i♡Gojo

**

He doesn’t remember the ruin; the blood soaked fingers that thread through his hair. Softly, gently, lovingly. He doesn’t remember his trembles beneath him, the soft, strangled moans, the claw marks left on his back. Y/n didn’t remember any of it — his memory is closed and bottled and gone and his mind is a mess. He remembers scratching at the door of the church for mercy, and being welcomed.

Y/n remembers first meeting him, the man clothed in white; the man with silky golden hair and cerulean blue eyes. The man who was so devastatingly and damningly beautiful that people stopped to stare at him; the man with the gentle smile that swallowed your rage. The man named Anton.

“Poor thing,” Anton had told Y/n, and his fingers had been warm then. Y/n would’ve mistaken anything for warmth; he was so horribly starved of touch and affection that even the simplest of words could feel like the sun to him. And so he basked in it. “Poor thing,” Anton said quietly, “you are at the mercy of God. At me.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Y/n choked out. He knew the emptiness gnawing at his brain. Chewing at nothing, with a bottomless hunger that had yet not been satiated. His fingers had clutched at the priest’s robes; he had nearly cried out from reprieve at seeing another human; another life form. He had stumbled on the bare roads alone. Something about the priest had seemed so familiar and it filled Y/n with indescribable relief.

“You’re trembling,” Anton had murmured softly and gently in return, his fingers brushing Y/n’s cheek. “How fortunate, then. You have stumbled upon the one place that you can be saved. The only place you will be saved.”

Y/n had drunk his words in at the point of time. He had been — ah, what’s that word? He had been docile, yes he had. He had been so painfully and ridiculously pliant to the priest’s needs then, so much like a lamb that had been reared for him, the shepherd — that he now laughed at the absurdity of it all.

The priest, who had been so charming at first, was a vicious monster. The smile never left his face; that ineffable mannerisms he had that was so graceful; so powerful, so divine…and yet Anton robbed people of their lives so easily; with a careless flick and a sanguine, saccharine smile. His fingers were bloody when they traced Y/n’s back, when they touched his face…when they left a crimson, unforgiving trail.

He will kill me, Y/n always thought, he will kill me one day. He will murder me; like he has murdered so many of his foolish believers who throw themselves at his feet…

“When will you kill me?” Y/n had begged once, after the thirty eighth slaughter, after the last of the flames had been snuffed out and burnt carcasses lay on the floor again. “Why did you welcome me? Why did you — why did you let me live and why do you treat me so well? Why do you treat me like I’m special — when you are simply going to kill me?”

Oh, yes, Anton treated him so differently. During service Anton rebuked those who tormented Y/n for being a new believer. Y/n watched as others poured their savings out for Anton and he didn’t bat an eye at them. But with Y/n…why? Y/n’s memories had not yet returned; and he was beginning to accept the bleak reality that it would never do so. And so now he was left to spiral here, in this crazed madness where the priest ruled this place like a cult and he had no answers and only him —

I should never have come, Y/n found himself thinking over this all the time, I should never have been on that path, walking towards the church. This is not holy: this is not divine.

“Oh, Y/n,” Anton sighed. “Oh, Y/n.” He stalked towards Y/n; his large strides making Y/n flinch and cower and summon the last vestiges of his strength to bare his teeth; like a dog that had yet not been tamed. The priest’s hands were cold this time round as he tipped the (h/c)-haired boy’s chin up. “You will never die. You are the Chosen One. The one who is my most beloved ordained proxy. The heavens have chosen you. I have chosen you.”

His words were sweet, coated in so much honey that Y/n wanted to vomit.

“You kill all of them,” Y/n choked out, “you -you cannot possibly believe that what you’re doing is —”

“You don’t understand,” Anton said sadly, “not yet; it seems.”

“Murder,” Y/n finished, “it’s fucking murder- do you hear me? I can’t believe I ever listened to you- I can’t believe I ever thought I would — kill me, just kill —”

“You were like this before,” Anton’s tone had hardened, but it held that tone of wistfulness from before. Almost stern; like a beguiling parent chiding a naughty child. “Then I went through all that trouble to do that…and still you rebel; still you fight. How many lessons do you need to learn?”

“Fuck you,” the words had slipped from Y/n’s throat before he knew it, “fuck your murderous tendencies and your cult and your deranged —”

Anton had taken his arm then, in a grip so tight it bruised, and had forced Y/n to stare at those unsettling eyes of his. Y/n had swallowed; Anton had looked hungrily at him; with thinly veiled desire and fondness and reluctance.

Reluctance…?

“It pains me to do this,” Anton said calmly, his voice soft. “But it seems punishment is needed for you. I shall not do something as extreme as what I did the last time…but you do need to learn a lesson.”

“No,” Y/n whispered.

“You will be declared holy. You will be consecrated. You will be freed from sin.”

The lessons would be the start of despair; of torment.

**

Y/n remembers his attempts at fighting. He remembers clawing at locked doors that won’t budge; the endless darkness that he was drenched in, the protest of not eating food and water. He remembers the corpses lined up in his mind, relentless and determined to make him miserable. He remembers screaming; until his throat is hoarse and until he is sure the Gods have grown tired of his misery. He remembers cursing God at his pain; at his situation.

“Will you surrender yet?” Anton asks softly. He holds a starved Y/n; his arms the only flicker of warmth. Y/n’s head, on his lap, the hallucinations driving him mad. He looks at the priest; he stares. He feels emptiness, hatred.

Starving himself had not worked; he had been forcibly fed. He had tried to stab the priest with a knife, and it had melted into a puddle of wax.

“Sin is resistance,” Anton tells him, smiling so serene, so beautiful. “I will purge you of it. You are Chosen, Y/n: remember that. I will allow no one to taint you; no one to touch you.”

Y/n remembers slipping into a haze. He remembers lips against his own. He remembers being too weak to fight back.

**

Days become weeks; and weeks — they become something completely indecipherable; slipping elusively through the cracks of time. Y/n doesn’t remember Anton ever harming him — not physically, at least; but Anton torments him. Anton bathes him; dresses him in all white, and prays over him with hands that linger too long on the throat. Y/n feels the anger dying in his mouth: but it is so bountiful, so full that it wriggles between his gum like cavities. Anton’s obsession is so sweet it rots Y/n’s teeth.

He speaks of the prophecy; at how they united together through divine matrimony — “You belong to me,” Anton says sweetly. He whispers quietly and presses their foreheads together while Y/n squirms and sobs.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Y/n says deliriously, “I cannot. I cannot — I cannot accept this: I cannot — I cannot live like this. Let me go, Anton. Let me go —”

Who was he before this? Has he ever been a person? What had the outside been like?

I am utterly isolated, Y/n realizes and he weeps; he weeps big, grieving, loud cries. I do not know anyone else except for him; why has Anton imbued me with only the knowledge of him?

Anton tilts his head and his voice is flat as he speaks. “You still choose to rebel.”

“I —”

“Was everything I did for naught?” He says tonelessly. He looks at Y/n. “I have gone to this extent and you want me to let you go,” he says. His tone is terrifyingly dark and Y/n is shaking, and oh god, the mantra of please let me go repeats in Y/n’s head and he’s stumbling and crying and —

“I declared that I would make you holy,” Anton says, smiling. But it is without mirth; it is completely empty.

“And so I will,” Anton says, “perhaps it’s time to purify you.”

Anton takes Y/n’s hand; very very gently. He pulls Y/n away; for once Y/n is out of that dark attic and he winces when light meets his skin and he wonders if the word purify has a negative or positive connotation to it because he’s free, and he’s seeing the outside world, and —

Oh.

There are hands tearing at his robes, there are harsh kisses pressed to his collarbone and Anton is undressing and there is an — altar; an incense burning in a censer and its smells sweet…Y/n hallucinates a lute playing; a pipe…

“After this I will give you a choice,” Anton says cruelly with a smile; “to leave. If you can walk, that is.”

**

Y/n learns that his moans are loud; strangled, like his screams. Or perhaps his moans and screams are blending together and he doesn’t know which is which; but he does know that they are ripped mercilessly from his throat and at least the constant thing in his life is that he is offered no mercy.

“This is what I was supposed to do,” Anton says, his voice a sigh. His eyes are impossibly dark and his expression is so cold and terrifying and warm at the same time…his fingers ghost over Y/n’s body and he shivers; he feels the touch glide up to his nipples and he feels teeth rest at the curve of his throat.

I can feel his pulse, Y/n thinks. I can feel him…entering me…breaking me…all of him.

Y/n knows his scream is loud when the priest pushes his large cock into his body; when he feels his walls tighten around painfully around him like they’re welcoming him, the traitorous hardening of his own cock that is left untouched. He feels delirious, delirious with painful pleasure when the thrusts become forceful and Anton is moving, he’s moving and pushing into him and each time Y/n accepts him, Y/n’s hands go to his back and they scratch and claw.

Their kisses are ravenous. They are dotted with sin, lined with pleasure and desire that should not exist. It is the forbidden fruit; they are falling from the Garden of Eden and Anton has claimed him. There are bottomless pools of blood in Y/n’s vision when he looks at Anton; when he cries for him to stop! And yet his own body aches; wants more. Y/n arches his back still, feels the delicate curve of his spine bending in submission and he twitches his hips while Anton takes more; he takes more and more and he does not stop.

“You will not leave,” Anton says in between his thrusts; as he nips Y/n’s ear. He smiles victoriously above Y/n’s body. “After I’m done…you shall be complete; perfect. I have held back for you.”

“Anton,” Y/n cries out. The name is stuck in his throat, hoarded in his mouth. Why is it all he knows? Where are his memories? Where is the past, the before? Where is his identity — is Anton right; does it rest with him?

(Chosen; chosen, chosen. You are the Chosen One. Why run away?)

“My darling,” Anton says; and he laughs. “Do you want me to continue? You want choices, don’t you? There it is. Do you want me to continue?”

Y/n whimpers below him. “Anton,” he repeats. His mind is broken; he cannot think but god everything is empty and the church is all he has, and —

“Beg,” Anton says, his voice stern. His fingers thrum against the expanse of Y/n’s flesh. He waits to take him apart, to peel him like a fruit and to devour him whole. The bruises on Y/n’s hip have a dull sort of pain. He cannot think.

“Do it, Y/n,” Anton coaxes, tone gentler this time. He kisses the tears off Y/n’s face. “Be good for me. You can do that, right? You can be so good…”

“Please,” the word leaves Y/n’s mouth. “Please ruin me. Please purify me. Please save me.”

Anton crashes his lips onto Y/n; drunk off his declaration; his plea, his piteous, soft cries. He knew Y/n would come around one day. He knew Y/n had to; he knew it was their fates intertwined, their destinies together melding into a singular line. The sex that follows is even more overwhelming; but it is glorious, it is divine.

After it is over, after Y/n is sprawled on the stained sheets and the sweet smell of the incense continues to permeate Y/n’s nostrils… Anton cradles him; soothes him after it’s over.

“Do you still wish to run?” He asks. Then, a more brutal question; “Can you still run?”

**

Y/n is given a choice. He remembers the ruin; the divinity; the purification. He is sanctified, he is pure, he is holy. He is made new.

Anton smiles. “Darling; do you still want to leave?”

Y/n feels a barrage of soft kisses on his forehead. The priest is gentle. The priest is kind. He is chosen.

(Forgive me, Y/n thinks to whatever God who has ignored him, Forgive me, for I no longer wish to be saved.)

**

PAST

“You disobey me,” Anton said quietly. “You slit your wrists; you run away. I have no choice but to start over; to erase your reality. To start from point one.”

“Stop,” Y/n screamed, “do you have enough of this? Do you have enough of —”

“I shall erase your memory,” Anton said, sounding pleased with himself. “Yes; that will be brilliant.”

“I will always run,” Y/n told him through his despairing tears, through the haze of pain and through the priest’s clutch on him. “I will run from you.”

Anton stared at Y/n, before he laughed. He laughed for a good minute; before he stared at Y/n like he had said something so painfully amusing.

“My darling,” Anton shook his head, “my dear. You will never stray from the divine path. You will find me. You will be helpless; you will knock on my door and you will beg for me.”

“No,” Y/n choked out, “I will not. I will kill myself before doing so.”

Anton looked fondly at Y/n. “You funny thing. I will bring you from the dead. You cannot run from me.”

The priest kissed Y/n for the last time; the (h/c)-haired male struggled viciously, but eventually slumped in the priest’s arms.

Anton smiled. Ah; yes, Y/n was his. Nothing could tear them apart; he was God; he commanded the will of the universe. He would wait. He would wait to purify him; to make him stronger; to make him holy…

To sanctify him.

**

so when you lean in close to his face, brush in hand, dabbing a precise line of highlighter along the sharp bridge of his nose, you don't think anything of it. you're way too focused on the task; the photoshoot for today is for a high-end fragrance campaign — something moody and black-and-white, all shadow and suggestion, which means satoru's makeup needs to be flawless, poreless, and almost inhumanly perfect.

you hum a little under your breath, a random tune you heard on the radio this morning, and you don't notice the way satoru’s breath catches. you don't notice how his long, pale fingers curl around the armrests of the chair, knuckles going white. you don't notice the way his ice-blue eyes, usually so aloof and unreadable in front of the camera, have softened into something dangerously close to adoration, tracking every micro-movement of your face.

you're beautiful. you have no idea you're beautiful. that's the second thing about you that drives him absolutely insane.

you're not model-pretty. god, no. model-pretty is sharp and angular and intimidating. you're something else entirely; you're warm, your skin has a healthy glow that doesn't come from highlighter, your hands are veined and strong but impossibly gentle, and when you're concentrating, you bite the inside of your cheek. it makes you look a little younger, softer, and satoru wants to kiss that little spot on your cheek so badly it's a physical ache in his chest.

"hold still," you murmur, not looking at him. "you're twitching."

your breath fans across satoru’s cheek, smelling faintly of coffee and mint.

"i'm not twitching," he lies, his voice a low, pleasant rumble. he's got a good voice for voiceovers, deep and honeyed, and he knows it. he uses it like a weapon. "you're just being fussy."

"i'm being thorough," you correct, dabbing a tiny bit of concealer under his eye.

the dark circles are almost nonexistent — the man sleeps like the dead when he's not working — but the photographer wanted a specific kind of hollowed-out, tortured-artist look. you think it's silly, but you're not paid to think; you're paid to make satoru look good.

you're also, secretly, paid to be close to him.

not in a weird way, not in the way a fan would be, but satoru has had four other makeup artists in the past two years, each hired by agencies or magazines when you weren't available. all of them were pretty good; technically proficient, efficient, professional, and all of them lasted exactly one day before satoru threw a tantrum that would make a toddler really proud, insisting that only you could do his makeup, that only you understood his face.

his manager, ijichi, had called you, sounding frazzled;

"he says your 'energy is non-negotiable'," ijichi had relayed, looking pained. "whatever that means."

you'd laughed it off, of course.

satoru is dramatic. satoru is a diva. but you'd shown up, packed your kit, and gotten back to work. because honestly… you missed him too. the other models are fine, but they're not satoru; they don't make you laugh between touch-ups, they don't bring you hot chocolate from the coffee cart without you asking, they don't look at you like you're the only person in the room, in the universe, who matters.

( well, you don't notice that last part. )

today's shoot is in a huge warehouse studio in shibuya, all exposed brick and polished concrete floors.

satoru's private dressing room is a small annex off the main floor, with a large mirror, a comfortable leather chair, and terrible overhead lighting that you've learned to work around. you've got your rolling cart of products next to you — brushes of every shape and size, powders, foundations — and you're so focused on perfecting the contour on satoru’s jawline that you don't hear the soft knock on the door.

satoru does, though. his eyes flick towards the door, and something in his expression hardens for a fraction of a second before smoothing back into pleasant neutrality.

the door opens, and a head pokes in; it's fushiguro toji.

toji is another model, a competitor in the same tier as satoru, though with a rougher, more masculine edge. where satoru is ethereal and untouchable, toji is all muscle and swagger, a little scar at the corner of his mouth that makes him look more dangerous. toji is also, unfortunately for satoru's blood pressure, an unrepentant flirt.

"hey," toji says, his voice a low drawl. he's not looking at satoru, he's looking at you. "didn't know you were working today."

you glance up, brush pausing, and you offer toji a small, friendly smile.

"oh, toji. hey. yeah, it’s just a quick gig. satoru's got the fragrance campaign."

"right, right."

toji steps further into the room, invading the space with his presence. he's wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans, his usual off-duty attire, and his hair is a little messy, like he just rolled out of bed. it looks good on him.

"you free after this? i'm doing a test shoot down the hall, and the makeup artist they booked is a nightmare. i could use someone who actually knows what they're doing."

your cheeks flush a little at the compliment.

"oh, i don't know. i'd have to check my schedule—"

"he's not free," satoru cuts in, his voice light, almost airy, but there's a thread of steel underneath.

satoru hasn't moved from his chair, he hasn't even opened his eyes fully, but there's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there a moment ago.

"he's with me all day. exclusivity clause."

you frown, turning to look at satoru.

"i don't have an exclusivity clause with you, satoru."

"you should," he says, finally opening his eyes. that brilliant, piercing blue fixes on toji, and for a moment, the room feels a little colder. "i pay better."

toji snorts, unimpressed.

"i'm sure you do."

toji looks back at you, and his gaze is appreciative, lingering on the curve of your neck, the line of your jaw. you're wearing a simple cream-colored sweater, sleeves pushed up to your elbows, and you're completely unaware of how the soft fabric drapes over your frame.

"think about it, yeah? i'll make it worth your while."

toji winks at you, and then he's gone, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

you simply shake your head, a little bewildered by what just happened, and turn back to satoru.

"weird guy," you comment, picking up your foundation brush again. "he's not usually that friendly."

satoru doesn't answer.

he's staring at the closed door, his jaw tight, his hands now gripping the armrests so hard the leather creaks. you notice the tension, finally, because it's impossible to miss; his whole body is rigid, coiled, like a spring about to snap.

"hey," you say, frowning. "you okay? you're all tense. i need you to relax your jaw or the contour will look weird."

satoru's gaze snaps to you, and for a second, just a second, you see something raw and hungry in the man’s expression, something that makes your stomach flip, a strange, unfamiliar heat pooling low in your belly. but then it's gone, smoothed over by that familiar, dazzling smile.

"sorry," satoru says, but he doesn't sound sorry at all; he sounds off. "just thinking."

"about what?" you ask, leaning in to blend the contour along his cheekbone.

you're close again, close enough to see the individual lashes framing satoru’s beautiful eyes, close enough to smell his cologne — something sweet and expensive, mixed with the clean scent of his shampoo.

"about how long i've been wanting to do something," satoru murmurs, so quietly you almost don't hear it.

your brush pauses. "what?"

satoru slowly reaches up, his long fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. it's not a harsh grip, it's almost tender, but it still stops you completely and holds you in place. satoru’s thumb brushes over the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, feeling your pulse jump.

"do you have any idea," he says, his voice low and deliberate, each word dropping like a stone into still water. "how hard it is to sit here, day after day, while you touch my face like it's nothing? while you smile at other men like fushiguro toji and offer them your time?"

your heart is doing something weird in your chest, a staccato rhythm that has nothing to do with caffeine.

"satoru, what are you talking about? i'm your makeup artist."

"exactly," he breathes, and the word is almost a sigh. his thumb is still stroking your wrist, slow and hypnotic. "you're my makeup artist. not his. not anyone else's. only mine."

satoru pulls you gently, guiding you to stand between his widely spread legs. you go, because you're too stunned to resist, your mind a blank slate of confusion and something else, something you don't want to name.

you're now face-to-face with him, close enough that your knees are brushing his thighs.

"i've been patient," satoru continues, his free hand coming up to rest on your hip, a warm and solid weight. "so fucking patient, you have no idea. i've dropped hints. i've flirted. i've literally sent you memes with the caption 'us' and you just sent back a thumbs-up emoji. a thumbs up, baby. do you know what that did to me?"

"i thought you were joking," you whisper, your voice coming out embarrassingly small. "you're always joking."

"i'm not joking now."

satoru’s blue eyes are so dark, no longer the bright, icy hue you're used to. they're the color of a deep winter sky, heavy with unshed snow.

"look at me. really look at me. and tell me you don't feel this."

he presses your palm flat against his chest, right over his heart; it's pounding a hard, frantic rhythm that matches your own. you can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, the firm muscle beneath. he's not just a pretty face. he's solid, real, and he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

"i—" you start, but your voice cracks.

you don't know what to say. you've never thought of him this way. you've never allowed yourself to think of him this way. he's satoru. your client. your friend. the boy who fell asleep in your chair all those years ago.

"you're beautiful," he says, and the word is reverent. "you don't even know. you walk around with your pretty face and your kind hands, and you have no idea what you do to me. every time you lean in, every time you bite your lip, every time you laugh at one of my stupid jokes—i fall a little more. and i am so. fucking. tired. of falling alone."

satoru’s hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you closer until you're standing flush between his thighs. you can feel the heat radiating off him, can smell his cologne more strongly now, can see the slight flush high on his cheekbones that you didn't put there with your brushes.

"satoru, you're a model," you manage, your voice a shaky whisper. "you could have anyone. why would you want—"

"don't," he interrupts, sharp and sudden. his fingers tighten on your wrist, just a fraction. "don't do that. don't pretend you're not exactly what i want. don't make this about anyone else."

satoru leans in, his forehead resting against yours. his breath fans across your parted lips, warm and sweet, and your eyes flutter closed instinctively.

"i've been good," he murmurs, the words a soft, desperate confession. "i've been so good. i've watched you. i've waited. i've let you be professional and friendly and completely oblivious. but then he came in here and looked at you like that, and i realized—i'm done waiting."

satoru’s lips brush the corner of your mouth, barely a touch, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"i need you to understand," satoru slowly whispers against your skin, "that you belong to me. you have for years. you just didn't know it yet."

you open your mouth to reply — and to say what? you have no idea — but he doesn't give you the chance.

satoru kisses you.

satoru kisses you, and it's the kiss of a man who has been starving for years and has finally been given permission to eat. his mouth is so hot and so demanding, slanting over yours, and his warm tongue sweeps along the seam of your lips, asking, begging, taking.

you gasp, and he swallows the sound, pulling you closer, one hand fisting in the soft fabric of your sweater at your back.

oh, you should push him away. you should remind him of professional boundaries, of the shoot in an hour, of the fact that you're employees, not lovers. but your body isn't listening to your brain. your hands, traitors that they are, come up to grip satoru’s shoulders, and you kiss him back.

it's clumsy and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues sliding. he tastes like mint gum and something uniquely him, something so addictive. satoru groans into your mouth when your fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, and the sound vibrates through you, settling low in your groin.

satoru pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead still pressed to yours, his lips swollen and wet. his eyes are blown wide, pupils completely dilated, the blue almost completely swallowed by pure black.

"fuck," he breathes, and it sounds like a prayer. "fuck, i've wanted to do that for so long."

you're trembling, and it’s an actual, full-body trembling; your knees feel embarrassingly weak, and if satoru weren't holding you, you might just slide to the floor.

"satoru, we can't—"

"we can," he insists, and there's no room for argument in his voice. it's a command, a decree. "we can, and we're going to. i'm going to take care of you. i'm going to show you exactly what you mean to me. and then, when i'm done, you're going to look in the mirror and see the marks i left on you, and you're never going to forget who you belong to."

satoru stands up, and because you're still pressed against him, you stumble back a step. he steadies you with hands on your hips, then guides you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the makeup table. the metal legs scrape against the concrete floor, and a few brushes clatter to the ground, but neither of you pays them any attention.

"lie back," satoru says, and it's not a request.

you hesitate for half a second, your mind screaming at you to stop, to think rationally, to remember the shoot. but then he looks at you — with that raw, desperate hunger — and all your resistance crumbles.

you lie back on the table.

it's cold and hard against your spine, but you barely notice; your entire awareness is focused on satoru, on the way he looms over you, all six-foot-something of lean muscle and sharp angles. he's beautiful. achingly, impossibly beautiful. and he's looking at you like he wants to devour all of you.

satoru brackets your body with his strong arms, leaning down to kiss you again.

this time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate; satoru takes his time, learning the shape of your mouth, the give of your lower lip between his teeth. he kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you gasp, your back arching off the table.

"so responsive," satoru murmurs against your skin, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "i wondered if you'd be like this. i've imagined it so many times. you, underneath me, falling apart because of me."

satoru’s huge hands are everywhere; one slides under your sweater, palm flat against your stomach, and his long fingers are cold, making your muscles jump. the other works at the button of your jeans, deft and impatient.

"is this okay?" satoru asks, pausing with his fingers hooked in your waistband.

his voice is still low, still so hungry to devour you completely, but there's a thread of genuine concern there, a check-in that makes your chest ache.

"yes," you breathe, because it's the truth.

it's terrifying and overwhelming and probably a terrible idea, but god, you want it. you want him.

satoru's whole body goes rigid above you — not with tension this time, but with something that feels like relief. his eyes, those ethereal deep blue eyes that have stared down cameras and conquered runways, are wide and almost vulnerable for a split second. then satoru’s mouth is on yours once again, and vulnerability burns away into something ravenous.

he kisses you like he's trying to memorize the shape of your lips by touch alone, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't hold on tight enough. satoru’s tongue slides against yours, wet and insistent, and you taste the faint bitterness of the coffee he drank this morning mixed with the sweetness of the lip balm you applied an hour ago.

it's dizzying; it's too much and not enough all at once.

your hands, still gripping his shoulders, feel the coiled strength in his muscles beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. he's not just lean and pretty — there's power there, the kind that comes from hours in the gym because his agency demands it, and you feel that power now in the way he cages you against the cold makeup table, in the way his thighs press against the outside of your legs, trapping you in place.

satoru pulls back just far enough to break the kiss, and a thin string of saliva connects both of your lips for a little moment before it slowly breaks. satoru stares down at you, chest heaving, and you watch his gaze travel across your face like he's seeing you for the first time.

"look at you," he murmurs, and his voice has dropped an octave, rougher now, almost gravelly. "already a mess and i've barely touched you."

you want to say something clever, something that proves you're not completely undone, but then satoru’s hand — the one that was resting on your stomach under your sweater — slides upward, dragging the fabric with it.

his fingers are cold against your heated skin, and you gasp as they brush over your nipple, not quite touching, just passing close enough to make you shiver.

"sensitive," satoru observes, and there's a smile in his voice now, something dark and pleased. "god, you're sensitive everywhere, aren't you? i've watched you for years, you know. i watched the way you shiver when someone touches your neck, the way you bite your lip when you're concentrating. i've imagined what sounds you'd make."

satoru’s hand keeps moving, pushing your sweater up until it bunches under your armpits, exposing your chest to the cool air of the dressing room. you're not built like him — you're softer, less sculpted — but the way satoru looks at you makes you feel like you're the one on the cover of a magazine.

"beautiful," he breathes, and the word is so sincere it makes your chest ache. "so fucking beautiful."

then satoru ducks his head and takes your nipple into his mouth, and coherent thought evaporates.

his tongue is hot and wet, circling the sensitive peak with a precision that speaks to experience, and his teeth graze the flesh just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain straight to your groin. you cry out — yeah, you actually cry out, a sound too loud for a semi-public space — and your back arches off the table, pressing yourself further into his mouth.

satoru hums against your skin, the vibration making you whimper, and his free hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of your jeans.

"shh," satoru murmurs against your chest, switching to the other nipple with the same devastating attention. "you have to be quiet, sweetheart. unless you want the whole studio to hear what i'm doing to you."

you bite your lip, hard enough to taste copper, and satoru looks up at you through his lashes.

his lips are wet, swollen from kissing and sucking, and his eyes are almost completely black now, the blue reduced to a thin ring around blown pupils.

"there you go," satoru says softly, and his long fingers start working at the button of your jeans. "such a good boy for me. always have been."

the button easily comes undone with a soft pop, and then the zipper, and satoru doesn't hesitate — he shoves his hand past the denim, past the elastic of your boxers, and wraps his fingers around your cock.

you gasp sharply, hips jerking upward into his grip, and satoru groans like he's the one being touched.

"fuck," satoru hisses, his forehead dropping pathetically to your shoulder. "you're so hard. you're—god, you're dripping, baby. is this all for me?"

you can't answer.

your brain has short-circuited, overwhelmed by the sensation of satoru’s hand — those long, elegant fingers that you've watched hold champagne glasses and sign autographs — wrapped around your most intimate part. his palm is warm and slightly rough, calloused in a way you didn't expect, and when he strokes slowly from base to tip, spreading the wetness that's already gathered there, you see constellations.

"answer me," satoru says, and his voice is soft but there's an edge to it, a command wrapped in honey.

he squeezes gently, just this side of too tight, and you moan.

"y-yes," you gasp, the word cracking in the middle. "yes, yes, it's—it's always been—"

you don't finish the sentence because you're not sure what you were going to say.

it's always been him? it's always been like this? both are true and neither captures the enormity of what you're feeling.

satoru lifts his head and kisses you once again, swallowing whatever sounds you were about to make. his warm tongue slides into your mouth at the same time his hand starts moving in earnest, stroking you with a steady, unforgiving rhythm that has you clawing at his shoulders, leaving red marks on his skin through his shirt.

he's everywhere — his mouth on yours, his hand on your cock, his body pressed against you from chest to hip, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against your bare thighs. you're pinned to the makeup table, completely at his mercy, and the helplessness of it makes you even harder.

"that's it," satoru whispers against your lips, his strokes never once faltering. "let me hear you. i want to hear every single sound you make."

you're already embarrassingly close, the pleasure building low in your belly like a coiled spring.

it's been sooo long since anyone touched you like this, and never — never like this, never with someone who looks at you like you're the center of their universe.

"satoru," you whimper, and his name has never sounded like this before; raw and desperate. "satoru, i'm going to—"

but satoru stops.

his hand goes still, still wrapped around you but no longer moving, and the sudden absence of friction is almost painful. you whine, high and needy, and your hips try to chase his hand, but he pulls back just enough to deny you.

"not yet," satoru says, and his voice is strained, like denying you is costing him something aswell. "not yet, sweetheart. i'm not done with you."

you want to cry. you want to beg.

but satoru is already shifting, sliding off the table and lowering himself to his knees between your spread legs, and the sight of him there — gojo satoru, the highest-paid model in asia, kneeling on a dirty concrete floor in his designer clothes — steals the breath from your lungs.

he looks up at you with those dark, hungry eyes, and then he pulls your jeans and boxers down your hips in one rough movement, freeing you completely. the cool air hits your flushed, leaking cock and you shudder.

"so pretty," satoru murmurs, and his voice is reverent now, almost worshipful.

he wraps his hand around you again, but satoru doesn't stroke; he simply holds you, watching the way your cock twitches desperately in his grip.

"i knew you'd be pretty. i knew it."

then he leans forward and licks a broad stripe from the base of your cock to the tip, and you lose the ability to form words.

satoru’s tongue is so hot and wet and impossibly soft, and when he reaches the head, he swirls around it, collecting the bead of precum that's gathered there. he hums, low in his throat, and the vibration makes your thighs tremble.

"you taste good," satoru says, like he's commenting on the weather, like this is completely normal. "sweet. i could get addicted to this."

then he takes you into his mouth, and the world narrows to nothing but heat and pressure and the obscene, wet sounds of satoru sucking your cock.

oh, and he's not gentle with it — he's eager, desperate, like he's been starving for this for years. satoru’s cheeks hollow as he sucks, and his tongue presses against the underside of your cock, and his hand cups your balls, rolling them gently in his palm. you're making sounds you've never heard yourself make before, high and broken, and your fingers tangle in his white hair, pulling without meaning to.

satoru moans around you, and the vibration shoots straight up your spine.

he pulls off with a wet pop, and a string of saliva connects his lips to the tip of your cock. satoru’s face is completely flushed, his lips swollen and slick, and there's a smear of your balm on his chin from earlier.

"look at me," satoru commands, and when you force your eyes open, he's staring at you with an intensity that pins you in place. "i want you to watch. i want you to see exactly who's making you fall apart."

then satoru takes you back into his mouth, deeper this time, until the tip of your cock hits the back of his throat. he doesn't gag — he just swallows around you, and the sensation is so overwhelming that you actually sob, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

satoru's hands grip your hips, holding you down against the table when your body tries to buck upward.

he sets a rhythm — deep, slow strokes of his mouth, his tongue curling around you on every retreat — and you can't look away. you watch satoru’s lips stretch around you, you watch his eyes flutter half-closed in pleasure, you watch the way his throat works when he swallows.

you're not going to last.

"s-satoru," you gasp, tugging at his hair. "satoru, p-please, i can't—i'm going to—"

he pulls off just enough to speak, his lips brushing the head of your cock with every word.

"do it," he says, and his voice is wrecked. "cum for me, baby. i want to taste you."

then satoru takes you deep again, and that's it.

your orgasm crashes over you, violent and all-consuming. your back bows off the table, your mouth opens in a silent scream, and you spill down satoru's throat in hot, pulsing bursts. he doesn't pull away — he swallows everything, moaning around you, his throat working to take every drop, and his hands grip your hips so hard you know there will be bruises tomorrow.

the pleasure goes on and on, drawn out by the way satoru keeps sucking your cock gently, coaxing every last bit from you until you're twitching and oversensitive, whining and pushing weakly at his head.

finally, finally, satoru pulls off.

his face is flushed, his lips are swollen, and there's a smear of your release on the corner of his mouth. he wipes it with his thumb and sucks it clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"fuck," satoru breathes, and then he laughs — a breathless, disbelieving sound. "fuck, you're perfect."

you can't move, and you can barely breathe; your entire body is trembling, and the makeup table is cold against your sweaty back, and you're pretty sure you just came harder than you have in your entire life.

satoru rises to his feet, his joints popping from kneeling too long, and he leans over you, bracing his hands on either side of your head. his weight settles over you, so warm and so solid, and the supermodel boy kisses you deeply, lazily, like you have all the time in the world.

you taste yourself on his tongue — salty and sharp — and the intimacy of it makes your head spin.

"we're not done," satoru murmurs against your lips, and your heart stutters. "i told you. i've been waiting years. one time isn't going to be enough."

his hips roll against yours, and you feel him — hard and thick through his jeans, pressing against your thigh — and a fresh wave of want curls through your exhausted body.

"i'm going to fuck you," satoru says, and the words are soft, almost gentle, which honestly makes them infinitely more dangerous. "i'm going to fuck you on this table, and then i'm going to carry you to that chair and fuck you there, and then maybe — if you're good — i'll let you rest before i take you home and fuck you in a real bed."

satoru’s hungry mouth trails down your jaw, your neck, biting and sucking marks into your sensitive skin that you'll have to cover with concealer later.

"but first," he says, pulling back to look at you with those dark, possessive eyes, "i need to hear you say it."

"say what?" you manage, your voice hoarse.

"that you're mine."

your heart pounds, your body aches, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that this is the point of no return; that once you say these words, you'll never be able to pretend this was just a mistake, just a moment of weakness.

but looking up at satoru — at his completely ruined makeup and his oh so desperate blue eyes and the way his huge hands shake slightly even as he tries to seem in control — you realize you simply don't want to pretend.

"i'm yours," you whisper.

satoru's smile is blinding.

"such a good boy," he says, and kisses you again.

you're still trembling when satoru's mouth claims yours once more, and this time the kiss is different — slower, deeper, less like a starving man finally being fed and more like someone savoring a meal they've waited years to taste. his lips are soft and insistent, moving against yours with a confidence that makes your head swim, and his tongue slides along your lower lip before dipping inside, tasting every corner of your mouth like he's memorizing the shape of you from the inside out.

your hands, shaky and uncertain at first, slowly find their way to satoru’s chest.

the fabric of his designer tshirt is really soft under your palms — some expensive blend you couldn't name if you tried — and you can feel the warmth of his skin through it, the firmness of the muscle beneath. satoru has always looked lean in photographs, all sharp angles and graceful lines, but up close like this, with him pressed against you from hip to chest, you realize how solid he actually is. his shoulders are broad under your hands, his pectorals defined in a way that isn't showy but definitely exists, and when your fingers curl into the fabric, bunching it around his collarbones, he makes a sound.

it's a small sound at first, a quiet exhale that ghosts across your cheek, but then you pull the shirt upward, exposing the smooth skin of satoru’s stomach, and the exhale becomes something else entirely.

satoru moans, low and almost embarrassing, and the sound vibrates against your lips and sends a shiver straight down your spine, because gojo satoru, the man who has millions of people screaming his name, is pathetically whimpering into your mouth simply because you're taking off his shirt.

"please," satoru breathes, and the word is so unexpected, so naked in its desperation, that your hands actually pause.

satoru never says please; satoru demands, satoru teases, satoru acts like the whole world exists to serve him. but here, with his designer shirt bunched around his neck and your palms flat against his bare ribs, the man is begging.

"please, baby, keep going. i need—i need you to touch me. i've wanted you to touch me for so long."

oh, well, you don't make him wait.

you push the shirt up over his chest, over his shoulders, and satoru has to break the kiss to pull it over his head, which means you get to watch him — the way his arms flex, the way his hair falls messily back into place, the way his chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths.

satoru is beautiful, of course he's beautiful, but it's a different kind of beautiful now, stripped of the carefully curated styling and the professional lighting.

there's a faint line across his stomach where the waistband of his jeans sits, and a small mole just below his left collarbone that you've never noticed before despite spending hours in his face every day. his skin is pale and smooth, dotted with barely-there freckles that you want to trace with your tongue.

so you do.

you lean forward, still on the cold makeup table, and press your mouth to that little mole. satoru shudders above you, his hands flying to your shoulders to steady himself, and when you drag your lips across his collarbone to the base of his throat, his fingers tighten almost painfully.

"fuck," he whispers, and his voice cracks in the middle of the word. "fuck, that's—your mouth, god—"

you don't really know what you're doing. you've never been with someone like satoru, someone who looks at you like you're the one doing him a favor by letting him touch you. but satoru’s reactions are so honest, so unfiltered, that you feel bolder than you have any right to feel.

your hands slide down his sides, feeling the dip of his waist, the flare of his hips, and every inch of skin you touch makes him shiver. when your thumbs brush against satoru’s nipples — soft, unpierced, surprisingly sensitive from the way he gasps — he makes a sound that's almost a whine.

"sensitive?" you ask, and your voice comes out rougher than you intended, hoarse from the way he kissed you.

satoru laughs, breathless and a little unsteady.

"shut up."

but satoru doesn't pull away when you do it again, dragging your thumbs in slow circles around the peaked buds, and his hips jerk forward instinctively, pressing his hardness against your thigh. even through the thick denim of his jeans, you can feel how much he wants this — the heat of him, the length of him, and your stomach does a slow, anxious flip because you're going to have to take that inside you.

well, not yet, though.

satoru pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes are almost completely black now, reduced to a ring around pupils that have swallowed everything else. his chest is heaving, his lips are swollen and slick, and there's a flush creeping down his neck that you've never seen on him before.

he looks wrecked, and you've barely done anything.

"you're so fucking beautiful," satoru says, and the words are rough, scraped raw. "lying there on the makeup table, looking at me like that. you have no idea what you do to me."

before you can respond — not that you have any words left — satoru hooks his hands behind your knees and pulls.

you slide across the table with a startled gasp, the cold surface shocking against your bare thighs, and then he's spreading your legs wide, stepping between them so there's nowhere for you to go. satoru’s hips press against the backs of your thighs, and even through both layers of clothing, you can feel how hard he is, and how desperate he is.

"i want to prep you properly," satoru says, and his voice is lower now, almost clinical despite the hunger in his eyes. "i'm not going to hurt you. i need you to tell me if anything feels wrong, okay? promise me."

you nod, because your throat feels too tight for words, but satoru shakes his head and cups your face with one warm palm, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"words, sweetheart. i need words."

"yes," you manage, and it comes out as barely a whisper. "yes, i promise. i'll tell you."

satoru's expression softens for just a moment, something tender flickering across his ethereal features before it's swallowed by want again.

he leans down and kisses you once more — quick, reassuring, a promise rather than a demand — and then he pulls back and looks down at where your bodies are pressed together.

"you already came once," he murmurs, almost to himself. "but i think you've got more for me, don't you, sweetheart? you've been so good, letting me touch you, letting me taste you. i want to use what you gave me to open you up. do you understand what i'm saying?"

your breath catches.

you understand, all right — the idea of your own release, still cooling on your stomach and smeared across satoru's chin, being used to prepare you for him — and it's so dirty, so intimate, that you feel heat rushing to your face.

"yeah," you say, and the word comes out strangled. "okay."

satoru smiles, slow and satisfied, and then he reaches down between your bodies.

his fingers find the mess you made earlier — the sticky, cooling evidence of your orgasm that's pooled in the hollow of your stomach and dripped down your hip — and he scoops it up with two long fingers, holding them up so you can both see the way it glistens in the dim dressing room light.

"look at that," satoru murmurs, almost reverent. "look what you gave me."

then… he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, slowly and deliberately, his hungry eyes never leaving yours. the sight makes something hot curl low in your belly, a fresh pulse of want that you didn't think you were capable of after coming as hard as you did.

"still tastes like you," satoru says, pulling his fingers out with a soft pop. "but i need more. i need your mouth to help me."

he doesn't wait for you to ask what the hell he means.

satoru brings his hand to your lips, pressing those two long fingers against your mouth, and you understand directly; you open obediently for him, letting him push his fingers past your lips, and you taste yourself again — salty and a little bitter, mixed with the lingering mint of satoru's gum and the faint metallic taste of your own skin.

you suck, because it seems like what satoru wants, and the moan he lets out is downright filthy.

"that's it," satoru breathes, watching your lips close around his fingers. "get them nice and wet for me, sweetheart. i'm going to use them to open you up, and i need you to be ready. i need you to be so ready for me."

so you suck harder, swirling your tongue around his knuckles, trying to coat every single inch of satoru’s hot skin with as much saliva as you can.

satoru watches with heavy-lidded eyes, his hips pressing against your thighs in involuntary thrusts, and you can feel the way his whole body trembles with the effort of holding back.

"enough," he finally says, pulling his fingers from your mouth.

they're slick and shining, coated in a mixture of your saliva and the remnants of your release, and satoru brings them down between your legs without hesitation.

you flinch when you feel satoru’s long fingers brush against your needy entrance — not from pain, just from the strangeness of it, the vulnerability of being touched there by someone else for the first time.

satoru notices immediately, his free hand coming up to rest on your hip, thumb stroking small circles against the bone.

"hey," he says softly, and his voice has lost some of its urgency, replaced by something gentler. "hey, look at me. we don't have to do anything you don't want to. we can stop right now, and i'll still be happy just because i got to kiss you. okay? you're in control here. not me."

the words settle something in your chest, some anxiety you didn't even know you were holding. satoru — commanding, possessive, i-belong-to-you satoru — is giving you an out, and the fact that he's offering makes you want this even more.

"i want to," you say, and your voice is steadier than you expected. "i want you to. just... go slow?"

satoru's answering smile is soft, almost boyish, so different from the sharp, smoldering looks he gives the camera.

"always slow. i've got you, baby. i'm not going to hurt you."

his finger — just one, just the tip — presses against your entrance, circling gently, spreading the slickness around the tight ring of muscle. the sensation is strange, unfamiliar, but not unpleasant; it's just wet and warm and present, a new kind of touch that makes your thighs tense involuntarily.

"relax for me," satoru murmurs, his thumb still stroking your hip. "breathe, baby. you're doing so good. just breathe."

you try. you take a shaky breath and force your muscles to unclench, and satoru rewards you by pressing a little deeper, the first knuckle of his finger slipping inside.

the feeling is — woah, it's a lot. it's pressure and fullness and something almost invasive, but satoru's hand on your hip is grounding, and his voice is a steady murmur of praise that keeps you from panicking.

"that's it," satoru says, his finger still, giving you the time to adjust. "see? you can take it. you're doing so good for me, sweetheart. so fucking good."

satoru waits until your breathing evens out, until your hips stop trying to squirm away, and then he pushes deeper. his finger slides all the way in, slow and careful, and you feel yourself clench around him involuntarily, your body unsure whether to push him out or pull him in.

"feel that?" satoru asks, and there's wonder in his voice, like he can't believe he's actually inside you. "feel how tight you are? god, baby, you're gonna feel so good around my cock."

the dirty words should make you uncomfortable, but instead they send a bolt of heat through you, and you feel yourself relax further, your body accepting the intrusion. satoru notices immediately — he notices everything, the little bastard — and he starts to move, pulling his finger almost all the way out before pushing it back in, slow and deep.

"t-toru," you gasp, and his name comes out broken, fractured.

"i know," he says, and there's something almost smug in his voice now, hidden under the tenderness. "i know, baby. just wait. wait until i add another one."

satoru does, eventually, once your body has stopped fighting the first finger.

he pulls out completely, coats his fingers again — this time with a fresh layer of saliva, leaning down to spit on them because the slickness from before has started to dry — and then he presses two fingers against your entrance.

this time, the stretch is real.

even with the preparation, even with the saliva and the remnants of your release, two fingers feel like so much more than one. you hiss through your teeth, your hands gripping the edges of the makeup table, and satoru pauses immediately, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"breathe," satoru reminds you, his voice muffled against your skin. "breathe through it, sweetheart. i've got you. i'm not going anywhere."

you breathe. you breathe and you focus on the weight of satoru's body above you, the warmth of his breath on your neck, the way his thumb is still stroking your hip in that steady, grounding rhythm.

slowly, the too-full feeling starts to fade, replaced by something that might be pleasure, if you let it.

"okay," you whisper. "okay, you can move."

satoru lifts his head and looks at you, and the expression on his face is so raw, so full of want and relief and something that looks terrifyingly like devoted love, that you have to look away. but satoru doesn't let you — he catches your chin with his free hand and turns your face back toward him, holding your gaze as he starts to move his fingers.

he goes slow at first, just shallow thrusts that barely push past the tight ring of muscle, but each time he goes a little deeper, a little faster, until he's fucking you open on his fingers with a steady, relentless rhythm.

the sound is truly obscene — wet and squelching, mingling with your breathless gasps and satoru's quiet groans — and the feeling is like nothing you've ever experienced in your whole life. it's pressure and fullness and heat, and somewhere deep inside, satoru's fingers brush against something that makes your whole body jolt.

"there," satoru says, and his voice is triumphant. "found it."

he presses against that spot again, deliberately this time, and you cry out — loud, too loud, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls of the dressing room. satoru shushes you with a kiss, swallowing your moans, but he doesn't stop pressing against that spot, he doesn't stop curling his fingers just right until you're seeing stars behind your closed eyelids.

"that's it," he murmurs against your lips. "that's it, sweetheart. let go for me. let me take care of you."

you're hard again — you don't even remember getting hard, but you're achingly erect, leaking against your stomach, and every thrust of satoru's fingers sends sparks of pleasure straight to your cock. you're babbling, saying things you don't remember thinking, begging for more, begging for him, and satoru just shushes you and keeps fingering you open with that steady, devastating rhythm.

"please," you hear yourself say, and you don't even know what you're begging for. "please, satoru, please, i need—"

"i know what you need," satoru says, and his voice is dark now, possessive. "you need me inside you. you need my cock stretching you open, filling you up. don't you, baby?"

"yes," you sob, because it's true, and you're too far gone to be embarrassed about it. "yes, please, i want—i want you to fuck me, satoru, please—"

satoru pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness makes you whimper. but he's already moving, fumbling with the button of his jeans, and the sound of his zipper lowering is the loudest thing you've ever heard.

"you're sure?" he asks, pausing with his jeans open, his cock straining against his boxers. "last chance to say no, baby. after this, i don't think i'm going to be able to stop."

you look at him — at his flushed face and his swollen lips and the desperate, hungry way he's looking at you — and you know, with absolute certainty, that you want this.

"i'm sure," you say. "fuck me, satoru. please."

the words barely leave your mouth before satoru is moving, and there's something almost frantic in the way he shoves his jeans down his hips. the denim catches on his thighs for a moment, and he makes a frustrated sound low in his throat, something between a growl and a groan, before he kicks them off the rest of the way. satoru’s boxers go with them, a tangle of black fabric pooling around his ankles, and then the man is standing between your spread legs, completely bare from the waist down, and you forget how to breathe.

because gojo satoru is beautiful everywhere, apparently. of course he is. why wouldn't he be?

his cock is — god, it's a lot.

it's long and thick, curving slightly upward, flushed a deep pink at the tip where a bead of precum has already gathered, glistening in the dim light of the dressing room.

you'd been so focused on the impossibility of this whole situation, on the weight of his fingers inside you and the heat of his mouth on your skin, that you hadn't really let yourself think about this moment. but now it's here, and satoru is stroking himself slowly, almost absently, spreading the slickness along his length, and you can't look away.

"see what you do to me?" satoru asks, and his voice is rough, scraped raw at the edges.

his eyes are fixed on your face, watching your reaction, and there's something vulnerable beneath the hunger, something that looks almost like fear.

"i've never—i don't—this is just you, baby. only you."

you want to say something reassuring, something that tells him you're not scared, that you want this just as much as he does, but your throat feels tight, and all that comes out is a shaky exhale, your hips shifting on the cold makeup table, an unconscious invitation.

satoru steps closer, his thighs pressing against the edge of the table, and the heat of him radiates against your bare skin.

he's so close now that you can easily feel satoru’s cock brushing against your inner thigh, so hot and so velvety soft despite how insanely hard he is, and the contrast makes your head spin. satoru’s hands find your hips again, those long fingers curling around the bone with a grip that's firm but not painful, and he pulls you toward him until the curve of your ass is flush against the edge of the table.

"i'm going to go slow," satoru says, and it sounds like he's reminding himself as much as he's telling you. his forehead drops to yours, and his breath is warm and uneven against your lips. "so slow, baby. i need you to tell me if it's too much. i need you to be honest with me, okay?"

you nod, because words still feel impossible, but satoru shakes his head slightly, his nose brushing against yours.

"words, sweetheart."

"okay," you manage, and your voice sounds strange to your own ears; breathless and high, stripped of any pretense. "okay, i'll tell you. i promise."

satoru kisses you then, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the way his hips are pressing forward, lining himself up against your entrance. you feel the head of his cock — huge, impossibly huge — nudging against that tight ring of muscle, and your whole body tenses in anticipation.

"shh," satoru murmurs against your lips, and one of his huge hands leaves your hip to softly cup your face, his thumb stroking along your cheekbone. "just breathe, baby. i've got you. i'm not going to hurt you."

he doesn't push inside yet.

instead, satoru rocks his hips gently, sliding his cock along your crack, letting the head catch against your entrance before slipping past, over and over, coating himself in the slickness that's still there from his fingers.

the sensation is maddening — the heat of him, the weight of him, the way he's so close but not quite there — and you find yourself pushing back against him, trying to take him inside.

"awh, so eager," satoru says, and there's a smile in his voice now, something fond and almost teasing. "you want it that bad, sweetheart?"

"yes," you gasp, because there's no point in lying, not when you're spread out on a makeup table with his cock sliding against your hole. "yes, please, satoru, i want—i need—"

"mhh. i already told you; i know what you need."

and then satoru pushes.

just the tip at first — just the very head of his cock, breaching that tight ring of muscle with a pressure that instantly makes your eyes water. it's been years since you've done this, and even then, you'd never taken anything this big. the stretch is immediate and overwhelming, a burning fullness that steals the breath from your lungs.

satoru stops forthwith, his whole body going rigid above you.

"breathe," satoru says, and his voice is so strained, like holding himself back is taking him every single ounce of his self-control. "breathe, baby. just breathe through it. you're doing so good. you're taking me so well."

you try to focus on satoru’s soft voice, on the warmth of his hand still gently cupping your face, on the way his thumb is stroking your cheek in slow, steady rhythms. you breathe — in through your nose, out through your mouth — and slowly, gradually, the burning starts to fade, replaced by something that feels almost like pleasure.

"okay," you whisper. "okay, you can—you can move."

satoru pushes deeper, another inch disappearing inside you, and this time the stretch is more manageable, still intense but no longer unbearable.

he's watching your face with an intensity that makes you feel seen in a way you've never felt before, his blue eyes searching for any sign of discomfort, any reason to stop.

"that's it," satoru murmurs, his hips pressing forward again, another inch. "that's it, sweetheart. you're taking me so well. you feel so good—god, you feel incredible—so tight and so warm, i could stay inside you forever."

you want to tell satoru that he feels incredible too, that the weight of him inside you is like nothing you've ever experienced, but the words simply won't come. instead, you just lie there, gasping, as satoru continues his slow, inexorable push, filling you inch by inch.

satoru pauses halfway, his forehead pressed to yours, both of them breathing hard.

you can feel him trembling, his muscles shaking with the effort of holding back, and something about that, about the fact that gojo satoru is barely keeping himself together, makes you feel powerful in a way you didn't expect.

"satoru—more," you say, and your voice is steadier now. "i can take more."

satoru groans, a low, desperate sound, and then he's pushing again, the last few inches of his huge cock sliding home until he's buried completely inside you, his hips flush against the backs of your thighs.

the feeling is… well, there aren't words for it.

it's fullness and heat and pressure, and you're so achingly full, stretched around satoru in a way that feels almost too much but also exactly right. you can feel every inch of him, you can feel the way his cock pulses inside you, you can feel the slight curve of it pressing against your walls.

satoru isn't moving yet; he's just lying there, his body covering yours, his face buried in the curve of your neck. his breath is hot against your skin, each exhale a shaky, uneven thing, and his hands are gripping your hips so hard you know there will be bruises there tomorrow.

"look at me," satoru says, and his voice is muffled against your neck. "please, baby. look at me."

you tilt your head back, and satoru lifts his face, and the expression you see there immediately makes your heart stutter in your chest.

satoru is looking at you like you're the most precious thing in the entire world; like you're the answer to every question he's ever asked, the solution to every problem he's ever had. there's no trace of the cocky, untouchable supermodel in his gaze — just a man, just satoru, looking at you with an adoration so raw and so real that it makes your chest ache.

"i've got you," satoru says softly, and his voice cracks in the middle of the words. "i've got you, sweetheart. you're mine. you're finally mine."

then he starts to move.

slow at first, just a gentle rocking of his hips, barely pulling out before pushing back in. the sensation is overwhelming, your body still adjusting to the size of him, and every small movement sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.

satoru watches your face like he's cataloging every expression, every twitch, every bitten-off moan, and he adjusts his angle based on what he sees, tilting his hips just slightly until—

"there," you gasp, your back arching off the table. "right there, satoru, please—"

"yeah?" he asks, and there's a note of triumph in his voice, buried under the tenderness. "that the spot, sweetheart? that where you need me?"

he thrusts again, hitting that same spot, and you cry out, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders. he's still going slow, still careful, but each thrust is a little deeper, a little harder, and you can feel yourself opening up for him, your body finally accepting what it had been resisting.

"you're doing so good," satoru murmurs, punctuating each word with a thrust. "taking me so well, sweetheart. feels like you were made for this. made for me."

satoru leans down and kisses you, and it's so messy and so desperate and so perfect. his tongue slides against yours as his hips pick up speed, the thrusts becoming longer, smoother, the initial resistance gone. the makeup table creaks beneath you, the metal legs scraping against the concrete floor, but neither of you cares.

all that matters is the heat of his body and the weight of his cock and the way he's looking at you like you're everything.

"faster," you beg, because you're past caring about pride or dignity or any of it. "p-please, satoru, i need—i need you to —"

"faster?" he asks, and there's a smirk in his voice now, even as his eyes remain soft. "you want me to fuck you faster, baby? you think you can take it?"

"yes," you gasp. "yes, please, i can take it, i want it, i want—"

satoru doesn't make you wait.

he pulls back until just the tip is inside you, and then he slams forward, burying himself to the hilt in one sharp, brutal thrust. the sound you make is something between a scream and a sob, and your whole body convulses around him, your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood.

"there you go," satoru groans, and his composure is cracking, his voice rough and dark. "there you go, sweetheart. that's what you wanted, isn't it? you wanted me to fuck you properly. to stop being so careful and just take what's mine."

he sets a rhythm then; deep, hard, punishing thrusts that drive the breath from your lungs.

the makeup table is sliding across the floor with every impact, and you can hear things falling off it — brushes, palettes, a glass bottle of setting spray that shatters somewhere behind you — but you can't bring yourself to care. all you can do is hold on, your legs wrapped around satoru's waist, your hands fisted in his hair, as he pounds into you like he's trying to carve out a space inside you that belongs only to him.

"look at you," satoru says, and his voice is wrecked, broken into pieces. "look at you, taking all of me. you're so beautiful like this. so fucking beautiful. i've dreamed about this—about you—every single night for years."

satoru is not exaggerating.

you can see it in his eyes, you can feel it in the way his hands are shaking even as they grip your hips, you can hear it in the desperate edge of his voice. this isn't just sex for him — it never was. this is something deeper, something that's been building since the very beginning, and now that it's finally happening, he's barely holding himself together.

you lean up and kiss him, and it's clumsy and off-rhythm because he's still thrusting into you, but neither of you cares. you kiss satoru and you taste salt — tears, maybe yours, maybe his — and you hold him as close as you can, your arms wrapped around his neck.

"i'm yours," you whisper against his lips. "i'm yours, satoru. i'm not going anywhere."

satoru makes a sound — a broken, desperate sound that's almost a sob — and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, and his hips are slamming into yours with a ferocity that borders on desperate.

the pleasure is building now, coiling low in your belly, and you know you're not going to last much longer.

"m’close," you gasp, pulling your mouth from his. "satoru, i'm close—"

"not yet," he says, and the words are a command, even as his voice shakes. "not yet, baby. hold on for me. i want you to cum when i tell you to."

you whimper, because it feels impossible, the pressure building inside you with every thrust, but you try; you try to hold back, to focus on anything other than the way his cock is hitting that spot inside you with every stroke.

satoru's hand wraps around your cock — you didn't even notice him reaching down — and he starts stroking you in time with his desperate thrusts, and that's it.; that's the very end of your resistance.

"please," you beg, your voice cracking. "p-please, satoru, i can't—i can't hold it—"

"look at me," he says, and his voice is soft now, gentle, even as his hips keep moving. "look at me, sweetheart. i want to see your face when you cum."

you force your eyes open, and satoru is staring down at you with that expression again; that terrifying adoring, reverent, i-would-burn-down-the-world-for-you expression, and it's too much. it's all way too much.

"now," satoru says, and his voice is barely a whisper. "cum for me, sweetheart."

oh, you certainly do.

your orgasm overtakes you completely, violent and all-consuming, and you don't even have the breath to scream. your mouth opens, but no sound comes out, just a silent, gasping sob as you spill over satoru's hand, your release painting both of your stomachs in hot, pulsing stripes.

your body clenches around satoru's cock — once, twice, three times — and that's what pushes him over the edge.

he groans, low and guttural, and you feel him pulse inside you, feel the heat of his release filling you up, deep and hot and seemingly endless. his hips stutter against yours, grinding in small circles as he rides out his orgasm, and he's saying something — your name, over and over, mixed with words that might be i love you or might be just sounds, you can't tell.

for a long moment, neither of you moves.

satoru is still buried inside you, his body completely covering yours, his pretty face pressed into the curve of your neck. his breath is warm and uneven against your skin, and you can feel his heart pounding against your chest, a frantic rhythm that slowly, slowly begins to steady.

the makeup table is cold beneath you, the shattered glass from the setting spray digging into your back, and you're going to be sore tomorrow in ways you can't even imagine. but right now, with satoru's weight on top of you and his warmth seeping into your bones, you can't bring yourself to care.

satoru lifts his head, and his eyes are red-rimmed, his lashes wet. his makeup is completely ruined by now — highlighter wiped away, lipstick kissed off entirely. he looks wrecked, and beautiful, and so unbearably drunk that your heart aches.

"holy fucking shit," satoru says, and his voice is hoarse and rough and perfect.

you laugh.

it's a small, breathless thing at first, more exhale than sound, but then it grows, bubbling up from somewhere deep in your chest, because yeah — holy fucking shit.

what else is there to say? your body is still trembling, still pulsing around him in tiny aftershocks, and satoru’s cock is still buried inside you, softening slowly but not gone yet. the cold of the makeup table is seeping through your back, and there's shattered glass somewhere behind your shoulder, and gojo satoru — the gojo satoru, the one whose face launches a thousand magazine covers — is looking at you like you've hung the moon with your own two bare hands.

so you laugh, and it's shaky and disbelieving and maybe a little hysterical, but it's real.

satoru's eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his own mouth curves into something soft and wondering, like he's never heard you laugh before even though he's heard it a thousand times over the past years. but this is different, and you both know it; this is after.

"there you are," satoru whispers, and his thumb traces along your cheekbone, softly wiping away a tear you didn't know you'd shed. "there's my boy."

satoru leans in and kisses you again, and this kiss is nothing like the desperate, hungry ones from before; this one is slow and savoring, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache all over again.

his tongue slips past your teeth lazily, like he has all the time in the world, like there isn't a photoshoot waiting and a shattered bottle of setting spray drying sticky on the floor. you melt into him, your fingers curling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, and you feel him smile against your mouth.

"i'm not done with you," satoru murmurs, and the words vibrate against your lips. "i told you. i'm going to fuck you on that chair, remember?"

you do remember.

you remember him saying it, his voice soft and dangerous, and you'd thought it was just talk, just the heat of the moment. but satoru is already pulling back, already wrapping your legs around his hips, and the movement shifts his cock inside you, still half-hard, and you gasp at the sensation.

"hold on," satoru says, and then he's standing.

he lifts you like you weigh nothing — and you're not small, you're not light, but satoru is all lean muscle and core strength from years of posing and gym routines, and he handles you like you're made of feathers. your legs lock around his waist automatically, your arms tightening around his neck, and his cock slips out of you as he stands, leaving you suddenly completely empty and aching.

you whine at the loss, high and needy, and satoru shushes you with a kiss to your temple.

"patience, sweetheart. i've got you."

the walk to the makeup chair is only a few steps, but it feels like an eternity. satoru's hands are splayed across your bare ass, fingers dimpling the flesh, and every step jostles you against him, his half-hard cock pressing against your thigh.

you can feel satoru’s release — yours too, probably — sliding down the inside of your leg, warm and sticky, and the sheer filth of it makes your face burn.

satoru lowers himself into the chair, the leather creaking under his weight, and you settle onto his lap without needing to be told. your knees bracket satoru’s hips, your hands rest on his shoulders, and you're face to face again, close enough to count the individual lashes framing those ethereal blue eyes.

the chair is much more comfortable than the table, but that's not why you sigh. you sigh because satoru's hands are running up and down your sides, warm and grounding, and because satoru is once again looking at you like you're the only thing in the room that exists.

"there," he says softly. "that's better, isn't it?"

you nod, because words still feel heavy and clumsy. but satoru wants words — he's made that clear many times — so you clear your throat and try.

"yeah," you manage. "yeah, it's—it's better."

satoru's smile is slow and satisfied, and his hips shift beneath you, his cock twitching against your stomach.

he's getting hard again, you realize, or maybe he never really went soft. maybe he's just been waiting, patient and wanting, for you to catch your breath.

"remember what i said?" satoru asks, and his voice has dropped back into that low, honeyed register, the one he uses when he's about to get exactly what he wants. "i said i was going to fuck you on this chair. but i think—" he pauses, his hands sliding from your sides to your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there. "i think i want you to do all the work this time, sweetheart."

your heart stutters.

"what do you mean?"

satoru's grin is sharp and bright and just a little bit wicked.

"i mean you're going to ride me, sweetheart. you're going to sink down on my cock and fuck yourself on it until you can't move anymore. and then—" satoru leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot and damp. "and then i'm going to take over and finish us both."

a shiver runs down your spine, settling low in your belly, and your cock, which had only just started to soften a little , gives an interested twitch.

"i—i don't know if i can," you admit, and your voice comes out smaller than you intended. "you're so—satoru, you're so big, and i'm already—"

"you can," satoru interrupts, and his voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. "you already took all of me once, sweetheart. you can do it again. and i'll help you. i'm not going to let you fall."

satoru’s hands guide your hips, shifting you forward until his cock — fully hard now, thick and flushed and curving up toward his stomach — presses against your entrance. the head nudges teasingly against you, still slick from before, and you softly gasp at the contact.

"there you go," satoru murmurs, his eyes fixed on where your bodies are about to meet once again. "just like that. take your time. i've waited years for this, remember? i can wait a few more minutes."

you want to tell him that you're not sure you can wait, that the ache inside you is already building again, that the pressure of him against your hole is driving you slowly insane, but instead of speaking, you just bite your lip and sink down.

just the tip at first, because even after everything, even after satoru’s fingers and satoru’s cock stretching you open on the makeup table, the initial breach still steals your breath. his hands are steady on your hips, not pushing, just holding, and his eyes are soft with encouragement.

"that's it," he breathes. "that's it, sweetheart. you're doing so good. just a little more."

you take another inch, then another, the stretch burning in a way that's already starting to blur into pleasure. your thighs are shaking with the effort of lowering yourself slowly, and your hands grip satoru's shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

"fuck," you whisper, and the word comes out strangled. "fuck, satoru, you're so—you're so deep—"

"not yet," he says, and there's a smile in his voice. "not all the way. but you're getting there, baby. you're taking me so well."

you sink down another inch, and another, until finally your ass meets satoru’s thighs and you're seated fully on his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

the sensation is overwhelming, just like before, but different too. on the table, you'd been lying down, passive, letting him take control. here, straddling him, you feel every inch of him in a new way, the angle different, the weight of your own body pressing down and driving him even deeper.

satoru's head falls back against the chair, his eyes fluttering closed, and a pathetic sound escapes his lips — low and guttural, almost pained.

"oh my god," he says, and his voice cracks. "oh my god, you feel—you're so tight, baby, i can't—"

satoru can't finish the sentence, and somehow that's the hottest thing you've ever heard. gojo satoru, pathetically reduced to fragments, because of you.

you start to move.

it's tentative at first, just a small rise and fall of your hips, an experimental lift that pulls satoru almost all the way out before you sink back down. the drag of him against your sensitive walls makes you moan, loud and obscene, and satoru's hands fly to your waist, gripping tight.

"yes," satoru hisses. "yes, just like that. fuck yourself on me, sweetheart. show me how much you want it."

so you do.

you find a rhythm, slow and deep, rising until just the head of satoru’s cock remains inside before dropping back down, taking all of him in one smooth movement. it's not graceful; your thighs are already burning, and your movements are a little unsteady, but satoru doesn't seem to care.

his eyes are open now, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle, and his mouth is parted, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"look at you," satoru murmurs, and his voice is thick with wonder. "look at you riding me like you were made for it. you're so beautiful, baby. so fucking beautiful."

his praise wraps around you like a second skin, warm and encouraging, and you find yourself moving faster, chasing the pleasure that's building low in your belly.

each time you sink down, satoru’s cock hits that spot inside you — that perfect, devastating spot — and you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"there," satoru says, and his voice is darker now, edged with something far more hungry. "there it is. keep going, sweetheart. don't fucking stop."

you don't stop. you can't stop. your body is moving on its own now, rising and falling, rising and falling, again and again, and the sound of it — the wet, slick sound of you taking him over and over — fills the small dressing room.

satoru's hands are all over you, sliding up your chest, pinching your nipples, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. his mouth finds your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder, biting and sucking marks into your skin that you'll have to hide later.

"you're mine," satoru says against your throat, the words vibrating through you. "everyone's going to see these marks and know you're mine."

you want to tell him that you don't care who sees, that you'd walk out of this room right now with his bruises painted across your skin and dare anyone to say a word. but you can't form sentences anymore, can't do anything but feel the heat of him inside you, the drag of his cock, the press of his mouth, the way his hands are shaking even as they hold you steady.

but then your thighs start to burn in earnest, the muscles screaming with fatigue, and your rhythm falters.

you try to keep going, you try to push through, but your body simply won't cooperate; your movements become more jerky, uneven, and you whine in frustration, your forehead dropping to satoru's shoulder.

"c-can't," you gasp. "satoru, i can't—i can't move anymore, it's too much—"

satoru's hands tighten on your hips, stilling you.

"shh," he says softly, and his lips press against your temple. "i've got you, baby. i told you, didn't i? i said i'd let you ride me until you couldn't move anymore, and then i'd take over."

you nod against satoru’s shoulder, way too tired to speak, way too overwhelmed to do anything but cling to him.

"look at me," satoru says, and you lift your head, meeting satoru’s blue eyes.

they're dark again, the blue almost swallowed by black, and there's something in them that makes your stomach flip — not hunger, exactly, or not just hunger. but something deeper, something that looks like reverence.

"hold on," he says, and then he moves.

satoru plants his feet on the floor, braces his hands on the armrests of the chair, and thrusts up into you.

the force of it punches the air from your lungs, your body bouncing on his lap, and you would have fallen backwards if satoru’s hands weren't already there, one on your lower back, one cupping the back of your head. satoru holds you close, your chest pressed against his, as he fucks up into you with deep, punishing strokes.

"yes," you hear yourself sob, the word torn from somewhere raw and primal. "yes, yes, yes—"

satoru doesn't answer with words. he answers with his body, with the relentless rhythm of his hips, with the way he drives into you again and again and again. the chair creaks beneath them, the leather squeaking in protest, and somewhere in the back of your mind you're vaguely aware that someone might hear, that someone might come knocking, but right now, you can't bring yourself to give a fuck.

all that matters is him. all that matters is the way he fills you, the way his cock stretches you open, the way his breath is hot and uneven against your cheek.

"you feel so good," satoru grunts, and his voice is wrecked, shattered. "so fucking good, baby. i'm never going to get enough of you. never."

you're crying, you realize distantly. tears are streaming down your cheeks, not from sadness but from sheer overwhelming sensation — the pleasure so intense it's crossed over into something almost painful, something that makes your whole body shake and your vision blur.

satoru notices immediately.

"hey," he says softly, and his thrusts slow, but don't stop. "hey, sweetheart, look at me. are you okay?"

you nod, because you are, you're more than okay, you're flying apart and he's the only thing holding you together.

"it's just—" you try to explain, but the words won't come. "it's so much, satoru. it's so good, i can't—"

"awh, i know," satoru says, and he kisses the tears from your cheeks, his lips warm and gentle despite the way his hips are still moving, still driving into you. "i know, sweetheart. you're doing so well. you're taking me so well. just a little more, okay? can you give me a little more?"

you nod again, because you'd give him anything. you'd give him anything at all.

satoru's hand slides between your bodies, wrapping around your cock, and you sob at the contact. you're already so close, the pressure building and building, and his hand on you is going to push you over the edge.

"cum with me," satoru says, and his voice is desperate now, pleading. "please, baby, cum with me. i want to feel you—i want to feel you around me when i—"

he doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to.

you can feel satoru getting close, his thrusts becoming erratic, his cock swelling deep inside you. your own orgasm is right there, hovering just out of reach, and satoru's hand strokes you once, twice, three times—

and then you're falling.

your orgasm crashes over you, violent and consuming, and you cry out again — a broken, ragged sound that echoes off the concrete walls. you spill over satoru's hand, over his stomach, over your own chest, and your body clenches around him, gripping him tight.

that's all it takes.

satoru groans, low and guttural, and you feel him pulse inside you, you feel the hot rush of his seed filling you up. his hips stutter against yours, grinding deep, and he holds you there, buried to the hilt, as he empties himself into you.

it seems to go on forever, wave after wave, and by the time he finally stills, you're both trembling, both gasping for air, both completely undone.

satoru's forehead is pressed to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. his hands are still on you — one on your hip, one cupping the back of your neck — and his thumbs are stroking small, absent circles against your skin. you can feel satoru’s heart pounding against yours, a frantic rhythm that matches your own, and you can feel the evidence of what you've just done leaking out of you, so warm and wet, dripping down onto his thighs.

"woah," satoru whispers, and his voice is soft, almost shy.

satoru smiles — not the sharp, camera-ready smile, but something smaller and way more vulnerable, something that crinkles the corners of his beautiful eyes and makes him look so freaking prepossessing.

for a long moment, neither of you moves.

satoru is still inside you, softening now but not gone, and the weight of him is warm and grounding in a way you didn't expect. his forehead is pressed against yours, and every time he exhales, his breath fans across your lips, smelling faintly of mint and something sweeter underneath.

your legs are still shakily wrapped around satoru’s waist, your arms still looped around his neck, and you're acutely aware of every single place where your bodies touch — his chest against yours, his hands splayed across your lower back, his thighs warm beneath your own.

the dressing room is quiet now, save for the sound of both of you breathing, slowly returning to something that resembles normal. somewhere behind you, the shattered glass from the setting spray bottle crunches softly as satoru shifts in the chair, and you make a mental note to apologize to whoever has to clean that up later.

but later feels impossibly far away right now.

right now, there's only this; satoru's heartbeat against your chest, the stickiness cooling on your stomach, the way his thumb is tracing small, absent patterns on your hip.

"hey," satoru says after a while, and his voice is still soft, still a little wonderstruck. "you're crying."

you slowly blink, and sure enough, your cheeks are damp. you hadn't even noticed.

"i'm not crying," you say, but it comes out thick, and satoru's smile widens, fond and a little teasing.

"okay," satoru says, easily, like the man is humoring you right now. "you're not crying. you're just... leaking from your eyes. very different thing."

you laugh despite yourself, a wet, shaky sound, and satoru's hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer even though there's no space left to close.

satoru’s swollen lips find the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the spot just below your eye where a tear has escaped. he kisses it away, soft and deliberate, and the tenderness of the gesture makes your chest ache in a completely different way than before.

"you're so stupid," you whisper, but there's no heat in it; just exhaustion and something that feels terrifyingly close to love.

"mmh," satoru agrees, kissing your other cheek, then the tip of your nose, then your forehead. "your stupid, though. that's the very important part."

he keeps kissing you — little pecks, soft and unhurried, scattered across your face like he's trying to memorize the topography of you; the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the spot behind your ear that makes you shiver. none of these kisses are demanding or hungry. they're just so... gentle. reverent, almost. like satoru is trying to tell you something he doesn't have the words for yet.

you let him.

you sit there in his lap, still connected in the most intimate way possible, and you let satoru cover your face with soft, sweet kisses until your tears have dried and your breathing has evened out and the trembling in your limbs has finally completely stopped.

"we're a complete mess," you observe eventually, looking down at both of you.

and it's true — satoru's chest is streaked with your release, and there's a smudge of ruined highlighter on his collarbone, and his white hair looks like someone stuck a finger in an electrical socket. you're not much better; your sweater is bunched around your armpits, your jeans are somewhere on the floor, and you can feel satoru's release leaking out of you, warm and slick against your thighs.

satoru follows your gaze and snorts.

"yeah. a hot mess, though. important distinction."

he shifts beneath you, and you both wince slightly as his softening cock slips out of you. the sudden emptiness makes you feel strangely hollow, and you can't quite suppress the small, unhappy sound that escapes your throat.

satoru notices, and his hands immediately start rubbing slow circles on your lower back.

"i know," he murmurs. "i know, baby. hold on. let me take care of you, okay? just stay there. don't move."

as if you could move.

your legs feel like jelly, and your entire body is humming with a bone-deep exhaustion that makes the idea of standing up feel genuinely impossible. so you stay put, draped across satoru's lap like a very content, very ruined cat, while he looks around the dressing room with an expression of mild consternation.

"okay," satoru says slowly, cataloging his surroundings. "okay. towels. there should be towels somewhere. or wipes. or—no, wait, i have a thing."

he shifts you carefully, one arm wrapped securely around your waist to keep you from toppling off his lap, and leans over to rummage through the drawer of the makeup table. you cling to satoru instinctively, your face buried in the crook of his neck, and you feel him press a quick kiss to your hair before returning his attention to the drawer.

"haha!" satoru says triumphantly, and pulls out a package of makeup remover wipes.

they're not exactly designed for... this. but they're wet and they're clean, and right now, that's all that matters.

satoru pulls one out and immediately starts cleaning his own chest, wiping away the streaks of your release with efficient, practiced movements. but after a few seconds, he pauses, looks down at you, and seems to reconsider his priorities.

"actually," he says, balling up the used wipe and tossing it vaguely in the direction of the trash can (he misses). "you first. you're more important."

satoru pulls out a fresh wipe and gently, so gently, starts cleaning your stomach.

the wipe is cold against your overheated skin, and you flinch slightly at the contact. satoru notices immediately, his hand stilling, his eyes flicking up to your face.

"cold?" he asks.

"a little," you admit.

satoru makes a sympathetic noise and presses a kiss to your shoulder before continuing, but this time he's more careful, dabbing rather than wiping, letting the fabric warm against your skin before he moves it. he cleans the mess from your stomach first — your own release, tacky and cooling — and then works his way down, shifting you slightly so he can reach the mess between your thighs.

this part is more intimate than the sex was, somehow.

satoru is so careful, so focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he cleans the evidence of their joining from your skin. his touch is gentle and clinical, but also tender, and every few seconds he pauses to press a kiss to your knee or your hip or the inside of your thigh.

"you're being so good," satoru murmurs, more to himself than to you. "so still. so patient."

you want to tell him that you're not being patient, you're just too tired to move, but the words won't come.

instead, you just watch him — you watch the way satoru’s long fingers move, you watch the way his lips twitch into a small smile every time you shiver, you watch the way his eyes soften every time they meet yours.

when he's finished cleaning you, satoru carefully sets the wipe aside and reaches for another one.

this time, satoru cleans himself — his thighs, his stomach, the softening curve of his cock — with quick efficient movements. but even then, satoru keeps one hand on you, a steady warmth against your hip, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go completely.

"okay," satoru says when he's done, surveying his work. "not my best cleanup, but it'll do until we can get you home and into an actual shower."

home. satoru said home. like it's a given that you're going home together. like there's no question of you leaving, of this being a one-time thing.

your heart does something complicated in your chest.

satoru must see something shift in your expression, because his teasing smile fades into something softer, more uncertain. his hands come up to cup your face, his thumbs stroking along your cheekbones, and he tilts your head up so he can look you directly in the eyes.

"hey," satoru says quietly. "talk to me. what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

you swallow hard.

"you said home."

satoru blinks. "yeah. my place. i mean, unless you want to go to yours? but my bed is bigger, and i have that fancy shower with the multiple heads, and—"

"no, i mean—" you pause, trying to find the words. "you said home like it was obvious. like i'm coming with you."

satoru stares at you for a long moment, and then, slowly, incredulously, he laughs.

"baby," he says, and the word is so fond it almost hurts. "baby, i just spent the better part of an hour making love to you on my makeup table and then on my chair. i've been in love with you for years. where else would you be going?"

you open your mouth, close it, and open it again.

"wait," you say. "in love with me? for years?"

satoru's expression shifts into something almost shy, which is a look you've never seen on him since he was a teenagers. his ears go pink, and he ducks his head slightly, his thumbs still stroking your cheeks.

"yeah," he admits, his voice smaller than you've ever heard it. "i know. it's pathetic. i'm pathetic. i've had photo shoots in paris and milan and new york, and all i could think about was coming back to tokyo so i could sit in your chair and have you touch my face. i've turned down other makeup artists — good ones — because no one else's hands feel like yours. no one else looks at me like i'm just a person instead of... instead of whatever the world thinks i am."

your throat feels tight. "satoru—"

"please, let me finish," he says softly, and there's something vulnerable in his voice, something raw and unguarded. "i'm in love with you. i have been for so long i don't remember what it felt like before. and i know this is fast, and i know we just—i mean, we literally just—but i couldn't let you leave this room without knowing. i couldn't go back to pretending that you're just my makeup artist, that i don't spend every second you're near me trying not to stare at your mouth."

you're crying again. you didn't realize it, but you're crying, and satoru is wiping your tears away with his thumbs, his expression a mix of concern and tenderness.

"hey," he says, his voice gentle. "hey, it's okay. you don't have to say it back. i just needed you to know."

"you're an idiot," you manage, your voice cracking. "you're such an idiot, satoru."

his smile wavers slightly.

"that's... not the reaction i was hoping for, but okay."

"no, i mean—" you grab his wrists, holding his hands against your face. "i thought you were straight. i thought you were straight this whole time. i've been doing your makeup for years and i never—i didn't let myself think about you that way because i assumed you weren't—"

satoru's expression shifts from vulnerable to bewildered to absolutely incredulous in the span of about two seconds.

"you thought i was straight?" he repeats, his voice climbing an octave. "you thought i was straight?"

"you've never said otherwise!" you protest. "you've had girlfriends before! there were magazine covers with models hanging off you!"

"those were for publicity!" satoru's hands drop from your face to gesture wildly, narrowly missing your head. "those were contracts! do you know how many times i've tried to ask you out? how many hints i've dropped? i sent you a meme of two guys holding hands with the caption 'us' and you sent back a thumbs up! a thumbs up!"

"i thought you were joking!"

"i literally bought you flowers once! roses! red roses!"

"you said they were from a brand deal!"

"they were not from a brand deal!" satoru looks genuinely aggrieved now, his mouth hanging open. "i went to a florist and everything. i stood there for twenty minutes trying to pick out the perfect bouquet. the florist asked if they were for my girlfriend and i said no, for a boy i've been in love with for years, and she literally gave me a discount because she felt bad for me!"

you stare at him. satoru stares back, chest heaving slightly, his hair a complete disaster and his face still flushed from everything that just happened.

"you're serious," you say slowly.

"i have never been more serious about anything in my entire life," satoru says, and his voice cracks on the last word. "i am so serious it's embarrassing. i am so serious that ijichi knows. my manager knows i'm in love with you, and he's never even met you properly. he just knows because i won't shut up about you. because i literally cannot shut up about you."

you don't know what to say.

your brain feels like it's short-circuited, trying to reconcile the satoru in front of you — rumpled and wrecked and so painfully earnest — with the satoru you've known for long years, the one who always seemed untouchable, unattainable, fundamentally out of your league.

"i thought you were just being nice," you finally say, and your voice is small. "i thought you were just... friendly. models are friendly. it's part of the job."

satoru makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and he pulls you forward, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck.

"i am not that good of an actor," satoru says, muffled against your skin. "i am literally the worst actor. have you seen my commercials? i'm terrible. the only reason i book jobs is because of my face. my face and my absolute inability to pretend i don't want to climb you like a tree every time you walk into the room."

you laugh despite yourself, your hands coming up to card through his messy white hair.

"you're so dramatic."

"i'm in love," he corrects, pulling back just enough to look at you. his eyes are so blue, even now. "there's a difference."

something warm blooms in your chest, something that feels like hope and terror and joy all tangled together.

"i'm in love with you too," you admit, and the words come out shaky but true. "i didn't know i was. or maybe i did and i just wouldn't let myself think about it. but i am. i'm in love with you, you ridiculous, beautiful, emotionally constipated man."

satoru's smile is blinding. he kisses you again, soft and sweet, and when he pulls back, his eyes are suspiciously bright.

"say it again," he whispers.

"i'm in love with you."

"again."

"you're going to get insufferable, aren't you?"

"absolutely," satoru says, grinning. "i'm going to be the most insufferable person you've ever met. i'm going to tell everyone. i'm going to post about it on instagram. i'm going to—"

whatever else satoru was going to say is interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

both of you freeze.

"gojo-san?" ijichi's voice comes through the door, muffled but unmistakable. "you need to be on set in five minutes. the photographer is asking for you."

your eyes meet satoru's. his eyes meet yours.

and then, simultaneously, the both of you look down at yourselves — at satoru's ruined makeup and disastrous hair and the love bites blooming on his neck, at your own disheveled state and the fact that you're still half-naked in his lap, at the shattered glass on the floor and the makeup wipes scattered across the table.

"oh no," you whisper.

"oh no," satoru agrees, and then, because he's gojo satoru, he starts laughing.

and it's not a quiet laugh — it's loud and slightly hysterical, the kind of laugh that comes from sheer overwhelming absurdity, and despite the panic rapidly rising in your chest, you find yourself laughing too.

"five minutes?" you hiss, scrambling off his lap.

your legs nearly give out, and satoru has to catch you, one arm around your waist, still laughing.

"five minutes," he confirms, and there's absolutely no urgency in his voice whatsoever. "ijichi, tell them ten!"

"gojo-san, i really don't think—"

"fifteen!" satoru calls, already reaching for your jeans and tossing them at you. "you can simply tell them there was a wardrobe malfunction!"

"there was no wardrobe—" ijichi starts, but satoru has already turned back to you, his expression torn between pure panic and giddy joy.

"okay," satoru says, grabbing a makeup wipe and scrubbing at his own face with absolutely no technique. "okay, okay, okay. we can fix this. we can totally fix this. i've looked worse. probably. maybe."

you pull your jeans on with shaking hands, wincing at the tenderness between your legs.

"your hair looks like you've been electrocuted."

"charming," satoru shoots back, trying to flatten it with his palms. it immediately springs back up. "your neck looks like i tried to eat you."

your hand flies to your throat, and sure enough, you can feel the raised marks of satoru's hungry mouth, the slight tackiness of dried saliva.

"oh my god."

"here." satoru tosses you a bottle of concealer — the expensive kind, the one that's supposed to cover anything. "do your magic. you're the professional."

you catch it easily, and for a little second, you just stand there, looking at him.

satoru in all his disaster glory; makeup smeared, hair wild, lipstick trace around his mouth, shirt still missing, chest still slightly damp from the wipes. he looks like he just got hit by a truck made of sex, and you're supposed to make him camera-ready in less than fifteen minutes.

"i hate you," you say, but you're smiling.

satoru grins back, bright and beautiful and so full of love it makes your chest ache.

"no you don't."

and he's right, you don't.

you cross the room to him, pull his head down, and kiss him one more time — quick, fierce, a promise — before you grab your brushes and get to work.

outside the door, ijichi sighs heavily and starts making calls to stall the photographer.

somewhere in the distance, a production assistant is probably having a panic attack.

but in the private dressing room, with satoru's hands on your hips and his eyes on your face and the remnants of your love still cooling on your skin, none of that matters.

you have fifteen minutes.

and then, after that, you have forever.

It had been another brutal day, endless droning lectures, cramped library study sessions that left your back knotted and your shoulders aching from hunching over textbooks. All you craved was collapsing onto that sagging old couch of yours with a bag of something salty, a cold soda, and some mindless reality TV to numb the exhaustion.

But no. 

The thumping bass from upstairs reverberated through your ceiling rattling your light fixtures, punctuated by the relentless clang and slam of iron weights. You try to ignore it, burying your head under a pillow, but each drop of the barbell felt like a personal jab, fraying your last nerve.

A particularly vicious crash of metal on metal, followed by a triumphant roar, launches you onto your feet. Throw cushions scatter across the floor as you stomp out of your apartment, the door slamming behind you with a satisfying crash that did nothing to vent your fury.

They live right above you, 3B, two infuriating assholes in their mid-to-late thirties, built like professional bodybuilders with muscle stacked on muscle, veins bulging from hours of relentless lifting of heavy shit. 

Shiu, the shorter-haired one with that annoying cigarette habit that left tobacco smoke lingering in the stairwell, and Toji with that scar across his lip, who was always watching you just a little too closely. 

When they first moved in six months ago, you were drawn to them instantly, day dreaming about their sweat-dampened shirts clinging to sculpted torsos. Now? 

Pure, unadulterated rage. 

Although that forbidden curiosity you refused to acknowledge still lingered.

Every previous complaint visit had played out the same frustrating way. One of them would answer the door, shirtless nine times out of ten, wearing low-slung sweats that hung dangerously on their hips, a smug smirk curling their lips as they visually undressed you right there in the hallway.

You'd feel an unwelcome heat bloom low in your stomach, your cock hardening traitorously at the imagined weight and grip of their large, calloused hands on your skin. You hated it, hated them for provoking that feeling, and hated yourself even more for being unable to control your body's reaction. 

You always fled back downstairs, teeth grinding in frustration, without ever crossing that line.

Tonight, though, fuelled by a toxic mix of raw rage and bone-weary exhaustion, you charged up the stairs, taking them two at a time with determined strides. Your chest heaved with each step, skin growing slick with a light sheet of sweat under the loose fabric of your oversized t-shirt and soft pyjama pants, making the material cling slightly to your body.

Fist raised to pound on the door, you freeze as it swings open before you can even knock. Shiu lounges against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, smirk already in place as his dark eyes drag lazily from your flushed face down to your heaving chest, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the way your pants rode low on your hips, exposing a faint trail of hair that disappeared teasingly beneath the waistband, before dragging deliberately back up to meet your eyes again.

“Hey, 3A. We being noisy again?” His voice was a low amusement laced rumble. He knew exactly what he was doing. He stretched his arms overhead, the hem of his black tank riding up to expose a tantalising sliver of chiseled skin, the deep V of his hips disappearing into grey sweatpants that did nothing to hide the outline of what lay beneath. Your eyes stray downward despite yourself, mouth suddenly bone-dry as you swallow hard.

“Yes” you grunt, tearing your gaze away and forcing steel into your voice. “Can you at least try to keep it down? Some of us have work to do.”

“Sorry” He drawls, with not a trace of sincerity. Heavy footsteps come up behind him, and Toji saunters into view, grinning like a wolf spotting prey. He threw a heavy arm over Shiu's shoulder, his massive biceps flexing as he leans in, eyes tracing the same hungry path, starting at your lips, dipping to the sweat-dampened hollow of your throat, then lower. 

You worried for a frantic second that they’d already be able to see the effect they were having on you, especially through the thin fabric of your pyjama pants. Instinctively, you shifted your stance, crossing one leg subtly over the other in a desperate attempt to hide your burgeoning erection as it strained against the material.

“Sorry, sweet thing” Toji purrs, his voice a deep, velvety growl that sends a flush straight to your cheeks. “But you don’t get a body like this without hard work.” He flexes subtly, the movement making his pecs strain against his fitted tee. You squeezed your eyes shut for a split second, willing the vivid image out of your mind before it could take root.

“I’ve had a long day” you mutter, shoulders sagging as the fight leaves you like air from a punctured balloon. “I’m stressed, my back’s killing me, and I just want to relax…”

Shiu’s eyebrow arches, his smirk softening into something darker, more inviting. “Why don’t you let us help you relax?” His tone husky, promising sins you’d only ever fantasised about in the dead of night.

Toji’s grin widens, eyes burning with a challenge that pins you in place, daring you to move. “Yeah, sweet thing. Come inside. We’ve got ways to work out that tension.”

You should refuse, march back to your apartment, devour your snacks and binge watch TV until you pass out. But your feet won’t budge. You stand, frozen in the doorway, breath shallow, staring up at these two towering walls of muscles who are offering you oblivion. The bass still thumps faintly from their living room speakers, but now its overwhelmed by your racing heart, pulling you inexorably forward.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion from the day finally cracking at your resolve, or the intoxicating promise of true ‘relaxation’ dangling like forbidden fruit, but you step forward, crossing the threshold into their dimly lit apartment. The air inside is cooler, yet thick with the metallic tang of sweat from their workout and a faint undercurrent of Shiu’s lingering cigarette smoke. 

You wondered for a fleeting moment whether you’d misunderstood their offer, whether you were about to be dragged into one of their manic workout routines you’d been forced to listen to day in and day out, but then their smiles turned positively predatory, sharp, hungry, and utterly unapologetic, as you slipped between them like a lamb wandering willingly into the wolves’ den.

The door shuts softly behind you with a decisive click, the lock echoing in the sudden hush. All you can hear is your heart thundering in your ears, a frantic drumbeat syncing with the heat blooming across your skin, every nerve ending alive with electric anticipation. What the hell are you even doing? 

Toji moves first, his massive frame closing in from behind like a shadow. His breath ghosts hot across the shell of your ear, carrying the faint scent of mint. 

“Just leave it to us, sweet thing” he whispers, voice a gravelly rumble that sends shivers racing down your spine. “We’ll work those knots out… nice and slow.”

Shiu snorts softly in amusement, but his eyes wander with hunger as he steps in close, crowding your front. The heat radiating from his body is overwhelming, his broad chest brushing your significantly smaller one. Without a word, his lips slot over yours. But he doesn’t kiss, he consumes. 

His mouth is warm and demanding, pulling and tugging at your lower lip, teeth grazing just enough to sting. His tongue invades without asking, stroking boldly against yours, exploring every corner with wet, insistent strokes that make your knees weaken. Your hands instinctively fist in his tank top.

Behind you, Toji’s warm, calloused hands glide slowly up your sides, his touch deliberate and exploratory as his fingers slip beneath the hem of your oversized t-shirt. His palms are rough from years of gripping barbells, the calluses dragging tantalisingly against your bare skin as they travel upward, tracing the lines of your ribs until he reaches your chest. There, his fingers ghost over your nipples with feather-light softness at first, thumbs flicking and circling the sensitive nubs in lazy, teasing patterns that draw out involuntary whimpers from deep in your throat.

He touches gently to begin with, building the sensation gradually, but each brush and swirl sends sharp jolts of pleasure straight to your cock, your body arching back instinctively into his hands, craving more of that exquisite torment.

Shiu’s hands aren’t idle. One large palm drops to your ass, fingers digging into the soft globes of flesh over your pants with a grip that borders on bruising. He squeezes tightly, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips, one he promptly swallows, deepening the kiss until you’re dizzy, lungs burning for air.

You pull away with a wet pop, panting, chest heaving as oxygen floods back. Their hands are everywhere, a frenzy of exploration. Toji’s fingers pinching and rolling your nipples with increasing pressure, Shiu’s other hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head for better access. Shiu hooks a thumb into the waistband of your pants, and in one fluid motion, shoves them down just below your ass, the fabric bunching awkwardly around your thighs. 

His palms are quick to replace it, kneading the bare flesh greedily, spreading your cheeks slightly as he groans appreciatively against your neck. Toji bunches your t-shirt higher, shoving it up around your armpits until your chest is bared completely. 

The sudden exposure makes you flush hotter, but before embarrassment can take hold, Shiu’s mouth descends. He latches onto one nipple, tongue swirling wetly around the reddened bud before his teeth nip and pull, tugging just hard enough to border on pain. The dual assault of Toji’s hands now roaming to your hips, and Shiu’s mouth alternating between each nipple, has you groaning, body trembling between them.

Toji’s hand slips lower then, dipping beneath the waistband of your boxers to wrap his thick, rough fingers around your painfully hard cock. He strokes you with maddening languidness, his grip firm and perfect, dragging up and down your length in slow, deliberate pulls that make your hips buck forward involuntarily. 

You’re already leaking profusely, slick precum coating his digits generously each time he swipes his broad thumb over the sensitive head, spreading the wetness and heightening every sensation until you’re throbbing in his hold.

Overwhelmed, you tilt your head back, lolling onto Toji’s broad shoulder, exposing the column of your throat as you let go, submitting to whatever they choose to give you.

“That its, just relax” Toji whispers against your ear, nipping the lobe lightly. “We’re making you feel good, yeah?”

You nod quickly, eyes slipping shut as the world narrows to their touches. Toji responds to your surrender by moving his hand faster now, the slick, obscene sounds of his fist pumping your cock echoing lewdly in the room, mingling with your ragged breaths and the low, approving rumbles from both men as they work you higher.

You feel a gentle but insistent finger tap against your parted lips, drawing your heavy-lidded eyes open just enough to focus. Two of Toji’s thick, calloused fingers press firmly against your mouth, the faint salt of his skin teasing your senses. He leans forward from behind you, his smirking face swimming into your peripherals, those sharp green eyes glinting with dark amusement.

“Suck” he murmurs, the single word a low, commanding rumble that makes your heart race.

And you do so, obediently opening your mouth to allow him to push those thick fingers deep inside your mouth, all the way to the knuckles. You suck on them fervently, your tongue swirling hungrily around the digits, sliding wetly between them and coating every inch until they’re glistening and slick with your saliva. The act feels filthy, intimate, and it sends a fresh wave of heat rushing through your already overwhelmed body.

“Good boy” he murmurs approvingly, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

The praise sparks irritation in you, you feel like elbowing him hard in the ribs for the condescension, but the thought vanishes instantly as his other hand tightens possessively around your cock, stroking with deliberate slowness that dispels any fight left in you. You simply grunt in response, the sound muffled and needy. 

He withdraws them slowly, dragging the spit-slicked fingers down the heated plane of your chest, the sudden chill of evaporating saliva raising goosebumps in their wake. The path continues lower until he slips that hand beneath the waistband of your boxers once more. 

His fingers tease your rim with feather-light strokes, circling the puckered hole and tracing its sensitive edges as you gasp sharply, your body instinctively shifting away from the unfamiliar, intimate touch.

You’d been with men before, sure, but none as big as these two, their thick, heavy cocks pressing insistently against you from both sides, one throbbing hotly against the curve of your thigh, the other grinding subtly into the small of your back, their sheer size enough to make your pulse stutter.

Toji presses one slick finger inside you steadily, the tight ring of muscle resisting for a tense moment before it finally yields with a reluctant flutter. You hiss at the sudden intrusion, the stretch burning slightly with a sharp edge that borders on too much, your body tensing as he begins pumping it slowly in and out. Your back twitches involuntarily, muscles spasming at first in discomfort, but gradually the sensation morphs into an odd, building type of pleasure that coils deep in your gut.

He pumps deeper, faster, curling to stroke against your warm slick walls. A smirk ghosts along the column of your neck as your moans begin to climb higher, broken and desperate. Shiu finally releases your nipples, swollen, spit-slicked, and throbbing, and trails bites across your chest instead, letting red crescents bloom across your skin. 

His hands shove your pants and boxers the rest of the way down, the fabric whispers down your thighs and pools at your ankles before you kick it aside.

“Floor” Shiu orders, voice rough.

Toji nods, his finger slipping free with a wet sound that makes you clench around nothing as he guides you down until the cool hardwood kisses your bare ass. He hooks his legs over yours from behind, forcing your legs wide, spreading you, knees bent and feet planted, every inch of you on display. You squirm, but his thighs clamp tighter, unyielding.

Shiu drops to the floor between your spread legs, dark eyes locked on yours. His tongue, pink, wet, and eager, flicks out deliberately and drags up the underside of your shaft in one long, savouring lick that makes your entire body jolt. On the second pass, he flattens the muscle broadly, applying a firm, dragging pressure that has your hips jerking upward 

Still pinning you with that predatory gaze, his tongue circles the flushed tip teasingly before he seals his warm lips around it and sucks, firm, rhythmic pulses that pull at you relentlessly, your spine bowing with overwhelming pleasure.

Toji’s hand returns almost immediately to your puckered hole, his muscular arm resting possessively atop your hip for leverage as he presses his slick fingers back inside, two this time, the added stretch making you gasp and clench. He pumps them in perfect time with the wet rhythm of Shiu’s mouth below. 

His other hand slides back up to your chest, fingers pulling and tugging mercilessly on your oversensitive nipples until you whine pitifully, lifting one trembling hand in a weak attempt to swat him away. He only scoffs low in his throat, easily ignoring your half-hearted protest, continuing the torment.

“Feeling better yet?” he murmurs, licking a hot stripe up your throat. The scrape of his tongue alone drags another helpless sound from you. One rough palm cups your jaw, turning your head so he can claim your mouth, lazy, filthy strokes of tongue against yours that match the rhythm of Shiu’s below.

Shiu, unwilling to share your attention, redoubles his assault. He hollows his cheeks, pushing himself further down your length until you feel the tight heat of his throat, his tongue twisting and stroking along every throbbing vein in a delicious, sinful dance. Your hips jerk involuntarily again, forcing another thick inch into his mouth with a wet, dull guk that sounds obscene in the relative silence.

He sucks restlessly, one hand wrapped firmly around your base, pumping fervently in tight twists while his mouth focuses on your weeping tip, sucking hard, tongue dipping teasingly into your slit to lap at the precum beading there. The relentless rhythm shatters what little composure you have left. You cry out sharply into Toji’s mouth, the sound muffled and desperate as your hips rock forward, chasing every spark of pleasure Shiu pulls from you.

The room fills with an obscene symphony, the wet smacks of Shiu’s lips around your cock, slick rhythmic sucks echoing off the walls, mingling with your own ragged gasps and broken moans that fill the heated air.

Toji finally breaks the kiss, releasing your mouth with a filthy string of saliva bridging your lips to his for a moment before it snaps. Cool air rushes into your lungs in desperate gulps, but you barely register it, your back bows sharply off his broad chest, spine arching in a taut curve as you grind yourself shamelessly into Shiu’s eager mouth. 

Pleasure fogs your mind completely, thick and dizzying, until the world blurs at the edges and narrows to nothing but sensation.

Your hands move on instinct, dropping to thread fingers through Shiu’s shaggy hair, damp with sweat. You grip tight, nails scraping his scalp, yanking him impossibly closer as if you could fuse him to you.

“Cum for us” Toji murmurs against your temple, voice a dark velvet command that coils heat low in your belly. “Come on, baby—do it. Let go.”

The words finish you. Shiu sucks hard one final time, cheeks hollowed deeply, his tongue stroking firmly along the sensitive underside of your cock. Toji’s rough fingers thrust deeper inside you, reaching impossibly far, calloused pads pressing relentlessly against that electric spot within that has you choking on air.

Your toes curl hard, back snapping into a rigid arch, head slamming back against Toji’s shoulder. A silent scream forces your mouth open, waves of blinding ecstasy pulsating through every limb. Your cock throbs wildly inside the wet heat of Shiu’s mouth, release flooding in thick pulses that he swallows greedily, humming deep approval against your spasming flesh as your body clenches rhythmically around Toji’s buried fingers, riding out the shattering climax until you’re left boneless and gasping between them.

You lay there limp, forcing air into your lungs. Shiu gently laps at your softening cock, his tongue warm and insistent as he cleans you with slow, reverent strokes, gathering every last trace of your release while his dark eyes stare up at your trembling frame, gleaming with satisfied hunger. 

“Sweet” he grunts, the single word rough and appreciative, accompanied by a crooked, wicked grin that curls his lips.

“My turn” Toji whispers, his voice a low, rumble as he slips his fingers free from you once more, the sudden emptiness drawing a faint, needy whimper from your throat.

Shiu finishes off with one final, lingering drag of his tongue up your length, savouring the taste of you before giving the flushed tip a gentle, teasing suck that makes your hips twitch weakly. Only then does he release it with a soft, wet pop, sitting back on his heels for a moment to admire his handiwork. 

Toji slips out from beneath you smoothly, large, calloused hands sliding under your arms to haul you upright with effortless strength. Your body still limp from the intense aftershocks still rippling through you, legs trembling uncontrollably beneath you, but you rise obediently, leaning into his solid frame for support. 

He cups the nape of your neck in one broad, warm palm, his thumb stroking soothingly over the sweat-damp skin there in slow circles, grounding you as he draws you flush against the hard planes of his chest.

His mouth crashes over yours, hungry and possessive, tongue delving deep to suckle yours in slow, filthy pulls as he begins walking you backward through the apartment. With his free hand he drags your t-shirt off fully, peeling it up over your torso, over your raised arms, and lets it drop in a forgotten heap on the floor. You’re completely naked now, skin prickling under the cool air and their heated stares as he steers you down the short hallway.

“Hey, my bedroom” Shiu urges from behind, voice rough with impatience as he stalks after you both.

Toji breaks the kiss just long enough to lick his lips, eyes never leaving yours, dark and gleaming. “No. Yours reeks of cigarettes.” His smile is slow, wicked, and entirely yours. Those devilish fingers of his dip between your legs again the moment the words leave his mouth, unable to resist touching you even for a second. Two thick, slick pads circle your sensitive, fluttering hole in lazy, maddening circles,  torturously teasing, building that fresh ache of need all over again. 

A broken moan spills from you, legs trembling as renewed heat coils tight in your belly.

“Mine’s closer” Shiu argues, stepping up behind you, his chest brushing your bare back.

Toji only shakes his head, tightening the hand at your nape to keep you upright as fresh pleasure coils low in your belly. “We don’t mind the walk...” he murmurs against your ear, voice velvet and sin. “Do we?”

“Please—just—” you manage to gasp out, the words barely coherent as your hips already start rocking instinctively into his touch, your cock hardening again despite the recent release, pressing insistently against the hard ridges of his stomach, silently begging him to speed up, to give you more, to fill the aching void.

“See?” Toji tosses Shiu a smug, triumphant smirk over your shoulder.

Shiu huffs, low and exasperated. “Just hurry the fuck up.”

In one fluid, powerful motion, he bends slightly and clamps his massive hands around your waist, lifting you clear off the floor as if you weigh nothing at all. Your legs wrap instinctively around his hips, ankles locking tightly at the small of his back while he cradles the curve of your ass in those strong, possessive palms, his grip firm.

His mouth finds yours again, deeper this time, swallowing every needy noise you make as he carries you the last few steps. 

The bedroom door crashes open with a kick, and he strides inside, lowering you both onto his unmade bed in a controlled drop. His weight settles over you immediately, heavy and deliciously unyielding, pinning you to the mattress exactly where he wants you.

You feel the bed dip again as Shiu climbs on behind your head. Strong thighs slide along either side of your shoulders, bracketing you, and he eases you upward until your upper back rests against his bare chest, his shirt vanished somewhere in the hallway. The thick, rigid length of his cock presses hot and insistent against the dip of your lower back, a promise and a threat.

Toji’s mouth starts a slow descent, teeth scraping along your throat, tongue soothing every bite as he maps your skin. His hands glide down your sides, thumbs tracing your sides, the bony outcrops of your hips. Above you, Shiu’s fingers stroke across your chest again, pinching and tugging your nipples in tandem, rolling them until they ache sweetly. 

You reach back blindly, one hand curling around the nape of Shiu’s neck, fingers threading through his hair, the other burying deep into Toji’s dark strands, anchoring yourself between them.

“I need to stretch you” Toji murmurs against your collarbone, voice rough. His eyes flick up to lock with yours, pupils blown wide with lust.

“Wha—” The question dies the instant he shoves his sweatpants down just far enough. His cock springs free, heavy and intimidating, the biggest you’ve ever seen. Thick veins pulse along the length, curving slightly upward, the flushed head already slick and swollen, angry red with need. Your jaw goes slack, but you snap it shut again and nod dumbly, mind scrambling to calculate how something that size is going to fit.

Shiu’s low chuckle vibrates against your spine. “Don’t worry, sweet thing” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear before he dips to mouth hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck. “We’ll be gentle… at first.”

You’re so lost in the wet drag of Shiu’s tongue, the sharp little nips he leaves behind, that you don’t notice Toji’s hand moving until two thick fingers press firmly at your entrance again. He pushes in slow and steady this time, no teasing with a single finger, both rough digits sinking deep on the first deliberate glide, the slick remnants of your earlier release and saliva easing the way. 

The stretch steals your breath entirely, a sharp, burning fullness that makes your body tense instinctively. He scissors them wide, dragging those calloused pads along your spasming inner walls, curling them upward to stroke that devastating spot inside you that makes your breath stutter and hitch in your chest. 

Breathy, broken moans tumble helplessly from your lips as you melt between them, Shiu’s gentle fingers and soothing kisses raining down from above, Toji’s patient yet relentless fingers working below, already coaxing your resistant body open for what’s coming next, preparing you with maddening thoroughness.

Toji’s other hand closes around your cock again, fisting the hardening length in a firm grip designed to force you to relax around his intrusion.

He slides his rough palm up and down your shaft in long, merciless strokes, the friction hot and perfect, his thumb rubbing teasing circles against the slick, weeping tip of your cock, spreading the fresh bead of precum in wet, glistening trails that heighten every sensation until heat coils viciously fast low in your belly.

Your breath stutters into sharp, frantic gasps, your hole clamping down rhythmically around his buried fingers as your hips jerk forward into his fist in tiny, helpless spasms, another climax already clawing its brutal way up your spine.

You’re right there, teetering on the edge, when he suddenly slips his fingers free, hand slipping from your cock. 

The denial is brutal. A raw, wanton cry tears from your throat, eyes flying open in shocked desperation.

“I want to be buried inside you when you cum again” Toji whispers, voice rough with restraint. He flashes a wicked grin and wraps one massive hand around the base of his own cock. He drags the swollen, leaking head against your puckered hole in slow, teasing passes until it gleams slick with his copious precum, coating you in his arousal. 

Finally, he notches himself firmly at your entrance and pushes forward slowly.

The stretch is immediate and overwhelming, far thicker than his fingers, hotter and heavier. He works in with shallow, controlled thrusts, feeding you inch by burning inch. Your body fights and yields all at once, you writhe beneath him, rolling your hips, thighs trembling as you struggle to take him. The drag along your walls is an exquisite fire.

“Jesus—” Toji hisses through clenched teeth, jaw locked, brows drawn tight in concentration. Sweat beads along his temple “Relax for me, sweet thing. Open up.”

His hand returns to your cock instantly, stroking fast and desperate now, the rough friction trying to coax your tense body into complete surrender, distracting you with pleasure even as he splits you open.

It’s too much all at once. The impossible fullness, his heat pulsing inside you, Shiu’s mouth still branding your neck with wet, sucking kisses, his fingers twisting and tugging your nipples in perfect counter-rhythm. The overload shatters you once more. Your back snaps into a violent bow, spine lifting clear off Shiu’s chest. 

The hand buried in Toji’s hair yanks hard enough to sting, your nails rake down the thick column of Shiu’s neck, carving angry red lines that bloom instantly. A choked scream rips free as you come harder than you ever have, walls spasming wildly around Toji’s buried length, milking him in rhythmic, greedy pulses as your cum splatters across your stomach is vivid pulses. 

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—” Toji grunts, eyes rolling back for a second at the vice of your hole. He doesn’t wait. Even as you’re still convulsing, he starts to move, slow, heavy strokes that drag along every sensitive inch inside you.

“Wait—wait, I just—” you sob, palms slapping weakly at his chest, oversensitive and overwhelmed. “It’s too much—”

He doesn’t stop. He rolls his hips deeper, grinding the fat head of his cock against your prostrate on every thrust, forcing sparks through the haze of too-soon pleasure.

Shiu shifts behind you, the loss of his warmth making you whine until you hear the rustle of fabric. He shoves his own sweatpants down in one impatient motion, cock springing free, thick, flushed, and leaking steadily from the tip. He rises to his knees beside your head, thighs framing your face, the heavy weight of him bobbing inches from your lips.

You don’t need asking. Your hand lifts on instinct, fingers wrapping around the hot, velvet length of him. You tilt your head back, lashes damp with tears, and flick your tongue out to lap delicately at the bead of precum pearling at his slit. The salty taste floods your mouth as you look up, meeting Shiu’s dark, hooded gaze, and slowly draw the swollen head between your lips.

Shiu’s head falls back with a deep, guttural groan the instant your lips seal around the flushed head of his cock. The skin is fever-hot against your tongue, velvet-smooth and salty with the steady leak of precum. 

You suckle gently at first, cheeks hollowing as you draw him in just as he’d done, savouring the weight settling heavy on your tongue. Toji never slows, his hips roll in a relentless, punishing rhythm, each thrust driving you forward onto Shiu in perfect, filthy sync. The force of his body rocking into yours pushes Shiu deeper without you even trying, the head nudging the back of your throat on every snap of Toji’s hips.

Shiu’s fingers slide into your hair, threading through the sweat-damp strands at the crown of your head. He doesn’t force, just guides, a steady, possessive grip that tilts your head exactly how he wants it. You relax your jaw and let him take control of the pace, shallow thrusts gliding over your tongue as you hollow your cheeks. 

Every time Toji slams home, Shiu’s cock sinks another inch, stretching your lips wider, until you’re taking him to the root with wet, choking sounds you can’t hold back.

You swirl your tongue greedily along the sensitive underside, tracing the thick vein that pulses against it, flicking at the ridge before flattening to lap broad stripes up his length. Your free hand wraps around whatever you can’t swallow, slick with spit and precum, and stroke in tight, twisting pulls that match the rhythm Toji sets behind you. 

The room is nothing but raw animalistic noise now. Shiu’s ragged groans vibrating through his chest, Toji’s low, animal grunts each time your walls clamp down on him, the wet slap of skin on skin as his hips crash against yours, the obscene, sloppy sounds of your mouth working Shiu in time with every brutal thrust.

Shiu’s grip tightens in your hair, no longer gentle. His hips roll forward in short, greedy thrusts that match the brutal cadence Toji sets. The force drives you down Shiu’s length until your nose presses into the trimmed hair at his base, throat fluttering around him. You gag softly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t pull away, the sting only sharpens the pleasure coiling tighter in your belly.

Toji growls low, one hand splayed across your lower abdomen, feeling himself move inside you. “Fuck, look at you, taking us so well” he rasps, voice frayed. His other hand finds your leaking cock again, delivering fast, short strokes with a grip almost painful in its intensity, pushing you mercilessly toward the edge.

Shiu’s breathing turns ragged above you. “Close” he warns through gritted teeth, guiding your head faster now, using your mouth in shallow, desperate strokes. His cock throbs heavy on your tongue, veins pulsing, the salty flood of precum coating your throat. You hum around him, the vibration rips a broken curse from his lips.

Toji’s rhythm stutters, he’s losing control. His thrusts turn deeper, rougher, hips slamming against you with wet, echoing slaps. The head of his cock drags over that devastating spot inside you on every stroke, relentless. 

“Come on, sweet thing” he pants against your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin. “One more.”

The command shatters you. Your third orgasm crashes without warning, violent, blinding. Your hole clamps down around Toji in rhythmic, vise-like spasms as you spill hot and hard into his hand, cum coating his fingers and dripping down his wrist in thick ropes.

Shiu follows right after. His hips jerking forward, and then he’s spilling with a guttural groan, hot, thick ropes flooding your mouth, coating your tongue, sliding down your throat. You swallow frantically, milking him through it, lips sealed tight as the last pulses drip over your chin.

The clench of your orgasm finally drags Toji over the edge. He slams in to the hilt and stays there, cock pulsing wildly as he empties himself deep inside you. You feel every pulse, scalding hot, marking you from the inside out. His growl is raw, animal, forehead pressed between against your shoulder as his hips jerk through the aftershocks, grinding his release deeper.

For a long moment the room holds nothing but harsh breathing, the faint tremor of three bodies locked together in the wreckage of pleasure. Toji stays buried inside you, softening slowly, his arms finally giving out so his full weight settles over you like a blanket. Shiu’s fingers loosen in your hair, stroking now, gentle and reverent, as he eases free of your mouth with a wet pop.

The aftershocks are still fluttering through you when Toji eases out with a wet, obscene sound. A trickle of his cum follows, warm and thick, sliding down your ass. You whimper at the emptiness, but the reprieve lasts only seconds.

Shiu shifts before you, laying back on the bed, legs spread, his cock, still half-hard and slick from your mouth, twitches against his thigh. 

“Come here, sweet thing” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough. 

You roll onto your front, crawling towards him on your hands and knees, weak as a kitten. His strong hands grip your hips and guide you until you’re straddling his waist, facing him. The new position presses your leaking, sensitive hole directly against the hard ridges of his abdomen, he smirks up at you at the contact, his fingers digging deep into your flesh hard enough to leave fresh bruises blooming under his grip.

Toji settles behind you, broad palms spreading your cheeks apart, his lips attaching to your neck. Cool air kisses your exposed hole, and you shiver. Shiu’s fingers are already there, gathering the mess of arousal and Toji’s release, circling your tight rim in slow, deliberate strokes. 

“Gonna open you up again, nice and slow, so you can take both of us” he promises, pressing the pad of his index finger in just enough to make you clench. “Breathe, baby. Let me in.”

You exhale shakily as he works you open, one finger, then two, scissoring gently, stretching the ring of muscle with patience that borders on torture. Every push and twist sends sparks up your spine, the burn is sharp, foreign, but intoxicating. 

Toji leans heavily over your back, his broad chest pressing flush to your shoulders, the heat of him enveloping you as his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Look at you” he growls, voice low and filthy. “Dripping with my cum and still begging for more like the greedy thing you are.”

When you’re stretched enough to take four of Shiu’s fingers, your body trembling uncontrollably, obscene whines spilling freely from your lips in a constant stream, Toji finally replaces Shiu’s probing digits with the blunt, flared head of his cock, still impossibly hard and slick. 

You’re shaking all over now, forehead pressed desperately to Shiu’s collarbone for anchor, nails scoring deep half-moons into the firm muscle of his chest as you cling to him. 

He feels thick, impossibly so, and the stretch again steals your breath.  Toji pauses every inch, letting you adjust, whilst Shiu murmurs filthy praise against your temple.  “That’s it… just a little more, sweetheart, you’re doing so good. Look at you, taking it so well”

By the time he’s fully seated, balls pressed flush against you, every inch buried in your ass, you’re whimpering into Shiu’s neck from the overwhelming stimulation. He holds you there, hands stroking your back in soothing circles, Toji’s cock throbbing deep inside. He collapses forward, forehead pressed against your shoulder blade.

Shiu doesn’t wait long. He grips your hips, lifts you slightly off his chest, and lines also himself up with your hole. The head nudges your entrance, still swollen and sensitive, and you keen at the dual pressure. 

“Ready, doll?” he asks, voice strained with restraint.

You nod frantically, and he begins pushing in. The sensation is indescribable, your ass stretched to its limit, Shiu slowly splitting you open with each shallow thrust. You feel impossibly full, pinned and claimed in every way.

Toji’s hands slide to your waist. “Up” he commands, and together they lift you, Shiu’s palms under your thighs, Toji guiding your hips, until you’re sitting upright between. Your knees spread wide over Shiu’s hips, planted on either side, every inch of them buried deep.

Then they move.

The rhythm builds fast, the two lengths rubbing against each other as they press into you, sending shocks of pleasure so intense your vision whites out.

You bounce between them helplessly, body jolting with every impact, head thrown back against Toji’s shoulder. Their hands are everywhere, Shiu’s gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise, Toji’s one arm banded across your chest, fingers pinching your nipples, the other splayed over your lower belly, feeling both cocks moving inside you.

The sounds are filthy, wet slaps of skin, your broken cries, their guttural groans mingling in the air, the helpless groan of the bed. 

They begin to lose their careful rhythm as control frays, thrusts turning erratic and desperate until they’re basically alternating, one thick cock sliding out just enough as the other slams in deep, ensuring you’re never empty for even a second, always stuffed full with one of them buried to the hilt.

“Fuck, feels so good” Toji snarls through clenched teeth, hips pistoning faster.

Shiu’s head tips back, cords in his neck straining. “So goddamn tight, we’re gonna fill you up again, you’ll be dripping for us—”

It’s too much. Your orgasm hits like a freight train, violent, endless. You cry out, body seizing, hole clamping down in brutal spasms that rip curses from both men as you cum, the consistency now as thin as water, splattering across your chin and Shiu’s broad chest in messy arcs.. 

Toji comes first this time, his hips bucking erratically as he buries himself deep and pumps thick, hot ropes into your ass, the flooding heat so intense it almost burns, overflowing and adding to the slick mess inside you.

Shiu follows mere seconds later, slamming in to the hilt alongside him and grinding hard as he spills again, pulse after powerful pulse filling you further until your body can’t possibly hold any more, the excess already leaking out around them.

You collapse forward onto Shiu’s chest, trembling and oversensitive, their cocks still twitching inside you. Their cum leaks from you, mixing and sliding down your thigh in slow, obscene rivulets. Toji’s weight settles over your back, sandwiching you completely, warm, heavy, possessive.

It’s odd way to describe it, but it’s perfect. 

No one moves. You’re stuffed full, marked inside and out, utterly wrecked between the two men who just took you apart and put you back together in the most filthy, perfect way.

I tried not to make it a cheap direct rewrite, you know, not just replacing words and such, I tried to add a bit more detail! I strangely enjoyed writing it, felt kind of...out of body 😂.

University has been very difficult for you, hectic even, though not necessarily through academics, you've been a consistent honor student back in your home land, always joining some extra-curriculum activities, organizations and even climbing to the higher ranks, medals hanged heavily at your neck, gold and silver. though maybe it's just you still adapting to your new environment.

It's not like your parents pressured you to be that way, to be an academic weapon, in fact they are very supportive, asking how your day went, they even ask to help you with your homework, and you merely gave them a look, like they've spilled your matcha latte in your chem textbooks, one might say that you're studious, intellectual, more likely a nerd in their lame and miniscule minds.

Well who could blame them? It's not like they pay your bills for you to care enough.

Glancing at your phone, 2:03 am, your message box was empty, it always had been empty, it's either your professor asking you for the class itinerary or the delivery guy who always asks for a tip every time you order chinese takeout on a friday night.

Surprisingly enough, you got a few friends to rely on even with your individualist syndrome, your message box might be empty but your curated ig account isn't, like your own little museum, you never showed your appearance but people assumed that you're quite attractive because of your style. They often see your friends, Yuji, Nobara and Megumi, they're sophomores while you're a junior, it is your third year in college, so just one year gap, but they insist on calling you their own old man.

You were a sophomore when you got into your dorm, you never had a roommate, well more likely because there's a rumored ghost haunting the hallways and bathrooms, It's not like you don't believe in ghosts, you actually like watching paranormal documentaries after the exams, but it's because you like the peaceful and quiet nights when you can study unbothered, doing the chores on your own accord, cooking meals with no one to share with.

It might seem lonely to be by yourself, but at least you got your cat, no?

You flinched, as you felt a furry and fluffy creature snuggled against your foot.

“Kiki. . are you hungry?”

You asked the white furball reaching for it, your hands slipping under its short arms, putting kiki on your lap and scratching its head and chin, it mewled softly leaning to your touch.

“I guess you are. . .”

-

You hated calculus, no, you loathed it.

Let's just say that mathematics wasn't your strong suit. . . You literally just crawled your way in to pass that subject, you even tried to avoid it but it was inevitable, you never had a blink of sleep when you tried to study Multivariable calculus, and all of that shit show, your eyes almost bulged out of your skull sockets and it's already the fourth can of coffee you've inhaled.

You'd rather memorize all parts of every single organ in your body and its functions than adding, subtracting two vectors.

-

Now at some cafe.

“[Name], are you still breathing. . ?” Nobara asked in half concern while putting on her lip-gloss.

“Doubt it! I mean just look at him he looks like he just went to his own funeral!!” Yuji grimaced as he tried to shake you for your soul to somehow wake up again.

“Well aren't you harsh?” Megumi sat down next to you, with a matcha latte on his hand, sliding it in front of you.

“I'm actually cooked.” You then gently grasp Yuji's hands gripping your shoulders and pulling it off you with a forlorn look on your face.

“Cooked? Babe, you're charred at this point, you can't just keep avoiding your core subject y'know? It's a general education requirement, what if you can't graduate because of it.” Nobara deadpanned, her words stung but it was facts.

“You're talking as if you didn't fail general mathematics in highschool, consecutively. ” You bantered as you felt a hand, fingers with acrylics on it, gripping your scalp, ouch.

“HOW DARE—?! I'm just concerned about you and that's what you're going to repay me?” Nobara spouted while she continues to torture you.

“How about you get a tutor, [Name]?” Yuji meekly suggested, while he takes a little sip of your matcha latte.

“[Name]'s pride is higher than the mount everest itself, y'know, he can't just stumble on faculty and inquire for a tutor that's just crazy—” Megumi scoffed, not until you actually consider it.

“Yuji. . .that's actually smart of you.” You gave your friend a small grin as you ruffled his soft pink locks.

“WAAH.. [Name] complimented me! It's a miracle—”

“Ugh. enough of this studying shit already, sem-break is actually coming how about we actually do something fun, and you! why don't you come with us just this once? You've done nothing but to rot inside of your dorm!” Nobara irked as she pulled her brown strands in distress, pointing at you.

“Why would I? Y'know I don't like socializing..” You grumbled leaning down to sip on your matcha latte.

“Oh for god's sake! It's Halloween you dumbass and we're having a party, I hope that calculus notebooks of yours haunt you.” Nobara rolled her eyes to sass, jested as she checked her phone if her costume is arriving on 29th.

You choked on your drink, and your friends just snickered at you. What a lovely friends you have.

-

His ocean-blue eyes glimmered behind the black frames he was wearing, he eyes then glanced to his wrist, pulling the white sleeves of his button up, revealing a silver rolex, 6:09 pm.

The library has always been empty and quiet, not because it was in the rules to be quiet, but because people rarely come there to study, most of them just borrow books and go on their merry way to go back to their dorms or home.

Gojo Satoru liked the vibes of this particular library mainly because the books here are more scholarly and detailed, just his type, the smell of coffee and old paper, vellichor is what would he call. And especially because this library is fully air-conditioned and it has free wifi if you kindly ask the elderly who supervised the whole library.

He does visit the university library to return books but it just doesn't just piqued his interest especially when it's packed of performative students who just lounge there for attention, for his attention.

Well wouldn't? He might be a studious monster but it doesn't mean that he's not packed under that model student facade.

There's been this trend around the universities all around the country that's actually quite concerning for him. Like what do you mean people wanted a tall, handsome and nerdy boyfriend who never felt a touch of a woman all of his life for? And why does it have to be him? Well too bad they can't approach him.

His name and candid pictures is all over the internet for some reason and they've immortalized him into their degenerate fantasies.

He turned off his phone before he even went to a crashout, he then rubbed his eyelids, pushing his glasses upwards. His gaze then reverted back on to his laptop, looking at the date, 10/15/25. . . Should I do it. . . ?

He then heard rustling just in front of him, a few meters away from him, fixing his posture, to see who it is.

“Oh. . It's him, again.”

He always sees you in the library but he never saw you on campus, he knows that you guys went to the same university because of the ID lace you've been wearing, and you're always studying.. just like him, though you never acknowledged him inside the library nor tried to bother him in any way, though your presence always has been comforting for him, making him feel that he wasn't alone in this big ass library.

Whenever you guys somehow make eye contact with each other, you never gave him a scowl nor a smile, just your eyes making contact with his own made a connection, a silent conversation, Gojo felt something inside of him that he never felt before, he tried to brush it off like anyone else. Ignoring the part that his ears are tinted with pink and felt the blood rush onto his cheeks, his eyebrows knitted.

“Is this what having a crush is like. . .? How troublesome.”

He then continues to finish his reports, looking all constipated.

-

Let's just say that Gojo Satoru is a well-known figure all around the university, he dominated the ranks, consecutively, and his family name is widely known for it's excellence and luxuries, though he's been gifted intellectually ever since he was in his pre-school, crushing anyone's dreams and passion in one snap, the true definition of talent beats hardwork, many people despised him for that but some admired him, well not that Gojo cares for that anyways.

It was autumn, the sea of every shade of orange and brown maple leaves flooded the streets followed by the cold breeze making them dance, with kids in their thick coats, bonnets and little mittens running down the road, chasing each other.

He was walking down the hallway, basking in sunlight, almost illuminating his tall figure, fixing his black spectacles, he was wearing a black trench coat that reached below his knees, black turtleneck, grey slacks, and there hanged his ID lace, the shadow of the trees swaying gently in the wind matched the atmosphere, noticing the horde of students in front of the bulletin board where the preliminary ranks are announced, he then observed some of the students expressions contorted into a shocked, broken and somehow relieve faces.

“They're blocking the way. . .” Gojo irked as his veins almost popped on his forehead, he doesn't have a choice but to just look at the bulletin board himself where he can look for his rank this time, some of the students noticed his presence with a shocked expression and decided to step away, giving him a path and everyone else did.

His eyes scanned for his name, finding it on top, Rank 1. Satoru Gojo, with 99.45%, and followed by Aoi Todo being on Rank 2. with 97.56%, he felt the burning stares almost poking through his back, he heard some of the murmurs being “He didn't get a hundred this time, huh?” “Are you serious? You couldn't even get passed 70% you imbecile?!”

Gojo merely deadpanned, though they're right, he's expecting it to be 99.87% or just flat 100% this semester, General biology really did do him dirty this time, he gripped the handle of his black prada satchel rather tightly.

He then noticed a presence beside him, eyes widening slightly, it was you, he felt his heart thump, you must've been here to look at your rank as well, considering at the side you're in you must be his junior, looking at the direction you're looking at he saw your rank.

Rank 1. [Name] [Last name], with 99.47%

“Holy shit.” Gojo's eyes widened once again, his eyes slightly shimmering staring back at your figure.

“Stupid calculus. . .—” You murmured, eyes almost burning the paper in front of you, you then hear the tall person beside you.

“Wanna be study buddies together?” Gojo said in the most monotonous way as possible, as if he didn't just dropped a bomb on you and everyone else who's present, shoving his hands deep inside his pockets, ignoring the warm sensation coiling into his core and the audience behind you two.

“Pardon . . ?” Your jaw agape, confused? puzzled? confuzzled? You don't even know if that's a word at this point.

-

“So. . . you're meant to tell me that we should tutor each other, because your weak point is Biology and my weak point is Calculus?” You said as you try to calm yourself down, by the fact that the most popular nerd in the campus just drags you to some expensive cafe downtown to talk about academics. were you in some sort of lucid dream?

“Wrong, I said that your strong suit is Biology and my strong suit Calculus and by that we should help each other to be on top” Gojo gave a smile while slicing his strawberry shortcake with a knife.

“You literally just twisted my words and still proved my point, and besides how can we do that? We're not in the same year nor curriculum.” You then stabbed the blueberry cheesecake in half with a fork and shoved it in your mouth. fuck this shit is so good.

“Cute, but I did consider that and thought about that already, do you really think that I'll just decide and not think of the possible effects? I'm hurt.” Gojo pouted, chewing on his lips like a bullied child, fiddling his fingers together.

“You're a child. . . I didn't expect you to be this way y'know? You just have this certain aura about you that would make people not approach you at all but here you are begging me to be your study mate.” You said bluntly then sipping on your chocolate milkshake.

“Is that what you really think of me? Well I guess that's fair, though I just didn't like people leeching off me for their own benefits, but I'm guessing that you knew that already knowing how smart you are, aren't you?” Gojo said steadily, gaze dripping to your form, memorizing the every curve of you.

“Of course? I'm sure it's not that hard to conclude, no? Unless you're that pathetic, Being smart is nothing without empathy after all, so yes I would love to be your tutor.” You finished with a satisfied expression, putting down your fork on the plate.

“You just know what to say every time, did you rehearse this by any chance?” Gojo's heart kept on beating loudly as if he was alive again, leaning his head down to hide his growing smile and the healthy pink tint on his cheeks, it's so nice to get to talk to someone once again, he thought to himself.

“ I'm afraid I did not. . .”

-

“Satoru. . . Did you hit your head on your way home? What do you mean you want to live in the dorms?!” Geto screamed at the man as if he killed somebody. . . again.

“What's the big deal? It's not like I'm going to move away forever, just for a while y'know, I need tutoring for biology and shit.” Gojo grumbled slipping off his shoes and throwing the socks in the laundry bucket.

“Well it's not like I'm opposed to it or something, it's just so sudden. . . and weirdly enough for tutoring purposes? You all of people needed tutoring? Are you still the Satoru Gojo that I knew? The honor stud—” Geto was silenced by a pillow colliding on his face. “HEY—?!”

“Oh, shut your trap, will you? I literally have to beg my way just to make him agree y'know?” Gojo complained, lying down on the soft mattress of the couch.

“Begging? You? Damn you are down bad aren't you? Is your new boy-toy that hot?” Geto flopped down the couch beside Gojo, as he turned on the television.

“He's not just hot y'know, he's incredibly smart and kind too . . .” Gojo buried his face on the pillow screaming into it.

“You got yourself a crush, huh. Young love these days. . .” Geto sighed, holding the remote directly at the big ass screen in front of them.

“Ugh. You're such a bummer, Suguru. . .” Gojo sat up, gaze staring at the screen, reading it silently.

Scream, 1996.

“Hey, Suguru. Wanna dress up as Ghostface again? I mean it's almost Halloween.” Gojo asked Geto beside him.

“Eh, Him again? I think I will change my costume this year's halloween y'know? Like Count Dracula or something.” Geto answered his friend making his way to the kitchen to get some snacks.

“Well suit yourself, I guess.”

-

“WHAT?!” all of your friends chorused, cramped inside your dormitory, it's not that cramped actually, you're just dramatic.

“Oh, will you guys shut up about it already?” You grimaced as you tried to focus on the math tutorial online to not embarrass yourself once your tutoring starts, clicking the play button on your laptop on top of your study desk, notebooks and textbooks scattered everywhere.

“What do you mean by shutting it already, huh?! You punk. The Gojo Satoru just asked you to be his tutor?! That's fucking insane.” Nobara pinched your cheeks and pulled it with a scary look at her face, you tried to pull it off only for her to pinched it even more causing you to winced. Her nails are weapons, I'm telling y'all.

“That's actually so lit, [Name]!! I mean you are the smartest student in the Junior department after all and he's the smartest in the senior department.” Yuji said with a proud look on his face because he's your friend and you're his friend.

“For once, I agree with Itadori.” Megumi said while playing with Kiki on top of your bed as the cat merely snuggled to Megumi's side.

“Hey! What's that supposed to mean, huh?!” Yuji abruptly stood up to throw a pillow at Megumi.

“ H-HEY NO PILLOW FIGHT— HEY THAT'S MY TROPHY YOU DUMBASS?! PUT IT DOWNNN—”

-

After class, you found yourself in the teacher's faculty room, the air-conditioning hitting your face gently, a cold shiver running down your spine, Professor Tsukaba personally called for you via message.

“Mr. [Last Name], thank you for the immediate attendance, I would like to inform you about the issues with your dormitory and I would like to congratulate you for ranking first.” Ms. Tsukaba merely spinned her chair with a small smile gracing her lips.

“Issues? I'm afraid, I don't know what you're talking about. . .though thank you Professor Tsukaba.” You pondered, but you don't exactly remember what you did wrong or what happened to have an issue.

“Oh, Do not worry dear, it's not that kind of issue. It's just that the University's (RA) noticed that you don't have a roommate just this week and we decided to settle it, luckily someone in the senior department is willing to be your roommate, since it's his first time in the dormitory.” She explained to you while finishing her lesson plan.

Your body stiffened at the moment that you actually forgot to breathe, a roommate?!

“Ah. . Is that so, I understand. Though can I please know who it is?” You meekly asked the lady.

“I'm afraid I cannot, I made a promise with that child, to not tell you who he is if you ever asked for it.” Ms. Tsukaba apologized with a sorry face.

“No, it's completely alright, Professor. When is he arriving?” You dismissed but asked again.

“Tomorrow night, Dear.” The lady answered your question before sipping her tea.

ALREADY?!

“ Thank you, Professor. I will take my leave now.” You plead your goodbye, as you bow to her.

“No need to be so formal with me, [Name]. I am not going to feed you math equations this time.” Ms. Tsukaba jested with a teasing tone.

“Ma'am, it's not funny at all. . .” You grimaced.

“Y'know I'm joking.”

You then made your way outside the faculty, the warm sun rays welcoming you through the glass window, the sunset after classes always had mesmerized you while you pondered.

“I guess I need to do a general cleaning, huh. How troublesome.”

-

You slipped the last book into your shelf, the books categorized as what kind of genre or type they are, you even changed the sheets of the unused bed beside you, cleaned the dust on the empty study table, changed the curtains, vacuumed and mopped the floor, you even scrubbed the bathroom clean, cleaning your medals and trophies you received since you're a freshman inside the glass cabinet, of course you have more than that but you left all of your highschool memorabilias and awards at your parent's home.

You flopped down to your bed, checking your phone for the time, 7:12 pm. Swiping up to see if your order has been shipped, it's just Halloween decorations after all, you're still thinking of what your costume is going to be, you did see that some of the dorm rooms had started to decorate their doors and little pathways.

It's still unreal to you that you're going to have a roommate now but you can't bend the rules after all, whoever your roommate's going to be you prayed that they're somewhat kind or chill, you messaged your little friend group about it and they absolutely went batshit about it.

You stood up to look at your appearance in the mirror, damn I look like shit. You then reached for your towel in the rack and got the clothes inside your closet, your roommate might be on their way now and you're looking like shit? No way.

You make your way inside the bathroom and shower.

-

Gojo kept on looking at his watch every damn 5 seconds while he drives with Geto beside him who's looking at him like he's gone mad.

“Will you please calm your ass down? You're not even late. You insisted on living in a dormitory now face the repercussions.” Geto said with a tired face, “If Shoko was here right now she'd be frying you.”

“I am calm! I'm just nervous because it's my first time y'know. . !” Gojo bantered as he parked near the university.

“Oh, don't bullshit me with that, Satoru. I know you too well.” Geto just watched his friend get his luggage inside the trunk in the mirror.

“Yeah, yeah Mr. Know-it-all. Bye for now, don't miss me too much, 'kay?” Gojo said with a smug smile while waving his goodbyes.

“Last time I checked you are the Mr. Know-it-all here, you nerdy hunk. Just don't die.” Geto said while waving back to his friend, starting the car once again.

Gojo went inside the dormitory building to see some of the students in their sleeping wear and some of them in casual, looking at him with a bamboozled expression, he looked for the room 436 with a luggage on his side, wearing a black chrome hearts hoodie with white sweatpants.

He eventually found it on the fourth floor, where the rooms are weirdly quiet, is it not occupied? Well I guess no neighbors then.

He stopped in front of the door, twisting the knob to know if it was locked, it's not. Walking himself inside the room, it was quite spacious, with two windows, two beds and two tables. How cute, it was really made for roommates, have you been living alone like this for months? Isn't that lonely. He also saw your glass cabinet full of trophies and certificates stacked together with your name on it, medals displayed. Yeah. You're his type. He bit his lips, smirking a little.

Gojo also noticed a bolster bed beside your bed with two small bowls, he then felt a creature snuggled beside his leg, a white ragdoll cat, with cerulean-blue eyes that could rival his, letting out a small mewl.

“Well aren't you cute? Besides the fact that you look just like me. . .”

Gojo then made his way to your side, where all your things are organized and located, you're so neat with your things, leaving his luggage by his bed, with a cat following him.

He noticed the small things that screamed too much of you, you're so cute. He also noticed the pictures you displayed, pink haired dude, black haired boy and a brunette girl, it must be your friends.

Gojo heard the knob twisting by the bathroom area, he perked at the familiar figure that emerged from it.

“Long time, no see. How have you've bee—” He then felt his breath hitching by the sight of you, clad in a loose white shirt and dark grey sweat shorts, and a white towel hanging in your neck, droplets of water dripped down your hair strands, also dripping down your thighs and smooth legs. Fuck.

“So it was you after all? I had a hunch but I didn't expect it to be true. . .” You then tried to dry your hair with your towel then you remembered that you have a hair blower in your drawer. “ I've been fine, make yourself at home, you can unpack your things sooner or later if you want, Kiki seems to like you.” You said walking past his frozen figure.

“Its name is Kiki? How adorable, considering that it looks a bit like me, no?” Gojo swallowed his saliva back, and jested, flopping down his bed.

“Now that you mentioned it, Kiki does look like a bit like you because of color, he's also a boy if you're wondering.” You then turn the blower on mild heat to dry your hair, putting the blower slightly higher making your shirt hitched a bit upwards revealing the side of your waist. he wanted to grab it so bad.

“Y-yeah. . . Thanks.” He then looked away covering the half of his face with his hand, fearing that his face might erupt into multiple shades of red. Why must you tease me this way.

-

It has been a week since Gojo moved in with you.

He already got his pc setup with triple monitors settled on his very own desk, his xbox, nintendo switch and even his vr set is already displayed, his multiple textbooks and books are already stacked and settled on the shelf, and not to mention his hyperfixation of Digimon is already there. Gojo's greed sickens me.

You also find him weird.

There are a few times when you catch him just blatantly staring at you then looking away, you can't just ignore the feeling of that eyes memorizing the every crevice of you, no? Watching the every fiber of your being, There are also these scenarios where he will almost touch you in any way but it's almost like he's restraining himself to do so, holding himself back, you can't seem to grasp it.

You will see him all day on his desk studying, well you aren't surprised by it in any way it's just that you notice him skipping his meals trying to memorize and solve things in his notebook, for a smart person he sure is dumb enough to neglect himself.

“Hey. . . Have you eaten? You've been at your desk since 7:06 am, it's already 4:30 pm.” You asked while flopping down to his bed, tilting your head to see his face.

“Aw, I didn't know that you care for me, [Name], for you to keep track of my time at that.” Gojo perked at your sudden appearance next to him, with a dainty smile gracing his lips.

To be fair, Gojo isn't used to being cared for, especially a stranger who only knew him and he knew for weeks, usually it's just Suguru and Shoko who checks up on him, because his parents weren't present when he turned five years old for business overseas and familial reasons, leaving him emotionally available and mentally constipated, then he felt that warm sensation coiling inside of him once again everytime you're so close to him, the hairs on his neck starts to stand up.

“Why yes? This is my first time having a roommate y'know, I can't just have you neglecting yourself, not on my sight.” You bantered at him, putting your arms up to stretch your back.

“That's true or maybe you're just too kind for your own good, do you treat everyone like this, [Name]?” Gojo said with a honeyed tone at first then gritted his teeth by the end of it.

“Not really, I'm quite picky.” You stood up making your way to the mini kitchen you guys have, as you answered him frankly.

“Oh? I guess I'm a lucky one, then?” Gojo's irises glimmered at your form, with a small smile on his lips.

“I guess you are.” You craned your head to look at him and said.

“You aren't really making me win that easy, huh?” Gojo let out a breathy laugh, returning to his screen, hiding his growing smile once again.

“Y'know how I am. . . ” You merely finished grabbing the matcha powder in the cupboard.

-

Your eyes felt heavy, feeling the incoming yawn in your throat you stretched your back, arms up, you've been on your laptop for almost 8 hours now, finishing some of the powerpoint presentations and group reports, a few ones in microsoft excel and some quizzes in kahoot! that made your head want to explode, but you still have a week till the deadline, pushing the power off button the laptop can finally rest and so are you, standing up to make your way in the bathroom, giving your roommate glances who's also chained to his desk, with the textbooks he borrowed from you scattered around his desk, high quality headphones that hanged on his neck, the light of his monitors illuminating his figure, making a certain glow that made him look ethereal.

You washed your face, then brushed your teeth, coming out of the bathroom to see Kiki already waiting for you. Food. Yeah.

You immediately went into the kitchen cabinet to find Kiki's kibbles and his favorite wet food, mixing it together, then poured it into his food bowl.

Yawning once again, then flopping down to the soft cushions of your bed, you almost melted into your mattress, the sheets were cold because of the air-conditioning, and the fabric conditioner smelled so nice, but you can't seem to fall asleep, looking at your roommate who's still glued to his seat, you then rested your chin on your hand, staring at Gojo, his face, I mean who wouldn't especially when he's not wearing his glasses.

Gojo typed the last paragraph, precisely, though he already felt the exhaustion punching him right in the head, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses, until he felt someone staring at him, it was you, staring at him, making eye contact with you.

“Uhm, Do you need anything. . . ?” Gojo asked while fixing his glasses.

You perked up at the sudden question, your mind almost went blank, what should you say? Shit. Well you don't have anything to say anyway because you're just literally looking at his face. Though If I say that it'd be embarrassing, no it's humiliating.

“Well not really. . ? I was just wondering why a good-looking guy like you wears glasses, now that I mention this, I noticed these past few days that you get around just fine even without your glasses, I assumed that your eyes aren't that bad.” You rambled while scratching your cheek, but you just made yourself more humiliated.

Gojo's eyes widened yet softened at your words, no one really asked him that before.

“To be honest, you're quite right, though I already wear glasses since I was in the fourth grade and I am not used to it when I don't have it, I feel like I'm blind or something. . .thanks by the way.” He answered returning back to his monitors, attempting to hide his reddening cheeks.

“I see, well good night then.” You smiled at him as you settled down in your bed, nestled under your snoopy blanket.

“Good night.”

Gojo wasn't the type to lose his mind when it comes to deadlines and the mountain of reviewers that he needs to study on a random thursday night, he's usually so laid-back and composed when it comes to this to this stuff, because he always studies until it's breaking dawn, the sunrise always greeting him like an old friend.

But this time he's not so sure anymore, his skin didn't feel right on his bones, sweat slick on his back, unfocused and distracted, and it's all your fault, the every thought inside his head somehow is being interconnected with you.

Eventually he did get used to it, but it wasn't easy, he really likes it when you teach him, you're actually educating rather than making him feel dumb for not knowing or understanding it, and you're so patient with it too. The way you explained so intricately yet he can pick it up quickly is so important to him. and by that he decided that you're going to be his. No matter what.

He also decided that you're not just his flimsy crush anymore, something ignited inside of him that he can't somehow control, but he's not opposed to it either and then so this kind of occurrence only happens when you're not around.

Whenever he's in the shower he can't help but to get a boner when he remembers your fleeting touch on his broad shoulders, the way you ruffle his white locks whenever he gets the correct answer to your questions, the way your breathing tickles his ears when you gossip with him about your day or when you walked in the room only wearing an unbuttoned white button-up shirt that revealed your soft and smooth stomach with some muscle on it and a black boxer shorts that almost destroyed his last drop of sanity. Fuck he's so into you and you're too oblivious for you're own good.

He bit his lip, eyebrows knitted together, whimpering, pumping his dick up and down, slick covering his shaft, precum oozing out the slit, he imagined you blowing his dick and shooting it down your throat as you gagged on it, tears brimming.

Fuck. He can't wait to tutor you.

-

“Satoru. . . Will you get your ass here already? I need help with decorating the door over here.” You called for him, while holding the Happy Halloween cutouts and webs, you already displayed the jack-o'-lanterns and the whole skeleton sitting on the chair with a coffee mug in its hand, resembling what you're going to be in the future or something.

“Hey! Just because I gave you the permission to call me by my first name doesn't mean that you can abuse it.” Gojo grumbled coming out of the bathroom with his hair slick back from being wet, wearing a black compression shirt and grey joggers.

“Stop being a baby and stick this on the door. ” You rolled your eyes and said while reaching it to Gojo.

“But I'm your baby aren't I?” Gojo finds a way to twist your words against you once again and decides to tease you, leaning his face close to you, with a sly expression.

You smacked his shoulder in return.

“OUCH— Hey! That's not nice” Gojo cried, rubbing the spot that you've smacked, while pouting.

“Well, news flash, I don't intend to be nice.” You said, while walking inside the dorm leaving the weeping Gojo outside, unbeknownst to the reddening of your cheeks and neck.

“For a short-term roommates they sure act like a married couple.” Mai spoke while puffing out smoke in her cigarette, looking at the situation unfolding in front of them.

“This building has been inhabited with gay people or something.” Maki bantered while fixing her cap.

“You're talking as if you didn't just eye fucked Nobara back in the bar.” Mai jested, teasing her twin sister.

“H-HEY?! That's not true, Take that back! and will you stop smoking when I'm around? You've been hanging out with Leiri-senpai haven't you?!” Maki's eyes widened, face blooming into 50 shades of red, pointing to her devil-spawned twin sister.

“Nye nye nye, I can't hear youuu—” Mai said throwing the used cigarettes to the nearby trash can as Maki chased her down the stairs.

-

“Satoru, why's your face like that. . . ?” You noticed then asked in concern.

“What do you mean?” Gojo asked back in return, with a clueless expression.

“You look like you're about to kill someone with that look.” You deadpanned.

“Really? I apologize, I'm just not used to many people coming here to study or lounging, it's usually peaceful.” Gojo reasoned out, as his gaze never left the people packed in the central area of the library, he recognized those ID laces, his veins almost popped in his neck and forehead, knuckle turning white from his grip, when he catches one of them ogling at you.

Fucking. Sukuna Ryomen with his signature smirk. Asshole. He's definitely trying to piss him off. Yeah I'm going to kill that bastard if he even tries to touch you.

“Is that so? Well, don't mind them, I'm sure they meant no harm.” You replied gently.

“Yeah, I'm sure. . .” Gojo said lowly.

-

“Little red riding hood? Really. You're making me dress into some dumb and naive girl? I am quite offended.” You grimaced at Nobara who's dressed up into Clawdeen Wolf from monster high, reaching the costume to you.

“Not my fault that it's the one that you've got in the spinning wheel, be grateful that I'm going to do your make-up!” Nobara rolled her eyes once again, throwing the clothes to your face.

“I'm sure you'll look great, [Name]!!” Yuji tried to cheer you up who's dressed up as the Frankenstein from Hotel Transylvania.

“How come you guys got the good ones while I didn't?!” You complained while pointing fingers at your friends.

“Our fate is aligning with our wants, I guess.” Megumi said while adjusting the scissors in his fingers, dressed up as Edward Scissorhands.

“How unfair.” You sulked while putting on the costume in Nobara's bathroom, the costume consists of white tailored button-up with high collar, long sleeves with ruffles, dark red vest with gold buttons with a matching corset, burgundy trousers that end around the knees, white tights with a rose and vines design, chestnut colored lace-up knee high boots and a dark red cape with a hood and a ribbon, you slipped on the boots and it's just your size. How did Nobara know. . . ?

Anyways, you finished the laces that you need to tie and took your phone to message Gojo to tell him that if he's done dressing then he could go early, don't forget to feed Kiki and lock the door, then turn it off.

You walked out of the bathroom with a scowl, earning a squeal from Nobara who's been waiting for you, Yuji who's just clapping and Megumi who's sitting uncomfortable with his costume, he can't exactly function that well with a big ass diy scissors in his fingers.

“That's more like it you dumbass, now let's do your make-up!!” Nobara mischievously smiled and ran to her walk in closet to grab her make-up box.

You checked your phone to see Gojo's white heart reaction, and a little message that he's already on his way to the campus on the notifications, you smiled softly at the small endearment, he also told you that he's dressed up as Ghostface which actually intrigued you because you haven't watched Scream yet.

“Hey. What are you smiling at? Get your ass here before we get late.” Nobara grimaced, holding a foundation and make-up blender.

Well. You can't escape now, this is your first time joining a party in a public event, especially halloween, mostly you just rot on the couch and just play whatever halloween special movies you see in the recommendation in netflix, eat popcorn then call it a night.

“Yeah, yeah.” You sat on the chair in front of the vanity mirror while Nobara tries not to rip your face off.

“Hey, y'all the class gc just announced something.” Yuji scrolled to his phone.

“What did they say?” Megumi said while muching on some skittles.

“They said that some of the students from the university just crashed into the campus grounds, trick or treating, some of our schoolmates didn't like that and almost started chaos but the university deputy let it slide because it is a halloween party and anybody could join and announced some of the rules and precautions if somebody ever did cause a problem.” Yuji explained with his knitted eyebrows.

“The fuck? Just how shameless could they be to do that? Crashing into another university's party, for what? Couldn't they just do a party on their own campus?” Nobara irked with an angry expression that it almost scared you, while applying light eye shadow on your eyelids.

“I bet they have hidden motives, ain't no way they're just going on our campus to go trick or treating, don't they?” Megumi bantered.

“Yeah, they didn't do this on last year's halloween.” Yuji followed while fixing his red neck tie. Damn this costume is hot.

“Well enough of that, look at our little red riding hood! Isn't he so cute.” Nobara teased while applying the lip gloss on your lips as a finishing touch.

“Will you stop that? You're actually scaring me.” You grimace while Nobara just ignores you as she does a retouch on her face, looking at yourself in the mirror, you actually find it pleasant.

“Looking good, [Name]!!” Yuji complimented you while helping Megumi stand up, as he also agrees.

“Thank you, Yuji.” You smiled while fixing your hair beneath the hood.

“Y'all, let's get going it's almost 6pm.” Nobara reminded while getting her purse.

-

Walking down the streets, you noticed that the streetlights are finally waking, illuminating surroundings, the road is full of kids in their little costumes and jack-o'-lantern baskets filled with candies, it was boisterous yet fun.

What could go wrong, right?

When your little friend group finally reached the University's entrance, it was decorated with Halloween decorations, spooky.

You can hear people chattering inside some are even playing loud music. If you can recall the song, it was called the Goo Goo Muck.

“Looking rather dainty aren't you, Mr. [Last Name]?” Ms. Tsukaba approached you with a fruit punch on her hand and a small smile, dressed up as Unohana from Bleach. Holy shit.

“Professor?! You attend a gathering like this?” Your jaw slacked when you saw your well respected science professor at a Halloween party.

“Why yes? I conclude that this is your first time attending, because I always greet my students if I see them.” Ms. Tsukaba spoke in a well mannered way yet slightly teasing.

“You don't need to rub it in my face, Professor. . .” You sulked once again, while your friends are holding their laugh in their hands while Megumi suffers from holding his breath.

“Y'know I'm joking, dear.” She lamented while patting you in the shoulder.

-

You sat down on some bench while your friends left you to meet up with their other friends, you felt a little lonely but you remembered that you have a roommate, fishing for your phone inside your pockets, you immediately opened your message box to send a message to Gojo, asking where is he as you try to describe what part of campus you're at.

“What's a pretty little thing like you doing all alone over here?”

You flinched at the sudden voice, it was rough yet steady, you looked up to see a man, he has pink hair that was slicked back, burgundy irises that turns into red when light touches it, muscular body that dips down to his slender waist and he's dressed up as the Joker with markings tattooed on his face, and so you thought, he looks just like Yuji. Could it be?

“Do I know you. . . ?” You meekly asked, since you guys are in the secluded area where there's not many people around.

“Aw, sweetheart, don't be that way, I just wanna be friends with ya.” flopping down next to you, one arm on top of the backrest, fleeting touches right on your shoulder, legs slightly spreading, bumping with yours, head leading too close to your shoulder. “The name's Sukuna, darlin', can I know yours?” He said coyly, gaze boring into your figure.

“[Name]. . .” You answered, nervously sliding away from the seat, you sense the intentions of the man beside you, yes. He is fucking hot, you'll admit that, but you barely know him so—

“A fitting name for such a delicate thing, now why are you trying to back away from me?” Sukuna spoke, grinning at your answer, noticing the shifting of your body and the way you're fixing your cape, he finally saw an opening, your hips, he slithered his hand, fingertips almost touching it until, black figure swoop you into his arms.

“Do you not know to fuck off?”

Your eyes widened by the sudden action, cape swaying in the wind, knocking your hood off, you recognized that voice and it sounded pissed off, by instinct you engulf your arms around the man's neck, legs securing his waist.

Gojo lifted up his ghostface mask to the side of his head, he's not wearing his glasses this time, with a deep scowl in his face, gaze that sharp as knives, his irises are almost glowing at this point, you also noticed his jaw ticked, vein prominent on his neck, holding you by the waist by his bulging arms, you don't know what is it but those eyes can hold such storm, menacing and malevolent.

“Is that how you greet your old peers, Gojo? Oh and look I met your little bunny.” Sukuna merely whistled at the swift move, smiling even wider at the sight, teasing, pointing at you.

“Too bad I never considered you as one, you dumbfuck.” Gojo spouts, hands gripping you even tighter. You eyed him, you certainly haven't seen him this worked up and full out cursing someone out, then you whispered into his ear.

“Satoru. . . Let's just go.” Oh how he loves it when he hears his name rolled perfectly out of your lips, he almost purred right there. Patience Satoru. Patience.

“You better take care of that one, or he might disappear.” Sukuna spoke as he lit up the cigarette and put it in his mouth to puff out smoke, looking at two, retreating back to the party, with a growing smirk, leaning his head back. Fuck, that cute little thing is just my type.

While walking, Gojo still hasn't let go of you, and refuses to.

“So mind telling me who he is?” You asked curiously while playing with his hair.

“He's my highschool classmate, and he's a pain in the ass, especially to me.” Gojo pouted and grumbled, tucking his chin on your shoulder, cuddling you at this point.

“Based on his looks, he's a bully isn't he and he bullied you?” You said lean your head on his shoulder while patting his back like you're consoling a child.

“I think so? But I don't really consider it as that, he just loves pestering and messing with me to the point that we almost killed each other.” Gojo narrated while walking down the dimly lit road, damn you did try to run away from the crowd that hard that you really went this far.

“What a child. Do you think he's into me or something?” You absentmindedly said then he just squeezed you a bit tighter right after you said that, you then slap his arm. “Hey! that hurt.” looking at his expression, he's biting his lips with a scowl once again.

“Mhm. . . I think so, But! There's no way I'm letting that happen, I found you first.” Gojo grumbled then declared, making you cringe.

“Anyways, enough of that fucker, did you like my gift though?” Gojo's mood just changed in seconds, Is he bipolar or something? then he asked while tugging the hem of your costume.

“So it was you who bought this?! that's why it fits me so well, are my friends part of this? Oh for god's sake of course they are.” You pull his white locks in anger.

“OUCH—”

-

After the party, and multiple shot fruit punch did really punch you in the face considering that you have a fucking massive headache right now, they didn't tell you that the third batch of fruit punch was alcoholic, good thing that Yuji was there to inform you right after your second glass, now you're in Gojo's car, he said something about staying in his villa to stay for the night but you can't even decide or function properly because of the current state you're in, your head is pounding and your legs hurt, so you just agreed.

Waking up to someone moving you, in a bridal style, you rubbed your eyes to see properly, oh it was Satoru, he's finally wearing his glasses this time.

You noticed the surroundings, you were in some kind of estate, large gates and a pool.

“Satoru, Is this your house?” You asked groggily, leaning to him even more, your head's still pounding after all.

“Yes pretty, this is my home.” Gojo murmured softly into your ears, you only hummed in return. “It's beautiful.”

“Thank you, pretty.”

“Since when did you start calling me that?”

“Since now.”

Going inside, the breeze of the air-conditioning immediately invades your skin, as Gojo settles you down the couch, and it's the softest couch you've laid upon, he went upstairs then comes down with a stack of clothes in his hands.“Hey, you can use the bathroom by the way, wash your face, and change, I just need to take care of something.” Gojo reached the stack of his clothes to you then ruffled your hair. this side of you is so so cute.

“Mhmm. . . Thank you, take care.” You hummed in agreement once again and took the clothes, watching your roommate's form go outside the door.

You reach for your phone to check the time, 9:16 pm, you open to check your message box, pressing your friend group's gc, messaging them if they can go and check Kiki in the dorms, fortunately Yuji's still online and replied that he'll go. Nice.

Damn my legs are fucked up, you thought as you navigate your way in the bathroom in this big ass house you're at, changing into the clothes that you were given and tossing the costume set inside the laundry basket, and it's a bit big for you, well it was Gojo's clothes after all.

He gave you an oversized grey shirt and hello kitty pajamas, you then proceed to wash your face with whatever soap Gojo got in his bathroom, surprisingly he does use the stuff you were also using, coming out the bathroom room, the cold wind made you shiver, damn this place is so fucking cold.

You flop down the couch to observe the spacious place, the interior design was amazing, it fits Gojo's aesthetic just right. Now you remembered, you didn't ask where he was going, you immediately took your phone and messaged him but he didn't answer, how odd, he always answers immediately. Maybe he's busy. You turn it off.

Eventually you got bored since you're not sleepy anymore. Satoru wouldn't mind if you watched a movie on his large ass television, yes? Yeah he wouldn't. you reached for the remote, pressing the Netflix button.

Should you rewatch Halloween once again? Or maybe Friday the 13th?

And so you did both.

It's been two hours since you've been watching, and Gojo still hasn't answered your messages you even tried to call him though it seems like his phone is off and it's actually making you worried.

Then you flinched when you heard it ring, grabbing it to see Sato— wait, this isn't Satoru's contact number, it must've been a wrong press, you just ignored it until it ended, you felt yourself quite famished so you went to the pantry to find some snack, pretzels? Chips? Popcorn? Yeah.

You placed the popcorn bag inside the microwave until your phone rings once again. You finally answered it.

“Hello?” You asked, putting your hand in your hip.

“Hello. Who is this?” The man spoke rather confused, his voice is deep and gravelly, it almost sends shivers down your core.

“Erm. Who're you trying to reach?” You asked once, maybe this is some kind of prank because it's halloween, but wouldn't it be more fitting if it's in april? How peculiar.

“What number is this?” The man asked, and it almost irked you.

“Again, what number are you trying to reach? Mister whoever you are, I don't have time for some kind of prank—” You answered agitated. Then the man answers “I don't know.” You thought that you'll pop a vein first then those popcorn in the microwave.

“Well, I think you have the wrong number.” You replied, a finger almost hovering on the end button. “Do I?” The man behind the phone coyly said.

“Yeah, It happens. Take it easy.” Your eyes flickering to the microwave, you press the end button, hanging up and put it on top of the counter, reaching for the buttons of the microwave, then it rings again. Are you fucking kidding me?

Since you're petty, you answered it again. Hearing the man's voice once again.

“I'm sorry, I guess I dialed the wrong number.”

“So why'd you dial it again?” Your voice almost raising by being annoyed.

“To apologize.”

“You're forgiven, now leave me alone.” You scoffed.

“Wait, wait! Don't hang up on me.” The man almost sounded desperate.

“What now?” You asked, rolling your eyes.

“I wanna talk to you for a second.”

“Sorry to break it to you but I'm busy. And besides I'm sure there's thousand of numbers for you to prank or something.” You sassed to the complete stranger who has an incredibly hot fucking voice but he was disrupting your movie time while waiting for your roommate, you then hanged up.

You finally turned on the microwave and cook the popcorn, fucking finally, watching it spin around inside, once it's done, you opened it and poured it inside a porcelain bowl, you wondered why Gojo decided to live in dormitory when he lives like this.

Flopping down the couch, you reach for the remote, until you hear your phone rings once again. Oh it's the same number. How fun.

“Hello?” You deadpanned.

“Why don't you wanna talk to me?” The man desperately asked, almost sad.

“Hey, actually. Who is this? You're actually creeping me out.” You told him truthfully as you placed the bowl on the glass coffee table, lying down the couch now.

“You tell me your name and I'll tell you mine.”

“Are you serious? If you are, I don't think so.” You replied, you felt your headache coming up again, reaching out for the popcorn and munching it.

“What's that noise?” He asked.

“Popcorn.” You answered shortly.

“You're eating popcorn?”

“Obviously.” You stated, with knitted eyebrows.

“I only eat popcorn at the movies.” He ignored your immediate reply of stating the obvious and continued to yap.

“Well I am getting ready to watch a movie right now, if you care enough.” You answered while eating.

“Really? What movie?”

“Just some scary movies.” You blatantly said.

“You like scary movies?”

“Yeah, but mostly paranormal documentaries.” You answered truthfully, even though he's a complete stranger he seems chill, and so you think.

“What's your favorite scary movie?”

“I actually haven't thought of that.” You pondered.

“You have to have a favorite, what comes to your pretty little mind?” The man's honeyed voice just happened to hypnotize you or something.

“Erm, Halloween? Y'know the one with the guy in white mask that walks around and stalks babysitters?” You answered absentmindedly yet concise, thinking that if you answer him he will finally shut up.

“Yeah. . .”

“What's yours?” It's your turn to ask.

“Guess.”

“Erm. Nightmare on Elm Street?” You just think of a random halloween movie and said it.

“Is that the one where the guy had knives for fingers?”

“Yeah, I think his name is Freddy Krueger or something.” Your memory wasn't that vivid, it's mostly the functions of the excretory system you try to memorize, not the killers in some movies.

“Freddy, yeah, that's right, I liked that movie. It was scary.” The man merely agrees.

“Well, the first one was, but the rest sucked—” You finally remembered the rest of the movie.

“So, you got a boyfriend?” The man asked.

“Why? You wanna ask me out on a date? Seriously.” Your eyes widened by the sudden question but still remained composed even when this man is literally wasting your time.

“Maybe. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Mmmm, no.” You denied, the audacity of this man is quite insane.

“You never told me your name.” The man asked.

“Why do you want to know my name, so badly?” You answered once again with your remaining patience, then it happens.

“'Cause I want to know who I'm looking at.”

What the fuck.

Your blood ran cold. The atmosphere suddenly changed, are you trembling? You don't know, you became wary.

“W-what did you just say?” You murmured, as you sat up looking at every direction, but he can still hear you.

“I want to know who I'm talking to.” The man continues to talk.

“That's not what you said.” You bantered, trying to hold yourself together, you need to call Satoru, or whoever it is who's online, you close the blinds, windows and the doors, but remembered that this wasn't your house, you aren't that familiar with it.

“What do you think I said? Hello?”

You turned quiet, trying to think. Fuck, you're so scared, you're actually trembling.

“Look, I think we should call it a night, yes?” You asked the man once again, your heart is beating so fast.

“Wait! I thought we're gonna go out together.”

“Uhm, no. I don't think so.” You tried to stay calm, pressing the end button.

“No! Don't hang up on me—”

You scrambled to your feet, it still hurts but you still went upstairs, finding your way to Satoru's room. Then it rings.

Fuck.

“Yes?” Your voice growing loud.

“I told you to not hang up on me.” The man's voice turned lowly, threateningly.

“What do you want from me. Leave me alone.” You spoke rather harsh.

“To talk.”

“Well, dial someone else, okay?” You said trembling.

“Listen. . . Just don't hang up on me and you'll be fine, understand?” His voice becoming more sinister.

“Is this some kind of joke?” You asked, you're terrified.

“More of a game, really, can you handle that?” He bantered.

“Listen, I'm two seconds away from calling the police—”

“Oh please, honey. They'd never make it in time. We're out in the middle of nowhere.”

Your stomach dropped because y'know to yourself that it was true, the police have always been late, your eyes felt hot, the hairs on your arms and legs started to stand up.

“What do you want from me?!” You screamed at your phone, tears almost brimming down your cheeks.

“To see what your insides look like.”

-

His ocean-blue irises almost dimmed, as blood dripped down his sharp knife, seeing his reflection of it.

There laid Sukuna's body, with multiple stabs in his stomach and head, his organs almost flooding out, gutted like a fish, gouged eye balls, and severed hand, the hand that touched you, there's splotches of blood everywhere, he spat into the dead man's corpse.

“Fuck around and find out, I guess.”

He adjusted his glasses to see you properly, in the monitor, oh how adorable you are, he was already inside the house, specifically the security room where every single angle of the house can be seen, he's watching your every move, he used Sukuna's phone and inserted your number to call you.

He watched you tremble, and cry, like a bunny lost in the woods waiting for the big bad wolf to devour him. Fuck he's hard, watching you go straight up into his bedroom, you just fell right into his trap.

Gojo then took off his bloodied black latex and settled it on top of the control counter, disinfecting the bloodied knife with alcohol, slipping his mask on, once again. Let's play.

It's been awhile since he put on his infamous mask, feeling the adrenaline rush into his system and this time he's more eager, more carnal.

Walking out the door, with feather like footsteps, he lived inside these walls almost half of his life, he already memorized the every corner of his home, even in complete darkness, how smart of you to turn off the lights but he's always two steps ahead of you.

-

You don't know what the fuck happened but it all happened in a flash, you heard the door being shut then a clink being the lock, then your heart pounding inside your ribs. You tried to escape but the knife in his hand just sealed your fate.

Now you're kneeling on the floor with your mouth being fucked, hard.

The masked man's cock has a thick vein that disappears below its head, arched against his sculpted stomach that dips down to his navel, trimmed white pubes. Fuck. Satoru?

You couldn't see properly because of the dark surroundings, hearing a clap, the lights suddenly turned on, revealing the masked man sitting at the chair, legs spreading, surprisingly enough, it's the same mask that your roommate was wearing, you trembled as the cold surface of the sharp knife pricked the skin of your neck, sliding down to your chest, but not enough to scar you.

You felt your eyes widened at the sudden realization, tears brimming, choking on it while the creamy precum drips on your tongue down to your tight throat, whimpering as hands gripped your hair to pushing it deeper, you drooled, eyes rolling back to your skull, feeling the tip of the knife pressing against your throat.

“Well, aren't you a smart boy? Finally figured it out, hm?” Gojo murmured, pushing his mask aside, revealing his face, his white and silky locks falling perfectly to his forehead, with his black frames looking down at you as you look up to him with those pleading eyes, mouth full of his dick. Fuuckk.

“Can't talk with your mouth full, huh? Too bad.” He said with smirking, slamming it down, repeatedly with his hips, hard, the crown of his bulbous tip abusing the end of your throat, he watches as drool and his hot cum pooling in your lips.

The mix of saliva and his semen frothed, coating his shaft with a creamy ring, dripping down your chin, choking on his thick load. You can only moan and breathe to your nose Fuck you felt your own dick getting hard. You wanna touch it so badly.

He then threw the knife at the floor.

“Swallow it, and don't waste a single drop.” He then pulled his cock out of your mouth, creating a thick white string, you tried to swallow it all.

“Toruu. . . you're so mean.” You groggily said, throat raw, cock drunk.

“Aww, baby. Too mean for you?” Gojo cooed while caressing your head, untangling your knotted strands, swooping you up into his lap, you felt his rock hard cock slipped past your hole with slick, eliciting a moan from you.

“We aren't finished yet, pretty.”

-

“Fuck. You look so fucking good with my clothes on, baby.” Gojo moaned, his glasses were still on which made your stomach flutter for some reason you don't understand, while his tongue was deep inside your raw and slick hole, licking the stripe of your ass, holding your shaking thighs with both of his hands in a vice grip, you trembled while you tried to muffle your sounds.

Inserting his fingers on, scissoring your gummy insides, back arching when he spotted your prostate, repeatedly poking it with his thick and long fingers, squelching, you tried to stop his hand but he barely budged, maintaining eye contact with yours.

“Nghh— Ngh—. . .Toru, pleaseee—” You choked a sob.

Gojo merely hummed, pushing his thick fingers in and out of your warm, tight hole, knuckle deep, making you throw your head back, writhing.

“Look at you clenching on my fingers like a cheap whore.” He leaned down into your ear.

You bucked your hips into his fingers on instinct. You've gone non verbal at this point, you couldn't even think straight anymore.

“Where did my smart boy go? Dick so good it melted your brain, is that it?” Gojo teased spoke lowly, coating his shaft with lube, still wet and slick from throat fucking you, he stared at your form laid bare below him, with shirt on, the moonlight shined down at you from the window, body so fuckable and lips so kissable, You're so perfect.

“What would your friends say if they saw you getting dicked down like this, hmm? The smartest student at the junior department getting bred by his senior? fuck, such a slut.”

Gojo snarled, as he leaned into your lips, slipping his pink tongue inside your mouth, sucking on your tongue, sloppily while he grips your neck, nose bumping together, he stared at you, with your blurry eyes from tears, you kept on drooling like a dumb boy you are.

“Oh. . You're really getting it tonight.” He said, taking off his glass and slipping it to you, he made you wear it.

“You look so good honey, my glasses fits you so well.” He purred, while lifting both your legs up to your head, knees bumping in your shoulders, holding it together, locked and tight, and in a snap before you could even react he slipped his thick cock inside making a loud squelch, a loud sultry moan escaped from your lips, guttural from your throat, it almost sent you to blackout, seeing stars, a single tear dripped down your cheek.

“NGHH—! too. . deeep—!!”

“Hmm? Too deep for you, bunny?” He angled his hips, tongue darting out his lips, focused, hitting the bundle of nerves inside dead on, lube and slick almost bubbling from the repeated thrusting, the sound of skin slapping making obscene delicious noises, squelching.

Pulling it out slooowly— then slamming it back in, fast and deep, his shaft now glistening from the slick and creamy sheen of cum, Gojo merely smirked, pressing the bulge forming in your soft tummy making you scream, seeing the dumb expression in your face, tongue lolling, drooling.

“Fwuuck! sooo— b-big— Nghh. . .”

The glasses in your face are now crooked from the impact, pinning you down the mattress, sweat and drool covered your face, your chest heaves.

Fuck you're so hot.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

Gojo kept on pounding you until he reached his orgasm, whimpering, shooting hot loads of cum in your creamy hole, thick white strings painted your insides, you can't feel your legs and back anymore, your neck was full of hickeys from Satoru's nipping and sucking. He's so fucking starved.

“Been wanting to fuck you for so long now, do you think you can just tease me and get away with it.” Gojo said while scooping some of his cum inside your hole with his fingers and shoving it in your mouth, you almost choke, you held on to his wrist while maintaining eye contact with me.

“Walking around our dorm half naked and you're expecting to keep my hands to myself?” Gojo knitted his eyebrows together, while he licks your stomach up to your chest, suckling to your perky nipples, you chewed on your swollen lips from kissing, Gojo's lips quirking into a sly smirk, his canines peaking out, while licking and pinching your nipples.

“Wondering if you can produce milk if I just suck it enough.” He said while he watches your face contorted into a blushingly mess.

“W-what kind nonsense are you trying to say now— Nghh—” You managed to let out almost mad, but not until Gojo rammed in his veiny cock in the snap of his hips like a warning, making you squeal.

“T'aww. . . Since when did you get to speak. Dumb boy.” He said dangerously, his irises glinted, sharp and calculated, mocking you, you whined.

“Dumb boys don't get to speak until he's told to, yes?” Gojo gave you a close eyed smile, menacingly, now manhandling you, bending you over as you tried to crouch on all fours but your legs and arms are too weak to even stand, so Gojo grabbed a nearby pillow and settled it on your chest and face.

“And dumb boys take what they can take.” Gojo trailed, admiring his view, fuck, the arch of your back just made him even more rock hard, it's pulsing at this point, from the vein, he held the of flesh of your hips, almost bruising it, then slammed his cock inside in a heartbeat, repeatedly, in and out, it filled you immediately.

Your moans are muffled by the pillow, eyes rolling at the back of your head, tears streaming down your cheeks, staining Satoru's glasses, as you hugged it tightly, you twitched, legs shaking, you felt him in your tummy, the bulbous tip almost poking out below your bellybutton.

“Fuuck—! If I only knew that you'd be this breedable then I would've fucked you in that library in the first place.” Gojo whined, catching his breath, kneading the globes of your ass, watching your hole clench, winking at him, then your mind went blank.

Your back is killing you, and your legs feel like they're going to snap off if you even try to stand and walk. Curse Satoru and his stupid breeding kink, who would've thought that the model student of the campus is such a kinky motherfucker.

-

You don't wanna think anymore, you want to just pass out at this point, I mean who watches scary movies while having an intercourse?! Just what kind of mind does this sex machine have? you missed Kiki.

Now you're riding Gojo's dick in the living room where you neglected the bowl of popcorn, when Gojo decided to fuck with you, rather literally, while watching Scream, 1996. Now that you realized it, the scenarios in that particular movie just mirrored the conversation you guys had in that phone call which genuinely concerned you, and this is your first time watching the movie.

You thought as the tip of his big dick pressed against your already abused prostate, you choked a delicious moan, while the man thrusts his hips, piercing his thick shaft inside you, skin slapping.

“NGH—! T-toruuu—”

“Tired already?” Gojo teased you, asking as if he didn't destroyed you in bed, while caressing your sides, giving your shoulders kisses, you felt the vein in your forehead irked. The audacity of this fucker.

You pull yourself up then slam it back down, catching Gojo off guard, eliciting a moan from him, and a loud squelch. Take that you bitch. Hmph.

“Fuck, baby since when did you learn that, hmm?” Gojo's irises glinted and asked lowly, slithering his bulging arms beneath your knees, lifting it up to your shoulder, legs almost touching your pretty little head.

Gojo then stood up, your back pressed against his hard, toned abs and soft pillowy pectorals, his warm breath tickling your ear, placing sloppy kisses on your neck.

Pulling his thick cock out, leaving his bulbous tip in your rim, then pounding it deep inside of you in an instant, creating the most delicious sound. It almost knocked the air out of you.

“Baby. . . You should've known better to not rile me up.” He whispered into your ear.

“Fuuuck— just look how deep I am inside of you.”

He pressed down the bulge below your bellybutton, you threw your head back to his broad shoulder, gripping hard on his bicep, whimpering and moaning, twitching and shaking.

He kept on fucking you, in long and deep strokes, pushing it deeper with every single thrust, shaping your insides into his size.

He's so fucking big, and your hole is so used and raw, you almost feel bloated from the amount of cum he pounded inside of you, thick spurts of hot creamy sheen of cum just never ends. Is he that pent up?

He keep murmuring in your ears that if he knocked you up hard enough, that'll make you pregnant, full of his kids.

He kept on kissing the every part of your being, your neck, shoulders, jaw and your temple, as if it was enough to compensate with the damages that he made.

Once you recover you'll definitely beat the shit out of him.

Halloween had always been noisy in the city, too many strangers in cheap masks crowding the sidewalks, but tonight the noise blurred into something muffled, drowned beneath the weight of footsteps that weren’t your own. Every time you turned, you saw him—tall, broad, standing just close enough for him to be in your line of sight, his face hidden by a plain white mask that didn’t belong among the cheap plastic fangs and neon makeup. He never brushed shoulders, never touched, just lingered a few paces back like your shadow had stretched into something solid.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing. Too many drinks, too much smoke and laughter from the party clinging to your head, but the pit in your stomach didn’t ease. The streetlights flickered overhead. Every time you thought you’d shaken him off, he was there again. Watching.

By the time you cut into a narrow alley to lose him, your chest was already tight, sweat breaking beneath your collar. The brick wall at the dead end hit you like a slap—you’d trapped yourself without meaning to. And when you spun, he was already there, stepping closer, head tilted like he was amused by the panic rolling off you.

“Who the fuck are you?” Your voice cracked sharper than you wanted.

The man reached up, fingers dragging slow against the mask before tugging it free.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Sukuna.

The scars on his mouth twisted into that grin you knew too well, the kind that had once made you weak, the kind that still made heat crawl up your throat even now. He looked good in the worst way, like a wound you hadn’t let heal.

“Miss me?” His tone was casual, mocking, but his eyes burned. “Been a long time, huh? Didn’t think I’d just let you walk away.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came. Weeks of silence. Weeks of convincing yourself you’d done the right thing, leaving him behind, refusing to keep swallowing his chaos. And now here he was, like your thoughts had dragged him out of the dark.

“You’ve been—fuck, Sukuna, you’ve been following me?”

He chuckled, low, head dipping closer until you felt the warmth of his breath on your cheek. “Every night. You think I wouldn’t keep track of what’s mine? You thought you’d find someone else, let some other asshole touch what belongs to me? No chance.” His voice curled lower, taunting. “I know every step you’ve taken since you left. I know every person who’s looked at you. None of them deserve you. You’re mine.”

You hated how your body reacted, the shiver running down your spine, the way your thighs pressed together. Old habits, old memories—you could still feel the ghost of his hands on your skin, the stretch of him splitting you open, the way he never left you empty.

“You’re insane,” you spat, though it came out thinner than you meant.

He grinned wider, scarred mouth cruel and knowing. “And you’re still hard for me.”

Then his mouth was on yours, hard and taking, teeth scraping until your lips burned. You tried to push him away weakly, hands braced against his chest, but when his tongue shoved between your lips, your knees buckled. He swallowed the noise you made triumphantly, grinding you into the wall like the city outside didn’t exist.

When he pulled back, your chin was wet, your breath stolen. He looked feral.

“You taste the same,” he muttered, one hand sliding down to cup your ass, squeezing until you gasped. “Like you’ve been waiting for me to come back.”

The fight bled out of you when he spun you into the wall, pressing his chest to your back, rutting against you like he couldn’t hold back. His zipper dragged open and the hot weight of his cock pressed against your ass, thick and heavy, grinding until you whimpered.

“Sukuna—”

He cut you off with a growl. “Shut up. You wanted this. You wouldn’t be shaking like this if you didn’t.” His breath was sharp at your ear, his voice rough with need. “You think leaving me changed anything? This hole still belongs to me. Still begging to be filled.” 

You gasped as he shoved your pants down, spitting into his hand before smearing it between your cheeks. There was no slow prep, no patience—just his cock nudging against your rim, the blunt head pushing until your body gave way with a sting that made you curse. The stretch was brutal, familiar in the worst way, every inch splitting you open until he was seated deep, groaning against your neck.

“Fuck—tight as ever. Clenching like you missed me.” His teeth scraped your skin, biting down until pain sparked hot. “Say it. Tell me you missed this cock splitting you open.”

You didn’t answer, too busy clawing at the brick for balance as he pulled back and slammed in again. The alley echoed with it—skin on skin, your muffled moans, his guttural groans. Each thrust was deeper, harder, grinding into the spot that had you seeing stars.

“You’re mine,” he growled, pace picking up, the sound of his balls slapping against you filthy in the night. “No one else gets to fuck you like this. No one else gets to stuff you full and keep you leaking. Gonna fuck my cum so deep it won’t leave for days.”

Your cock slapped against your stomach, dripping, untouched, every thrust jarring pleasure through you until you couldn’t hold back the noises spilling out. Shame burned your face, but your body was already betraying you—pushing back into him, desperate for more.

“That’s it,” Sukuna snarled, one hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision spark. “Take it. Take all of me. You’ll come untouched, won’t you? Just from being stuffed like my personal cocksleeve.”

You choked on a whimper, the heat in your abdomen snapping. You came hard, spilling against the wall, legs trembling as he held you steady and fucked you through it. The orgasm wrung you out, left you raw and shaking, but Sukuna wasn’t close to done.

“Pathetic,” he spat, hips slamming faster. “Already creaming around me, begging for more.” His hand pressed hard against your stomach, feeling the drag of his cock inside. “Gonna pump you full. Gonna breed you until your hole knows no one else but me.”

The words burned, filth coating every thrust, until his hips stuttered. He shoved in deep, grinding until you swore you could feel him in your throat, and then the heat flooded you. Thick, hot, spilling over as his cock throbbed inside you, filling you until it leaked down your thighs. He groaned against your neck, hips rocking, forcing it deeper, holding you there as though he could mold you to keep it all inside.

When he finally pulled out, cum spilled down your skin in messy rivulets, obscene in the glow of the streetlight. He laughed low, shoving two fingers into your hole, scooping the mess and pushing it back in while you whimpered.

“Not wasting a drop,” he said, smug. He licked the mess from his fingers, eyes locked on yours as he sucked them clean. “Tastes like mine. Always will.”

You sagged against the wall, legs barely holding, your head spinning with the smell of sweat and sex. Sukuna tugged his mask back on, still grinning like a psychopath.

“Next Halloween?” he mused, stepping back into the shadows. “Fuck that. I’m not waiting a year. You’re mine now, and I’m taking you whenever I want.”

The alley went silent when he vanished, but the ache between your legs and the cum dripping down your thighs was proof enough he’d been real. Proof you weren’t rid of him at all.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.