Dearest Darling

Gojo's mouth instantly pulls into that sideways, fond smile, reserved specifically for you.

“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who almost failed the last lab quiz,” he remarks, one brow raised over the rim of his lenses.

“Well,” you say, sliding into the seat he’s saved for you. “I’m expecting you to score a date today.”

Gojo sighs. “Do you really think that'll work?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum, already digging for your notebook. “Someone’s finally going to break their celibacy streak.”

“Could you not call it that?”

“Could you not stall?” you fire back, holding out your hand. “Phone, please. Don’t fight me on this.”

He hesitates, fingers brushing the edge of his pocket as though the phone might bite him. But before he can hand it over, the professor sweeps into the room, and everyone groans in unison.

You flop dramatically forward on your desk. “Rude.”

Gojo just smirks faintly, tucking the phone back into his hoodie pocket. When he sits back, though, you notice that he angles himself a little closer to you. His elbow brushes yours, just barely. And you don’t move away.

The lecture begins.

You hear almost none of it. Every mention of valence electrons turns to static while you absently doodle stars and crooked hearts in the margins of your notes.

But your eyes keep darting sideways. To the way he taps his pen against his thigh. To the way he mouths the professor’s words just a beat behind, syncing with a rhythm only he seems to hear.

You think you’re being subtle, catching little glimpses of him without being caught.

Until Gojo's eyes flick up and find yours.

His gaze snags yours and holds it just long enough for the back of your neck to warm before he looks back down at his notes, the faintest tinge of pink dusting the tops of his ears.

And just a few moments later, his hand moves. Slowly, lazily, like they have nowhere better to be, his fingers drift from their place on his own notebook and hover near yours, before resting lightly over your hand on the desk.

The warmth of it sinks into your skin, his thumb brushing idly against your knuckles. Neither of you move. His fingers curl just slightly, pressing yours gently into the wood in the quietest squeeze.

“Would you sit still?” he murmurs, voice soft enough that the scratch of pens almost drowns it out. “You’re distracting.”

Your head tilts into the contact for half a second too long before he pulls away, his hand retreating like nothing happened.

When the bell rings, you shoot up like a spark, practically snatching Gojo's phone right out of his hand.

“You have a match,” you announce, triumphant as the screen lights up.

Gojo blinks, surprised. “A match?”

“She’s pretty." You spin the phone toward him with a grin. "Like, drinks oat milk and does pilates pretty.”

He leans closer to see, brows drawing together slightly. “Seriously?”

“Has a liking for Astronomy, long walks, Iced Americanos,” you recite as you scroll.

“Huh,” he mutters.

“That’s it? Just Huh?” you tease, giving him a look.

“She seems.... fine,” he says flatly.

“Well, you can thank me later,” you say, already thumbing through the app to compose a message.

He doesn’t stop you. Just sits there quietly while the classroom empties around you.

The hum of chatter outside the classroom drifts in as the door bangs shut behind the last student. The room is quiet now but for the faint the slow tick of the wall clock.

By the time you’re halfway through typing some charming opener on his behalf, you notice he hasn’t moved.

Hasn’t even looked at the screen.

You glance at him, frowning slightly—and catch the way his fingers keep fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, twisting the fabric like he’s trying to wring the nerves out of it.

That’s when you realize something’s wrong. You lower the phone to the desk, watching him carefully.

“She’s super cute,” you say, voice light, testing the waters. “Right?”

He nods once, almost mechanically. “Yeah. Cute.”

It’s flat and empty. Like he’s reading it off the back of a cereal box.

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s the least convincing cute I’ve ever heard.”

Gojo exhales through his nose. His knee bounces once, then stops.

“Satoru,” you say, a little softer. “It’s just a date. You’ll be fine.”

But he doesn’t even glance at you. His thumb picks anxiously at the corner of his notebook.

“That’s not the point,” he mutters.

You frown, sitting back. “Then what is?”

He finally tips his head back, as if the ceiling might have the answer, jaw tight.

“Come on,” you say again, pressing further. “Spit it out.”

“Forget it." He says, leaning back in his chair. "I just... you wouldn't understand.”

That one lands sharper than he probably intended.

You huff, the faint sting in your chest catching you off guard. “Oh. So now I’m too dumb to understand?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you shoot back, sitting up straighter. “Right after I practically handed you a date on a silver platter, you tell me to mind my own business?”

He shifts in his seat, leaning forward like he’s about to say something, but then stops. His hands clench in his lap.

“Yeah, well…” he finally mumbles, eyes hard on the desk. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You ever think maybe I don’t want you running my life all the time?”

For a second you just stare, because the words feel so damn foreign out of his mouth.

You laugh, the sound bitter and clipped. “That’s actually impressive. You managed to make me feel like an idiot and regret helping you all at once.”

Gojo freezes, like he only just registered the words that came out of his mouth. His head snaps toward you, face flushing pale. “Wait — no. That’s not what I—”

But you’re already standing, grabbing your bag.

“Don’t bother,” you cut him off, slinging it over your shoulder. “I won’t get in your way anymore.”

“Wait—” he tries again, standing halfway, guilt twisting across his face.

You approach the door and maybe it’s petty, or maybe it’s just necessary, but you don’t call him Satoru.

“Good luck on your date, Gojo.”

The way you say his name—Gojo, not Satoru—feels like a door closing in his face.

You leave without looking back.

The canteen feels colder without you sitting across from him, your laughter still faint in the back of his mind. He sits there long after you’ve left, staring at his phone like maybe if he stares at it hard enough, it'll light up with a text from you.

“Stupid,” he mutters under his breath, voice cracking faintly. “That’s… not what I meant.”

His hand hovers over your name in his contacts more than once. But he doesn’t click on it.

The truth is, he doesn’t care about some oat milk drinking, pilates going stranger.

He never did.

When you smiled at him in that classroom, when your elbow brushed his, when your hand stayed under his and you didn't move it away—he thought, maybe. Maybe you knew.

But you don’t.

And he’s too much of a coward to tell you.

—⋆ ☁︎ ⋆ ♡ ⋆ ☾ ⋆ ♡ ⋆ ☁︎ ⋆ —

Gojo paces in his room for what feels like hours. The message is typed, then deleted, then typed again.

I'm sorry.

You weren’t a bother.

I didn’t mean it.

Come back. Please.

Each one dies before it can get delivered to you, his thumb hovering, yet wavering just as quickly.

So he does the stupidest thing he’s ever done.

He shows up at your door. No warning, and certainly no text.

Just him standing under the jaundiced glow of your porch light, hair sticking up at odd angles like he’d run nervous fingers through it. His sneakers scuff nervously at the welcome mat, eyes wide and glassy like a deer in headlights.

You freeze for half a beat, hand clutching the edge of the door frame.

And he just stares—soft, awkward and hopelessly him.

You sigh and step aside without a word, and he slips inside with the ease of someone who's been here a thousand times before.

Gojo doesn’t beat around the bush or offer a forced excuse. He just sinks onto the edge of your couch, shoulders hunched, hands buried in the sleeves of his hoodie. Looking every bit like a stray cat that finally realized it might’ve bitten the only hand that fed it.

You sit at the far end, curled in the corner of the sofa, legs tucked up, face turned away from him.

He draws in a breath. “Please don’t do this to me.”

You still don’t look at him. “Do what?”

“This,” he says, gesturing helplessly between the two of you. “This thing where you won’t even look at me—”

He breaks off. Your fingers tighten where they curl against the armrest.

“I can’t—” he tries again, throat bobbing. “I can’t stand it when you won’t look at me.”

You finally look up at that. Because how could you not when he sounds like that?

His eyes are red-rimmed, lashes clumped slightly at the ends like he rubbed at them too hard, like maybe he was afraid he’d cry on the walk over.

“Fine,” you say, arms crossing defensively. “I’m looking.”

Gojo exhales a breath of relief, before speaking up again. “I messed up,”

You scoff. “No kidding.”

“I really messed up,” he amends, like that’ll earn him points.

You don’t reply.

He shifts slightly, digging into the front pocket of his hoodie, fishing for something, and out comes a brown paper bag folded neatly at the top.

You blink, dumbfounded. “…Is that—”

Gojo nods sheepishly. “Yeah. That pastry you like. The, uh…” He trails off, wrinkling his nose. “The bougie one with the French name that sounds like a sneeze.”

“…Financier?”

“That. I walked thirty minutes for it. The barista said they were out but then I did the face.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What face?”

He scrunches his face dramatically—pursed lips, eyes huge and wet like a cartoon. “Please ma’am. My best friend’s mad at me and this is the only thing that might make her like me again.”

Despite yourself, a little laugh bubbles out. His head snaps up instantly, as though he’s been starved for that sound and can’t bear to miss a second.

And you swear, in that moment, he actually glows. His expression softens into a grin so dumb, so earnest, it almost makes your chest hurt.

“So,” he says, voice hopeful. “We’re okay now?”

You take the bag slowly. Your fingers brush his when you do, and he stills, barely breathing.

You eye him for a long beat, and then say, “You’re lucky I’m food-motivated.”

You make quick work of the bag, the sweet, rich fragrance of the pastry escaping in soft, delicious curls of warmth.

You nibble at the corner, a soft sound of approval slipping out as the dessert nearly melts against your tongue. It’s still warm, soft in the center, with that faint hint of almond that makes your eyes flutter close for a second.

When you open them back though, Gojo’s staring straight at you.

Not subtly.

You blink, pastry halfway to your mouth. “You’re gonna burn a hole through my face at this rate.”

His eyes widen slightly as he clears his throat. “Wasn’t staring.”

“You literally haven’t blinked in forty-five seconds.”

“I’m contemplating,” he says, voice mock-serious.

“Contemplating what? The angle of my jaw while I eat?”

“No,” Gojo huffs, ears going pink. “Yes. I mean—no. Shut up.”

You laugh and take another slow bite just to mess with him. “You better go on that date tomorrow, Satoru. If you bail, I’m never reactivating your account.”

He sighs, dragging his hand over his face. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Good. And you better be ready.”

“For what?”

“Everything,” you reply cryptically.

He frowns. “Everything?”

You shrug, brushing the crumbs from your fingers. “You don't know when things could escalate. What if she gives you a goodnight kiss?”

Gojo goes stock-still. The color drains from his cheeks before rushing right back in twice as dark. “A wh-what?”

You pause, eyeing him. “You have kissed someone before… right?”

His shoulders stiffen, gaze darting anywhere but at you—the table, the ceiling, his own lap. “Uh. Define kissed.”

You drop the remnants of your sweet bread with a thunk. “Oh my god.”

He winces, sinking into the couch like he wants to become one with the cushions.

“Satoru.”

"I know."

"You're twenty-freaking-one."

“I’ve been busy!”

You arch a brow, leaning forward. “Doing what, exactly? Taking a vow of chastity?”

“With school and avoiding failure!” He throws his hands up, knocking over a napkin. “And maybe also… fear of being bad at it.”

You stifle a laugh, watching him squirm. “So you’re actually nervous about kissing? That’s kind of cute.”

He huffs, crossing his arms but avoiding your eyes. His knees bounce under the table. “Excuse me for not wanting to humiliate myself the first time.”

“Well, lucky for you…” you drawl, eyes glinting as you bat your lashes with exaggerated sweetness.

Gojo freezes, suspicion written all over his face. “…Lucky for me?”

“You’ve got me,” you hum, inching closer and closer until he’s practically backed into the couch cushions. “And I am an excellent teacher.”

“...No.”

“Yes.”

“No way in hell.”

“Do you wanna embarrass yourself on the first date?” you counter, calm as ever.

“I’ll figure it out!”

“By all means,” you say, rolling your eyes and leaning back. “Fumble your own bag. Who needs a love life anyway?”

“I’m not kissing you.” he declares, but the way he’s fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie and pointedly not meeting your line of sight says otherwise.

“It’s purely academic.” You reach over, brushing a crumb off his hoodie. “And you have nice lips, Satoru.”

He jerks back like you slapped him. “That’s—that’s irrelevant—”

“It’s entirely relevant,” you say, leaning back on your hands. “You’ve got the tools, just no training.”

He purses his lips, going quiet for a stretched moment before speaking up.

“…You’re serious?” he says, voice so small it almost disappears.

You smile. “Why wouldn’t I be? Friends help each other out.”

Gojo hesitates.

Because he knows. Knows that you’re teasing. Knows you’ve always flirted in that particular way only you can manage—close enough to confuse him, yet never close enough to catch.

But this feels different. His gaze drops to your mouth, and then back up.

“…Okay,” he mutters, barely above a whisper.

You blink. “Really?”

“…For uh— research,” he adds weakly, trying and failing to sound unaffected.

You snort. “God, you’re such a nerd.”

But your hands find his cheeks anyway, tilting his face toward you, closing the gap.

You press your lips against his in a soft, chaste kiss—barely more than a brush—and his breath stutters against your cheek. His hands are fisted against his knees, knuckles white, and you can’t help but be amused at how hard he’s working not to reach for more.

“Relax,” you whisper against his lips, smiling when his shoulders loosen just a little.

He’s so rigid it’s adorable, like someone rewound his spine into a spring.

“You’re so tense,” you murmur, nudging your nose against his. “Do I intimidate you, Satoru?”

“I’m fine,” he breathes, but you know it's a lie.

You kiss him again, this time with more intent. Gojo responds slower, like he’s still trying to figure out which part of him is supposed to move first.

You take the lead, hand curling into his hoodie, coaxing him closer until his palm lands on your hip. He makes a sound then—a desperate little groan muffled into your mouth—and it sends a shiver down your spine.

You shift closer, swinging a leg over his lap, straddling him without warning. The couch dips and groans beneath you both as your knees bracket his thighs. He gasps faintly when your fingers slide into his hair and pull, his hands clenching instinctively at your hips.

The kiss quickly turns messier—his lips already a little swollen, breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. His hands slide up your thighs, unsure but desperate, fingers flexing like he’s afraid he’s imagining it all. You bite at his lower lip, and his hips jolt up before he can stop himself.

By the time you finally pull back, hauling yourself off of him, both of you are flushed and breathing hard. Gojo looks absolutely wrecked—glasses crooked, lips red and kiss-bitten, eyes dazed.

He swallows hard, then clears his throat, like that might somehow clear the heat from his face.

“…So,” he says finally, voice hoarse but trying for casual, “that was… educational.”

You snort, leaning back just enough to look at him. “You’re not the worst student I’ve ever had.”

That earns you a weak little laugh.

But his fingers are fidgeting in his lap now, tugging at the edge of his hoodie like it might save him, or at least give his hands something to do besides reaching back for the warmth of your body against his.

His eyes dart down to your mouth again, linger just a second too long, then flick back up to yours.

“…We’re still friends, right?”

You tilt your head lazily, wiping the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb. “Obviously.”

Tags: @tonuhye @vynn30 @bakugouswaif @silkgardenias @gielwinchester9 @coffeeluvr96 @applepi405 @victorianxox-blog @minasuniverse @r9muka @n4me @goonforgeto @allysainz @jcissors

@fictionalmenlover5 @duydyycfuu @slightystressed @qngelq2666 @urmotherswhor3 @girlywhooooops @lumiamoureads

@kianatrg @maaic @libr4sonsa @moonlight-inthe-sea @kkataleena @petaltheory @mikadrawsstuff

There wasn't a single person around you that would describe the man anything short of off-putting. Plain creepy. His brooding eyes, overwhelming—damn near suffocating cursed energy enough to send chills down anyone’s spine. His undeniable raw power, and not to mention his unbelievable speed and strength enough to make the most seasoned sorcerers pause. It was obvious he had the blood of countless curses—countless curse users—on his hands. And yet, he hadn't even fully settled into his roll as a special grade sorcerer. 

You'd never understand it when Maki told you how creepy she’d thought Yuta was. The uncomfortable vibe she’d felt radiating off him, the degenerate look in his eyes he got, sometimes. You didn't think it was very nice how she described him.

I meeeaannnn~~ Of course, you trusted your best friend, but you were never one to judge based off other’s impressions. It wasn’t because of how cute he was. That’s the kind of thinking that led to misunderstandings. No, you were just a kind and diligent person with a bleeding heart. Or at least, that’s what Yuta always said, anyway.

Yuta tailed you, regularly. Always making sure you were never alone. 

He was always so thoughtful! Your little protector! You'd remember when you first called him out on his tailing—ooooh~ he'd gotten so red! His stammering—the way he shuffled his feet while looking down—you just couldn't stand it! He'd said it was "for your protection of course." Always the knight in shining armor. Your fearless shield! You were positive he was the one with a bleeding heart. 

He’d regularly bring you food when you finished training, always your favorites. He was sure to give you compliments on your training—much to your subconscious squealing. It was obvious to anyone looking in from the outside that you two would end up together. Like some flashy k-drama, you always adored your awkward, yet charged, interactions. It wouldn’t be Yuta if it wasn’t somewhat awkward. You could practically hear the music playing in the cheesy background when he’d accidentally touched your hand. The subtle flush on his cheeks, you could practically see his eyes spinning in a quiet panic.

He. was. just. so. CUTE.

Feet kickin the air, swirling that landline cord, foamin at the mouth, ROLLLINGGG IN YOUR BED. DOWNRIGHT-PRECIOUS.

And soon enough he found the courage to ask you out. In the sweetest way possible. He’d brought you flowers, a souvenir from his most recent mission, and your favorite noodles from a shop out of town. He'd told you exactly what he thought of you. That he loved you. That he wanted to date you. How he’d liked you all this time. Wanted to be with you forever. All with a lil blush to pair it off! It was to die for-romantic. You don't think you could express just how darling his proposal was! Man, you wish you’d brought your camera.

Yuta had always been a little standoffish. Always a little timid. That much was normal. Which is why you were so surprised when he worked up the courage to ask you out. You always thought that sheepish side of him was adorable, but why was he so standoffish even after you'd said yes? 

He would continue bringing you food, continue his friendly compliments, but where was the intimacy? The passion? You'd thought by now you'd bust down some of those barriers he'd built up. If anything he’d been shying away from you, far more than before, which led to you latching on all the more.

You held out for two months. Two months. And he still avoided you like the plague. Like you carried something he hadn’t wanted to catch. Did this lovable dummy think spreading cooties was still a thing? You'd often cry about this to Maki, earning yourself frequent head slaps. You were sure everyone was annoyed with your whining. You’d never been so open about your neediness when it came to him. but… Could it be? Could your sweet little Yuta just not want to touch you, as much as you wanted to touch him?

You’d made an attempt to hold hands? He’d swiftly move his hand away, either waving to someone else, or placing his hands atop his head. So slyly evading you.

You’d attempted to give him a hug? It was like you’d poured ice water down his back, immediately locking up, hands flinching at his sides. 

You wanted to kiss his cheek? Hah, you really thought he’d stay close, long enough for you to try that shit?

You couldn’t stand his distance. Not to mention when you’d brought it up, he’d easily brush you off saying you “made him so flustered”, that he didn’t want you to be “scared” by his “clinginess”.

Clinginess? clinginess? WHERE? WHERE, YUTA???

….

…..

…….Even if you hadn't been the definition of clinginess, his lack of affection was still odd in any normal relationship. 

This lead to you breaking up with him which—I know, i know, I KNOW. It was PAINFUL. But in all honesty, it left you feeling so heartbroken in the end. It was shameful to say, but you were still incredibly hung up on him. You just hadn't liked the changes he made after the formality of labels. Your undying love for him still very fresh in that bleeding heart of yours, y’know?

He’d seemed downtrodden, Unable to lift his head when you told him. Much like a kicked puppy. Nearly making you go back on your word.

“I’m sorry, Yuta. It just doesn’t feel like the right time for us,”

He heard the hesitation in your tone. Heard the way you’d dragged the conversation topic. You hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t completely lost you yet. 

That was until the exchange event, that brought all of the Kyoto students to the school. Which ultimately left you talking with some stupid nameless boy from the rival school. Laughing at his stupid fucking jokes. Complimenting his stupid fucking technique. And talking to his stupid fuckin' friends. He’d seen red at your little laugh, the way you didn’t back away from the conversation. You’d always been so friendly. So easygoing. it’d been one of the many things he’d liked about you. but now…this was just wrong.

It’d only been one week since you’d broken things off with him. And honestly, he had wanted to be forward with you. But when he tried, he’d get into his own thoughts again. They were vastly different from his normal day to day thoughts, taking on a much more...sadistic turn when it came to you. It fucking scared him. The way he impulsively acted when it came to you. The way you dominated his every waking thought, leaving no room for anything else. How dark they’d became—He'd often take things you left behind, storing it in his own little collection of you—he’d had a drawer dedicated to you in his room. He had multiple photo albums in his phone specifically for the different positions and expressions he managed to catch without you noticing.

You'd caught him on multiple occasions following you—just a few paces behind. Caught him watching you. A few others had seen him too, earning him a pretty sour reputation. But it wasn't like his reputation had been good to start with. He was always overwhelming to those who were weaker than him. It was honestly a miracle, in his opinion, that he'd attracted someone so sweet like you in the first place.

He'd often find himself sneaking into your dorm room—most times you weren't there, other times you were. He’d made a routine of stealing your dirty clothes, always swapping them out when they stopped smelling like you. You’d always smelled so good. And more often than not, he’d break-in to your dorm just to watch you sleep. This was his favorite past time.

He’d look down at your sleeping, uncovered form—it was always a little warm in the school. And he'd never been more thankful for the lack of air conditioning. He’d sit next to you, stroke your hair, whispering your praises, ooohhh how you’re so sweet. how much he just loves you. how crazy you make him feel. and just how much he craves you.

It was only once in a blue moon that you actually woke up during these moments, startled to find your precious, oh-so-loving boyfriend sitting beside you on your bed. His touch, bolder—lingering in ways he’d never dare while you were awake. His voice low, soft. Carrying a tone you’d never gotten from him before.

The moment your pretty eyes’d flutter open, his heart would seize. He’d immediately freak out, summoning the skill he copied from Inumaki, commanding you “forget and sleep”. He would never—never—let you figure out just how much he craves you. How fucking desperate he was. How far he’d go for you. That primal urge to set his claim on you. Tear up that long neck of yours with his teeth, leaving bruises that’d be sure to last for weeks. He’d much rather allow you to think he was that sweet and innocent guy. He’d wanted to live up to those loving compliments you’d fed him so easily. He just feels like a fucking dog getting his treats. He wants to be good for you.

But he was so down bad, and he knew it. He didn't want to scare you off. He knew what he was doing wasn't right. But he couldn't bring himself to stop, the bad habit already solidified—only feigning his ignorance—his innocence in front of you. You gave him so much affection, he just didn’t deserve it. And when your eyes weren’t on him, he’d be sure to fulfil all the depraved thoughts clawing in the back of his mind. He really didn’t deserve you.

He’d never touch you during these times. As tempting as it was. Ok—well—maybe he did grope your thighs a little while you were under his sleeping curse. But all of the...big stuff could come later. When he’d built up the courage to face your touch, and not immediately try to fuck you senseless. He really felt like a horny dog, yanking on the leash.

You were just too innocent for that

But why was his innocent girl flirting with some fuck-face only a few feet away from him. She must think they’re over. He was willing to allow you your space—the little he gave. He was still your 'friend', after all. But this was too much. He didn’t even want to begin to imagine what that kid was thinking when his eyes traced over your curves.  

Which, unfortunately, is how he ended up here. Standing over said kid on the event grounds, while everyone else was busy attacking the released curses. No one around to see him at his worst. His eyes were murderous as he peered down at your new boy toy's ugly bruised up face. Sheesh ~ Yuta really did a number on him. And, of course, he hadn’t unleashed Rika, he wanted the satisfaction of punishing him himself. He let go of him the second he’d lost consciousness, unceremoniously falling to the ground. The blood that covered the kids shirt—the grass below, looked ghastly. Yuta's knuckles were bruised, having used a little more force than he'd intended. He'd wanted to kill him, but decided it'd be a good lesson to the others. He made his way back on course, obliterating any curses in his path, easily. 

You were back in your dorm rooms. You’d heard of how they found that cute boy you were talking with from the Kyoto team, beaten bloody. You’d been surprised, finding some sympathy in his defeat, but couldn't find it in yourself to really care.

You’d lay in bed for a while, thinking about these last few weeks. Unable to find sleep. When you heard your door opening—quite softly might you might add. You quickly close your eyes, feigning sleep. Silence etched on for what feels like forever, until you felt your bed dip at your side. You felt the ghosting of fingers over your forehead, a soft sigh.

Your eyes shot open—with lightning speed, you’d pulled the intruder onto the bed, straddling them. Straddling him. You pinned his hands above his head. and Ho ho, look who decided to show up~

Lo and behold, Yuta was starring back up at you, wide eyed and gaping.

 “Gotcha,” His breathing matched yours, erratic, uneven. He looked as flushed as he was surprised. Your eyes were boarding on insane as he looked up at you, terrified. His heart was fucking hammering in his chest, as he called out your name a few times, absolutely breathless. You looked ready to ruin him, “You’re awake,” “Been doin’ this a while now, huh?” 

You caught him off guard with your brazen accusation. Maybe this would be alright, he thought. “Y-yes, Ok-ok, I’m sor-“ “Kept knocking me out, didn’t you? So easy with that fucking technique.”

He lost his voice quickly. His heart so loud, he’d heard it in his ears. Despite this position, he couldn't help but admire how pretty you looked gazing at him. The wild, animalistic look on your face, shamelessly stirring his dick to life. He loved that look in your eyes. Hungered for it.

Even if he had wanted to command you asleep, it seemed you were better at fighting off the most important command that spewed from his careless lips. 

Forget. You looked like you remembered everything. And he couldn't help the vulnerability clawing his chest. How much had you heard? Were you always this aware? Why hadnt you said anything before?—

He realized the position he was in. You were straddling him, thighs pressed flush against his sides, you clothed heat hovering his growing erection. Your delicate fingers grasping his much larger wrists. If he wanted to, he could get out of this position. But he refused. 

“And that boy? Was that you?” Your tone somewhat unpredictable. Were you mad? Did you really care that much about some faceless shrimp? He nodded obediently, confirming your speculations. He wouldn’t lie to you now. Not now that you seemed onto him. Still so desperate to keep you—

“Use your words, Yuta. I’m done playing these games.” Dropping his innocent act entirely, his face gave way. The look in his eyes close to menacing as he matched your energy. He’d give you exactly what you wanted. 

“I would've done more if you'd gotten any closer to him,” He rutted his hips up into you, pressing on, “You really need to stop talking to other guys when you have me.” You tsked at him, unfazed, “Yuta, we’ve already broken up.” 

His face formed a cute little frown, a line etched between his eyebrows. You had to remind yourself not to rub the line away. Not to touch that attractive face of his. God damn! He still made your heart flutter. He's just so so so so magnetic—

“You said it wasn’t the right time. That doesn’t mean it’s over.” His face was hard, colder than you'd ever seen. His eyes defiant and challenging. A part he'd always tried to hide from you. You wanted to tease him so badly~! What was your fucking problem?? he’s tryin to be serious right now!! your face remained stern.

This had been the most you’ve gotten out of Yuta since dating him. “You never seemed all that invested in the relationship. You never even let me touch you, hold you, you never made much of a move on me.” At least when I was awake, the words left unspoken, dangling in the air between you too.

Your stomach twisting, heart thrumming wildly. you could feel your head reeling as his erection grew under you. You found yourself wanting to punish him a little more. You just couldn’t help yourself! You so needily wanted him inside you. To feel him everywhere. You moved your hips to grind against him, finding the way his dick seemed to swell from the attention, mesmerizing. His eyes darting down at the movement, groaning out so god damn deliciously, blush still present on that handsome face. You grind against him again, setting a small rhythm, feeling your panties start to soak. His head dropping back at the sensation of your covered warm pussy against his shorts. So so so so so so goooood. He's so perfect! And to think he’d been watching you sleep at night just cuz he was too embarrassed!

“Awww~, Yuta,” you cooed at him “I’ve never seen you make this expression before~” His eyes seemed captivated on your form, and he wished for nothing more than to touch you all over.

He wanted your first night to be special. Flowers, wine, diner, and even romantic music playing in the distance. He was idealistic at times, but he didn’t know if it got sweeter than this. You were so pretty when you looked down at him. Your adoration, evident. Conviction as strong as his. He thought you were the most precious thing in his life, in this moment. 

As much as he never wanted this to end, he needed more. And, thankfully, it seemed you did too. Leaving his arms at the top of the bed your hands made their way down his chest. Deciding he needed less on, you ripped away his shirt—with sheer strength, yeah? Okay, No—you'd moved to grab a knife from your bedside table, cutting the fabric smoothly (recently sharpened too)- what? it's a dangerous world out there—Before swiftly bringing it to his neck.

You looked him dead in the eye, stoic and lifeless, any playful tease gone from your tone, “You move, and I slit your neck.” He visibly gulped, nodding quickly. Obediently. He was seeing a new side to you too—and fuck—if didn’t love it. He wanted to please you so badly, and acknowledging your little threats seemed to make you happy. He sure as hell wouldn't stop whatever was about to happen. He wouldn’t even try stopping you if you had wanted to slit his neck. The way you moved on top of him, he was sure he’d die a happy man. So he left his arms put. Following your every command. Like a good boy.

You pulled his shorts down, leaving him in only his boxers. The bulge, larger than you'd expected. Your mouth already watering at the thought of taking him, you couldn't tear your eyes off of it. Your mind racing with how girthy his cock would be in your hand-in your mouth-in your cunt. Would he be veiny? What color would it be? How would it curve? How would he sound? Would he whine at you? Beg you to take him? Would his face flush up all red? The desperate look in his eyes had your pussy drenched, honeyed slick, pooling in your panties, enough to leak through, coating your thighs. He watched you through half lidded eyes. Hazy, needy.

You so badly wanted to toy with him. So badly wanted to hear his groans, his whines, his whimpers, his begging. You'd been patient—what was a few more minutes. You continued your assault of dry humping through his boxers, a punishing pace. Your slick now coating through his boxers, lubricating his dick. His groans and whimpers music to your ears, spurring you on. The friction was nothing short of fucking phenomenal. His punishment was set. He wasn’t going to touch you now. He’d already rejected you enough. He was gonna pay even if he was the cutest human alive—

“Y’know, it’s real fuckin gross—sneaking into the girls dorms like this.” Your voice nasty and demeaning. He whimpered, straining against his position, trying to be good for you. Trying not to move. “Watching me like that. I bet you're the type of perverted fuck that'd steal my shit while you were here, too.” You continued your tirade of insults, Yuta red face only darkening in humiliation. He didn't know how much you actually knew. He'd never felt so embarrassed, yet so fuckin turned on. His dick twitching against your aching hole, hips stuttering up once or twice.

“Huh?~” you teased, “What's this? Did you really?" Your voice coming down to a mean whisper, he wasn't able to stop the small whimpers and groans as you continue dry humping him, straining to keep his hands out of the way. That little knife still on his neck, cutting into the top layer of his skin, drawing a thin line beneath it. "I bet you're also the type of sicko to jack off to me while I'm sleeping. I've noticed some of my panties missing, Yuta~"

You couldn't stop the words tumbling from your mouth, turning yourself on the more you put out there. "Was that you too? Did you imagine what I'd taste like with those used panties in your mouth? How often did you get off to the thought of me?” Your voice demanding, your gyrations—all consuming, he looked up at you feeling the words come out in moans. He knew he needed to respond to this one. "All the time," and you praised him with your own little moan. He sure was close to cumming. "So fucking disgusting." 

You were really really mean, he’d thought. His sweet girl saying such nasty things because he didn’t know how to behave. He really was a terrible boyfriend. And here he thought he was doing the best—the most for you. But he couldn't deny how hard he was, nor how hot it was for him to be hearing this. To be seeing this. He wanted to tell you he was close—no—he needed to tell you. This wasn't about him. This was his punishment. And he desperately wanted you to use him. 

You moved his boxers lower as his cock finally sprung free, hitting just stomach. Thick, veiny, girth, the whole fucking package. You looked at it in awe—damn near drooling, as he flushed brighter (is that even possible?), looking to the side. If he met your gaze now, he was sure he'd come on the spot. Your hands finally wrapped around the tip of his cock, as you slowly stroked down his length. What a blessing you were giving him. You were so sweet to him. So good to him. A loud moan escaped his lips as he begged. He had a feeling you'd like that. 

“Pl-please, don't stop, please, please, please,” It was like a chant at this point. You could see the way his eyes welled up. "Feels so good, please. You feel so-" You watched him closely, loving every word that escaped those cute lips of his. His eyes so needy and desperate. "Such a greedy thing," He moaned at this, nodding his head "yes, yes, please, I'll do anything, anything,-"

“You wanna fuck me?” His breathing to hitch and a low whine came from his pretty lips. “please,” how did he get so lucky. You lined him up to your dripping entrance, sinking down his cock—painfully slow. A full body shudder racked through Yuta as he let out the loudest moan you’ve heard from him. God you’d never heard something so sinful. So fucking hot. His toes curling, as he strained not to thrust up into you. He was so ready, so fucking ready to move. But this is his punishment. His punishment. He'd been bad. He deserved this.  

You’ve never felt so full in your life. He fit you like a glove—more the other way around, and you were sure he’d do whatever you asked of him here and now. You eyes didn't know whether to look at that straining face of his, or his thick cock finally penetrating your sloppy pussy. You'll admit it. You'd wanted this for a while. 

You moved your hips, slowly, at first. Keeping up an agonizingly torturous pace. Each time your hips sunk down, taking him fully, he’d let out these cute little strained moans, whimpering pleas and praises into the space between you too. Coming to terms with his limitations—his restraints—at every bounce. Realizing over and over and over again that he wasn’t in control here. He was struggling. The roll of your hips had him gasping.

“Want more?” you couldn't help but push him. You'd give in, but what’s a little more? He’s been so good. His response was immediate voice thick and raspy, “yes, yes, please—yes,"  His eyes, still fixed on you. Unable to look anywhere else. 

You picked up the pace, thankful for your hours of training. Your stamina was fantastic as you worked his cock. The loud squelched only fueling your demise. He was gonna be the death of you. You wanted him forever. Needed him. Every part of him, “Want me to milk you dry?”  He repeated his desperate pleas—a broken record, repeating “yes” over and over and over again, begging to let him fill you with his seed. He begged you to let him cum. “You gonna cum in me? Breed this pussy? Fuck me full of your seed?” His hips stuttered at this one, groaning loudly. “Yes please, I'll do anything.” he was so close—

You toyed with your clit, feeling close to your own high. “I-I’m gonna cum, please, please let me cum for you.” He’s lucky he's so cute. “Cum for me then,” Just as you said that you felt your own orgasm crashing down, gasping in your own breaths. Not hesitating, he dumped his hot cum deep inside your womb, seeping around the edges of your hole. You’d never felt so full. So content. You made no move to get off him, dropping down to lay on his chest. You hummed against him.

“Yuta, if you avoid me again, I'll end you.” 

come home

Whenever you caught up with old classmates, you’d play it cool, telling them you were out living it up, just so they wouldn’t worry. Pretty sure they were spinning the same tales to you. In your line of work, there’s not much room to be anything but selfless.

You kept in touch with a few underclassmen, especially the clingiest of them all—Satoru Gojo. Normally, you wouldn’t bother, you were several classes ahead of him, after all. He only graduated last summer, turned 19 in the winter, and then took over as the head of the Gojo clan that next summer.

But ever since you graduated, he’s been all over your lock screen, bombarding you with texts. A quiet day meant only getting 12 messages. In high school, he was just as clingy, but at least back then, he could just hang around you in person instead of blowing up your phone.

You’d think he’d have outgrown this by now, but nope—by noon today, you’ve already racked up 7 messages from him. It’s kind of cute, sometimes. But let’s be real, trying to get a boyfriend with Satoru always on your tail? Yeah, good luck with that.

The rain had been pounding relentlessly all evening, its steady drumming against the windows filling your tiny Tokyo apartment with a soothing rhythm. Wrapped in a blanket on the couch, you were finally relaxing when your phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.

You glanced at the screen. Another text from him. And another, and another-

Gojo: What are you up to?

Gojo: You never answered my last message. Did you fall asleep?

Gojo: Or maybe you’re ignoring me...again.

Gojo: That hurts, you know. I thought we were close.

With a sigh, you set the phone face down. Satoru Gojo, your overly attached kouhai from high school, had been this way since the day you met—clingy, needy, and always too much. He had always claimed you were the only one who could "handle" him.

And sure, you had a soft spot for him, maybe more than you should. But on days like today, his relentless need for attention was just too much. The knock at your door was abrupt, loud, and insistent, snapping you out of your thoughts. You stared at the door, hesitating, then your phone buzzed once more.

Gojo: I’m outside. Open up.

With a sigh, you dragged yourself off the couch. When you swung the door open, there stood Satoru, soaked to the bone. His normally fluffy white hair was slicked to his forehead, and water dripped from his clothes onto your floor.

“Satoru,” you exclaimed, startled. “What the hell are you doing? Why are you soaked?”

He waved a hand dismissively, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. You blinked at him. You should’ve expect this, but honestly he'd never been this forward. 

“You’re soaked! You're gonna catch a cold, you idiot.”

“Would you take care of me if I did?” he asked with a grin, but his voice somewhat off, was missing its usual upbeat playfulness. He took the towel you handed him but made no move to dry himself off, seemingly content to let you fret over him.

As you scanned him for any signs of injury, he watched you with an intensity that said he might just enjoy this concern a bit too much. Maybe he was hurt? But knowing him, that seemed unlikely—

“Seriously, Satoru, what are you doing here?” crossing your arms.

He flopped onto your couch as if he owned the place, his damp clothes leaving a wet spot. "Just wanted to see you," he said, his gaze flitting to yours before darting away.

“You’ve been texting me all day. You could’ve just waited for me to reply.”

He pouted, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “You’re so mean to me. Do you really think I'm that annoying?”

You rolled your eyes. “You can be.”

"Rude," giving you a mock-offended look. Then, after a pause, "You've been busy, though...haven't you? Out a lot lately."

You froze, your mind racing to last week. Have you been out a lot? But then you remembered a few days back, when you’d gone on a casual date with someone. It hadn’t been anything serious, but you definitely hadn’t mentioned it to Satoru. Given his flair for the dramatic, he’d likely make a big deal out of it. How did he know you'd been out?

"Work," you said cautiously, watching his expression carefully. “Work,” he echoed, tilting his head as if considering your answer. “That’s it? No fun? No...extracurricular activities?”

“Extracurricular activities?”

“You know,” his tone light but his eyes pinning you, somewhat pouty. “Going out. Meeting people. Spending time with a special someone.”

Your stomach churned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He hummed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his damp hair falling into his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, senpai. You always have been.”

“I’m not lying,” you said firmly, feeling your palms clam up.

“Really?” He grinned, but there was no humor in it. “Then why is it that I heard you’ve been seeing someone?” Your heart skipped a beat. “Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter, is it true?” You hesitated for a moment too long. “It is, isn’t it?” his voice dropping.

“It’s not a big deal,” you said quickly, not sure why you felt the need to explain yourself. “It was just one date. Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened? So you went out with someone and didn’t think to tell me?”

“Why would I tell you?” 

“Because I care about you,” he said, rising abruptly. “Because I thought we were close.”

“We are, but that doesn’t mean I owe you every detail of my personal life,” you shot back. He took a step closer, his damp shoes squeaking against the floor. “It’s not about owing me. It’s about the fact that you’re mine.”

Your eyes widened, stunned those words even fell out of his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” his voice was trembling now—nervousness? borderline hysteria? Those possessive words had never spilled from his plush lips before, so you were left grappling with their sudden weight. “I’ve always been yours, senpai. And you’ve always been mine. We're best friends. We're the closest. I don’t care what you think. I don’t care what anyone else says. You’re mine.”

“Satoru, you’re being ridiculous,” you said, trying to step back, but he matched your movement, closing the distance.

“Am I?” he asked, his blue eyes wide and desperate. “You have no idea what it’s like. Having your best friend ignore you. Watching you go out with someone else. It’s killing me.”

Watching? “Satoru, you’re not thinking clearly—”

“I’ve never been more clear,” 

“Satoru.” Your mind raced, and you felt the need to put some distance between the two of you. Despite his obvious advantages in strength and size, he'd never given you reason to feel wary—until now. It felt like a mistake letting him into your home. “I...I think you should leave. We need some space, Satoru.” You couldn’t help but fold into yourself, the weight of the conversation draining you.

He paused, the room swallowed in a heavy silence. No words. No breaths. No footsteps. When you dared to look up, his face was crumpled, on the verge of tears. Surprising you even more.

"You’re...telling me to leave?" His voice came out softer than before, soothing yet tinged with desperation. "Why?"

Before you could muster an answer, he dropped to his knees in front of you, crawling closer as you backed up until you were pressed against the wall. He starred up at you, an urgency you've never seen from him before, pressing in on you. His hands gripped your waist tightly, his eyes—wide and pleading like a lost kicked puppy—locked onto yours.

"Please," he whispered, his gaze swimming with tears. tears. "Don’t make me leave. Don’t let someone else take you away from me. I’ll do anything. Just let me stay. Don't push me away."

"Satoru, get up," you said, your voice quivering, fingers trembling as you tried to push him away by pressing on his head. Yet, no matter how much you pushed, his hold remained firm, his strength undeniable. He was soaking the front of your clothes, and it felt very much like an overgrown puppy, coming in from outside.

"No," he murmured, burying his face against your stomach. "Not until you promise. Not until you say I can stay. Until you promise not to go out with anyone else."

“This is insane,” you managed, your hands unintentionally tangling in his soft, albeit wet hair. It was softer than you imagined. Focus—

He suddenly pulled you down with him, his grip unrelenting as you found yourself sinking to your knees in front of him. Now, he was so close, his face just inches from yours, towering over you, his expression a tangled web of desperation and a darker, unspoken plea. Your back was flush against the wall and you weren't sure what he was planning next.

"If you leave me," he said softly, his voice trembling, eyes wild and somewhat dazed. You weren't sure how space equated to you leaving him. You could see him frantically trying to piece the situation back together, the stakes seeming far more catastrophic than the words tumbling from his lips. "I'll make sure you regret it..." His confidence seemed to swell as he caught your wide-eyed stare, "You know I can-You know what I'm capable of."

Your blood ran cold. “Satoru...” a warning

"I don’t want to hurt you," he continued, tears now streaming down his face. He looked pathetic, begging there on his knees, letting out small hiccups with each terrifying sentence after the other. "But I can’t lose you. I can’t share you. Please, senpai. Just say yes. Tell me you won’t shut me out."

"Satoru, this is too much. You're overreacting. I just need some space—"

"Marry me." His eyes lost their frantic sheen, sharpening as they fixed on yours. His tone was firm, non-negotiable. "I’ll make you happy. I’ll give you everything.”

The rain outside roared, its sound blending with the rapid pounding of your heart. His request blindsided you, his words enveloping you, a suffocating, inescapable grip. He couldn't be serious. You two weren't even dating.

"Satoru, we aren't even dati—"

"That doesn't matter. I've always loved you. Even way back then. You've always been the only one on my mind." You gaped at him, stunned by the raw intensity of emotion from someone usually so untouchable. "I-I cant imagine being with anyone else, I need you." He whimpered, pushing into you like the overgrown puppy he was, overly excited to see their master. His head rested against your chest, looking up at you with a pout.

"I've been so good. I've waited so long. I-if anything, I deserve some praise." His words stumbled out, and there it was—the mighty Satoru Gojo, stuttering. He waited for a response, your mouth hanging open at the sheer audacity of this man. The whiplash hitting you quicker than the words. He looked so pitiful.

"P-please, please praise me," he said, a little more desperately, anxious under your flabbergasted stare.

You were definitely outmatched here. You've always had a soft spot for the blue-eyed sorcerer. It was one of the many reasons you gave him as much leeway as you did. As your hand gently came up to his hair, petting him, he practically purred under the touch, his eyes melting with affection. "I knew it."

"Satoru..." you began softly, and as if he could read your mind, knowing you were about to protest, he interrupted. "I'll do whatever you want. Be whoever you want."—"Sato—" "I'll buy you anything, we can go anywhere, live anywhere. I can support you, you won’t need to stay in this shitty apartment anymore—" "Wait a—" "I love you. I love you so much, I couldn’t stand that man touching you, please don’t ever do that again," his face twisted in pain at the mere thought. Your hands reached for his cheeks, gently coaxing his gaze back to you.

"Satoru, calm down." you tried to reason, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'm not sure if jumping into a marriage is the best idea right now. We need to talk about this more," you insisted, trying to temper the urgency in his eyes. "A marriage isn't just a contract—it's a lifetime commitment. I'm not sure if we're ready for that yet. You haven't even asked me out yet-"

But Satoru was relentless, his desperation clear. "I've already drafted the papers," he confessed, his tone suggesting he’d been planning this for some time. "I can send a formal request to the higher-ups—whenever I want."

The threat remained unspoken yet unmistakable—a solid recommendation from him, the new head of the Gojo clan—in need of an heir, would be near impossible to refuse without severe consequences. The reality of your situation weighed heavily on you. It was as if it was already decided. But why you?

"Satoru, listen to me," you pleaded, searching for some sign of understanding in his intense gaze. "What do you think this marriage would be? What do you even want from this?"

"You," he answered quickly, eagerness palpable. "Ill give you a life where you don't have to worry about money or security. I can give you a house, anywhere you want. Paris, New York, Tokyo—you name it." he's hugging you tighter at each insistence. "Satoru—"

"Luxuries, travel, whatever you want—designer clothes, fancy cars... I'm going to spoil you rotten," he whispered, his voice dripping with certainty, as if it were all already fated to be, the only concern being what next. "And it's not just about the material things—I mean, I'll be there too. Always. Anytime you call, I'll be there."

"You can't do that, Satoru," you countered, feeling the walls closing in as he all but confirmed he would shirk his very important responsibilities if you so asked.

"I will, if its for you. Please, baby. please." You can't deny the way your heart picked up at the unfamiliar pet name. It sent your heart racing, and your cheeks flushed—a reaction he caught and savored, his eyes lighting up, his head tilted, giving him a perfect view of your pretty red cheeks. His grip on you seemed to trail, his hands rubbing your sides.

"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" you questioned, your voice tinged with both disbelief and a creeping unease as Satoru nudged closer.

"Absolutely...my little wife," he murmured, his voice quivering with a concocted vulnerability as he slipped between your legs, still soaking wet. His presence was close, too close, his body heat mingling uncomfortably with yours. Your heart stutter again at the term.

"Satoru, that’s...that’s too much," you breathed out, feeling his hands settle on your hips, his grip firm yet gentle, as if claiming his place. He's pulling you impossibly closer, his hips between your own. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't turning you on, much to your own surprise. He was shocking you at every turn.

"Isn’t it better when it’s just the two of us?" he continued, his voice a needy whisper that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. He leaned in, his breath warm against your neck, lips brushing your skin with feather-like kisses that trailed up towards your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "No distractions, no one else around. Just me and...my sweet little wife."

His words were laden with possessive desire as he continued his trail of soft kisses, now accompanied by long wet licks that striped across your neck. Your arms found their way around his muscular neck, and your legs instinctively clenched at his sides. His words making you dizzy.

"Y-you think you can make decisions for both of us like that?" you attempted to steady your voice, but it wavered under his touch and the tender assault of his lips.

"’m just trying to secure our happiness together," he insisted, his voice a whisper against your skin, full of confidence—yet pleading. "I know you care about me, deep down. You wouldn’t want to see me hurt, would you, wife?"

Those big eyes begging for your approval, especially when he sensed you might push back. A lovesick puppy.

"Satoru, listen—we really need to talk about boundaries," you insisted, trying to anchor the conversation despite the intoxicating closeness and the persuasive touch of his lips, which fluttered dangerously along the sensitive skin of your neck.

"Boundaries," he repeated, his voice a soft whimper, contemplative, as if he was trying to wrap his mind around the concept. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips pausing as if savoring the very idea. "Okay, we can talk boundaries...as long as they include me being this close." His tone deepened, desperately straining as he pressed closer, grinding into your achy cunt. The soft groan that slipped from him vibrated against your neck, coaxing a surprised whimper from your lips—a sound sweeter than he had ever imagined.

His eyes locked onto yours, reveling in every reaction he elicited from you. Though you weren't married yet, your body seemed to resonate perfectly with his touch, as if it knew him well. The marriage contract had been prepared long in advance, drafted the moment he graduated high school. He had always known you were the one for him. You were, in his eyes, made for him.

He didn't ease up, grinding his length into your clothed pussy, clawing out any reactions he could get, and feeding you his own. And lord was this man vocal.

You wouldn't have believed it if anyone told you—Satoru Gojo, revered as the strongest sorcerer of his generation, the prestigious heir to the Gojo clan, and the youngest prodigy to grace the hallways of Jujutsu Tech, reduced to a puddle of neediness. The type of man that screams top energy, is now rutting against you faster now—helplessly, a begging mess, calling you his "little wife" in a breathy, lovesick plea, so so desperate and clingy.

But you couldn't say anything about it, your leaky pussy was proof enough that you were no better. And the fact that you were so adamant that you weren't interested only moments ago only served to feed his ego.

"What boundaries did my little wife want to set?" His voice confident-damn near arrogantly possessive, as he all but solidified his hold over you, only for you to squirm under his words. He didn't seem to like that as he bit down on your collarbone, earning a sharp gasp from your panting lips.

Before you could wrap your head around the question, he pushed your legs up to your chest, thick fingers digging into the squish of your thighs, instantly knocking the air from your lungs. A mean mating press, and all he needed now was to fuck into you like he meant it. "Satoru—ha—hang on."

But oh-no he wasn't about to hang on, his hips delivered another punishing thrust in between your spread legs, leaving you stuttering out. Your hands that had been wrapped around his neck were now biting into the unfairly smooth expanse of his broad shoulders, leaving behind marks that would surely leave people staring.

Leaning close, his breath hot against your ear, he whispered, a shiver tracing down your spine, crunched up beneath him, "What was my little wife so worried about?" Your eyes proved to him that you were already gone, smothered by his thrusts, and if he were to remove your shorts, you were sure you'd be leaking a pool onto the floor. He cooed softly, his voice a mix of teasing and assurance, "I'll be a good boy. Now tell me, haah—what boundaries did you want to set?"

Beneath him, you trembled, each of your senses heightened by his proximity and the sheer intensity of his gaze, which now swept over you, taking in every reaction before meeting your eyes with a piercing look. "C'mon, pretty girl, tell me, tellme. tellme—" he urged, punctuating each plea with another deep thrust against your clothed cunt.

“Satoru—please—” you managed between labored breaths, each word as shaky as your body.

“Ooh! Hang on—I've got one—" You could feel his breath on your neck, voice dipping a more taunting note. "how about remaining faithful," His grip on you was aggressive and domineering, yet his tone carried a playful lilt. "See, now that's an easy one," You couldn't stop the whimper that rolled from your lips, each thrust forward sent a sharp press into your clit.

You couldn't make a solid thought if your life depended on it. The room spun a little, your mind foggy with need. You felt dangerously close to agreeing to just about anything he proposed, just to keep him moving.

"S-Satoru, please, don't stop," shameless. absolutely shameless.

“Haah, oh—my sweet little wife—‘m just trying to have a conversation—” He groaned as your nails dug deeper into his shoulders, a raw, primal groan rips out, sending shivers down your spine. “Aah, a conversation you wanted. So tell me what I can do for you.”

You can't move an inch as he slows his momentum down, leaving you reeling. You're panicking at the loss, eyes shooting wide as he firmly presses into you. "Or maybe," You felt the heat of his cock pressed against you, "how about a boundary that ensures every day starts with you under me like this?" Satoru's voice was husky, almost choked with his own arousal as he maintained that exasperatingly slow grind, each movement calculated to keep you right on the edge.

You couldn't muster a response, your mind was too clouded with the intoxicating blend of pleasure and frustration, gripping at him to keep going. His smirk was audible in his voice as he continued. "Hmm, not enough? What about...we never sleep apart, huh? Always tangled up like this—sounds perfect, right, wifey? Or do you prefer senpai?"

You felt yourself clench around nothing as you let out a string of needy huffs, eyes drunken, intoxicated on his heat. "And I think," he paused, his breath against your ear, "we should always say goodnight like this...no...we should always say goodnight with me deep inside this pretty pussy, claiming you as mine over and over. No more goodnights through phone screens, just this—"

One hand trails down between your legs, drifting across your sorely sensitive skin, before reaching the warmth beneath your shorts. You feel yourself buck up, but his grip on your other thigh has you restrained. He glides his large fingers along the edges, before dipping into under the fabric, finding his salvation, immediately. "Ahh-shit, you're soaked, baby," His voice was dense with pleasure, a hint of awe, a mix of wonder and satisfaction.

"Do these boundaries work for you?" he teased, fully aware that you were beyond the point of coherent speech, your responses physical, instinctive—your body arching towards him, desperately seeking to close the gap he controlled so teasingly.

His laughter, low and satisfied, resonated through the charged air between you, feeling as tangible as another stroke of his fingers. "I’ll take that as a yes," he murmured before finally relenting to the desperate pace your body craved, driving his fingers into you with a fervor that wiped all thoughts but his name from your mind.

Stretching, and so so thick, yet you so desperately craved for his fingers to curl into your sweet spot, your mewls and moans saturating the air, the debauched sounds from your leaky cunt dragging his eyes to watch as your juices coated his hand.

His eyes were locked on your squirming, messy form. Noticing every movement, learning and adapting his thrust to the motions that drew the most from you. Once he hit that sweet spot, you were out.

To him—this was a dream. A fantasy he'd always had, way back when he first met you.

Now you were soaking your shorts, so he did what any good husband would do and took them off of you. He marveled at the sight of your pretty cunt, glistening, slick pooling from you at a rapid pace. Calling to him. You looked so fucking tasty.

But he wanted more. So much more.

He wanted to fill his pretty little wife, full. Withdrawing his fingers (earning him a small growl from you), he pressed his hips forward, the fabric of his clothes barely containing him as he rubbed against you, his need clear and urgent. His fingers, dipping into his mouth, your taste dissolving onto his tongue, he moaned—"Baby, can I fill you up?" begging, voice guttural, raw, groveling, as he pulled himself free from the confines of his pants, stroking himself with a single hand. You strained to look at him, your legs blocking your view, but when you caught sight of it you nearly drooled. His plea was nothing short of a godsend at this moment, everything you were wanting and more, and that cock looked more than fucking delicious. Big and thick enough to rock your shit.

"Please, please I want more,—ngh—'

He lined himself up at your entrance, poking his fat tip an inch past your slit. The stretch was already a bit much, you really hadn't gotten much action, recently. Toys never cut it.

And just that tip had Satoru's mouth dropping open as he slid himself further, watching the magic act that was his disappearing cock into your tight heat. You deliriously blubbered incomprehensible sounds, begging to be filled, but he seemed so happy with taking his sweet time, savoring every second—every inch.

Once you were completely filled, he stilled for a moment, wearing you like a little cockwarmer, the stretch made you feral as you continue clawing his forearms, pathetically, words dripping from your lips frantically asking bawling at him to go faster.

"Ah, you take me so well." He hissed out, starring down at you with an almost obsessive gaze. "Gimme a second, baby, I needa minute, shit-s'feels sooooo good." He slouches into you, body shaky.

Your breathing is unsteady as he presses into the back of your cervix, poking through your belly. "Ah y'know, you're my first baby, saved myself all for you. All for this moment—" His words slewed together in a stupor, bucking slightly into you. Your eyes widen as you're about to comment, but he stops you with one quick ram of his hips, your head lolling back, mouth dangling open. The dude's fucking huge, hot as all hell, and you're the one who popped his cherry?

You feed into each other as he picks up his pace, clinging to you like a second skin, hips ramming into you with a speed that seemed unreal. Each thrust splitting you open like the very first, you just couldn't get used to him. He moans loudly into your ear, breathing becoming more and more labored as he reaches down to play with your clit.

"A-Ah shit—fuck, I'm gonna cum," his voice frustrated, wanting to last all night with you, but your tight cunt deemed otherwise. His fingers dug deeper into your skin, large welts already forming, "shit-shit, aah fuuuuckk-" spilling his load deep inside your womb, head pulled back, blissed out, twitching into you.

You can't help the way your mind stills, he pumped you full—theres so much, that his gooey cum spills out around the edges, trailing down between your crack, "aah shit baby." He seemed embarrassed, a flushed look on his face as he looked away and back shyly.

He thrust back in, his eyes locked on the way his cum oozed out around him, letting out his own whine. Your breathing stutters when he pushed back inside, your abused cervix aching. You hadn't cum, but damn were you close, and damn if you weren't sore. He rubs your nub again, feeling you clench around him, letting out a hiss, clearly overstimulated.

"You're losin' so much, wifey, how're you ever gonna be full when you're so wasteful," his eyes never leave your cunt, as he swirls his thumb over your clit, as you're left clawing to get away from him, the obsessed focus on your clit just too much. But you're still pinned. And he's still not done yet.

"S'ok baby, 'll give you more, yea?" He's mumbling the words, lost in the meal spread out in front of him. "Want you to cum all over my cock this time. Think you can do that for me?" He doesn't wait for a response as he's hardening up once again, and you think his stamina is fucking impeccable. His own words, nasty for a beginner, but only serving to egg him on.

Once again he's picking back the brutal pace, his cum mixing with the thin pool of your syrupy slick, the loud squelches back in full force. He's lost again, his head buried in your neck now, leaving large dark purple hickies, a hand clenching that back of your neck, devouring you like a fucking rotisserie chicken. You do him one better, your claws sinking deep into his back, each thrust blanking your mind as his fingers continue at your clit.

He angles his dick upwards—just slightly, grazing that upper spot that has you seeing stars, you're pants come out frantic now, pussy clamping, so so close to release. "Cum for me baby? Gonna coat this cock? Mark me up, baby—mark up your husband—" His words have you finishing, an electric current zapping through you, leaving you lit like a live wire. His fingers are punishing, a reminder of his words, his words a reminder of your place in his life, and you find yourself over-satiated.

Squirming to get him to stop, then begging when it he ignored it. Your pleas fell on deaf ears, his thrusts seeking his second release into your tight little pussy, your little begs only speeding him up as he let out another guttural moan, teeth sinking into the crook of your neck, no doubt breaking skin. His cum, hot, burning—as you gushed around him, your pussy pulsating at every movement. His heaving never let up as he kept himself buried deep inside of you.

"Fuck, I love you so much."

I look around the sterile room, taking in framed stock images tastefully arranged along the walls and the stack of various medical pamphlets about STDs and safe sex. I take a deep breath and start to undress. I’ve waited so long to come see this doctor and I’m not going to let my nerves get the best of me now. The doctor I’m here to see is a specialist in anorgasmia, the inability to orgasm.

I’ve never been able to achieve orgasm, no matter what I’ve tried. Numerous partners have tried, I’ve purchased countless toys and lubricants, even going as far as trying hypnosis. Nothing has worked and I had almost given up hope when I’d stumbled across this doctor and his specialty.

It took months for me to get an appointment, and the screening process was incredibly intensive. Apparently, he’s extremely selective in the patients he chooses to see so when I got the call that he was willing to fit me into his schedule, I was ecstatic. Maybe I can finally say goodbye to my inability to orgasm.

A soft knock at the door startles me and I watch as the doctor opens the door and steps into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. He’s younger than I thought he’d be. I’d been picturing a middle-aged man, maybe with some greying hair and glasses. Instead, he’s handsome, fit, and I can see the sparkle in his eyes as he greets me cheerfully.

“Good afternoon! I’m sorry for the wait but I hope you’re comfortable! It is lovely to meet you.” His voice is smooth, comforting, and when I extend my hand out to shake his outstretched one, his touch is gentle but strong.

I smile back at him, feeling some of my previous anxiety fade away. “No worries at all, I’m happy to be here.”

I watch as he opens grabs a chair and sits in front of the computer, logging in to pull up my medical chart. “Now, let’s see here, you’re here for anorgasmia I see.” I feel my cheeks flush at the clinical way he’d said it and he catches my blush as he glances up from the computer screen.

He gives me a comforting smile, “Don’t be embarrassed. A lot more women experience anorgasmia than people think, and it’s something that we can fix. I promise, there is nothing to be embarrassed about here.”

I give him a small smile back, the sincerity in his words soothing me.

“Now, I know you filled out a very long questionnaire already and I’ve already reviewed that so we’re going to get right to a physical exam to start.” He pushes away from the computer and stands up, walking over to where I’m sitting on the exam table.

“Can you take off your bra and underwear for me, please?” I nod, steeling my nerves before following his instructions. My nipples immediately harden into peaks at the cold air of the exam room and I feel so exposed with my entire body naked in front of him.

He unhooks stirrups from the bottom of the exam table and clicks them into place. “Prop your feet into there for me and spread your legs,” his voice is purely professional and I do what he asks. Placing my feet into the stirrups leaves me completely exposed and a small shiver goes through me as cold air brushes against my core.

“Now lean back and look up at the ceiling for me. We’re going to start with just a simple physical exam to make sure everything is normal anatomically. Then, we’ll move on to a few other tests for sensation and sensitivity. If at any point you have questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to tell me, okay?” He looks at me with care and I nod back, feeling comforted by his words and clear attentiveness.

He rolls his chair to between my propped-up legs and takes a seat, facing me. “My hands are a little cold but don’t worry, we’ll warm up in no time.” I let out a gasp when his indeed cold hands come to rest on my thighs. His fingers are gentle as he brushes against my center, his movements confident as he pokes and prods around.

I stay still as I feel him gently pull me apart, letting cold air rush against my core and clit. I bite back a gasp at the sensation. I feel him press against my clit, maneuvering my clit hood out of the way to reveal the bud. A swipe of his finger against my exposed bundle of nerves makes me jolt and I let out a sharp gasp this time.

“Sorry! How did that feel?” He asks, his voice apologetic.

I take a second to gather myself before answering. “It felt intense. Good but almost a little overwhelming.”

“Hm, that’s good,” he says, “That means you have a fair amount of clitoral sensitivity. We’ll do a more in-depth examination later but it’s a good sign.”

I hear the scrape of his chair against the floor and glance up to see his standing. “I’m going to grab some lubricant and we’ll do an internal exam next.” I nod and watch as he squirts a dollop of lube onto his fingers.

He settles himself back in between my legs and I shiver at the cold feeling of the lube. He’s purely professional as he spreads the lube over me and slowly works a single finger into me. I bite my lip to tamp down any sounds I want to make.

“I’m going to test your g-spot next,” he says and I feel his finger crook upwards inside of me, brushing against the spongy clump of nerves inside of me. The sensation shoots through me and I led out a slow breath.

“That’s it, you’re doing really well. Tell me if anything hurts, okay?” His fingers scissor inside of me and I let out a soft whimper. “Does that feel good?” His voice comes out in a lower register than before. “Come on, use your words. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me how it feels.”

I whimper again, “Mm yes, it feels good.”

“Good, so you have no problems with vaginal arousal and lubrication,” he says, his voice almost a purr now. “Don’t hold back, we want to make sure you’re giving your full reaction to everything that’s happening to help me understand what’s happening here.”

At his words, I let out another whimper, feeling the slow drag of his fingers against the sensitive walls of my pussy. He presses his fingers against my g-spot again and my back arches as pleasure shoots through me.

“Tell me, is this level of sensitivity and sensation reflective of how you normally feel during intercourse?” I take a second to catch my breath and think before I answer him.

“I think so, I’m usually pretty sensitive to sensation, it just never seems to culminate into an orgasm. A lot of times, I get too overstimulated to continue and I can’t cum.”

“Hm, I see,” his voice takes on a more contemplative tone. He pulls his fingers out of me, and I almost want to whimper at the loss.

“Well, I have a few theories but I’m going to do a more hands-on test to get a clearer answer of what we’re dealing with here. Lie back for me and relax.”

I lean my head back, staring up at the ceiling of the room and I feel him walk away for a second. He reappears at my side for a moment, and suddenly, I feel something encircle my wrist and hear a click. I jerk in surprise, glancing down to see that he’d cuffed me down to the table. My eyes meet his and smiles at me.

“Don’t worry, this is just to keep you still during the examination. The less movement there is from you, the easier it is for me to do my job. If at any point, you feel uncomfortable, tell me and we’ll stop, okay?” His words soothe the panic that rose up in my chest at the idea of being restrained and I give my consent. He smiles at me and makes quick work of clicking my other wrist into a cuff. Next, my ankles are strapped down to the stirrups and my thighs held apart by more cuffs. There’s even one that goes around my waist to keep my torso still.

“Good, how do you feel? Are any of the restraints hurting you?”

I shake my head in response, “No, I’m okay.”

He smiles at me again and I watch him open a drawer from across the exam room. “We’re going to introduce some equipment to help me get a better gauge of what we’re dealing with here.” My eyes widen as I watch him pull out several industrial looking sex toys.

“Let’s start with clitoral stimulation,” he says, setting down the toys except for one. He shows me the toy, it looks almost like an electric toothbrush with a wider body and a very thin head. “This is a very precise vibrator. Most commercial vibrators people tend to purchase have a much larger surface area, which can be very good for folks who are highly sensitive in all areas, but it doesn’t offer much precision in targeting specific parts of the clitoris. This one doesn’t have that problem since it has a much smaller head. Now this one is also pre-set to have 10 very well-calibrated intensity settings. Depending on your reaction to each setting, I can make better conclusions about your clitoral sensitivity. We’re going to go through the settings from low to high and I want you to continue to be vocal and tell me what you’re feeling, okay?”

I nod, “Okay, but what if I get too overstimulated?”

He gives me a comforting smile, “Just tell me and we’ll stop and re-evaluate if it happens.”

I nod again and he sits back down between my legs to get started.

I hear the toy click on, presumably at the first level based on the low, quiet buzzing sound its emitting. I gasp when I feel his fingers gently pull my pussy apart to reveal my clit, already erect and throbbing from his earlier treatment.

A moan escapes from my throat when I feel the toy make first contact. It feels so much more intense than any other toy I’ve ever had. The precision of the toy and the ease in which he handles it means that the vibrations are pressed right against my exposed clit, forcing the collection of raw nerves to submit to the sensations.

“How’s that?” He asks, his voice making me scramble to get ahold of myself to give a coherent response. “It feels so intense but in a good way.”

“Good, that’s good. Just relax and let yourself feel.” He murmurs, keeping the vibrator pressed tightly against me.

My eyes drift shut as I feel the sensation overtake me. The pleasure is forming a haze around my mind, every thought getting chased away by the feeling between my legs.

I hear his voice again, “I’m going to increase to the second setting. Just stay relaxed for me.”

I let out a whimper in response as the toy clicks up a level. The pleasure intensifies but there’s also a building sensation of raw overstimulation that is starting to arise. We’re nearing the point where I would normally stop and take a break but I don’t want to tell him that yet. I want to let him keep going, because maybe today is the day I finally get to cum.

I bite back a whine and clench my fists at my sides.

“Increasing to level 3 now.” He says, resting a hand on my thigh as his other one holds the toy firmly against me. The increase this time makes a cry rip out of me and my eyes fly open to meet his.

“Ah- it’s so much, I’m getting overstimulated.” I whimper out, my hands clenching and unclenching in an effort to control myself. He nods but doesn’t make any move to pull the toy away or decrease the setting.

“Try and tough it out for me for a bit more, I want to see if we can overcome the overstimulation.” He gives me a comforting smile and gently pats my thigh.

I take a deep breath and nod, letting my eyes drift shut.

“Increasing to level 4 now,” he says and the vibrator switches to a higher intensity before I can protest.

“Wait! Wait, please, just give me a moment, please!” I gasp out as the sensations shoot through me entire body. He shakes his head, “You’re doing great, just relax and let it happen.”

I whine as tears are gathering in my eyes. I’m walking the very thin line of pain and pleasure as the vibrator forces breathtaking feeling onto me while riding my nerves to the sharp edges of overstimulation. I hear his voice again and my heart drops when I register his words. “Increasing to level 5.”

A scream bursts out of me as all of the sensations compound and increase. It’s too much, I can’t do this. I can’t tell if I’m close to cumming, I just know that I’ve been absolutely thrown over my threshold for sensation and I can’t take anymore. I sob out my begs to my doctor.

“Please! No more, please stop! STOP! It’s too much! I can’t take it!” My body is shaking and I’m fighting with everything I have against the restraints but nothing gives. His hand on my thigh has turned into an iron grip, holding me down so I can’t even shift my hips to escape the relentlessly accurate vibrations.

“PLEASE! STOP!” I sob. There’s nothing to save me. He doesn’t listen, he might’ve said something to me but I’m too far gone to hear. All I know is the torturous pleasure dominating every single nerve of my body.

Beneath the horrible overstimulation, I feel a warm thread of something else. Something pulsing through my body, filling me with pure pleasure. I whimper as the feeling starts to build, my every muscle seeming to tighten in response to it.

There’s a knot building in my stomach, spreading throughout my body. Coupled with the overstimulation, I feel ravaged and decimated, every nerve pulled bare and shocked by the live wire of sensation that’s forced upon me. Before I can even begin to articulate it, I feel the vibrator kick up another setting and I scream as it shatters me.

I cum. For the first time in my life, I cum. My scream seems to shake the very foundation of the building we’re in as the pleasure, pain, and sensation flood my body, every cell of my body bursting with it. I can’t do anything except ride the relentless wave of pleasure, my entire body a slave to the whims of that horrible, terrible, delicious, mind-altering pleasure.

I slowly come down from the high of my first orgasm, gasps shaking my body as my mind struggles to reengage with reality. I blink tears out of my eyes, and I look up to see my doctor standing over me, holding the toy that he’s mercifully removed from my clit.

“Good job, sweet girl,” he purrs, running his hand up my thigh to cup my pussy gently. The soft motion is enough to make me whimper. “How did that feel, darling?” The terms of endearment make me pause but I’m too hazy to really digest it all.

I clear my throat and swallow, my voice raw from the screaming and begging. “I- It felt really good but it was so much,” I whisper, “I don’t know if I can do that again.”

He smirks and suddenly, I’m hit with a wave of uncertainty. There’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there previously and it makes me nervous. Something about the way he is looking at me is so different now than earlier, with his cool professionalism and niceties. Now, I feel like a specimen under a microscope and he, the scientist who plans on dissecting me.

“I think, I think I need a break. Can we finish this appointment another time?” I murmur, pulling slightly at my restraints and looking at him.

He lets out a low laugh that makes my skin pebble with nerves. “Oh no, now that I know what the problem is, I can’t let you leave until we fix it. What kind of doctor would I be if I let my patients leave without being cured?”

I shake my head, “I don’t understand,” I whisper. “You made me cum, doesn’t that mean I’m cured?”

He smirks at me and he slides a finger into my pussy, making me gasp. “Not at all, we’ve proven that you indeed can orgasm, but there is still much to be examined in terms of the extent of your orgasms. Plus, we have several more levels of this vibrator to get through and we haven’t even begun to work on your pussy and g-spot yet.”

My eyes widen at his words and the curling feeling of fear truly takes root inside of me. “Wait no, please, I don’t want to continue with any of that anymore. Please, just let me go!”

The look on his face is one of glee as he sees my terror become apparent. “Now now, you don’t want to leave against my medical advice, do you? Plus, darling, you consented to following through with my professional recommendations when you signed up to be a patient. There’s no backing out of this now. And especially when I know how sensitive of a whore you are, darling.” He chuckles.

I whimper, “Please, no, I don’t want this.”

He bends down to lean in close to me. “Well, I don’t give a shit about what you want. You are the most unique case of sensitivity I’ve ever seen, and I plan to take full advantage of that while I have you here. So be a good girl for me and enjoy this.” He presses his lips to the side of my neck and the feeling makes me tremble.

He ignores the rest of my protests and goes back to sitting between my legs. I watch in fear as he holds up the vibrator and clicks it on. “We stopped at level 6 last time, that’s where we’ll resume. And scream all you want, sweet girl, these walls are soundproof and won’t let a speck of sound through.”

I do indeed scream when he presses the vibrator against me again.

This time, there’s no build up of pleasure or stimulation. It all slams into me all at once and I writhe against my restraints as everything overwhelms me. I vaguely hear a low laugh permeate the space around me but I can’t focus enough to pick out any other noise amidst my own sobs.

My doctor stops giving me any verbal cues, not that I’m coherent enough to even understand at this point. All I know is the punishing vibrator held against my clit, ravaging my body and turning me inside out. The claws of pleasure are embedded deep into my psyche and my body is at its complete whim.

I have no idea how much time has passed or whether I even stayed conscious for the entire duration of the torture but eventually, I realize that he’s stopped. The vibrator is off but my body was still shaking from phantom sensations, every inhale of air a sharp stab, and every sob a reminder of how broken I am.

Slowly, I register the sound of his low laugh. I whimper as I blink away my tears to look at him. “You, my sweet girl, are truly remarkable. I don’t think you realize since you were so out of it, but we were at the highest setting for the past ten minutes and you didn’t even cum once. I’ve never come across someone so fucking sensitive and yet so resistant to orgasm. It’s incredible because you don’t seem to become desensitized either.”

I whimper and my voice cracks when I speak. “Please, please, just let me go. I can’t handle any more. I won’t tell anyone about this, please just stop doing this.”

He smiles at me and for a brief moment, I see the professional, nice, kind, good doctor from earlier. But all my hope is washed away when I feel his fingers press against my core again.

“I can’t do that, darling. We still have your precious pussy left to work on,” his voice is filled with excitement and it makes me want to cry because I know what is coming next and I’m not sure I will survive.

I watch him exchange the vibrator for a huge dildo. He smirks and presses a button on the underside of it and the entire thing begins to vibrate. “I think we can go ahead and skip to the higher settings here.”

Tears fill my eyes and I shake my head at him as pleas fall from my lips. He ignores me as he lines the dildo up with my core. I tremble as the vibrations make me shudder without the toy even breaching me yet.

He catches my eye and I watch as he gives me a wink and proceeds to slam the dildo home inside of me. I arch my back and let out a devastated cry. The toy fills me to the brim, the vibrations ravaging my sensitive walls and my g-spot in a way that makes my eyes roll back.

I’m sobbing and shaking as he drives the dildo in and out of my pussy. Every movement against my overstimulated walls tortures me. The pleasure digs its claws into me and drags me back into its embrace. My entire being submits and I feel my mind’s grasp on my sanity loosen as every single facet of my existence narrows to pleasure.

Each thrust seems to make my sensitivity grow, every single muscle in my body aching and begging for relief. I feel his hand clamp down on my thigh as the other continues to work the dildo inside of me. I want to rip myself out of my body to make this torture end but there’s nothing I can do. Every push and pull shoves my body higher and higher to a peak that I can never seem to reach. There’s no culminating release of pleasure to make this all better, no soft wash of an orgasm to soothe every jagged nerve. There’s only him and the torturous pleasure he imparts onto my very soul.

An unfathomable amount of time later, I feel him finally turn off the toy and pull it out of me. I barely register the lewd sound of my cunt clenching around the toy, my pussy still weeping with arousal even after the devastation he brought upon me.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, are we done? Please, I can’t take anymore, please let me go.”

He brushes my hair off my forehead and he smirks at me. “Oh, sweet girl, I can’t let you go now. I’m going to be keeping you as my perfect little toy. There are still so many other things I want to try on you. I’m going to push every single limit you have until you break for me.” A soft whine escapes from me and I know there is nothing I can do to convince him otherwise. My head lolls from exhaustion and I feel my grasp on consciousness start to loosen.