a mess of your panties with your arousal. "Please, baby, just wanna feel you." You're nodding your head wordlessly, lifting your hips a little bit as if to encourage him to keep going.
Wally lets out a heavy breath. "Thank you, babe, oh, babe... love you, love you so much," There's a heat that's flushed his cheeks, and he grasps his cock within his hand. He gives it a few pumps, groaning quietly under his breaths before he slowly eased his cock against your warmth. Not pushing in yet, just rubbing.
He lets the fabric of your bikini slip back into place, keeping his cock nice and secure for him to grind against you. Precum beads at his tip, then slugs down your lips in a sticky mess. "So warm..." He mumbles, letting out a quiet whine as he begins to rut his hips forward against you. Occasionally, the head of his cock slips down and presses against your entrance, prodding you a little before he grunts and drags it back up against the curve of your ass.
"Stop teasing me," You whine quietly, voice needy. Wally shakes his head for a second, mumbling, "Not teasing you, baby, I'll give it to you in a second. Let me do this." It's a quiet plea. You whimper against the beach chair, gasping a little bit. Your sopping hole drools needily, pulsing around nothing with the tease of his cock pressing against you.
Wally gets off at the sight of you seeking him so badly, wanting him in you. "Gonna give you just what you need..." He liked the feeling of humping you, really did, but if he was totally honest with himself, the feeling of your tight hole sucking him in and holding him within you was unmatched.
He bites his lip, watching the way he'd covered your bikini in a mess. He loves it like that, the way the bikini had gone translucent and started sticking to you making his hip movements stutter. Something in him snaps. "Hold onto the chair for me, baby, that's it," Wally swallows, slowly pushing the fabric of your bikini to the side so he could see what he was doing properly.
"Look at your pretty hole opening up for me. Made for me, aren't you?" Wally's mushroom tip presses against your slit, rubbing in his precum before he pushes forward. He lets out a shuddering gasp, shutting his eyes and bracing his hands at your hips. "Fuck—" His voice breaks a little, a whine.
You tense up just a little, feeling his tip within you, before you relax slowly but surely, giving him that safe, warm feeling once more. "Wally... mmph—feels so good, so good. Deeper, please, deeper..." You wanted to feel him deep inside of you, as far as he could get within you. He ruts his hips forward against you, pressing his pelvis against you.
"You're so good..." Wally adored the feeling of you. He works himself into you before he bottoms out all the way, giving you time to adjust. "Fuck... could die right here," He means it. Being buried deep in your pretty pussy would be the best way to go for him.
"Can I move, babe? Need.. need to fuck you so bad," He breathes out, barely resisting the urge to just pound you into oblivion. He'd take his time with you, make sure you feel just as good as he does.
"I swear, Wally, if you don't start mo—"
Wally doesn't need to be told twice. He's rocking his hips forward up into you, thighs tense around your own as he thrusts into you. Your ass jiggles perfectly against him, entrancing him. "I've got you," he coos, head too pussy-drunk to even think about teasing you even further. He just wants to make you feel good.
"Like a damn vacuum—"
"D—Don't.. compare me to a vacuum..." When if you're getting the fuck of your life, his cheeky little comments aren't exactly appreciated.
"What? You're sucking me in so good, listen to that, c'mon, baby, listen," He wants you to hear the wet, sloppy sound of him digging into you, his balls slapping against your clit as he fucked you. "So wet... that all for me? Tell me, babe, you wet for me?"
"Wet for you! Wet for you, Wally, please, please, please..."
Wally lets out a quiet grunt before he flips you over beneath him, quickly pushing himself back in with your legs thrown over his shoulders. It's then that he flashes you a smirk, loving your blissed-out expression. "Taking my dick so well—I know it feels good, babe. Feels good for me too."
He cups the back of your thighs, rutting himself desperately against you and driving himself further. The feeling of your gummy walls sucking him in makes the nicest sounds slip past his lips, it makes you feel even better than you already do. "Fuck, those tits, babe." His eyes are laser-focused on the work your bikini is putting in to keep your breasts contained.
The work goes to waste when Wally reaches over and undoes the tie, freeing your boobs from their confines and tugging at your nipples to make you whine. "Never heard a sound as pretty as you when you're getting your shit rocked, ugh... that's it..." He manages to move his hips harder.
You can't think straight, not really, he's up in your guts and he's touching you so nicely that the only thing you can think of is your impending orgasm. "Aw, gonna cum all over my dick, yeah? Give it to me. I wanna feel it, babe," he coos once more, coaxing, "You're right there. Just let go, give it to me, oh, shittt..."
You squirt, fucking squirt on him.
Wally groans so loudly, the tight squeeze of your cumming alongside the gush of liquid that hits him is enough to break that knot of pressure within him. He's quick to pull out, furiously jerking his hand down his cock and coating your pussy with his cum. He doesn't come inside, but on your folds, wanting to see his release seep down you and slip into your spread hole.
"Fuck..." He growls, "You squirted on me, baby... that was so beautiful."
Your eyes are a little glassy as they meet his again, your lips parted with your soft puffs of air. You look, and feel, so blissed out. The feeling of his tip pressing against you again makes you whine. "Want you to do it again for me," he mumbles, "You've got another in you, haven't you? Yeah, you do..."
It's the sloppiest, dirtiest sound that's created by him sliding himself back in your hole, his cum and your release squelching around his cock. "Gonna make you squeal, babe."
⋆.𐙚 ̊ soft fucking with firefighter!sukuna (mdni!) - request!
The door to your shared apartment creaked open just past midnight, the faint scent of smoke and sweat trailing in behind Ryomen as he kicked off his heavy boots in the entryway.
You heard the familiar thud from the bedroom, where you lay sprawled on your stomach across the king-sized bed, scrolling mindlessly through TikToks on your phone. The glow of the screen illuminated your face in the dim light of the bedside lamp, and you paused a video mid-dance, tilting your head toward the sound.
Ryomen, your towering firefighter boyfriend, moved like a shadow through the hallway. At 6’4” and built like a goddamn tank – broad shoulders straining against his rumpled uniform shirt, biceps that could crush steel – he was the epitome of raw power, honed from hauling hoses and breaking down doors all shift.
But tonight, exhaustion clung to him like the grime on his skin. His pink hair was disheveled, tattoos peeking from his rolled-up sleeves, and those sharp crimson eyes softened just a fraction when he spotted you through the open door.
“Hey, baby.” He rumbled, voice low and gravelly from yelling orders over sirens all day. He stripped off his jacket, tossing it over the chair, revealing the tight black t-shirt underneath that hugged every ridge of his abs and pecs.
You bit your lip, already feeling that familiar heat pool low in your belly. God, he was huge everywhere. The way his muscles flexed with even the simplest movement made your thighs clench.
You set your phone down, rolling slightly to face him. “Long day?”
He grunted, unbuttoning his shirt with slow, deliberate fingers.
“Fucking endless. Structure fire downtown. Pulled two idiots out of a third-floor window. My back’s killing me.” But despite the complaint, a smirk tugged at his lips as he drank you in, eyes raking over your body in those tiny sleep shorts and tank top.
You were on your stomach again by the time he reached the bed, propped on your elbows, but he didn't say a word about it. Instead, he just collapsed onto the mattress behind you, the bed dipping under his weight.
His massive frame settled over yours without warning, not crushing, but enveloping – like a warm, heavy blanket made of pure muscle. You felt his chest press against your back, his thighs bracketing your legs, and that intoxicating dizziness washed over you.
He was so big, so solid; it made your head spin in the best way, like the world narrowed to just the press of his body pinning you down. His breath ghosted hot against the nape of your neck as he nuzzled in, one arm draping lazily over your waist.
“Missed this.” He murmured, lips brushing your skin.
His hand slid under your tank top, calloused palm splaying across your stomach, thumb tracing lazy circles.
You arched instinctively, pushing back against him, feeling the hard line of his cock already thickening through his pants against your ass.
“Missed you…” You whispered, voice breathy.
Your fingers itched to touch him, to feel those bulging biceps you'd been fantasizing about all evening. He was your personal obsession – the way his veins popped when he flexed, the sheer size of him making you feel tiny and cherished all at once.
Ryomen chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to hover over you, his free hand tugging at the waistband of your shorts.
“These in the way?”
Without waiting for an answer, he hooked his fingers in and yanked them down, along with your panties, exposing your bare ass and the slick folds of your pussy to the cool air. You shivered, spreading your legs just a bit wider on instinct.
He paused, staring down at you like you were the only thing that mattered after his hellish shift. "Fuck, look at you. Already wet for me?" His voice was teasing, but there was that underlying hunger, the exhaustion making him crave this intimacy more than anything.
You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck. “I– I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He didn't need more invitation. With a low groan, he shoved his pants down just enough to free his cock – thick, veined, and fat – the head already beading with precum.
It slapped heavy against your thigh as he positioned himself behind you, lining up with your entrance. You were on your stomach, legs trapped between his, utterly at his mercy in this prone position, and it thrilled you.
“Gonna bury myself in this tight little pussy,” he promised, voice dropping to a husky whisper.
The tip nudged your folds, parting them slowly, obscenely wet sounds filling the room as he pushed in inch by inch.
You gasped, fingers clutching the sheets, the stretch burning so good it made your toes curl. He was huge – splitting you open, filling you to the brim – and you loved every second of it.
Ryomen let out a deep sigh of relief as he sank deeper, bottoming out with a slow roll of his hips. "Ah, fuck, that's it. Lemme have this, baby."
His weight settled fully on you now, pinning you to the mattress, his cock throbbing inside your clenching walls. It was dizzying, the pressure of his body, the way he surrounded you completely.
You moaned softly, arching your back to take him even deeper, your ass lifting impossibly higher against his pelvis. “Ryo… mmf! You're so big. F–Feels like you're everywhere.”
He laughed breathlessly, lips pressing a kiss to your temple. “Yeah? Like how I fill you up, baby?”
His arm snaked around your neck – not tight, just a gentle headlock, his massive bicep cushioning your cheek like the softest pillow. You turned your face into it, grabbing onto the thick cord of muscle with both hands, squeezing as if to anchor yourself.
The scent of him – smoke, sweat, and that underlying spice – filled your lungs, making you dizzy with need.
“So cute.” He teased, nipping at your earlobe.
“Can’t help yourself, huh?” But his tone was soft, affectionate, the exhaustion melting away as he started to move. Not fast – never fast. Just deep, lazy thrusts, grinding his hips in slow circles that dragged his cock along every sensitive inch inside you.
You whimpered, the wet squelch of your pussy echoing with each grind. He was so deep like this, the angle hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. “Mhm, y-yeah, just like that—oh!—don't stop!”
His free hand roamed your body, pushing up your tank top to cup your breast, thumb flicking your nipple lazily.
“Not stopping. Gonna take my time with you.”
He kissed the side of your face again, then your jaw, peppering soft presses along your skin as he thrust in again: slow, loving, the head of his cock kissing your cervix.
Your walls fluttered around him, arousal dripping down your thighs, making everything slick and obscene.
The rhythm built gradually, his hips rolling in unhurried waves. You could feel every vein, every ridge as he pulled back almost to the tip before sliding home again.
Your moans grew prettier, higher-pitched, as the pleasure coiled tight in your core. “Ryo—oh god—you're so heavy on me.”
“Yeah? You like that? Good girl.” He murmured, tightening his headlock just enough to tilt your head back for a deeper kiss on your lips.
Bicep flexing under your grip, you squeezed harder, turned on by the sheer power there. He sighed into your mouth, the sound pure relief, like sinking into you was the only thing erasing the day's chaos. “Feels like heaven. Your pussy's gripping me so tight– shit, baby, milkin’ my cock already.”
You arched further, ass pressing up to meet his grinds, the position making you feel so full, so claimed. The weight of him was intoxicating, pressing the air from your lungs in the best way, every lazy thrust sending jolts of pleasure radiating through you.
Minutes stretched on, the slow pace dragging out the build-up, your clit throbbing against the sheets with each subtle shift.
“T-Tell me how it feels, sweetheart.” He demanded softly, voice laced with that teasing edge as he ground deeper, holding himself buried for a long moment.
“S’good!” You gasped, nails digging into his arm. “So thick... stretching me w– wide!” Your body trembled, the first orgasm creeping closer, but he kept it at bay with his unhurried movements – pulling out slow, pushing in slower, letting the slick sounds punctuate the quiet room.
He chuckled, kissing your cheek. “That's my girl. Cum for me when you're ready—ngh, fuck—gonna make it last.” Hand sliding down to where you joined, his fingers circled your clit in feather-light touches that had you keening.
The combination was devastating: his massive cock grinding deep, his weight immobilizing you, that bicep cradling your face as you clung to it like a lifeline.
Time blurred as he worked you higher, thrusts turning into prolonged grinds that rubbed your g-spot relentlessly. Your moans filled the air, pretty and desperate, body arching as much as his hold allowed.
“Shh, I got you– f-fuck...” He held still inside you, hips circling minutely, letting your pussy spasm around him.
The orgasm hit like a slow wave, crashing over you in shuddering pulses. You cried out, walls clamping down on his cock, juices gushing out to soak his balls and the sheets below.
He groaned low, feeling every flutter, but didn't speed up – just kissed your temple and whispered, “That's one. Shit, you're soaking me.”
You panted, body limp under him, but he didn't give you time to fully recover.
With a lazy thrust, he started again, deeper now, the obscene wet slaps resuming as he chased his own pleasure while building yours anew.
“Not done yet, baby. Want you—haah, yeah—cumming on my cock again.”
His arm stayed around your neck, bicep flexing as you grabbed it tighter, using it to muffle your whimpers. The dizziness intensified with his weight bearing down, every breath shared, every grind pulling you under. “So strong…” You slurred, voice hazy. “Love feeling all your muscles… so– ah! Ryo!”
“All yours,” He replied, nipping your earlobe. “This pussy's mine, though—gonna fill it up soon.” His thrusts remained loving, unhurried, each one dragging out the pleasure. He kissed along your jaw, soft and reverent, contrasting the filthy way his cock pistoned slowly into your dripping heat.
You arched your ass higher, meeting his rhythm, the position allowing him to hit even deeper. Your second climax built slower, more torturously, as he teased your clit with intermittent strokes.
“Nhaah, I can feel you in my– in my stomach…”
He sighed again, burying his face in your hair.
“Good. Would feel me every night if I—hck!—could.”
The grinds turned firmer, but still lazy, his balls slapping gently against your clit with each roll. Your moans turned to pleas, body trembling as the coil tightened unbearably.
“C-Cum with me?” You begged, fingers bruising his bicep.
“Yeah? Hold on.” He picked up the pace just a fraction – still slow, but insistent – grinding deep while his fingers worked your clit faster.
The pressure built, wave after wave, until you shattered again, pussy convulsing wildly around him.
“Fuck—yes!” You keened, arching so prettily, ass grinding back as another orgasm ripped through you.
That did it for him.
With a guttural moan, Ryomen thrust deep one last time, cock swelling as he came. Hot spurts of cum flooded your pussy, mixing with your wetness, the obscene overflow leaking out around him.
He held you tight in that gentle headlock, bicep your pillow, as he rode out his release with lazy pumps, sighing in pure bliss. “Hngh– Take it all, baby... fuck, perfect.”
You both collapsed fully, his weight still dizzyingly perfect on top of you, cock softening inside but not pulling out. He peppered more kisses on your face, teasing softly. “Gonna greet me like this every night?”
You smiled, spent and sated, turning to kiss his bicep. “Shut up.” Then, after a pause, “Welcome home, Ryo.”
"Nuh uh, pretty boy. You wanna own a fake pussy? Use it."
Satoru was a mess on top of you. His white hair was askew, some strands plastered to his sweat-slicked forehead. In front of your own glistening pussy, you held a silicone toy, to which his cock — hard and leaking— was squelching in and out of at a shaky pace.
The toy was obscene, a crude imitation of a woman's lower half with fleshy pink skin and two openings Satoru had explored very thoroughly before. It had been tucked behind all of his clothing within his wardrobe, just waiting to be discovered by you — and it had.
Satoru's hips snapped into the fake hole, the headboard you were propped up against thudding against the wall incessantly.
Honestly, it wasn't the worst thing in the world to find hidden among his things — but how could you pass up on an opportunity to tease the living hell out of him?
"Please let me fuck you. Please please pleaasee, it doesn't feel the same," Satoru gasped out, chest heaving as his hips moved on their own. His cock speared through the toy, its pussy lips splitting as his balls plapped against the curve of its ass.
As much as you wanted to throw the toy away and hike your knees against your chest, you simply smiled at the man — coy and mean. "Not the same as what, 'toru?"
He threw his head back — voice cracking as the pace of his thrusts stuttered. "Not the same as your-your pussy."
Tears clung to his lashes, precum and lube frothing at the base of his aching cock. It dripped down, tugging and snapping when Satoru's thighs met the base of the toy.
"Poor baby," you cooed, tone mocking as you rolled your hips enough to feel the silicone brush up against your clit. "Should have thought about that before you bought this in the first place, hmm?"
Satoru choked out a sob, nodding as his hips drove in over and over — until his tip was flushed red and the veins on his cock were plump and angry. "I-I didn't think— ngh, I'm sorry—"
"Sorry doesn't cut it. You really bought this thinking it'd feel like my pussy? 'n now look at you, crying 'cus you can't have it."
The heat in Satoru's body grew tenfold, the degradation proving to be far greater pleasure than what the toy could ever give him. The tears fell as his balls seized repeatedly, orgasm rapidly approaching as your fingers kneaded into the toy's hips.
"I'll throw it out," he promised, drool gathering at the corner of his lips and meeting where his cock thrusted into. Satoru's cock continued to throb almost violently, the toy sucking him in until his release finally dangled right in front of him.
And then you pulled the toy off of him.
Satoru came, knuckles whitening as he bucked his hips into the empty air.
The thick, hot spurts of cum shot out of him, body twitching as he painted your body in pearly white. It coated your stomach, your thighs, splattered against your chin as he slumped forward. Broken whines left the man, muscles spasming as his hands fumbled for you.
"Just ask next time, baby," you murmured, Satoru's head pressing against your stomach as you raked your fingers through his mop of hair. "I'm right here."
Thought about you whilst writing this @cupidstrace
satoru gojo's on top of the world - but all he really wants is to be on top of you!
synopsis: childhood crushes don't die easy. even when they grow up to become a curse user with his own compound of devoted followers. gojo moved on. you moved away. spent years shoving down his memory until it became second nature. you never realized all it would take was a phone call from an old friend to rip open all your old wounds and return you to the life you left behind. but when it looks like gojo's next target is the school, you don't exactly have a choice but to come back. can you stop gojo? or will you fall under his spell too?
pairing: cult leader!gojo x sorcerer!reader
wc: 11.5k
content: mdni. angst and smut and fluff, au where gojo defected instead of geto, YANDERE!GOJO, obsession, light stalking, protective/possessive gojo, he might be crazy but he is CUTE!, emotional hurt/comfort, heavy pining, childhood crush to lovers, falling in love with someone you KNOW is terrible, messy/conflicting feelings, mentions of murder, nightmare, blood/death, they want each other bad, piv sex, semi-public sex, use of pet names (mostly baby, sweetheart), fingering, creampie
a/n: this was a commission for the lovely @cantarcantar !! the Gojo art above in the middle is by @/to00fu !!
The last time you saw Satoru he'd been smiling.
One of those big, cheesy smirks, leaning in to press a clumsy kiss on your cheek. You had scrunched up your nose, your fingers pressed against his chest when he said something that made you laugh.
You couldn't remember what it was anymore. Just that fuzzy feeling he always left you with, a friend you always wished would turn into something more.
It never did.
A childish hope. A teenage crush. A pointless dream that was crumbled and discarded – and not even by a curse. Just grinded into dust and ash by the system you’d both been born into. A society that didn’t give a shit if you lived or died, only that you worked and gave and bled for them until you did.
But he never bled. Never crumbled. Never cried.
You wondered if that was why he did it. If things would've changed if you had been there with them on that mission instead of overseas on an inconsequential one of your own.
Instead, you find out through a single-page letter from Nanami that the only strongest special grade sorcerer at Jujutsu Tech had slaughtered civilians instead of curses after something went wrong.
The girl they were supposed to protect ended up with a bullet in her head.
But she wasn't the only one who ended up dead.
The details were sparse. You didn't want to know them anyway.
Didn't want to spoil the image you had of Satoru in your head, the boy who'd buy you ice cream and offer to lick anything that dripped down on your hand just to hear you giggle.
Nanami’s letter ended with him leaving sorcery, suggesting you do the same. Satoru was a wanted man now – and not just by you. He had abandoned all of you to start a fucking cult. Ijichi had followed him, something you were sure Satoru dragged him into. But Suguru and Shoko stayed.
You thought about coming back. About walking those halls that had to feel empty and barren without the sound of Satoru’s laugh. At the prospect of teaching and training whoever would come next – if he hadn't burned down the entire system by then and the school along with it.
But you couldn't bring yourself to.
Couldn’t drag yourself there if he wasn't waiting for you.
You missed a call from him once. Not on purpose, but you didn't know if you'd actually answer if you had seen it in time. Stared like you could will Satoru to call back, but he didn't.
If he had, would you have gotten an explanation?
An invitation?
You tried not to think about it – or him.
Only took missions out of the country. Declined all the requests from the higher-ups about returning. Insisted on sticking to handling the lesser curses in countries with next to no sorcerers of their own. Flying from place to place, never settling, never staying.
His phantom seemed to follow you everywhere you went. Whispers of a white-haired man constantly making their way back to you, finding flowers by the door of your hotel rooms, little gifts and trinkets with no return address.
You tossed most of them. But on your birthday one year, there was a light blue box left outside your window. A pretty necklace inside – and a note on top.
Four words.
I miss you sometimes.
You hated him. You seethed over the fact that you felt the same. Loathed that some part of you was his – would always be.
You never even shared a real kiss. Hadn't even done anything more than holding hands once or twice. Maybe that was why his memory never rotted. Why you heard of him massacring people and still pictured the cute boy calling out your name across campus.
Was he sitting on some throne now? Would he say your name the same?
Life had a way of changing with or without you there to see it. Taking on a new shape, twisting everyone you used to know into strangers.
You could wonder all you wanted. You couldn't do anything about it.
And yeah, even if it had been more than a couple years since you'd actually seen any of them, you automatically answered his call when Suguru’s name flashed across your phone.
He had always been stronger than you too. Steadier. Able to take on a mantle that had never been meant for him.
“Urgent,” he said. “For the students,” he muttered. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.
You should've hesitated. Put together it was a mistake from that alone.
He was the only one who really mourned Satoru like you did.
But you listened, biting your lip as he informed you of his current situation – that Satoru had tried to recruit Nanami, had mentioned some scheme, a grand plan that involved the school. He was worried for his students.
And if Suguru was worried, so were you.
Really thought, if Satoru wanted, he could turn the entire country into a clean slate. Wipe the page until it was blank. Start over under his terms.
The only reason he hadn't was probably because he'd be bored if he did.
No one ever wanted to divulge all the dirty details, but you had heard how much the number of curses had started to dwindle back there – along with the population.
Still, you hadn't expected what Suguru wanted you to do about it. He'd been hesitant to even ask, exhaling like it hurt to say.
“Could you join his cult?”
“Excuse me?”
You were still on the next plane back.
It was supposed to be simple. Safe. Come back using him as an excuse. Wait for Satoru to make contact after you arrived – and pretend to show interest in his cult, listen to his latest spiel and piece together what he was planning. You'd tell Suguru, he'd stop it, and the most important part was getting the fuck back out before Satoru could take it out on you.
“Why don't you do it?” You had grumbled on the phone, like you weren't already dragging out your suitcase and shoving your stuff in it.
“One of us will probably end up killing the other.”
“What makes you think he won't kill me?” You huffed at him. Suguru laughed, like you should already know the answer.
“Some things don't change.”
He warned that Satoru would be watching when you landed. That he would know the second you stepped foot back on soil he considered his territory.
But you didn't think he'd be at the fucking airport waiting for you. Holding up a sign with your name on it, as if his tousled white hair didn't already stick out in the crowd. His sunglasses traded in for a blindfold, not even giving you a hint of those blue eyes you still dreamed of sometimes.
Smiling at you like you weren't staring frozen at him, unable to take a step when the ghost of your past finally caught up to you. Taller, broader, all grown up.
Muscles stacked on his previously lanky frame, his jaw even sharper, canines somehow pointier as he waved to you. Half of you had expected him to be all dressed up – wearing something traditional, old-fashioned, a reflection of the new him. Maybe some new version of his uniform. But he was dressed nearly normal – a casual button-down that clung to his arms and chest, dark pants. As if he was waiting for a date.
But hadn’t you done the same? Stared at your clothes splayed out on your bed and picked out a dress instead of sweats despite being well fucking aware you’d be stuck on a plane for hours in it? Just in case he’d show up?
He walked over when you couldn't (wouldn't?) – his infinity still active when he wrapped you in a hug. An invisible barrier still separating you after all this time.
“Been a while, huh?” He murmured into your hair.
He ruffled it, his huge hand still finding excuses to touch you.
You looked at him, and everything in your chest pulled tight, all those words you practiced on the plane dying in your throat.
A million times, a thousand nights, you imagined this moment. What you would do if you saw him again. What you would say after so much silence. And it all shriveled up, turned into something so small you couldn't even hold it anymore with just a single stupid smile from him.
“What are you doing here?” You asked instead, your voice surprisingly hoarse, raw.
There was a brief second where his sharp jaw clenched, lips pressing in a thin line of disappointment before he recovered. Satoru switched to a pout, leaning in and invading your personal space when you'd never be able to do the same to his.
“Don't tell me you didn't miss me,” he murmured, an edge underneath it. As if you could hurt him when he hurt you first. He reached out, touched the necklace dangling down from your throat, fingertips brushing against the polished blue gemstone. “You're wearing the necklace I gave you.”
“I'm supposed to meet with Suguru in an hour,” you excused, pulling back from him, glancing around the bustling bodies for some gap to slip through.
You knew he'd chase you. Hell, the plan hinged on him pestering you about joining him instead. But your heart was still pounding when you walked away, waiting for his voice, his steps, his hands. Hyper aware of his stare – even if it was technically hidden under a blindfold.
He grabbed ahold of the hem of your dress, and you stopped.
“You didn’t come back for him,” he spoke softly. And for a guy who had thrown his hope for the future away years ago, there was still some in his voice now.
“I did,” you lied.
Satoru scoffed, and the bitterness in it left a sour taste in your mouth too. Dripped down your throat and choked you up. It was kind of ridiculous, but your first instinct was to comfort him, grinding your molars to stop yourself from reaching out to touch him.
“Hear me out,” he murmured, not letting go. “Come see my compound.”
Compound.
Of course. Right when the slightest crack in your shield formed, he had to remind you of who he was now.
What his world was like.
That he didn't call the dorms his own. Didn't have an apartment like a normal twenty-something year old guy. Didn't even call his former family estate his home.
He belonged to a compound. A cult.
You squared your shoulders, stood up straighter as you sucked in a breath.
“You haven't even said sorry,” you pointed out. You wanted to shout at him. To scream that he left you. Left everything.
And yeah, this was what you were here for. He was. But it was fucking infuriating that he thought he could just waltz back in with a cute smirk and saccharine words and thought you'd just fall into place beside him.
“The only thing I'm sorry for is not taking you with me,” he murmured, tilting his head to the side like it would make you believe he could still be sincere.
“Yeah, right,” you scoffed this time, turning your head away from him.
You had a feeling that even if Satoru didn't have his six eyes technique, he'd still be able to see through you.
“One hour,” he repeated, softer this time.
For a few seconds, you contemplated what your answer would have been if you weren't here on a mission. If it had nothing to do with Suguru or students. If it was just you and him.
“Fine.”
He grabbed your hand – and teleported you there.
Wrinkling the fabric of reality around him until you were both standing somewhere new.
You blinked. Knees wobbling and stomach churning as your brain struggled to catch up with what your eyes were seeing. Your suitcase clattered to the ground, and someone was already scrambling to pick it up.
The main entrance hall of some fancy estate, cold, tiled floors sparkling and spotless, a few people pausing from where they were milling about to immediately bow at Satoru’s presence.
As if he was a god.
You guessed he was the closest thing on earth to one.
“Greetings, Master,” one of them murmured, reverent. Just another disciple for someone you used to worship too.
You could practically hear the capitol M in his tone.
Satoru didn't even look down.
His eyes were fixed on yours behind his blindfold, like he was searching for approval in them.
What were you supposed to say? That you liked how he decorated the place?
“So?” He expectantly asked, holding his arms out.
He was proud of what he’d done. You were terrified of it. Of this new him. But there was an undercurrent of something darker stirring inside you. One you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Not quite full-throttled anger or nostalgia.
An intense discomfort that burned in your veins when he was this close and you couldn’t pretend he didn’t exist anymore. Forced to acknowledge the facts you’d been running as far as you could from for years.
Satoru Gojo was not the boy he’d been. Not the one who left you behind. Not the one who you dreamed of a first kiss with.
Satoru Gojo was a man. One who could commit murder with a single flick of his finger. One who might have his schedules stacked full of slaughtering and stealing.
Because he was the strongest.
And everyone else had to fall in line.
That meant you too.
“Fifty-nine minutes,” you muttered, as if you meant it. You didn’t know if it was meant to be a trap, if he would actually even take you back to Suguru if you wanted to go, but you weren’t leaving.
Satoru snagged your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, fingers interlaced with yours. Some crude imitation of being teenagers again, tugging you down twisting halls even when you struggled to keep up with his long legs.
“My room’s this way,” he hummed, and your face flushed. Was a sentence really enough to make you blush at the stupid implication?
“If you think I’m-” You started, but your breath hitched mid-sentence and you stopped yourself.
“I just have something for you,” Satoru huffed, almost offended at your assumption he was being crude.
You wanted to point out you really didn’t know each other anymore. That you had no idea what to make of this new him. One wearing a face you used to adore.
Turned into something cold and sharp, where you weren’t certain if saying the wrong thing might end with your blood splattered on the walls or cut down on the spot regardless of Suguru thinking he might still harbor a sweet spot for you.
“What is it?” You murmured, but he just grinned again, pink lips curling up as he suddenly pushed open a heavy wooden door.
You knew it was his room almost immediately.
Could smell him in the air. His cologne, his shampoo, both still the same. Pretty wallpaper plastered around you, something in soft shades of blue and white that made you think of clouds. Of spring.
He didn’t have a digimon collection anymore. No photos hanging up or posters lining the open surfaces. But you recognized a few things of a life you both walked away from. A pen you once gifted him sitting on top of the dresser. Dried flowers behind glass that you once collected with your former classmates. The book you had been reading before his last mission. You had left it in your old dorm, but you guessed he had come back for it at some point.
There was a screen door on the wall opposite of you – the only other exit point that looked like it led out onto a balcony.
“Satoru,” you said his name, and it nearly killed you. Just getting the syllables out when it felt like someone had stuffed your throat with cotton.
You never thought it would be this hard. That such simple things would practically rip your heart out of your chest and remind you of the huge goddamn cavity he had carved out of you.
“I wrote you letters,” he breathed, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. You had forgotten he was holding it, and now it was suddenly the only thing anchoring you. “A lot. I just, I never got the guts to send them.”
He pulled you forward, pulling open the top left drawer of the dresser – just for it to be stuffed full of thick envelopes. Some were aged, starting to fade and curl around the edges. Others were almost new, the ink still dark and clear.
You stared at the stacks of them. All sealed. All signed.
His sloppy handwriting addressing every single one to you.
“Why?” You asked, even though you knew.
“I was scared you’d hate me,” he honestly answered.
Him, scared? Of all the things he’d done, of all the things he could do, and still, it was you he was nervous around.
“Why would you care how I feel?” You heard yourself ask, reaching out to graze your fingertips over the closest envelope.
You wished you could see through it. Read his mind and the words he hid from you.
“Because I've been in love with you since I was fourteen,” he casually said, slinging his hands in his pockets like it had always been that simple.
He couldn't un-say it. You couldn't un-hear it.
“You shouldn't say that,” you warned, like you weren't right there with him.
“I thought you wanted the truth,” he challenged.
You wanted to know whatever the fuck he was planning so you could get out of this country as soon as possible. To drown out this memory with alcohol or cigarettes or anything that would dull this awful ache in your chest.
“Is that why you wanted me here?” You stiffened, ignoring what he said. “To tell me you love me?”
You missed the memo where love somehow equated murder.
“I want you to stay,” he admitted, reaching out to cup your cheek. You almost leaned into it, only stepping back at the last second. His lips turned down in brief disappointment, but he shook it off. “With me. Not Suguru.”
He still said his name the same. Cheerful, with that constant hint of competition that hadn't died.
“So you can show me how nice it is when you don't give a shit who lives and who dies?” You dared back, swallowing hard before forcing yourself to continue. “So I can worship you like all those morons out there do?”
He cracked a smile, and you couldn't stand it. Dark tension crackling between you, thick and suffocating, threatening to smother you with just a flash of his pretty canine teeth.
“I wanna worship you,” he flirted. Satoru was full of shit. But the way he said it had you second-guessing all the boundaries you promised yourself on the way here you wouldn’t cross. “But as long as you’re alive, you’re here, the rest doesn’t really matter to me.”
He emphasized it, as if he wanted to make sure you understood what he actually meant by that.
But if he was really so willing to let the rest of the world burn, why had he left you behind to begin with?
“I don’t believe you,” you muttered. A weak defense.
“You will,” he replied, plucking out a big stack of letters and holding them out for you to take.
You reluctantly glanced down at his pale hands, even larger than you remembered, thick veins sticking out as your gaze slowly shifted up to his face. You missed his eyes. Wanted to ask him to take off the blindfold, to let you see him again, but even just the intimacy of taking the letters from him felt like too much.
Like all it would take was breaking the seal to sign your soul over to him.
But you were still grabbing them from him, holding your breath until it hurt while he exhaled.
“I set up a room for you next to mine,” he admitted. “If you want to read them now. Or, if you’re hungry, I could order food, or-”
“I want answers,” you murmured. “Not the princess treatment.”
“Why can’t I give you both?”
You both knew why.
The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to leave him.
And still, you ended up letting him show you to a room that had clearly been planned to be yours far fucking longer than a few days. Everything was to your taste. A wallpaper you were pretty sure you’d seen and admired in another country on the rare occasion you went shopping, ornately decorated, items that looked like they had been carefully been picked out with you in mind. Thin curtains floating in the breeze to a sliding door you were pretty sure connected to the same balcony as Satoru’s.
Someone had left your suitcase sitting in the middle of the room.
“What if I decide to make a run for it?” You wryly asked, leaning against the door frame as Satoru stood out in the hall.
He laughed. Time stopped.
The world revolved around him after all, and all it took was that sound to make another piece of you shatter.
“If you want to go see Suguru,” he hummed, daring you to actually do it. “I’ll escort you myself.”
Funny how he didn’t mention anything about letting you go. Or letting you leave.
You shut the door in his face.
Even when you knew he would just stand there waiting on the other side.
His footsteps faded back in the direction of his room, but they returned before long. And then he slipped another letter under your door. And another. And another.
You sat in front of it, slowly collecting them with the rest of the ones he already gave you, sorting them into stacks based on how old they looked. He didn’t date them, so you knew there were probably a few out of order. By the time he finished, you stared at all the proof you were left with that you hadn’t left his thoughts either.
The first one you opened was the oldest. The corner was torn. The ink aged. Hesitation in every letter.
The sorry you wanted was there. A hundred of them. Asking you for understanding, for acceptance. That he just wanted a world where he didn’t have to be the backbone to it. That he couldn’t stand the idea of seeing your body under a white sheet someday too.
Of you being the one he lost on a failed mission.
That all those assholes who carved the rules into stone should be the one suffering the consequences.
You wondered how much he truly believed that. Or if he had just snapped when he slaughtered those people – and sunk into this idea that he couldn't be redeemed. Convinced himself there wasn't any coming back.
He was fine being a monster if it meant he would save the rest of you from becoming one.
That was still who Satoru was.
You spent an entire night pouring over his words. Questions he never asked you. Confessions he never got the chance for. There were clues, updates sprinkled in the pages. Talks of having to dispose of elders and acquiring sorcerers for his cause.
But mostly, it was all about you.
You weren't sure if you should be concerned at how the addresses listed were surprisingly accurate to where and when you stayed over the years. Or at how many times he admitted taking a break from his duties to come check on you. Waiting outside hotels and restaurants and watching to make sure you were safe.
You fell asleep with one still in your hand, curled up on the soft mattress in the middle of reading him casually confiding that he had contemplated breaking into your hotel room to watch you sleep, to remind himself that you were still breathing.
But even when you saw him the next morning, you couldn't bring yourself to call him on it.
Couldn't bring yourself to ask to leave either. Just trailing a step or two behind him while he went about his new duties. Which was mostly ignoring his own members, delegating tasks and driving Ijichi crazy.
Ordering all your old favorite meals for lunch and dinner, dragging your chair right up next to his, sitting with his face propped up in his hands and pestering you about what you'd been doing without him.
“You sure you don't already know?” You retorted, picking at the food on your plate.
Satoru laughed, leaning in like you weren't taking a cheap shot at him basically stalking you since you'd been gone.
“Forgive me for being worried about you,” he hummed, dramatically huffing as his energy enveloped you. Close enough his nose was almost touching yours, his blindfold a little lopsided, still covering his eyes even if it was crooked.
You reached up, about to fix it, but his infinity was still up – and your hand fell back down.
“Is that what you want to call it?” You asked, biting down on the inside of your cheek until you could taste blood.
His lips twitched down into a frown, but he was still quick to recover his casual smile.
“I tried to forget about you,” he admitted, as if it was a defense.
You felt an ugly twist in your stomach – a selfish part of your brain thankful that he failed. That he couldn't forget about you either.
You pushed your plate forward, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you stood and started towards the door.
“I think I'm done.”
But two weeks later, you were still there.
Snooping when you could, eavesdropping on conversations between his cult members discussing everything from birthday plans for him to cleaning schedules. Unable to get more information than the fact they were concerned that he needed to go to the fucking dentist considering his sweets intake.
Returning back to your bed every evening, still stuck sleeping one room over from him. Staring at the ceiling and listening to him try to talk to you through the wall, calling out your name while you rolled away from him.
Suguru kept calling. Texting you and asking where you were. If you were with him.
Nothing that would look suspicious if Satoru stole your phone.
But you couldn't convince yourself to find an answer when you weren't sure what you were going to do with your time here.
The weight of Satoru’s stare only got heavier by the day.
You’d wake up with something by your door. Sometimes breakfast, still warm. Usually candy or clothes. Your favorite was a book he had already annotated, notes and stupid stick figures scribbled in the margins.
Drawing goofy faces and making dumb jokes like he wasn’t delegating and bossing around his very own minions on the other side of his compound.
Sometimes, you wondered what his real goal here even was. He hadn’t told you. Not really. Just spoke of vague ideals, of a brighter future, like he wasn’t just doing this because he was bored. Because he didn’t believe in anyone outside of himself.
He was paving a new path on top of the bodies of weaker men.
You pulled open the door to the balcony one morning, finding him already leaning against the railing, in a loose hoodie and sweatpants, watching the sun slowly rise above the thick treeline surrounding his compound.
With that stupid fucking blindfold still on, of course.
“Are you happy?” You heard yourself ask. Folding your arms across your chest and staring at his broad shoulders.
“Are you?” He returned the question, like your answer would determine his.
“No,” you muttered. The last time you were actually happy, it had been with him.
He sucked in a sharp breath, and you watched his jaw lock as he glanced back at you.
“I should've just taken you with me,” he muttered, but it sounded mostly like he was talking to himself.
You both had regrets you learned to live with. Yours was loving him. Sometimes you wondered what your world would look like if it had been Suguru or Nanami you had fallen for. Would you be happier? Able to wake up without guilt churning in your stomach and bleeding through all your thoughts?
“Did you get what you wanted here?” You swallowed hard.
“You’re all alive,” he shrugged. “You're here.”
You wanted to tell him that you would’ve still been here if he had stayed. He destroyed your life when he wrecked his.
What did it cost? How many innocents died for your life?
You knew you should be disgusted. Distraught at his casual callousness.
But you were just as selfish as him.
And you couldn't deny how he made your heart flutter even if it was horrible. Well aware of how wrong the heat pooling in your stomach when he gestured for you to join him was, patting the railing of the balcony like he’d been reserving the spot for you.
“Is that supposed to be enough?” You murmured, scared to look inside yourself and see if it really was.
“It is for me,” he answered, and it hung in the air like all those other awful truths you'd been denying.
Your life was worth a million others for him.
Maybe a better person would've shouted at him for it. Told him it wasn't fair and that you never asked for that.
But you just stood there and stared out at the pretty landscape below with him. Existed with the knowledge that if he was going to hell, you were probably booking a one-way ticket in the seat beside him.
Because even if you hadn't committed his crimes, you didn't care that he had. At least, not in the way you should.
You stood stiff, shivering in the early morning breeze, but Satoru stripped off his hoodie, the shirt underneath riding up to reveal his defined abs underneath, just a hint of his thick white happy trail.
He pulled it over your head, tugging it down while you shoved your hands through the holes. It was a little awkward, a little stilted. Still getting the hang again of being whatever this was with him.
You could feel his eyes lingering on you behind the dark fabric, maybe committing the image to his memory.
“Are you hungry?” He eventually asked, cocking his head to the side.
That was how it went. A charade of him trying his hardest to take care of you while all your painstakingly crafted barriers were dismantled one by one, reminding you how much you still cared for him.
Even if you were scared of what that meant.
Sharing meals, watching the sun set, attempting to sneak into his sermons. He tried to keep you out of them – insisting he didn't want you to see that side of him – but you still waited outside the doors to eavesdrop, not that you ever heard much other than a handful of sharp sentences that sounded more serious than anything else you'd ever heard from him.
It was hard to even imagine that cold voice even leaving his mouth, not when the cruelest thing he'd ever said to you was that he thought your favorite movie was boring.
Sometimes he'd let you tag along to his training, but that was mostly just an excuse to get you underneath him. Pulling off his shirt and claiming it was too hot, ignoring your scoffs with suggestions of you stripping down too. Teasing you into sparring with him so you didn’t get ‘rusty’. As if there was ever a world where you would go against anyone as strong as Satoru – or one where you would ever win against him.
He'd pretend to let you get a few hits in, or give you the upper hand long enough so you'd end up pinning him down.
That was why you really accepted his stupid scheme. Just for a chance to touch him, for the few fleeting moments he turned his technique off and you could feel his skin again.
Cling to his warmth with your forearm holding his wrists down, rivulets of sweat dripping down the dips and ridges of his toned chest when he sucked in heavy breaths.
Judging by the cute blush on his cheeks, it had nothing to do with actual exertion.
Before you could call him on it, comment on how hard his face was flushed, he flipped you over, catching both of your own wrists in a single massive hand and pressing them into the mat.
It was unfair how beautiful he was.
How fast he had your heart racing, pulse pounding in your ears and drowning out the sounds of the rest of the world until it was just you and him intertwined. His knee pressed between your thighs, keeping them spread open. Barely using a fraction of his strength and still rendering you immobile.
“Nice try,” he murmured, and you were reminded just how much deeper his voice was. Your muscles tensed, glancing down instinctively at the shape of his lips.
But then he was standing up, holding out his hand for you to use. Pulling you up to your feet too, tucking a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear.
“I need a shower,” you huffed at him, forcing yourself to step away first.
It was getting harder to every day.
You switched the water to cold back in your bathroom, letting it pelt your skin like it could wash him off of it.
But you couldn’t even escape him in your sleep.
Dreaming of his fingers, his face. Of his hands caressing your cheeks, of his lips pressing a line of kisses down your stomach below your belly button, stopping just shy of a sky blue pair of panties.
His blindfold slipped off – but it wasn’t those eyes you missed so much waiting for you.
Just darkness. The kind that threatened to suck you into it, drag you in until you were drowning in the swirling depths of it.
You screamed, or maybe shouted, scratching at his shoulders to pull him off of you, but his body didn’t budge. Not when your nails couldn’t scrape his skin, didn’t get past the invisible barrier of infinity that was pressing down on you.
But then his head snapped to the side, his brows scrunching together like he heard some sound. You saw a shadow move – and realized it was Suguru, some new manifestation of the guilt that had been gnawing at you for weeks.
Betrayal burning in his stare, accusation he didn’t get to verbalize because with a single flick of Satoru’s fingers, he burst.
Blood splattering the walls, bits of him sent flying over every surface as you shrieked.
But then someone was shaking you awake, sturdy hands on your shoulders, a panicked voice saying your name as you tried to blink and reconcile reality from your nightmare. Satoru was there, begging you to realize it was just him.
“Sweetheart, you’re fine, it’s okay, I’m here,” he murmured softly, and you crumpled forward. Leaning into his chest, letting him wrap a strong arm around you. Sucking in harsh breaths, straining to get any air in your lungs as you realized there were damp streaks down your cheek. He brushed them away with a free hand before holding your chin to keep your attention on him. “Breathe, baby.”
You forced yourself to focus on him, on his pretty blue-
Eyes.
Satoru had forgotten his blindfold.
You stopped breathing. Lungs lodged in your throat as you stared at him, feeling like you were really seeing him for the first time in years. Getting lost in the way the moonlight streaming in glimmered in the sea of blue, shining so pretty as they pierced through you.
No one else ever really made you feel seen like he did.
Never would.
There was only one Satoru Gojo – and he was in your bed, wiping away your tears and whispering that he would never let anything happen to you.
The subject of your dreams and the stuff of your nightmares.
A little voice in the back of your head told you to scramble away from him, but your body was gravitating towards him, burying your face against his collarbone. Seeking his comfort like it was second nature.
Curling up by his side, letting him stroke your hair while you sniffled and calmed down, caught up in his voice and his warmth and the idea that some new line has been crossed now that he was letting you see him too.
When you woke up in the morning, he was still there. Still holding you close, limbs tangled together as he rested his chin on the top of your head. Somehow, he sensed you stirring, his palm pressing flat on the base of your spine to keep you there.
“Morning,” he murmured, as if it was the hundredth time you'd been in this position. Or rather, as if you had hundreds more to look forward to.
“Don't you have, like, duties?” You yawned, but you weren't trying to wiggle free.
“You seem to forget that I make the rules around here,” he wryly chuckled, one of his long fingers tracing a small shape in your skin, edging just underneath your shirt. “We can sleep in.”
“Lazy,” you grumbled under your breath, but your eyes were fluttering shut again, threatening to doze off.
But Satoru said something he shouldn't.
“We wouldn't get to do this if we were just sorcerers,” he mumbled, and your throat went dry. “One of us would have a mission to go to, or students to take care of-”
He was still talking, but you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from commenting that he didn't care if all your old friends had to put up with that instead.
You had a feeling he'd say it was their choice – like this one was his.
“Go back to sleep, Satoru,” you softly said, just so you wouldn't have to think about it harder.
His words were still on your mind a handful of hours later though.
Lingering under the surface when he convinced you to eat lunch with him outside for once. A picturesque picnic splayed out in the grass of a garden no one seemed to frequent on the condition he took his blindfold off again, surrounded by blooming flowers in shades of white and blue. You supposed he had one of his members set it all up.
You wondered if they felt like servants – but they were always happy to help him, to do whatever it was he ordered. You could sense traces of cursed energy from most of them, but no one ever dared to speak to you for more than a few short sentences before scurrying away.
Satoru offered you sandwiches, cut-up fruits on pretty platters, relaxing as he rambled on about something that happened a few months ago. Some silly story about Ijichi attempting to ask for a girl’s number and failing. For a moment, it felt like a date.
“It's nice here,” you accidentally said, just talking out loud as you looked past him at the sprawling grounds.
“You think so?” He grinned, giddy at your approval.
“Thanks for letting me stay,” you mumbled, glancing away from him as you sorted out the stuffy feelings clouding your judgment. “For now.”
There was still supposed to be a life waiting for you outside of here. One you had put on hold for this.
Although, you were starting to consider the chance that your life had been on hold before. How long had it been since you had felt this content?
You looked back at him, and you couldn't think straight.
When the sun struck him just right, long white lashes fluttering as he tilted his head back, he didn’t feel like Master Gojo.
He was just Satoru.
Just the same guy who loved sweets and shitty jokes and sneaking his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together and squeezing while you still pretended your friendship was platonic. The grass swayed in the breeze, his sturdy fingers gracefully plucking a wildflower that managed to sprout and poke out next to the picnic blanket. He leaned over, holding it out for you to take.
When he caught you staring though, saw the look in your eyes, he grinned, one corner of his mouth crooking higher than the other side as he tucked it behind your ear instead.
“For my girl,” he murmured softly.
You should say no. That even if you were here, you weren’t his.
But it had never really mattered how far away you ran, you had always belonged to him. He’d taken your heart with him – and you’d just been borrowing time without it.
“Stay with me,” he murmured, his hand cupping your face, thumb drawing a line over your cheek. “Not just for now.”
“I-” You started, but you couldn’t finish.
“No more missions,” he hummed. “No more blood. No more death.”
For you, maybe.
But what about everyone else?
“Toru,” you whispered. The nickname fell from your lips, and then his were suddenly on yours. Capturing you in a heated kiss, mouth warm and soft as he tried to make up for the years you'd both been missing this.
You could still taste the strawberries he'd been eating on his tongue.
Sweet.
You were kissing a killer. You knew it, but you were still sifting your fingers through his soft hair, still tugging him closer and sucking on his bottom lip. Gasping into his mouth when he laid you flat on the blanket, pushing all the food out of the way so he could have his way with you.
Slipping his tongue between your lips, dragging it over the ridges of your teeth and exploring your mouth. Sweeping over your canines and moaning into you like he was savoring the moment.
His hands were all over you. Infinity discarded in favor of your heat, the rest of the world forgotten in heated kisses. Palms dragging over your hips, up your waist and all the way to your breasts. Squeezing and groping and greedily grabbing as much of you as he could.
Satoru had never been a patient man.
You broke the kiss first, pulling back to breathlessly blink at him, craning your neck up to glance around the gardens.
“What if someone-”
“They’ll have to pry me off of you,” he muttered, his mouth moving down your throat. Planting firm kisses down your throat to your chest before pulling your breasts free from the sundress you’d worn for him today.
Gasping at the breeze grazing over your nipples before his warm fingers dragged over them. One corner of his lips curling up in a smirk at the stunned expression on your face.
“Or out of you,” he teased, just to make your breath hitch as he rolled your nipple between two thick digits.
Satoru had waited years for this – you both had.
And maybe it was the clouds reflecting in his eyes, the sky or the sun, or the curve of his mouth when he smiled, but you were sick of acting like you didn't want him just as badly as he wanted you.
“Just kiss me again,” you murmured, tugging him back down.
And he did. Until you were both running out of air, until your lips felt swollen and bruised, until your head was fuzzy enough with his fevered affection you weren't sure where he started and you ended. Limbs tangled and locked as you slipped a hand underneath his shirt, while his own fingers kept mercilessly teasing your nipples.
The shame somehow made it hotter. Set a certain warmth underneath your skin, burned brighter with every whine and whimper he stole from you.
“You were worth the wait,” Satoru whispered conspiratorially, the air surrounding you practically vibrating with his energy.
He was shoving your dress up, bunching it around your hips and hurrying to peel your underwear down your thighs. A new flicker of embarrassment soared through you at the realization of how exposed you’d be if anyone happened to walk by, but you couldn't bring yourself to care when he was lifting both your thighs up and over his shoulders.
Planting a kiss on your clit instead, messy, open-mouthed, tongue dragging over the sensitive bud while you let out a fresh cry of his name.
Everything with him was heightened. Teeth scraping over your skin in taunting little sucks. Nipping at you while his thick fingers spread you open, splintered you. You felt every drag against your walls, every twitch and throb as he devoted himself to proving how much he'd been dreaming about you in your absence.
How much he ached to be in you.
You pulled at his hair, scraped at his scalp, arching your back off the ground as you tried to stifle your moans.
But every sound you made just spurred him on more, made him pump his fingers in faster, suck on your clit harder.
Everything inside your chest pulled tight, pressure just continuing to build and mount and twist as he painted pretty patterns over your sensitive bud. Fingers curling inside you as you edged closer, waiting for some relief as you chased the friction.
“S-S’toru,” you slurred out his name, stumbling over the simple syllables as you squirmed in his hands.
He pulled off your clit with a filthy pop! before grinning at you.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” He casually asked, like his lips weren't glossy with your slick and his saliva.
You couldn't find the words, just weakly whining and trying to buck your hips up, writhing underneath the weight of his body.
He clicked his tongue though, shaking his head and sending a jolt of electricity down your spine at the sheer intensity of his stare when it settled on your face.
Freezing on instinct, like some mouse that just realized it was caught in a cat’s paw.
“Tell me what you want,” he slowly said. Ordered. Commanded.
He wanted you to admit it.
To shed the shroud of decency you'd been hiding behind.
“I want you.”
And there was no going back.
He was tugging down his pants, and your mouth watered at the sight of his cock so swollen and sensitive for you. Slightly curved, thick veins throbbing as pre-cum leaked from the tip.
He didn't have to say he wanted you back – that was proof enough.
It didn't matter how much you shouldn't or how awful you were for it, but you were automatically spreading your thighs further, allowing him to angle himself right between your slick folds as you interlaced your fingers with his one free hand.
He pressed it into the picnic blanket beneath you, squeezing your hand as the first few inches slid in. He didn't bother with a condom – and you couldn't bring yourself to ask him to put one in anyway.
In a fucked-up way, you wanted to feel him.
Clinging to the intimacy of it, the closeness in having him stretch you out and stuff you full. Relishing in the way he dragged it against your walls, reveling at being the object of his affection. At being the one on the altar, the only person worth worshipping in a world where almost everyone he met bowed down to him.
Your fingers pressed into his tendons, the soft grass crunching underneath the combined weight of your bodies beneath the blanket, but all your focus was on Satoru’s face. How intently he was looking at you, holding eye contact with each slow thrust.
Purposely making you writhe, making you wait for him to pick up the pace, wiggling your hips in a weak attempt to drive him in deeper.
Nothing was ever good enough for a guy like him.
Satoru didn't just want your confession. He wanted you to beg. Preferably even crawl.
But you refused, tilting your chin up higher, acting like you were content how it was. Playing the long game with him even now.
He needed you and you needed him. Nothing either one of you could ever do would change that. The connection was twisted and tangled and terrible – but you wouldn't trade it in for anything else.
For anyone else.
Although every second that dragged by, each moment the breeze rustled the leaves and the flowers and the birds overhead chirped, you were reminded of the fact you were out in the open.
His cock nestled into a certain sweet spot, and he felt the way you shuddered at it, grinning as he dragged his tip back over it in infuriating strokes.
“Sato-”
His hand clamped down over your mouth, muffling your moans as the voices of few of his cult members floated by. Probably on the trail that wrapped around the field, casually chatting about something your fractured brain couldn't process, too distracted by the searing stretch of him splitting you open.
“Don't want them to hear now, do we, baby?” He murmured in your ear, slowly pulling out just to shove back in.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, barely managing to stifle your own hiss at the pressure. The heat started to roll around in your stomach, the warmth spreading into the rest of you as he suddenly picked up his excruciating pace.
From soft and steady strokes to rough ones, ruthlessly rutting into you with one palm over your mouth and another squeezing your own. It wasn’t sloppy, even when it was fast. Every thrust was painstakingly precise, like he knew exactly where to hit to make you whimper. Tears were starting to form in the corner of your eyes, but you couldn’t quite decide if it was from the sheer pleasure – or rather some emotion you weren’t able to shut down.
Lust or love or lingering heartache all rolled up into one tightly coiled ball of need.
He grinded into you harder, moving the hand covering your mouth from where it was covering your lips down to the small bud between your thighs. It was aching, demanding his attention, and he was eager to give it.
Rubbing maddening circles over it, devouring all of your squirms with that stupidly handsome smirk of his. But you could see it in the twitch of his brows, the squint in his eyes, how tightly he was grinding his molars, that he was close too.
A wet tear rolled down your cheek – and he leaned down to lick it.
Dragging his tongue over your skin, salt on his tastebuds as he suddenly groaned. And then he was abruptly massaging you faster, practically begging you to cum with just his fingers over your sensitive nerves and his warm breath on your neck when he buried his face against your collarbone.
You didn’t know which one of you came first.
So enveloped in him, in his frantic thrusts and his fevered fingers, in the faint kisses being left along the inside of your throat, you were lost in the sudden snapping tension and the weight of the relief. Washed away with the pleasure, wrapped up in it tight, and then he was pulling out at the last second, warm ropes of cum sputtering out on his hand – and some catching on the hem of your shoved-up dress.
But it didn’t really process. Didn’t stick out in your brain.
You didn’t know how long you laid there. With him half on you. With the wind on your skin, watching it catch in his hair as his dazzling stare settled contentedly on you.
“You’re so beautiful,” he softly said. Dragging a thumb over where his cum had started to dry on your skin before grabbing a napkin and starting to clean you up.
Touching you with a gentleness you were unaccustomed to, a tenderness that no one else would ever be able to match. As if even something as simple as wiping your skin was an act of worship.
It scared you almost more than the sex did.
You were in too deep.
The signs had all been there. Big, bold ones practically proclaiming that every step forward was leading you to quick sand. And you still treaded on, disregarded how dangerous it was until you were buried up to your neck in him.
Someone called his name.
“Gojo-sama!” A servant was shouting, calling out to him, and he groaned. Fixing your dress first before he shoved his dick back in his pants, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“I’m late for a meeting,” he admitted.
“Oh,” you breathed. “Okay.”
You watched him walk away, stared at how he paused to pop another strawberry in his mouth before striding back towards the path.
Where were you supposed to go from here?
What were you supposed to do?
Your feelings for him didn’t change who he was. And you didn’t even know if you wanted to.
Could you really just ignore what he did? The things he was going to do?
You pushed off the blanket, glanced around all the flowers and greenery as you tried to shove down all those questions you couldn’t answer. And in the corner of your vision, peeking behind the basket with more food, there it was.
Satoru forgot his blindfold.
You picked it up, felt the soft fabric in your hand as you sighed and stood.
Satoru probably needed it back. Wobbling on sore legs while you walked the trail back to a side door, following the path through long halls where his residual energy was the strongest.
It didn’t take long to find him.
The door was even open.
He was distracted though, surrounded by a handful of members you’d seen around. Fellow sorcerers, ones you’d pieced together that he recruited over time. Ones that were sick of the system you were all stuck in too.
Except for one stranger – a man in a stiff suit, one that didn’t fit very well, too long in the wrists, too short on his ankles. His eyes flitted over to you, walking over before anyone else did.
“You’re the girlfriend, right?” The man smiled, and you numbly nodded. The girlfriend. Was that what you were? “He talks about you a lot.”
Your heart fluttered, and you were about to ask what he said.
But then you could feel the sharp shift of energy in the air, already aware Satoru was staring at you before the man next to you did. He turned after a second, looking back at your boyfriend before humbly starting to speak.
“Greetings, Gojo-sama,” he smiled, bowing down and-
His head wasn’t there anymore.
Something sticky was on your face, and when you reached up, your fingers grazed over a wet streak on your cheek, pulling it back just to find it stained red.
You were shaking. Starting to tremble as you stepped back, knees threatening to buckle as familiar footsteps slowly approached. And then Satoru was cleaning your face with his thumb, pulling something out of your hair with a soft scoff.
“Disgusting fuckin’ monkeys can’t even die right,” Satoru muttered, and it felt like you were gutted. Insides scooped out, left hollow at the sinking realization that this was who he is.
He’d never been a man.
Never been a mortal. At least not in the way the rest of you were.
“Don't cry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice automatically softening into something sweet.
“You-”
You couldn't say it. Couldn't look down at the body by your feet.
Someone else was scurrying over, already starting to clean up his mess.
“Thank you, Gojo-Sama,” another voice whispered, and he just waved his hand. As if it was nothing.
He had said it himself though, hadn’t he?
The rest didn’t matter.
“He used to be the principal at one of the other schools,” Satoru was only speaking to you, keeping your attention on him. Offering a justification you hadn’t asked for. “You wanna know how many young sorcerers he assigned to cases they couldn’t handle? How many of us died because of them?”
You could call him a hypocrite.
Tell him that there wasn’t really an us when he was the one perched pretty on the top of the food chain.
But all you did was stare.
Anchor yourself in his presence. It was the only comfort you’d ever really known – even when he was the reason for your distress.
“Go take a bath,” he murmured, ruffling your hair. “I’ll be there soon.”
The other members were watching you, waiting for some reaction. You didn’t know if they were expecting your reverence or repulsion.
Instead, you just left.
Turning on your heels to walk out, the hole in your chest growing bigger by the second as you replayed the same five seconds over and over again in your head. The man’s voice, the splatter. How calmly Satoru cleaned you – and the cruelty he was capable of.
You didn’t know why you went to his room instead of yours.
Why you were searching for solace in the scent of his cologne, in the reminder that he was still a human instead of a monster.
Looking around all his belongings, his still wrinkled bed, the photo he had hidden of you in the top drawer of his nightstand. Wondering if you were just as fucking awful as him when you found it underneath a brand new box of condoms.
A folder. The bold letters with the familiar lettering of the school you both called home once. You knew what you should do. What Suguru had been counting on you to do.
Flip it open, sneak photos or skim over every dirty detail of Satoru’s plan. Call him how you had promised to before.
But you couldn't.
The idea of selling Satoru out was impossible. A new imaginary and impenetrable barrier stopping you from snagging it and sneaking back to your room. It would be nice if it was real. If you had anything other than your brain to blame for doing the bad thing.
You had to force yourself to reach out, everything inside you screaming at you that you shouldn't when you picked it up.
It took only a second to figure out the top sheet inside was a stolen itinerary. Ijichi’s handwriting scribbled at the bottom with a note you struggled to decipher.
I know you wanted to deal with the higher ups later. However, it appears they bumped up their meeting to discuss putting a bounty on her.
On you.
Great.
More bodies to pile up.
Satoru had just killed a guy. And if you stepped outside, someone else might kill you.
You were completely and utterly fucked. Had been from the start. From the first moment you saw Satoru really, when he had stolen your heart with his stupid laugh.
You flipped through the rest of the pages, each one just another brick dropped in your gut, stacking up on top of each other as you read more.
He was planning to murder all the higher-ups. One clean sweep.
Had a whole list of who would inherit what, how things should be run, plans that had been put into motion far before you ever booked your plane ticket.
But the students would be safe. You would be safe.
And a little voice had already started to whisper, why should you care then?
What was so wrong with him taking care of men who sent your fellow sorcerers on suicide missions all the time?
You shoved the folder back.
Returned to your room and drew a bath. Locked the door behind you like Satoru would listen to the message you were sending for space.
To your surprise, outside of knocking and asking to speak to you, he didn’t barge or teleport in. Just called out that he’d be waiting for you when you were ready to talk.
After you were clean, dressed in an outfit he’d bought for you, you listened through the wall for any sign of him shuffling around. Luckily for you, Ijichi came knocking on his door, distracting him enough that you slipped out of the sliding door to the balcony. Hopping over the railing and rolling onto the dusty grass below where the evening was just starting to blend into night.
Half-jogging onto the closest trail, this one through heavier trees as your bare feet scraped against the loose gravel.
You hadn’t really thought about what you were doing. An impulsive decision to get some air, although even out here, none seemed to reach your lungs.
It was cooler than you expected. A brittle chill sending a shiver down your spine and goosebumps trailing down your arms as you walked down the winding path.
You gave it five minutes before Satoru showed up. Until he was popping in on the crunching leaves and throwing his arm around your shoulder. You wouldn’t shrug him off this time. Maybe let him pull you in for a hug, let him reassure you that it was fine no matter how far from it every part of this really was.
Something shuffled ahead, and your head snapped up to the dark outline of someone ahead through the treeline.
You hesitated. Some deep-rooted instinct freezing you in place as you squinted, tried to discern the swirls of cursed energy when Satoru’s basically drowned everyone else’s out.
But then you heard your name, and you knew.
Suguru had come back to search for you. Probably hanging on the outskirts of the property to avoid detection.
He started jogging, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t get yourself to take so much as a step – although you weren’t sure if you’d go to him or run away.
What were you supposed to say to him?
That you overheard Satoru’s plans and you wouldn’t sell him out? Make him promises that he’d be safe and the kids wouldn’t get hurt and hope he’d leave without doing anything stupid?
He stopped right in front of you, and it didn’t need to be said for you both to know where you stood. Whose side you were on.
“Suguru,” you said his name, and he could tell from that alone that he wouldn’t be leaving with what he wanted.
Dark eyes bore into yours, holding you hostage. His jaw locked, and you loathed how little he was probably thinking of you now.
You failed.
“He got to you,” he practically spat out, his voice low and lethal.
You couldn’t tell him Satoru always had you.
“You should go.”
Honestly, whether it was a month or a week ago, you never would have considered that Suguru would be the one between the two who would actually kidnap you.
Or that it wouldn’t even last longer than half an hour.
It was a blur, being thrown on one of his curses, arguing with him over the sound of the wind as he brought you somewhere safe. He tied your wrists together when you tried you use your own cursed technique against him, scoffing under his breath and calling you brainwashed for buying into Satoru’s bullshit after you defended him. Trying to convince you to tell him anything other than to stop fucking worrying.
Two minutes after he landed, in the middle of what looked like nowhere, standing in an empty parking lot and pointing fingers at each other, the world went black.
You thought you were about to pass out – until you realized someone had just blocked out your view of the world.
There was a crunching sound, some snickering, and then the loud voices of Satoru and Suguru shouting at each other. Suguru made a strangled sound of surprise, of pain, and you panicked.
“Stop,” you tried to call out, and Satoru’s presence was suddenly beside you.
“Hold on,” Satoru grumbled, his voice uncharacteristically cold. “I’m taking you home.”
“Don’t hurt Suguru,” you softly requested, and he made a disgruntled sound.
But your wish was still his command.
And in a second, you were home.
The blindfold fell around your neck, his fingers brushing against your face. You squinted up at him, straining against the ropes around your wrists while he casually sliced them off. You were back in his bedroom – his own sliding door still open, the curtain covering it swaying with the wind.
“Sorry,” Satoru chirped, shrugging his shoulders as your restraints hit the floor. “Worried you might see something else your pretty little brain can’t handle.”
You tried to scowl at him, but even that fell short when he was looking down at you.
“I didn’t tell Suguru anything,” you defensively said, lips pushed together in a pout.
He kneeled down next to you, humming appreciatively.
“I know,” he purred.
“Then why-”
“He touched you,” he murmured.
“He thought he was saving me,” you pointed out.
“Do you want him to save you?” Satoru cocked his head to the side, feigning curiosity when the truth was already hanging in the air.
“No.”
That was all he needed to hear.
He had you pinned against his bed in a handful of seconds. Your clothes half-shredded, barely taking the time to discard his own as he left kiss after kiss across your body.
“Mine,” he muttered, repeating it under his breath like a mantra.
His, his, his.
You couldn’t deny it anymore.
“Should I start calling you Gojo-Sama too?” You replied back in a soft voice, sifting your fingers through his silky hair as his teeth sank into your bare chest. Possessive. Hungry.
“Please,” he groaned. Gripping your body like you’d finally declared it as part of his property.
You were home after all.
How long had you been drifting from city to city, country to country, running from someone who was waiting for you all along?
“You know you can call me whatever you want,” he added, about to slip one finger inside just to test how slick you were only to discover you were soaked.
“Yeah?” You found yourself smiling when he bit back a curse and hurried to line his cock up. "Gojo-Sama."
He let out a filthy moan, finger crooking as he shivered.
You liked his desperation.
You loved him.
He was flawed, fucked-up, but the feral gleam in his eyes when he clenched his jaw and pushed his cock inside you lit a match inside you no one else would ever be able to reach.
“Sometimes,” he murmured, half-delirious, drunk on the same desire that left you dizzy. Babbling while the stretch of his dick dragging against you seared. “I used to find your hotels. Lean against the door and try to convince myself to knock. To confess that I was in love with you and beg you to come back with me.”
“You should've,” you muttered, breath hitching as he buried himself inside of. Letting go of the last shreds of decency. Of morality.
Here he was, openly admitting to stalking you, and the only feeling you found inside yourself was attraction. Adoration.
“W-what?” He stammered, genuine surprise in his hoarse voice. Straining just to keep his thrusts steady, brilliant blue eyes searching your face.
You dragged your nails back down his back, earning another low moan that bordered on feral at the pain mixing with the hot pleasure. No one else got to do this.
No one else got him.
“You could've fucked me,” you continued, whispering softly as you craned up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I would've just thought I was dreaming.”
Satoru’s eyes rolled back, that pretty lump in his throat bobbing as he tried to contain his coming orgasm.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you can't just say that,” he hissed, body shaking as you smiled at him.
“I dreamt of you all the time,” you promised, letting go of his shoulders to stroke his hair. He pulled out, like it would stop him from cumming early, his leaking cock resting on your stomach. Throbbing while his stare burned through you.
You were tired of telling yourself you weren’t in love with him.
Tired of lying.
You wrapped delicate fingers around his cock, feeling the veins pulsing underneath your fingers before you guided it back inside you. Lips parting as he slowly pushed himself in, struggling and straining to keep himself from snapping.
“I fantasized about us,” you whispered again, your own breath catching as he suddenly came hard, warm ropes of white spilling inside you before you could cum too. He was already apologizing, hissing out that he hadn’t meant to, promising that he’d make up for it with his mouth until he was hard again.
You giggled at the idea he'd just be eating his own cum back out, grinning and relaxing as you hooked one of your thighs over his shoulder, glancing down at his cheesy smile at your acceptance.
Some dreams did come true.
a/n: commission info is here for anyone interested <3 reblogs/comments are greatly appreciated angels!! hope everyone enjoyed!
No i will not feel empathy for someone who built their whole career on hateful rhetoric and racism. on someone who is not only a terrible person but as disgusting as trump. i feel for the wife and children the same way i feel for the parents of all the children in school shootings, the innocent people in Gaza, all the loved ones of people who have been killed due to gun violence. And if his words never affected you or bothered you, you are the problem and probably need to do some deep reflection on yourself. SPEAK UP PEOPLE
Synopsis: Nanami agreed to take a half-day for once. You used it to wear a tiny sundress and test his patience. You weren’t wearing panties—and he figures that out very quickly.
cw: Explicit sexual content (18+). Public sex/semi-public setting (car, risk of being seen). No panties/exhibitionism. Dom/sub. Light choking. Spanking. Rough sex/overstimulation. Dirty talk. Creampie. Slight possessiveness & authority play
You knew exactly what you were doing when you slipped into that little floral sundress.
It was barely August and the heat was already sticky, clinging, but you weren’t wearing it for the weather. You wore it because you liked the way it made Nanami look at you—like he was seconds away from throwing all his rules out the window and bending you over the nearest surface.
Thin, white, soft against your skin. Light enough to move with the breeze, short enough to show off your ass. No bra. No panties.
And Kento Nanami—your very overworked, very tightly wound boyfriend—had no idea what kind of day you had planned for him. At least, not when he picked you up that morning.
His jaw clenched the moment he saw you. He was in his usual three-piece suit, meticulous and pressed, glasses perched on his nose and a to-go coffee in his hand. His eyes skimmed down your body with that cold, unreadable look he got when he was trying very hard not to react. You smiled, all sweet. “Morning.”
“You’re not wearing a coat,” he said flatly.
“It’s warm out.” You leaned into his car, lips pouting as you walked to your side of the car. “Isn’t this dress cute?”
“Mhm,” he murmured as he was helping you into his car, gentlemanly as ever—palm on the small of your back, leaning close, murmuring something soft about dinner reservations and time windows—until his hand dipped a little lower. Until your leg shifted to get in and that dress rode up.
Until he felt bare skin under his palm. His voice dropped immediately. “You forgot something.”
“I don’t think I did.”
“You’re not wearing any panties.”
“And?”
The passenger door slammed. Hard. You bit back a grin as he rounded the car and got in, jaw tight, one big hand gripping the steering wheel, the other flexing slow on his thigh. He didn’t say anything for five minutes. Not until you crossed your legs sweetly and whispered, “Are you mad?”
Nanami didn’t look at you. “Mad isn’t the word I’d use.”
“Oh?” You reached over, letting your fingers trace the seam of his trousers, right along the thick line of his cock already pushing against the fabric. “What word would you use?”
His hand caught your wrist so fast you gasped, he was furious. “Stop it,” he said sharply. “Sit still and be quiet.”
You smiled, wicked and teasing. “That doesn’t sound like a thank you for the little surprise I planned.”
His eyes cut to you, cold and sharp. “I should pull this car over right now. Stop. It.”
You didn’t stop. You never did. Not when he warned you. Not when he glared at you with that tightly-reined restraint that made your thighs press together in the seat. Not even when he muttered a final, sharp “Enough” through gritted teeth, gripping the wheel so tight the leather creaked. He had to recite tax brackets in his head just to keep from wrecking the car.
Instead, you ran your palm slowly over his thigh, higher and higher until you reached the aching, hard line of his cock straining against his slacks. You gave him a playful little squeeze, and in the same motion, reached into your bag.
“Cupcake?” you asked, all innocent as you unwrapped the little thing you picked up from the bakery. Vanilla bean. A stupid, soft little snack. “I brought one just for you.”
“Don't,” he muttered under his breath. He watched you tear the wrapper with one dainty hand, shimmying in the seat like your bare cunt wasn’t already sticking to the leather.
“Kento,” you murmured, licking a streak of frosting off your thumb, “you want a bite?” You moaned—loud—when your tongue dragged over the tip of your finger, eyes fluttering shut like the taste was orgasmic. Then you bit into it slow, messy, frosting smearing the corner of your mouth. You licked that too. Sucked it off your finger like it was his cock.
“This frosting is so good,” you said, eyes flicking to him while your other hand trailed up his thigh. “C’mon just one bite?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, snatched the half-bitten cupcake out of your mouth without warning, threw it straight out the open window—“Kento!”—frosting streaking his knuckles from the force. He didn’t even blink.
Your lips parted like you might whine, but all that came out was a breathy sound as he raised his frosting-coated fingers to inspect the mess he'd made. Creamy, sticky, speckled with crumbs. His other hand never left the wheel, eyes forward as you—incorrigible, needy—snatched his hand and dragged it to your mouth.
You looked up at him through your lashes as you licked slowly from his knuckle to fingertip.
“Oh, fuck off,” he muttered under his breath—but you caught the twitch of his jaw.
“You’re so mean to me, baby,” you whispered against his knuckles. “You didn’t even want a taste?”
His voice was deadpan. “You’re going to cry later. I hope you know that.”
Your thighs clenched again—god, you were already so fucking wet, sticky between your legs from nothing but teasing him. His fingers were still in your mouth. You made a soft little mmph sound like a slut trying to apologize.
He made a sharp turn off the main road—too fast—and pulled the car into the back lot of a quiet rest stop. You barely had time to react before the engine cut off, the brake engaged.
And then the car was dead silent. You watched him unbuckle his belt with controlled precision. He wasn’t rushing. Nanami never rushed.
You gulped. “Kento—”
“Get on my lap.”
The words hit like a slap. You blinked. “What—”
“You wanted attention. You want to tease me? Fine. Get on my lap. I’ll let you fuck yourself on my cock in broad daylight. No window tints. No privacy. Go ahead. Let’s see how long that attitude lasts.”
“…someone could see—”
He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you forward, his mouth was right at your ear, voice low. “Get. On. My. Lap.”
He released you just as fast. Sat back. Opened his slacks with one sharp motion and freed his cock—thick, flushed, already leaking, slapping against his stomach with a quiet, heavy thud.
“Take your time,” he said coldly. “You love putting on a show, right?”
You were already crawling into his lap, straddling him, the sticky heat of your cunt dragging over his length as you settled against him. You were so wet he didn’t even need to guide himself in—just one slow press of your hips and he slid inside, inch by inch, deliciously deep.
You gasped as he hissed. His head dropped back against the headrest. “Fuck. Of course you’re this wet.”
You bit your lip, hips trembling. “It’s your fault…” you whined, high-pitched and breathless. He gripped your throat with one hand. “Don’t fucking start,” he snapped. “You’re lucky I’m letting you cum at all.”
You could barely breathe. Not just because of the thick weight of his cock pulsing inside you—but because of the way Kento fucking looked at you. One arm slung across the back of the seat, the other still gripping your throat, palm hot and broad. His glasses had slid down just slightly, exposing the sharp glint of his eyes as he watched you tremble in his lap like some fucked-out little plaything.
“You don’t get to be shy now,” he muttered. “Ride me.”
You whimpered and gripped the collar of his shirt as your hips began to move. Slow at first. Up. Down. Just enough to feel that stretch all over again. Every time you sank down, it felt like too much—too deep. But his grip tightened when you tried to stop. His brows drew together like he was annoyed you weren’t using him properly.
“You tease me all fucking morning,” he growled, “and this is how you ride cock?”
“I’m—” you gasped, “I’m trying—”
“Try harder.”
The slap to your ass was loud and immediate—his palm cracked sharp against the curve of it and you yelped, tightening around him. His cock twitched in response. You barely managed another rise and fall of your hips before your rhythm broke, thighs shaking.
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.”
He grabbed your hips with both hands and then slammed you down onto his cock so hard you choked on your own breath. “Oh my god—Kento!”
His hips snapped into yours, cock stretching you wide, his hands bruising your waist. He grunted with each thrust, every stroke a punishment.
“This—” thrust.
“—is—” thrust.
“—what happens—” thrust.
“—when you pull that shit with me.” Your eyes were glassy, mouth parted around panting little moans as he forced you to take his cock over and over, faster now, harder—bucking you against him with brute, punishing strength. The squelch of your cunt sucking him back in was filthy.
He sat back, legs planted, hands locked on your hips, and fucked up into you so hard you saw stars. Your entire body bounced with every brutal thrust—his cock punching against your cervix, the fat head dragging over that swollen, needy spot inside you again and again until your back arched and your mouth dropped open in a silent scream.
Your orgasm crashed over you so violently your body locked up, cunt clamping down around him like a vice. You cried out—high, loud, broken—and Nanami bit your lip as he grunted, hips jerking up once, twice, before he stilled. His cock throbbed deep inside you, spilling hot cum into your pulsing cunt, so much it dripped out the second he pulled you off him.
You collapsed against him, panting, shaking, your sundress hiked up around your waist, legs splayed open across his thighs.
Just your heavy breaths and his low, even ones. His hand stroked your back, then slid lower—over your ass, to your slick thighs, to where his cum was starting to drip onto the seat.
“You made a mess,” he muttered. You mumbled something incoherent against his chest. He sighed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
You giggled, barely able to lift your head. “Told you the dress was worth it.”
He shifted, tucking himself back into his slacks with practiced ease, then grabbed a handkerchief from the glovebox and slipped it between your legs.
“Clean up.” You mewled, lifting your hips weakly so he could wipe the mess from your thighs.
“You know,” you whispered, lazy smile spreading over your face, “we never made it to lunch.”
He glanced down at you. “You're not getting anything sweet for the rest of the day.”
You smirked. “Except you.”
His palm landed on your ass again—lighter this time. A warning. “Behave.”
“No promises.”
He closed his eyes like he was praying for strength. “Next time,” he said, voice low, “I’m tying your hands before we get in the car.”
It was almost 3 a.m. when Satoru Gojo slipped into bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight with a soft creak. You shifted slightly at the change, still half-asleep.
He had just gotten back from a week-long mission, and all he wanted was to hold you, kiss you—fuck you. He was aching for it.
Your leg was hiked up, giving him the perfect view of your panties hugging your cunt just right. He couldn’t help but bring his hand up to rub over your clothed slit, the motion almost instinctive, practiced.
A low groan rumbled in his chest as he dragged his fingers down your covered folds. He wanted to feel ashamed—pathetic, even—for touching you like this while you slept, but he knew this was your favorite way to wake up when he returned from long missions. He kept up his slow ministrations for a moment before leaning close.
“Sweetheart,” Satoru’s tired voice was warm against your shoulder as he pressed a wet kiss to your cheek. “Wake uppp.”
You couldn’t stop the sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you finally blinked your eyes open.
“Satoru…?” you murmured, rolling onto your side, your back pressing into his chest as you sought his warmth.
“Missed you, pretty girl,” he whispered between kisses along your shoulder. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you while I was gone.”
You turned your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. “Missed you too, ’Toru…”
His lips trailed higher, brushing along the curve of your neck, his breath hot as his hand slipped beneath the thin fabric of your panties.
“Fuck,” he groaned softly against your skin, finally touching you where he wanted. “Been dying for this all week.”
Your sleepy sigh turned into a quiet moan as his fingers teased your folds, his thumb pressing just right over your clit. You shifted your hips against his hand, needing more, even half-awake.
“Already so wet for me,” he whispered, a smug edge in his tired voice. “Knew you missed me too, huh?”
You nodded, pressing back into him, gasping when you felt his cock straining against his sweats—thick and hard, rubbing against the curve of your ass.
“‘Toru…” you breathed, voice breaking on a whimper.
“Yeah, baby, I got you,” he murmured, sliding your panties aside.
A strangled moan escaped you, muffled into the pillow as he bottomed out inside you, his chest pressed tight to your back.
“God, you feel perfect,” he gritted, hips snapping forward in quick, needy thrusts. “Tight little pussy squeezing me like you don’t want me to leave again.”
“Shhh,” he hushed, kissing your shoulder again. Satoru grabbed under your thigh, lifting it slightly so he could slide in deeper, his hips already rolling, sharp with pent-up desperation. “Don’t wake the neighbors now, pretty girl…”
His thrusts were rough, hungry, like he’d been starved for you, each one forcing a broken groan out of him. He kissed and bit along your neck, breathing you in like he could never get close enough.
Your leg hooked high on his hip, spreading you open, the new angle grinding him deeper and pulling a sharp gasp from your lips.
“Too big…” you whimpered, clutching at the sheets.
“Yeah?” he rasped, fucking into you harder. “Stretchin’ you out so good, aren’t I?”
You could only nod, your mouth falling open as a moan slipped out. His hand slid up, squeezing your breast through your shirt, thumb flicking your nipple until your back arched.
“Don’t stop,” you managed, voice broken and thin.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he groaned, hips snapping against you faster, chasing the way your cunt tightened around him. “Been waiting all fuckin’ week for this.”
The wet smack of skin on skin filled the room, your muffled cries tangled with his low curses. He caught your chin, turning your head just enough to steal a messy kiss, swallowing the sounds you couldn’t hold back.
When he pulled away, his eyes were wild, his grin sharp.
“Not lettin’ you go ‘til you’re screaming for me, pretty girl.”
Every thrust had you sliding higher up the mattress, your body trembling from the pace he was setting. His chest was slick against your back, his breath hot and ragged in your ear.
“God—missed this pussy,” he groaned, the words breaking on a low growl as his hips slammed into yours. “Been fucking myself stupid thinking about it all week.”
Your hand clawed at the sheets, your voice barely more than a whimper. “‘Toru… too much…”
He tightened his grip on your hip, dragging you back onto him harder. “No such thing, baby. You take it so fuckin’ good.”
The angle had him hitting deep, your toes curling as heat swelled in your stomach. You gasped, thighs trembling.
“Need to feel you cumming all over me.” His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles that had your moans spilling freely now.
You felt yourself unraveling, your body tightening around him with every thrust. He groaned, biting at your shoulder as his rhythm faltered.
“Shit—gonna lose it—”
You cried out into the pillow, your body shuddering as your orgasm ripped through you, walls fluttering tight around him.
“Fuck, fuck—just like that,” Satoru groaned, his pace breaking, thrusts sloppy as your cunt clenched down hard on him. “You’re milking me, baby—ah, shit, I’m gonna—”
His hips slammed flush to yours, burying himself deep as his release hit. A guttural moan tore from his chest, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled hot and messy, filling you to the brim.
You gasped at the sudden heat, your nails digging into the sheets.
“So full…” you breathed, voice shaking.
“Yeah, you are,” he panted against your skin, his arm tightening around your waist, holding you in place so none of it could slip out. “Fuck—I missed this. Missed you.”
The bed creaked with the last few aftershocks of his hips rolling lazily into you, chasing every drop he could give. He pressed wet kisses to your shoulder, his breath still uneven.
“Mine,” he murmured, nuzzling against your neck, possessive even in his exhaustion. “Always mine.”
summary: you and satoru have had some sort of weird relationship for around 2 years, you had known him before his band got famous. He never put a label on you guys but you didn’t see anyone and neither did he. His career was too big for an actual relationship. will you stay or leave him.
(A/N:i don’t know how i feel about this but i thought of it will listening to the town by the weeknd)
You’d known Satoru long before the flashing lights, screaming crowds, and magazine covers—back when his band was playing in shitty, half-empty bars that smelled like cheap beer and cigarettes. That’s where you found him. Or maybe… that’s where he found you.
You’d just ended a year-and-a-half relationship in the ugliest way possible—walking in to find your boyfriend tangled up in your sheets with someone else. The sting hadn’t even settled when Satoru slid onto the barstool beside you that night, blue eyes glinting with something reckless, a crooked grin pulling at his lips. He bought you a drink, his words dripping with boyish charm and the kind of cheesy lines you should’ve rolled your eyes at. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Something about him made it feel like he was the only person in the room who saw you.
That night cracked something open between you, something that never really closed. You don’t regret accepting that drink—not once. Not during the fights that burn hot and loud, not during the weeks when you’re nothing but missed calls and late-night texts now that his band is selling out arenas across the country. If anything, the distance only sharpens it. Because no matter how far he is, he’s still yours. And you know—deep down—he’d burn the whole world just to make sure you stayed his, too.
Satoru’s never put a label on what you are to him, but he’s made it very clear that he doesn’t want you to see anyone else. He doesn’t call you his girlfriend, but he calls you his. He talks about the future he’ll give you, but he’ll show up at your door at 2 a.m fresh off a flight. Looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him breathing.
Even now as you sit in his very expensive bed, in his very expensive penthouse house, half naked and wrapped in his Mulberry silk sheets. You watch him as he slips his boxers on with half lidded eyes. You don’t regret that night you met him in the bar almost 2 years ago.
Even now, sitting in his very expensive bed in his very expensive penthouse, half-naked and tangled in his Mulberry silk sheets, you can’t take your eyes off him. You watch through heavy, half-lidded eyes as he slips his boxers on, every movement slow, deliberate—like he knows you’re looking.
Almost two years have passed since that night in the bar, and you’ve never once regretted it. Not when the fights get loud, not when the distance stretches between tour stops, and not even now—when you know he’ll kiss you like you’re the only thing that matters here, but walk out the door and pretend you’re just another face in the crowd.
Because Satoru Gojo doesn’t hide you out of shame—he hides you because fame is greedy, and he refuses to let the world pick you apart. You’re his, in every way that matters… just not in a way anyone else gets to see.
He catches you staring and that familiar smirk tugs at his lips—the one that always feels like a secret only you get to see. Without a word, he crosses the room, the morning light catching in his messy hair, and slips back into bed beside you. The mattress dips under his weight, his skin still warm as he pulls the sheets over both of you.
His fingers find your hip, slow and lazy, tracing over bare skin like he’s memorizing it all over again. He presses a kiss to your temple, then another just below your ear, his breath warm against your neck. For a moment, it feels simple—quiet. Just you and him. “miss you when i’m gone baby,”
But even in that stillness, there’s an ache you can’t name. Maybe it’s in the way he holds you a little too tightly, or the way his eyes linger on yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear when he blinks. Whatever it is, you let him keep you close, tangled in silk and sunlight, pretending that this moment could last forever. “..miss you too, toru..”
Satoru had been gone for hours at this point, he went to some bar to play the release of his new album, it was a small gathering just some of his fans and of course the rest of his band.
You’d been scrolling through your phone, trying to ignore the dull ache that had settled somewhere deep inside, but then you saw it—a photo, posted by one of his bandmates.
There she was. A girl pressed against him, arms wrapped around his neck, hand on his chest. The kind of photo that felt too intimate.
Your chest tightened, the sharp sting of jealousy twisting into something darker—obsession wrapped in heartbreak. You didn’t scream or cry. You barely even breathed. Instead, you stared at the screen, your fingers trembling.
you wanted to run, take your things leave him with no explanation but you didn’t, you loved satoru more than anything but this photo might be your ending with him. You couldn’t go through this again.
****
By the time satoru comes through the door it’s almost 3 a.m, your tears have dried for the most part but it’s obvious you’ve been crying, your eyes are puffy, face all red. You’re sitting on a barstool in the kitchen and you can tell he hasn’t noticed you yet.
You watch him toe off his shoes in an almost practiced manner like he’s trying to be quiet. At the sound of your sniffing satoru turns to face you, his smile falls almost immediately-a look of worry painting his face.
He rushes over to you, “What’s wrong baby? are you okay?” His hands coming up to your cheeks and you can’t help the way you flinch away from them. You don’t want him to touch you and that realization hurts him more than anything.
You open your phone the picture, facing it towards him. “what is this satoru?” You hate the way your voice breaks as you speak. “tell me it’s not what it looks like,”
Satoru has always hated seeing you cry, and he hates it even more when you’re crying because of him. He wants to reach out, to touch you, but he holds his hands at his sides instead. “It’s not what it looks like, I promise.”
You shake your head and toss your phone onto the kitchen island, standing to face him. “Then what is it? Because I can’t go through this again.” Your voice rises just a little, trying to sound intimidating, but you know you look more like a kicked cat. “Do you really think I would cheat on you? After everything we’ve been through, that I would hurt you like that?”
“I don’t know what to think, Satoru,” you breathe out, crossing your arms over your chest almost defensively. “You don’t call me your girlfriend in front of anyone. You don’t post about me—I can’t post about you. I’m just your live-in booty call, so I don’t even know if you’d cheat on me.”
Satoru’s shoulders slump, the usual fire in his eyes dimming with regret. “she’s sugurus girlfriend i promise.” He steps closer, voice trembling but steady.
“I never wanted you to feel like you were just a secret, like you weren’t everything to me.” His hand lifts slowly, brushing a stray hair from your face, fingers lingering softly against your cheek. And this time you don’t flinch away “You’re the only one I want—no one else.”
He swallows hard, struggling to keep his voice from breaking. “I know I don’t show it the way you need. I’m scared too—scared that this lifestyle will hurt you,”
His eyes search yours, desperate and honest. “But I swear, I love you. More than anything. And I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt that.”
Satoru feels tears welling up in his eyes, his nose burning and cheeks flushed. He reaches out and gently pulls your arms away from your chest. “I’ll tell everyone. I’ll shout it from the rooftops. I’ll take you to every red carpet and every tour I go on. Just please, don’t leave me.”
“I want you to want to do that,” you say softly, “not do it because you think I’ll leave you if you don’t, Satoru.”
He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving yours, his hands squeezing yours tightly. “I do want to do it. I want everyone to know you’re mine, and I’m yours.” His voice is almost pleading.
It’s not often you see Satoru like this—so broken.
Satoru’s grip tightens, his fingers trembling as if afraid you’ll slip away even now. He swallows hard, voice low and rough.
“I’ve never been good at showing how much you mean to me. I hide behind jokes and walls because admitting I’m terrified of losing you feels too damn vulnerable.”
He pulls you close, his forehead resting against yours, breath warm and heavy. His hand trails down your arm, sliding beneath the edge of your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your waist.
“But I’m done hiding,” he murmurs against your lips. “You deserve to be seen—proudly, loudly. And I want to show you exactly how much you mean to me.”
His mouth captures yours, desperate and claiming, as his hands roam with urgent need—every touch a promise, every kiss a confession.
The ache between you—of hurt and longing—melts into heat, a fierce, aching desire that demands release.
His words are enough to quiet the storm in your head. You hate that you believe him so easily, but he’s always had that effect on you—maybe that’s why you’re perched on the counter now, panties hanging loosely from one ankle, his tongue buried as deep inside you as he can get it.
Your hands tangle in his hair, thighs squeezing around his head as your back arches. “Satoruuu…”
His hands grip your ass, squeezing roughly and pulling you closer against his mouth.
“M’sorry, sweet girl. Love you so much,” he murmurs against your cunt, his voice muffled by you. The words send a shiver straight through you, and you can’t stop the moan that claws its way up your throat.
Satoru groans at the sound, the vibration of it making your thighs twitch around his head. His tongue works you with a maddening rhythm—slow and deep one moment, fast and messy the next—like he can’t decide whether to worship you or ruin you.
One of his hands slides up your spine, splaying across your back to arch you further into him, while the other keeps a punishing grip on your ass, holding you exactly where he wants you. You can feel his breath hot against you between every lick, every sinful drag of his mouth.
“Gimme another one,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to kiss your inner thigh, his lips wet and swollen. “Wanna taste you again.”
You whimper his name, the plea spilling from your lips before you can stop it. He grins against your skin, a flash of smug satisfaction that’s quickly replaced by hungry determination as his mouth seals back over you.
It’s almost too much—his desperation, his need to make you believe him with every flick of his tongue, every groan that rumbles against you.
“gonna cum toru..can’t.. it’s too much” your fingers grip into the edge of the counter, hips trying to buck away from his mouth but it’s no use with the tight grip he has on you.
He hooks his arms under your thighs, dragging you forward until your ass is barely on the edge of the counter. The movement jolts a gasp out of you, and then his mouth is back on you—messy, greedy, like he’s trying to crawl inside and live there. His tongue fucks into you hard, fast, relentless, each stroke dragging broken moans from your lips.
Your hands fist in his hair, pulling, but it only spurs him on. He groans into you, the sound vibrating through your whole body, his eyes flicking up to meet yours—dark, fevered, and locked on your face like he’s memorizing every second.
“Mine,” he growls between licks, the word low and wrecked. “You’re mine—say it.”
“I’m yours,” you gasp, thighs trembling, hips rocking helplessly into his face.
“Louder,” he demands, pulling his mouth away just long enough to slap your thigh, the sting sharp and hot. “I want the whole fucking building to hear who you belong to.”
“I’m yours!” The words rip out of you right as his mouth seals back over your clit, sucking so hard your vision whites out. Your orgasm hits like a shockwave—sharp, consuming—your back bowing and your cry echoing off the walls.
He doesn’t stop, not even when you’re shaking, not even when your nails dig into his scalp. If anything, he dives deeper, drinking you down like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
His tongue lingers in slow, deliberate strokes, drawing out the tremors of your orgasm until you’re shuddering in his hold. He gives your thigh an affectionate squeeze before finally pulling back, his gaze sweeping over your limp form—eyes closed, chest rising and falling in rapid bursts.
Satoru can’t help but grin as he reaches down, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it carelessly aside.
“You okay, baby?” he asks, voice warm, his hands already finding your thighs, rubbing them gently. The grin never leaves his face, his mouth still glossy with your slick—something he makes no move to wipe away.
It takes you a moment to respond, your lashes fluttering as you blink open your eyes to meet his. “Mhm… I’m good.” The cool marble beneath you feels heavenly against your overheated skin, pulling a sigh from your lips.
“Thought I broke you for a second there,” he laughs softly, his thumbs kneading into your thighs before tracing the motion down the length of your legs.
Without a word, his hands slide higher, fingers curling under your ass to drag you toward the edge of the counter. You gasp, instinctively bracing your palms behind you, but he doesn’t stop until you’re right where he wants you—legs open, panties hanging loose around your ankle.
“Satoru—” You barely get his name out before he leans in, kissing you deep and messy, tasting himself on your tongue. His hands grip hard, like he’s terrified you might slip away if he lets go.
“Could stare at you like this all night,” he murmurs, lips hovering over yours before he straightens. In one motion, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down his hips until they pool at his ankles.
Your eyes flicker down instinctively, catching the sight of him—thick, flushed, already hard—and you swallow, pulse skipping.
He steps back in between your legs, one big hand cupping your jaw, tilting your face until you’re looking right at him. His voice drops, low and rough. “Gonna fuck you right here. Keep you where you can’t go anywhere.”
Before you can answer, he’s pushing into you—slow but relentless—until he’s seated all the way inside. Your head tilts back against the counter at the feeling of his cock pressing against your walls just right. The stretch stealing the breath from your lungs. Your nails sink into his bare shoulders as you try to steady yourself, one of your hands coming up to grip onto his bicep.
“Fuck—so perfect for me,” he groans, his hands locking around your hips to keep you flush against him.
He starts to move, deep and steady, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the quiet kitchen. His forehead stays pressed to yours, breaths mingling, every thrust hitting so deep it feels like he’s trying to carve himself into you.
“You’re mine,” he says again, the words coming out almost like a prayer, his voice thick with emotion. You can’t help the cry that leaves your throat at a particularly rough thrust. “satoruuuu,”
His pace turns punishing, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the kitchen. Your moans grow louder, tumbling out without control, each one pulling a darker sound from his chest.
Satoru’s grip on your hips is bruising as he drags you to meet every thrust, his teeth grazing along your jaw before sinking into your neck just enough to make you gasp. “Can feel you—fuck—clenching around me,” he groans, his breath hot against your ear.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling when he hits that spot deep inside that makes your vision blur. “Satoru—ah—don’t stop,” you beg, voice cracking, thighs shaking violently against him.
“Not gonna,” he grits out, rutting into you like a man possessed. “Not until you can’t think about anything but me.”
Your nails scrape down his back and he hisses, snapping his hips faster until all you can do is moan his name over and over.
The knot in your stomach pulls tighter with every brutal thrust, your moans spilling freely now, messy and unrestrained. “Satoru—fuck—I’m so close,” you cry, clinging to him like you’ll fall apart without his touch.
He growls low in his throat, one hand snaking between you to press against your clit, rubbing in tight circles that have your back arching. “Cum for me, baby—right here, while I’m inside you,” he pants, eyes locked on yours like he’s willing you to break for him.
The wave hits hard—you clamp down around him, moaning his name like a prayer as your orgasm crashes over you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, thighs trembling violently as he fucks you through it.
Satoru’s pace falters, his hips stuttering before he buries himself deep, groaning your name as he spills inside you. His grip on your hips is desperate, like he’s trying to fuse you to him, forehead pressing against yours as you both pant through the aftershocks.
He stays there for a moment, still pulsing inside you, lips brushing yours as he whispers.
You both lie there for a while, the only sound that can be heard is both of yours and satorus heavy breathing. He moves to rest his head against your shoulder, pressing a sloppy kiss there. “gonna tell everyone your mine sweetheart promise,”
Toji baby trapping you came to me in a dream last night. mdni 18+
Toji couldn’t really pinpoint when it had started.
He wasn’t sure if it was when you were packing Megumi’s lunch for school, doing his laundry, or getting him ready in the mornings. All he knew was that for the past week, he’d been hard as a rock—constantly having to excuse himself under the claim of needing a smoke (which you hated when he actually did), or ducking into the bathroom.
You knew it was working—all the little things. Taking care of Megumi, feeding into that quiet desire Toji never said out loud. But you noticed.
You caught on after the first couple of times
he slipped away. You didn’t even question it when your birth control mysteriously disappeared. You let him play his games—throwing out the condoms, the whole nine yards.
You let him think he was in control.
All Toji knew was that now, with you laid out across the sheets, legs bent to your chest as he drove his cock into your cunt at a ridiculous pace—this would be the time he got you pregnant. “Tojiii…~” you squealed, voice catching as his cock kissed your cervix, your hands gripping the sheets around you.
“fuck baby, wanna get you pregnant,” he finally spoke, his voice breathless and gruff. His big meaty hands squeezing the back of your knees as he pushed them farther towards your ears. He needed to fuck you deeper, needed it to stick this time.
You couldn’t help the small smile that painted your lips but quickly fell as he punctuated his words with a rough thrust of his hips. “you wanna make me a daddy again sweet’art,” You nodded quickly, eyes blinking open to look at him.
“wanna make you a daddy please toji..” Everything about this was so hot, the sweat dripping down his ripped chest, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat, his biceps flexing with every thrust.
Toji couldn’t help the grin that spread across his lips. Guess he never really had to do any of that stuff he just had to make sure you never found out.
“So fucking dirty, doll,” he groaned, leaning over you, his weight pressing your thighs down closer to your chest. His cock bullied deeper into your cunt, the head dragging along your walls just right, making your back arch off the bed.
Your moan was shameless, loud and high-pitched as your walls clenched around him.
“Shit—tight fuckin’ pussy,” he hissed, pulling back just enough to slam forward again, harder this time—his balls slapping against your ass with wet, heavy smacks.
“Gonna pump you so full, baby. Gonna take it all, yeah?” You nodded, blinking up at him through dazed eyes, your mouth parted, breath stuttering. “Want it so bad… wanna be full of you, Toji…”
Your words lit something in him—something feral.
He dropped one hand to your lower stomach, pressing down to feel the way his cock bulged against your skin as he fucked into you. “You feel that?” he growled. “That’s me, all the way up in your guts.”
You whimpered, toes curling, your orgasm building fast and sharp at the base of your spine. He could feel it—knew your body well enough to know when you were close.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice like silk-wrapped sin, “cum on it. Cream all over my cock, baby—wanna feel this pussy milk me dry.”
It only took a few more hard, perfect thrusts before your whole body snapped, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. Your cunt spasmed around him, clenching down as you sobbed out his name, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.
“Fuck, fuck—” Toji cursed, hips jerking erratically now, thrusts losing rhythm. He buried himself deep one last time, cock twitching inside you as he spilled everything—hot, thick ropes of cum pouring into your cunt, just like he’d wanted all week.
He stayed there for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving as he caught his breath. His cock still buried deep inside, still twitching, still leaking.
“Bet that took,” he muttered with a breathless laugh. “You feelin’ knocked up already, sweetheart?”
He let your legs fall from his grasp, letting them settle against his waist as he stayed slumped against you. You hummed, hands lazily dragging down his back. “Maybe.”
He leaned down and kissed your neck, slow and open-mouthed, his voice low and possessive in your ear.
“Good. ‘Cause I’m not done making sure.”
(hope yall enjoy! also remember my requests are open. give me your feedback🩷)
pairing: brothers best friend simon x reader. (mdni)
warnings: warnings: smut, (mdni), p in v, unprotected sex (use protection guys unless it’s Simon riley), fingering, exhibitionist, public but not that public, spit kink, not very experienced reader, rough, dom simon, squirting, brothers best friend, age gap (readers 20 and simon is 26), missionary, cowgirl, almost caught, he’s a munch.
By the time you had fixed your hair and jeans, simon texted you and said to meet them at the car. Your brother must’ve been making a fool himself or got cut off already.
You quickly made your way out of the pub, your hand coming up to ghost over your lips as you walked. You were glad your brother was drunk or it definitely would’ve been obvious.
When you finally made it out of the pub you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of a drunk johnny leaning completely against Simon. You shook your head at the sight of simon’s glare, a smile on your lips as you opened the backseat for him.
You did your best to help simon get johnny and gaz in the car but he mainly did all the work.
You sat up front with simon. The whole car was spilling with tension that you were grateful your brother couldn’t recognize being so drunk.
Simon’s hands gripped the wheel, knuckles turning white. All he could taste was you on his tongue, he wanted no needed to taste you more-taste you the right way. He hadn’t looked at you the whole way home not even a glance.
You wondered if he regretted it or maybe he was feeling as guilty as you did right now. You couldn’t help the squeeze of your thighs together as you thought back to it. You just wanted to get back home for this night to be over with. The silence was gonna kill you.
****
It hadn’t taken long to get home. The hardest part was getting Johnny up the stairs to his room, and then dragging Gaz to the couch. You were sweating by the time it was all over—you hadn’t worked that hard in a while.
You stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, sipping a cold glass of water. The only light came from the hood above the stove, casting everything else in shadows.
You heard his boots before you saw him.
Simon stepped into the kitchen without a word. Your heart jumped a little at the sight of him—broad shoulders, blood-smeared shirt, jaw clenched like he was still fighting whatever he'd just walked away from.
You turned at the sound, trying—really trying—to look at his face, not his arms or his mouth or that little cut on his cheek you wanted to touch.
“Did you get Johnny in bed?” you asked, quiet.
He gave a grunt, nodding once.
You leaned back a little against the counter, the tension already threading between you both like a live wire. His eyes were locked on you. Not just looking—watching. Careful. Hungry.
The silence stretched. Too long. Too heavy.
You broke first. “Are we gonna talk about earlier?”
Your voice was soft. Careful. Even though the kitchen and living room were divided by a wall, you didn’t know if Gaz was still awake.
Simon didn’t move.
“Do you want to talk about earlier?” he asked finally, voice low and scratchy, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. You hesitated. “I think we need to.” He stepped closer. You didn’t flinch, but your pulse jumped.
“This can’t happen,” he said. Flat. Firm.
Your throat tightened. “It already did.”
His jaw flexed. “Doesn’t mean it should’ve.”
You crossed your arms loosely, more to steady yourself than anything. “You didn’t seem to mind when you had your hands down my pants just an hour ago.”
That got him.
He was on you in a second, one hand tangling in your hair as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was hot—intense—and it felt like he was pouring years of pent-up longing into it.
Simon had never been good with words, so he let the kiss say all the things he couldn’t.
You clutched at his shirt, fisting the fabric just to keep yourself grounded as his mouth moved over yours, rough and needy. His other hand found your hip, gripping hard enough to make you gasp, the sound only spurring him on.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. His voice was low, almost broken.
“I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be touching you.”
But his hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place like he couldn’t stand to let go.
“Then stop,” you whispered.
He huffed out something between a laugh and a growl. “You know I can’t.”
Before you could answer, he kissed you again—deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours, swallowing the soft sound you made. His fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your head just the way he liked, and it made your stomach knot with heat.
Simon’s hands slid down to the back of your thighs, and in one smooth motion, he lifted you off the ground without even a grunt. Your legs locked around his waist, his mouth still on yours, the kiss controlled but urgent.
He carried you out of the kitchen, steps quiet and deliberate, every movement precise. Gaz was still stretched out on the couch, but you barely caught a glimpse before Simon’s head dipped, his lips brushing your ear.
“Quiet,” he breathed, low and commanding.
The single word made your pulse race.
He climbed the stairs two at a time it seemed like, his steps fast and eager, his hold on you firm, the sound of his boots muted against the wood. Johnny’s door was shut, but the reminder of how close you were to being caught sent a fresh rush of heat through you.
When he reached your room, he shouldered the door open and slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound swallowed by the low, tense silence.
Simon crossed the room in a few long strides and stopped at the edge of your bed. He tossed you a bit on your bed, your body bouncing up, the mattress squeaking with the movements.
Before you could even catch your breath, he was over you, bracing himself on one knee as his mouth found your jaw. The first kiss was hot and rough, then another, slower, dragged along the hinge of your jaw before he trailed lower, pressing into the side of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, each exhale uneven, like he’d been holding it in all night.
One of his hands slid under your shirt, calloused fingers splaying wide against your bare skin like he was trying to touch every part of you he could at once. He dragged them upward, his knuckles trailing up your stomach, and between your ribs-slow enough to make your back arch, until his palm was cupping the curve of your tit.
“Tell me to stop,” he pleaded into your neck, his voice low and rough, almost hoarse. His lips brushed over the spot that made you shiver, and you felt his other hand tighten against the mattress beside your head, like it took everything in him not to lose control right then and there.
Your hand rose, cupping the back of his head, fingers tangling in his short blonde strands. “I don’t want you to stop, Simon.”
That was all he needed.
A guttural groan tore from deep in his throat, vibrating against your skin as his hand squeezed your breast over your bra, thumb circling slow and possessive.
“You’re gonna kill me, me luvie,” he
murmured, voice thick with need. His mouth left a trail of hot kisses along your jawline, brushing over your cheek before nipping gently at the shell of your ear.
Before you could say another word, he pressed his mouth to yours again, fierce and claiming, as his hands roamed boldly over your body—no longer holding back.
You reached down, your hands finding the hem of Simon’s shirt. Breaking the kiss, you lifted it over his head. He pulled his hand from your shirt to help you pull his off, fingers tangling together for a moment before releasing.
Your eyes swept over his toned torso. Seeing him any time you joined him and your brother at the pool was one thing, but seeing him now—right here, like this—was something else entirely.
“Simon…” you breathed out, breathless, your hands trailing up his chest, fingertips tracing the hard planes of muscle.
Simon shifted, sitting up on his knees between your legs. His hands came down to tug your shirt over your head next. You almost brought your arms up to cover yourself, but the way he looked at you as he flung your shirt somewhere across the room made you feel more exposed and wanted than ever before.
“So fuckin’ beautiful, sweet’art,” he gruffed, mouth crashing back onto yours. His hands went straight to your jeans, working with an almost practiced motion.
You’d sat up a bit, one hand bracing you on the bed while the other slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, desperate for every inch of him.
Simon’s hands moved faster now, fingers fumbling at the button of your jeans like he couldn’t get them off fast enough. The rough scrape of fabric against skin sounded louder in the tense silence, and both of you swallowed hard, trying to keep quiet.
Your own hands were trembling as you reached to help, pulling the zipper down, breath hitching as his lips trailed hot, desperate kisses down your jaw and neck.
He was desperate—nearly frantic—every movement fueled by months of wanting and holding back.
You could feel the tremble in his fingers as he tugged your jeans lower, and you clenched your thighs around him, the heat pooling low and fierce.
Once he finally got your jeans off he broke the kiss, the only sound in the room that could be heard was both of you panting into each other’s mouths.
In one fluid motion, you found yourself straddling him, hips settling down against his, the heat between you igniting instantly.
It was only now that you really looked at him—really looked at him. His eyes were glossy, lips swollen from all the kisses you’d shared, cheeks and chest dusted with a faint pink flush. He was so devastatingly handsome like this, and for a moment, you almost felt jealous of anyone who’d ever seen him like this before you.
You rocked your hips down against his jean-clad hard-on, a soft gasp slipping from your lips at his sheer size. He felt huge, even with two layers of clothing between you. Simon’s hands came up to palm your ass, guiding your hips against his with a low, muffled groan.
“Beautiful like this,” he murmured, sitting up just enough so your gazes stayed locked.
His hands trailed slowly up your sides, fingers deftly unhooking your bra in quick, practiced movements. You let the straps slide down your arms, tossing the bra aside, breath hitching under the weight of his hungry stare.
Before you could even think of covering yourself, Simon’s hands were already cupping your breasts, squeezing them firmly.
His thumbs brushed over your nipples, the roughness of his palms making you shiver. He didn’t give you time to settle into the feeling before his mouth was on you—hot, hungry, sucking at one breast while his other hand kneaded the other like he couldn’t decide which he wanted more.
You gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. Every drag of his tongue, every greedy squeeze sent heat pooling low in your belly.
“Simon—” you breathed, but it came out broken, needy.
Simon flipped you back over, your back hitting the cold sheets once more, goosebumps rising on your arms as you looked up at him.
He was kneeling between your legs, his hands working on his belt as he looked down at you, his chest rising and falling fastly.
You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the rush of nerves flooding you. You weren’t sure why—maybe it was the intensity in his gaze, or maybe it was because you had a feeling where this was going.
You watched him slide down the bed after throwing his belt somewhere. his hands immediately finding your thighs as he pushed them apart so he can lay on his stomach between them. He presses a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh, his eyes still on yours.
“Simon…” your voice came out soft, unsure.
“Shh,” he murmured, setting your thighs over his shoulders, one of his hands coming up to palm at your breast. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart.”
Simon leans forward, pressing a kiss to the wet spot in the center of your panties. “Wait—I’ve… I’ve never—” you trailed off, heat rising in your cheeks.
His brows knit for a moment before realization hit, and a slow, wicked smirk curved his lips. “No one’s ever gone down on you?” You shook your head, breath shallow.
“then you’re gonna let me show you what you’ve been missing.” his smirk settled into something more hungry but his hands were gentle as he brought them down to grab the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them down your thighs.
Your hips lift slightly to help him pull them off despite your nervousness. They dangle on one of your ankles. Simon doesn’t waste any time diving in.
the first stroke of his tongue was slow, deliberate—like he was savoring you—and you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your lips. It was unfamiliar, overwhelming, but the way his hands held your thighs steady made you feel… safe. Wanted.
When he did it again, a little firmer, your hips twitched, and his low groan vibrated against you. “That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing you as he spoke, “just let me taste you sweet girl.”
Your fingers gripped the sheets, knuckles white, as if you could ground yourself against the rush of sensation. It was still strange, still new, but every time his tongue swept over your clit, the strangeness dulled, replaced by a throbbing need you couldn’t ignore.
Simon’s hands stayed firm on your thighs, holding you open for him, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against your skin to keep you from tensing up. He glanced up at you once, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide, and the sight alone made your stomach flip.
“You taste so fucking sweet,” he rasped before diving back in, his tongue moving faster now, hungrier. Simon brought one of his hands down to slowly push finger into you, curling it up as he kept his eyes on you gauging your reaction.
A whimper escaped you before you could swallow it down, and that sound made something in him snap. His grip on your thighs tightened, pulling you closer to his mouth until you could feel every deliberate flick and swirl of his tongue.
“Simon—” your voice caught, your back arching when his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked.
“Mm, that’s it,” he groaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt straight through you. “Don’t hold back. I wanna hear you.” He added another finger, moving them at a faster pace.
You didn’t know if you could stop even if you wanted to. The heat in your stomach was coiling tighter with every drag of his fingers inside you, your breath coming quicker, toes curling. The more you moved, the more he chased you, his pace almost frantic now—like he needed to wring every sound out of you before he let you go.
Your hands slid into his hair without thinking, tugging hard, and he groaned again, the sound almost as desperate as you felt.
“Simon—God—” you gasped, the tension building, cresting, your thighs trembling against his hold.
Simon pulled away almost reluctantly, sitting up in a quick motion, letting your thighs rest around his jean clad hips, and you couldn’t help the broken whine that left your lips at the loss of his tongue on you.
“Want you t’come on my cock this time, luvie.” His fingers slowed inside you, teasing, but it wasn’t the same. Soon enough, he was dragging them out, and almost in the same motion as earlier, bringing them to his mouth to suck your juices off his skin.
You couldn’t help the way you nodded—you didn’t even know what you were agreeing to, too lost in how good he made you feel.
“So fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, and the flush that crept up your cheeks was almost embarrassing.
Simon stood from the bed, hastily undoing his jeans, the speed almost laughable if you weren’t so focused on him. The denim hit the floor, followed quickly by his boxers.
Your eyes followed the movement of his hands, the way his cock sprang free, thick and heavy, bobbing with the motion. Your gaze widened instinctively, and Simon let out a low chuckle at the look on your face.
“It’ll fit, sweet’art,” he promised, his voice low and certain.
He climbed back onto the bed, kneeling between your legs, leaning over you to press his mouth to yours—it was different from the others, softer, sweeter, and full of a warmth that almost made your chest ache. But the kiss deepened quickly, his tongue sliding against yours, his need bleeding into every press of his lips.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was rough. “You got a condom?”
You shook your head, still catching your breath. “I’m on the pill.”
His gaze locked on yours for a long moment before that familiar smirk tugged at his lips. “Fuck.. you’re gonna kill me sweet girl.”
Without another word, he shifted closer, the heat of him pressing against you as one hand wrapped around himself, lining up with your entrance.
Without another word, he shifted closer, the heat of him pressing against you as one hand wrapped around himself, lining up with your entrance.
“Y’ready for me, luv?” he murmured, his deep Mancunian drawl almost a growl.
You swallowed, nodding quickly. “Yeah.”
He gave a low chuckle, but there was tension in it. “Gonna be a big stretch, sweetheart… jus’ breathe f’me.”
The blunt head of his cock pressed against you, and your breath caught instantly. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, watching your face like every flicker of expression mattered. The burn was sharp at first, almost too much, your fingers gripping the sheets tight as your thighs tensed.
“Easy,” he soothed, one big hand stroking your hip. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ well.”
You gasped, the pressure building as he sank deeper, your body instinctively clenching around him. “Simon—it’s… you’re—”
“Shh, I know, luv,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re takin’ me. Jus’ a bit more.”
When he finally bottomed out, a rough groan tore from his chest, his arms bracing on either side of you. “Bloody hell… tightest thing I’ve ever felt.”
You were breathing hard, eyes wide, every nerve buzzing. He stayed still, letting you adjust, brushing his thumb over your thigh. “Tell me when, yeah?”
After a shaky moment, you nodded, and he smiled faintly—soft, but with a hint of that hunger that had been burning in his eyes all night. “That’s my girl.”
He pulled back slowly, the stretch flaring again before he pushed back in, and this time the sting eased, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that made your toes curl. Your breathing stuttered, and you felt yourself relax just enough for him to move again.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “open up f’me, luv… let me in.”
The rhythm started slow, careful, but every roll of his hips had heat curling low in your stomach. His eyes stayed locked on yours, the weight of his gaze almost as overwhelming as the way he filled you.
A deep groan rumbled from his chest, and he shook his head slightly, like he couldn’t believe it. “One time’s not gonna be enough with you… not nearly enough.”
Your cheeks flushed hot, your fingers clutching at his shoulders. “Simon—”
He cut you off with a slow, deliberate thrust that had your back arching. “Gonna need you again… and again… ‘til I’ve had my fill.”
The words made your pulse trip, your body clenching around him, and his groan deepened at the sensation. His hands gripped your thighs, pushing them up towards your chest.
His pace picked up without either of you meaning for it to, the careful rhythm slipping into something more urgent, like now that he’d started, he couldn’t hold back.
“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he rasped, hips driving into yours. “Meant to take my cock.”
Every thrust seemed to push the air from your lungs, the stretch still intense but now threaded through with sharp, dizzying pleasure. And from the way Simon was looking at you—hungry, focused—you knew he meant every word.
His pace picked up without either of you meaning for it to, the careful rhythm slipping into something more urgent, like now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop.
You gasped, but his hand was suddenly at your mouth, palm warm against your lips. “Shh, luv… gotta be quiet,” he whispered, the warning low and rough. “Don’t want your brother hearin’ you, yeah?”
You nodded against his hand, your breath hot and shaky, your pulse hammering in your ears. The idea of someone hearing made your whole body burn, but it didn’t make him slow down—instead, his hips rolled deeper, faster, hitting that spot that made your thighs shake.
The stretch still pulsed through you, but now it was tangled with sharp waves of pleasure, so close together it felt like you could hardly breathe. Every time you tried to whimper, his hand pressed firmer over your mouth, his eyes locking on yours with that hungry, warning look.
“Good girl,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed your ear. “Take it nice ‘n quiet while I fuck you, yeah?”
His thrusts turned quick and deliberate, the bed rocking faintly under you. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging in, your body tensing as the heat in your stomach started to coil tight.
“Bloody hell,” he groaned through clenched teeth, his voice almost breaking. “One time’s not gonna be enough… not when you feel this fuckin’ good.”
The angle shifted, his hips snapping into yours, and the rhythm was relentless now—fast, purposeful, every stroke driving you higher. Your eyes fluttered shut, your muffled sounds growing desperate against his palm, your whole body trembling as the edge rushed up to meet you. Your hands clawed at his bicep.
The angle shifted again, and it was like he’d found the exact place to wreck you—each thrust slamming into it with unrelenting precision. Your legs tightened around his hips, your body instinctively pulling him closer, needing more.
“Tha’s it,” he rasped, his forehead pressing to yours, breath hot and uneven. “Let go for me, luv. Come on my cock…”
You tried—God, you tried—but the coil inside you snapped hard, pleasure tearing through you in a white-hot rush. Your muffled cry was caught against his palm, your back arching into him as your thighs shook violently around his waist.
Simon’s groan was low and rough against your neck, his hips pressing against yours tightly and that’s when you felt his hot steamy cum flooding your womb. His hips grinding into you through the aftershocks, making your release drag on until you were trembling under him.
When he finally eased his hand from your mouth, you sucked in a sharp breath, your chest rising and falling fast.
“Good girl,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek before pulling back just enough to look at you. That faint smirk was back, but his eyes were still dark and hungry.
And from the heat still thrumming between your legs, you knew he meant it. You turned your head a bit to press a kiss to the side of his head. His hands rubbing your thighs as he breathed against the side of your neck. “you’ve ruined me luvie.”
you laugh against the side of his head, shaking your head. “I think you ruined me si…” You let your hands trail down his back. The weight of everything crashing down against you, you wanted to feel guilty for this but you didn’t you felt more sad that this would probably be the only time it happened-you just wished you knew what simon was thinking.
(it’s finally here!!! hope you guys enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. Also if you want to be tagged pls make sure you have your age in your bio)
when you ask your dear friend kyle to help you with your pregnancy, you expect him to donate some sperm, drive you to your ivf appointments, etc etc.
what you don't expect is him to press your knees to your chest one evening, slamming his cock so deep inside of you that you swear you can feel it entering your womb.
"s'fuckin' good for me," he groans, applying more pressure to the back of your thighs, "takin' my cock like a champ, baby," somehow he manages to thrust deeper, a soft whine leaving your lips.
he doesn't stop praising you throughout the whole ordeal, admiration entering one ear then shooting down into your body, pussy squeezing after every phrase.
such a sweet girl. absolutely perfect. gonna be such a good mama.
the way you tighten up at that last bit has kyle gritting his teeth, eyes clenched up before opening to reveal fully dilated pupils, "yeah? you like when i call you that? mama?" the word gets the same physical reaction from you, and kyle grins.
he adjusts himself, chest nearly touching yours as he raises his hips till only the tips insde. then, he slams home.
"can't wait to make you a mama. gonna ruin this cunt every day till it takes. yeah? you want that?" the drag of his cock inside of you is so distracting, addicting. you almost don't answer his question, but the high-pitched mewl he punches out of you is answer enough.
he keeps talking to you, how excited he is to watch your soft belly expand, to see your tits swell up, have your stretchmarks extend.
you hear him say something along the lines of i'll be such a good daddy, mama, jus' you wait, but you blame the cotton in your ears. after all, the only thing you can focus on is the warm feeling of his cum coating your insides and making good on his previous promises.
A little snippet of brothers best friend pt.3 because it’s taking longer for me to write😭 (MDNI)18+
“Tell me to stop,” he pleaded into your neck, his voice low and rough, almost hoarse. His lips brushed over the spot that made you shiver, and you felt his other hand tighten against the mattress beside your head, like it took everything in him not to lose control right then and there.
Your hand rose, cupping the back of his head, fingers tangling in his short blonde strands. “I don’t want you to stop, Simon.”
That was all he needed.
A guttural groan tore from deep in his throat, vibrating against your skin as his hand squeezed your breast over your bra, thumb circling slow and possessive.
“You’re gonna kill me, me luvie,” he
murmured, voice thick with need. His mouth left a trail of hot kisses along your jawline, brushing over your cheek before nipping gently at the shell of your ear.
Before you could say another word, he pressed his mouth to yours again, fierce and claiming, as his hands roamed boldly over your body—no longer holding back.
You reached down, your hands finding the hem of Simon’s shirt. Breaking the kiss, you lifted it over his head. He pulled his hand from your shirt to help you pull his off, fingers tangling together for a moment before releasing.
Your eyes swept over his toned torso. Seeing him any time you joined him and your brother at the pool was one thing, but seeing him now—right here, like this—was something else entirely.
“Simon…” you breathed out, breathless, your hands trailing up his chest, fingertips tracing the hard planes of muscle.
Simon shifted, sitting up on his knees between your legs. His hands came down to tug your shirt over your head next. You almost brought your arms up to cover yourself, but the way he looked at you as he flung your shirt somewhere across the room made you feel more exposed and wanted than ever before.
