DiscoDance

"huh?" you stare him down, a little dumbfounded. he's the picture of perfect nonchalance, thumb drawing shapes on your flesh, taking yet another hit—all languid like he's not literally buried inches deep inside of you. "but 'm not good where I am," you argue, voice carrying that slightly breathless cadence, the one it always gets when you're all wound up.

"really? I think you are." lidded eyes fix on yours, teeth flashing in a small smile. he doesn't make any move to give you what you so clearly want, just shifts his wrist to turn the joint so the burning end is facing him, other end to you. common sense tells you it's to take a hit, so your lips part, closing around the tip when he places it close enough.

"atta girl," he murmurs, pulling back when you inhale sufficiently, mouth close enough that you can return the favor from earlier. he steals the secondhand breath of smoke like he's owed something, pecking your lips after like it's the most casual thing to do between... well, whatever you two would be classed as at this point.

"are you really not letting me move?"

"you're catching on quickly." his head falls onto the backing of the couch, lengthy digits flexing on your hip when you shift again. "I said to stop doing that."

"why not?" you ask, trying to sound casual, but it damn near sounds like you're whining, voice thin and reedy with your building need. "why are you torturing me? aren't we friends?"

"of course we are, pretty." his thumb circles your hip bone, gaze on you not one you analyze too closely. "but you can't move because.." he says it slowly, like he's making sure there's no room for you to misunderstand. like high-you only has a few working brain cells. "..you came here to smoke."

...that's it? he's so stuck on the fact that you came here to smoke with him that he disregards you half-naked in his lap and making a mess on his cock? "…okay? so what?"

"so what?" he gasps like you'd said something scandalous, pulling back to fix you with an incredulous look. "weren't you the one on the phone saying 'i'm not coming over to fuck this time, satoru'? you were."

his imitation of you is all high and pitchy, near insultingly inaccurate. your narrowed eyes are a clear glimpse into your building annoyance.

"so we're not doing that. we're smoking because that's what you came here for. so," both hands keep you firmly planted, hips shifting ever so slightly, "do your part and stay still."

"what the hell was the point in letting me sit on it then?" you bite, squirming again, trying to angle his blushing tip somewhere sensitive—but he stops you cold with a single, stinging slap to your ass that only serves to sink you deeper into your building arousal.

satoru pretends to think for a moment, softly 'hmm'-ing under his breath in his contemplation. "for fun?" he says simply, large hand gently massaging your stinging flesh, squeezing it in his palm. "what’s the issue?"

"well, since you’re asking—"

"you didn’t say you wanted to fuck. you said you needed to 'chill.'" his tone dips lower in a way that makes your stomach turn over, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "doesn't this seem chill enough?"

"you're really, really fucking insufferable, you know that?" you huff, fingers digging into the top of his shoulders and biting into flesh, wriggling a little in his hold. just enough to finally drag his bulbous head against that spot where he's settled far too deep, mouth slackening. "mmf—fuck you, seriously."

"oh, i'm sure you'd like that." he tuts at your clear, too-obvious attempt at fucking yourself on his cock yet again, hand sliding up to your waist since holding you elsewhere doesn't seem to be working out too well. not that he's trying too hard at this point. "maybe next time."

you wish you could just grab him by that pretty, slender neck and wring it for playing with you like this. he's the one that’d kissed you when you’d gotten here, all nasty with his tongue in your mouth, hands on your ass. he's the one that'd gotten you mostly out of your damn clothes and perched on his cock—but, what? now he's oh-so set on respecting your 'no sex this time' comment?

your head drops down into the crook of his neck instead, long suffering groan warming his skin. "you're the worst person on earth and I seriously hate you."

oh, how he loves when you pretend you can't stand him.

"mm, I'm sure you do, baby." a hand drags up your spine, warm and lazy, like a reward for actually keeping still. the worst part about getting this close is that it’s easier for his scent to start filling your nose, clinging to your senses like it’s trying to brand itself there. smoke and soap, that heady cologne forgone today—but he still smells so good. "maybe make your intentions clear and you'll get what you want next time."

"this was not my intention."

"oh?" and just to be an ass, just to fuck with you, the hands on your waist ease you up, letting gravity do all the work as you fall right back down into his lap, fat of your ass smacking against his thighs. it punches a strained sound right out of your throat, hands grabbing at him, core throbbing around where you’re connected. it's somehow worse with how long you'd been sat with zero friction, every inch hitting somewhere deeper.

his mouth eases closer to your ear, lips brushing against the soft slope. "well, that's too bad then, isn't it?"

an arm bands around your lower back to inch you forward, tits crushed against his chest as you press into him, arms finding themselves draped across his shoulders. all the shifting isn't doing you any favors, but at least with his hand not keeping you down, you can move your hips in the tiniest bounces, tip pressing into that one spot he’s usually loves targeting.

"mm, satoru.." you moan into his neck, hands grabbing at the back of the back of the couch for more leverage, hips starting to rise higher and fall faster. "just—ugh, please? just fuck me already."

"you’re so easy to mess with," he snorts, bringing the joint back to his mouth and between his lips again. it's hard to pretend to be unaffected when you're quite literally bouncing in his lap unrestrained, just begging him to give you something to feel better. to just fuck you already.

so he obliges, of course, free hand moving to your ass to lift you just high enough. enough to unseat himself, precum slick head just barely nudging your folds. your hands grip at his shoulders like you don't trust yourself—or his single hand—to keep you balanced, head pulling out of his neck to look down at him. "'mm, what are you d—"

then he brings you right back down with a solid motion till your thighs press to his, burying himself in one firm stroke. once, twice, a third time—back-to-back lifting and dropping you, letting just his tip press against your fluttering entrance before he's sinking back home, refamiliarizing himself with the rhythm of fucking you.

"oh..oh fuck—oh fuck, keep doing that." your breathing gets shakier with every pass, every slow stroke in and out of your soaked cunt. satoru's watching you now, eyes flicking down to where you're taking him, watching your body try to keep him tightly in place every time he pulls even an inch out.

it’s a sudden change in pace from not moving, feet suddenly planted, hips driving up into you at a pace that forces the air right out your lungs. satoru snubs the burning end of the blunt out and abandons it, both hands a firm weight on the curve of your ass. spreading, gripping to bounce you on the length of his cock. obscene wet sounds fill the room, slick mixture built up between you two smearing down his shaft with every withdrawal and hilting.

your nails claw at his shoulders for purchase, head lifting out of his neck to pant against his cheek, mouth moving further east till he’s crushing his against yours again. he swallows every sound you make and fucks up into you harder. his kiss is all tongue and teeth, your hands scratching his undercut, sliding into pale locks—his guiding your movements with more urgency than before. you hadn't been the only one affected, clearly. the taste of him is all sweet and smokey on your tongue, practically chasing his mouth as he pulls back, lips kiss-swollen. "ah-haah, satoru...feels so good."

one hand slides up your back to undo your bra clasp in a single practiced motion. the straps go slack, hand instantly finding one of your freed breasts—squeezing, tugging at your stiff bud. your body jolts from the impact of him driving into you, tit bouncing in his palm.

"always so soft and pliant when you're high," he coos, gaze lifting just to see your expression crumple when he fucks you full again, relishing in all the whines and cries pouring out of you.

"what happened to not fucking, hm?"

It's your own fault you're in here anyway; you'd wanted more privacy to discuss your concerns. And now that you have, you can only hope against hope that Shoko can get to the bottom of your recent medical issues.

A quick rap at the door makes you bolt upright. Shoko comes back into the room, the set of her mouth especially grim. It's the same face she makes when her fingers are twitching for a cigarette that she will ultimately deny herself. 

"Give it to me straight, doc. What's my diagnosis?"

She takes a seat on the rolling stool beside the examination table. "Headaches, chest and stomach pain, trouble sleeping. All could mean one thing."

"Cancer?"

"Stress."

"Stress? Are you serious?" you ask, and Shoko nods. "But you said my blood pressure was high and—"

"Higher than usual. And that is more than likely caused by stress."

"That makes no sense. The splitting headaches and-and all this pressure on my chest. Sometimes, I can't even get a breath in right–"

"All linked to stress, stress, and more stress. Chronic stress, at this point." Shoko rolls over to her computer and types up her findings into your health record. "Makes sense though. You have been working around the clock these days. Gotta take care of yourself, no one will care about your health more than you do."

You're grateful that it's not a more serious diagnosis like your brain had spent the better part of an hour convincing you of, but you feel far from relieved. You almost wish it was something less ambiguous than stress. Something with a clear solution, like medication, a change in diet, maybe even a shot. But stress? Stress could break your body down this bad? Seriously?

"Well, how do you handle stress then?" you ask.

"Used to be cigarettes but, you know," she sighs wistfully. "Nowadays, martinis and whiskey sodas. Utahime's proven to be a pretty good stress reliever as well."

"Utahime? What do you mean— Oh."

"Yeah, recent development. Anyway, you might need a fuck buddy or something. Regular sex is known to reduce stress levels pretty effectively. Maybe invest in a magic wand, they're efficient."

"I already have one of those. The wand that is."

You can't say that your line of work lends itself to dating, let alone hook ups. When you had been on the carousel of dating apps years ago, all your dates ended one of two ways: you abruptly leaving in pursuit of some cursed spirit, or excusing yourself to the bathroom to hit up Shoko and beg her to call back in the next ten minutes with a convincing life or death emergency so you could cut the evening short. You're sure acquiring a fuck buddy would prove impossible, not that you're especially keen on the idea.

"I suggest you get well acquainted with that thing then so the stress doesn't end up killing you."

"It's just…the thing is…" You take in a deep breath. "It doesn't work on me."

Shoko pauses her typing to look at you. When you nod sheepishly, she furiously types something on the keyboard then turns the monitor your way.

"This is it, right? A hitachi?"

"Yeah."

"And it doesn't get you off?"

"Never once. At least I don't think it has. I'd know if I had an orgasm right?"

"A good one will make you forget your given name. So if you have to ask, it's safe to say you've never had one."

You lay back down and groan. "Not only am I gonna die, I'm gonna die without ever having had an orgasm."

"Come on, you've survived way too much for your tombstone to say 'Stressed to Death.' Let's go partake in one of my favorite stress relievers. A nice, cold beer."

Shoko stands before you on the table and pulls you to your feet. You didn't think she'd ever have to drag you out of a place like this. Hopefully a drink or two will be enough to forget that your body is not only attacking itself, but it's also defective.

Grateful your night binge drinking with a functioning alcoholic didn't result in a hangover, you decide to take a slow approach to your day, determined to mitigate your stress. 

Shortly after your third drink, you'd drunkenly called Principal Yaga to tell him that you loved and appreciated him so much (the memory still makes you wince) and to see if you could arrange some sort of sabbatical. To your pleasant surprise, he approved, which prompted more sobs of appreciation and adoration before Shoko confiscated your phone. Barring any serious security threats, you were relieved of most of your responsibilities outside of teaching.

You pull up a yoga video and replicate the flows in your room, basking in the quiet of the early morning as you breathe deep, in tune with your every muscle as you bend and stretch. Despite the sorry state you've been in, your body is strong yet limber, and for that you are especially grateful. 

Once you finish with your morning meditation, you take a long, hot shower. Lather your body with a special lavender soap that you'd been gifted so long ago. The thick, elegantly decorated paper that once preserved the bar of soap boasts that it originated from France. It had been a struggle to set it free; you'd always told yourself that you would save it for some special occasion, but clearly nothing had been so special in the years since receiving it that you deemed it worthy of busting out your expensive bar of luxury soap. Besides, if you're bound to die, you might as well use it at least once.

And the life-changing experience of washing yourself with it is enough to inspire you to go through a whole skin care routine, head to toe. Instead of rubbing moisturizer onto your face and calling it a day, you slather your skin with the soap's accompanying body oil and body butter until you're soft and glowing. Loathe as you are to admit, it does help you feel more relaxed, the calming scent of lavender on your pampered skin.

Back in your room, you search for your most comfortable lounge wear. You decide to forgo the bra today, and pull on a cute tank top. Baggy sweatpants sit low on your hips, almost revealing the frilly hem of your well-worn pair of cheekie underwear. 

Breaking with tradition, you prepare your first real breakfast in weeks. If you bothered to put anything in your body in the morning, it would be instant coffee, and, if you were lucky (i.e. missed dinner the night prior), it'd be accompanied by buttered toast. But today, you pull out all the stops. Brew some green tea, prepare a miso soup, broil some mackerel, set the rice cooker until it sings. The act of cooking for yourself, even something as simple as this, is really quite enjoyable. It's a shame you rarely have enough time to cook more often.

With everything prepared and plated, you take a seat at the dining table and sample a bit from each bowl laid out before you. It's quiet in the kitchen today, so you can really savor your meal. It's a day off for the students, so you don't have to worry about them sneaking into faculty housing to bother you. Neither Itadori nor Panda are here to beg for a bite. No Kugisaki to plead with you, please bring me into the city for a 'much needed' shopping spree. You have another bite of mackerel with rice and sigh. This is bliss.

You're only halfway through your meal when your phone buzzes in your pants pocket. It's a text message from Shoko consisting of one word: sorry. 

"Sorry? What the hell?" You put down your chopsticks to text her as much. The ellipsis on her end appears at once then disappears. This continues in rapid succession. What is so difficult for her to say? You tap out a message asking whether everything is okay.

"Sooo."

You glance up from your phone to a grinning Gojo leaning over you. He's in casual clothes too, having ditched his trademark uniform and blindfold for a pale grey hoodie, matching sweats, and sunglasses so dark you can see only your reflection in them. You're never sure what's more unsettling– seeing his eyes, or not seeing them at all.

"Morning, Gojo," you say before sending a new message to Shoko. 

"A little birdie told me that your poor little pussy is broken."

Your phone clatters to the ground,and you look up at your amused comrade in abject horror. 

"Shoko told you that?" you ask, thoroughly beside yourself. Whatever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality? APPI? Girl Code?

"Didn't need to. At least, not directly." Gojo tips his sunglasses down so you can clearly see the mirth glittering in his crystalline eyes. He winks exaggeratedly at you, and in this moment, you're sure the mortification will get you before the stress ever does.

"Don't give me that look. I'm not here to tease you," he says, pushing his glasses back up. "Unless you want me to."

"If you know what's good for you–"

"Easy, easy," he says, hands raised as he takes a step back. "No need to stress yourself out even more. I just came over here to offer my services. I'm guaranteed to make you come."

You're finding it hard to compute what's happening. There's no way Gojo is smiling in your face talking about fixing your 'broken pussy'.

"But aren't you a virgin?" you ask, genuinely curious.

His face falls. "Do you want the help or not?"

“You’re the one who asked if you could help! I never said I needed–"

“Tell you what! I'll give you some time to think about it. Why don't I stop by your living quarters later tonight, hm? Sound good?"

For some reason, you hesitate to tell him to fuck off and not even bother stopping by later. You actually stop to consider his offer. Yes, he's a piece of work, but he's also one of few men you trust implicitly. You're comfortable around him, you actually know him. And while he can be playful and joke around too much, you know he won't make you feel too self-conscious about your lack of experience. And it's not like you have anything to prove, it's just Gojo. Annoying, reliable… easy on the eyes Gojo. He might just be the perfect person to help you.

"…I might want your help," you answer finally.

"What was that?" Gojo asks, cupping one ear to hear you better.

You shoot him a glare but still grit out, "I said yes…I want you to help me."

"Amazing!" Gojo claps and rubs his hands together. "Come on. Let's go."

"What? Go?" you ask, eyes wide as he comes around the table and pulls you out of your seat.

"To your room," he says.

"Now? What happened to later tonight?" You can only look back at your phone and half-eaten breakfast forlornly as you're marched through the halls of Jujutsu Tech.

"No time like the present," he says, glancing back at you. "Besides, I'd hate to have to exorcise you when the stress consumes your very being."

Your breath hitches. You hadn't even considered that as a real possibility. That would be a fate worse than death. With newfound determination, you pick up your pace until you're the one pulling Gojo along.

"Oooh, someone's eager," he says when you pull your door open and usher him inside.

"Well, I don't want to die and I especially don't want you Hollow Purpling me." You slide the door shut and go to check the drawers of your dresser. You could've sworn you had one singular condom hidden in here from your dating days. In hindsight, you should have known it would go unused because you'd have never brought anyone here of all places for a hookup.

The condom is hidden among your t-shirts in the third drawer, a flash of cerulean foil. You hold it up with the same level of pride and apprehension as you would one of Sukuna's necrotic fingers.

But Gojo only shakes his head. "We don't need that."

"What? Why not?" 

"Well for starters, you're shaking like a leaf." He closes the distance between you and plucks the condom from your hand—which is, in fact, trembling a bit. He turns the condom over and snorts. "Plus, this is wayyyy too small for me."

You lightly smack him in the stomach. "Yeah, right."

"I'll prove it to you! Another time, though. For now, why don't you grab that toy you don't know how to use?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Remember, six eyes equals all seeing Gojo Satoru." He flops onto your bed, hands behind his head. "Take your time looking for it, I'll be patient. I know it's probably covered in cobwebs."

You open your mouth to retort but shut it just as quickly. He's right; you can't remember when that thing last saw the light of day. You'd gotten so frustrated with the wand the last time you'd used it that you hid it too well. You have to scour the room before you find it, still in it's original box.

"Not sure if it still works," you say when you approach Gojo again, pulling the wand from the plastic bag it came in. The instruction manual flutters to the floor. 

"It's a wall plug in. And you've probably used it like what, twice?" He takes the wand from you, turns it over for a thorough inspection. He takes the cord and plugs it into the wall. When he flicks the switch on the wand it, unsurprisingly, hums to life.

"Seems like it still works to me," Gojo says. He flicks to the higher setting before powering the wand off. "But who cares? The true test is seeing if it can get you off."

Gojo sits up against your mountain of pillows and pats the empty space between his legs. You crawl into bed with him and sit so there's still space between you both.

"You're way too far," he says. "I promise not to bite you today."

"Today?"

"Come on, sit back. Make yourself comfortable."

You shift closer to him but Gojo is the one to close the distance. With an arm braced around your middle, he tugs you until your back is flush with his chest.

"Much better," he hums in your ear, sending a shiver through you. That's new. "So tell me, what do you usually do when you use this thing?" He twirls the magic wand in the air, ready to grant your wish.

"Uh, I'll put a towel down, take off my pants and just stick it down there."

"Eh? That's it?"

"Pretty much. I'll use some lube, too."

"Where's the fun in that? You need to seduce yourself. No wonder you're in such dire straits."

"According to Reddit, that wand can make someone come in seconds."

"Yeah, with some build up. Let me show you a proper seduction."

Gojo flicks the switch on the wand again, but instead of pulling a you and sticking it right between your legs he places it at dip of your neck. He drags the toy to your shoulder then back, the vibrations easing the tension out of your muscles. You shut your eyes as he moves the wand to the opposite side, following the trail of your clavicle to massage your other shoulder. Back and forth until you relax in his hold with a sigh.

When he brings the wand back to the base of your neck this time, he guides it down the center of your chest. The vibrations spread throughout your torso. He charts a path to your left breast and circles your clothed nipple, already straining against your tank top. Your breath hitches when he finally moves the wand to your pert peak.

"Like that?" he asks, amused, and again, his voice right by your ear does something strange to your body.

"Y-yeah. Feels nice."

"What'd I tell you?" he asks as he flicks the head of the wand against your other nipple. 

"Hey, don't get all smug," you say, voice quivering as the wand travels down your belly. "I haven't come yet."

"Oh, but you will," he promises. "You mind taking these off?" Gojo pinches the thin material of your lounge pants. You raise your hips in order to slide them off, but drop down abruptly when you start to tug the waist down.

"Just my pants right? I can keep my underwear on?"

"Suit yourself. But I almost guarantee you'll be tearing them off yourself when I'm through with you."

You roll your eyes but still shimmy your bottoms off, leaving you only in your very unsexy underwear. You're honestly glad you opted for such an ordinary pair, you'd hate for Gojo to tease you if you had worn anything remotely sensual.

Gojo takes his time with the wand, tracing it along the scalloped edge of your underwear, right at your thigh. It feels good. You close your eyes, sighing as he works the wand across your pelvis to the other thigh. Even without a climax you might have reason to feel grateful to him. You had no idea you could get such a great massage from a sex toy.

Your hips jolt up when the toy ghosts over the hood of your clit and along the cleft of your cunt. It travels down to your entrance, which contracts when the vibrating head presses against it before traveling back up your lips, just shy of your clit. Gojo takes his time moving the wand over your mound until your breath becomes shaky. When he finally does graze your clit, your entire body tenses. He moves the wand in little circles that makes your outstretched legs bend, your toes curl.

"Still feels good?" Gojo asks, amusement clear in his tone. He presses the wand down on your clit and your back curves and tenses. "I know it does. But you gotta relax. Take some deep breaths."

You try to follow his instructions, try to steady your breathing but that only makes the teasing more intense.

"I-I feel weird Gojo. I don't know about this."

"You must be close," he says. "Just let go, ok? Don't be shy."

He flicks the wand to the second setting and you fall back against him, panting hard as the vibrations grow in intensity. He doesn't give your clit a break, rubbing the wand against it without mercy.

You feel it in your feet first, a numbing tingle across the soles like you're losing sensation in them. But it feels good, and you really can't explain why. Your legs start to shake and you throw your head back against Gojo's shoulder.

"Oh, fuck," you whisper, sounding pitiful. You've never felt like this when you used the wand, and even if you were able to get to this point, you fear that you would shut the wand off before–

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Your blood singes in your body as pleasure seizes your body, your release soaking through your panties until they're dark grey at the gusset.

"Nice job," Gojo says. You turn to look at him; he looks particularly pleased. But he doesn't let up, just keeps moving the wand along your sex.

"Turn it off," you say even as your hips rock up when the wand travels back up to your clit.

"See, that's part of your problem. You gotta keep chasing that feeling. You're so lucky I'm here to show you."

This time when he presses on your clit, your legs close around the vibrating toy.

"Nuh-uh." Gojo grabs your left leg with his free hand and wrenches it away from the other. He hooks his leg over yours to keep them in place and doubles down on his efforts until you're crying from the pleasure this time. You're sure your bed is bound to be drenched too, but you hardly care when all your nerves are alight, your pussy clenching, desperate to be full of something.

"I think you can take one more. How's that sound? Want me to give you one more, baby?"

"Mhm!" You desperately pull your panties aside and Gojo laughs low in your ear, sending another full body shiver through you. You don't think you've ever heard a laugh that you would categorize as sexy, but you'll probably have wet dreams about that one.

"See? I was right about that too." He grabs your panties himself, tears them off so he can put the wand directly on your dripping sex. You jerk at the direct contact and your arousal splashes with each pass along your cunt, but you can't find it in you to feel embarrassed.

"I can't see your cute little clit," Gojo complains, and you reach a hand down to part your lips so the stiff bud is on display. Gojo smiles at you in a way that you can only describe as evil before he starts rubbing your clit with the wand. Your entire body bows; the vibrations travel just under your skin, heat your blood to a fever pitch. The tingling in your feet grows and you grab Gojo's wrist tight, nervous about what's coming, but he's much stronger than you are. He presses down harder on your clit and you whine as you come hard, a spray of arousal that soaks the bed. Still, Gojo keeps the wand on you until you weakly push his hand away.

"Too much," you nearly slur.

Gojo shuts the wand off and places it on your bed. He releases your leg and pets your arm as you come down from the most intense orgasm you've had to date. You feel drowsy and sated.

"That was fun, right?"

You nod weakly, and Gojo chuckles again. You jump when his hands find your waist, but he only shifts you to the other side of the mattress, still dry. You furrow your brow at him as he slips off of your bed and unplugs the wand.

"Glad I could be of service, then. Hopefully the lesson sticks for when you need to rub one out yourself next time."

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Oh, right. My bad." He plugs the toy back in and places it on the bed again. "Didn't realize you'd want to try it out yourself right away."

"Where the hell are you going?" you ask, your tone so severe that even you wince.

"Sent the kiddies on a mission with a first grade curse, figured I'd check on them. I know, I know, don't give me that look," he says, though the glare that you've fixed him with has nothing to do with his unorthodox teaching style for once. "They welcomed the challenge and I fully believe in them. Anyway, I better make sure no one died again. I'll catch you later."

It's only when the door slides shut that you can come to grips with what just happened. Gojo made you come for the first time in your life. Not only that, but he made you squirt too, leaving you with a load of laundry to deal with. He even reduced your most comfortable pair of panties to scraps of fabric. And, as if to make matters worse, he'd called you 'baby'. Why did he call you baby? Maybe he hadn't noticed. Hell, you barely noticed, you were so desperate in the moment. But now that you can form coherent thoughts…you're just left with confusion. Had he said that to keep you in the mood? Had he slipped up in the heat of the moment? 

You must have lost your mind to have gone through with this in the first place. But you can't fully fault yourself, you'd thought you would die otherwise. But maybe you should have picked up some rando after all.

You pull your throw blanket over your body and curl into fetal position under it. You'd have never gone through with this with some random guy, that much is true. You just didn't realize something like this could alter how you see one of your oldest friends.

Why were you so mad that he'd left like nothing happened just now? He was doing you a favor, not wooing you. Right?

Your door slides open again, and when you pop your head out from under your blanket to see Gojo again, your heart soars. You can't help it or make sense of it.

"Back so soon? I hope that doesn't mean all your students died."

He crosses the room in two long strides and holds your phone out for you. You grab it from him and see your most recent notification is from Gojo himself.

"I went to text you that I finished your breakfast for you, but then I saw your phone on the ground and figured I'd be a good friend and return it to you. You're welcome."

You can't really form words right now, disappointment weighs down your tongue.

"Now I'm gonna check on the students, ye of little faith. I'll see you around, yeah?"

"Yeah," you choke out. "See you around."

The confusion returns tenfold. He'd referred to himself as a 'good friend' just now, but what if you don't want him to be just that? Is an orgasm or three all it takes to see someone who has been a nuisance for over a decade in a whole new light? Enough to catch feelings? You've certainly developed crushes on people for less.

In the midst of your conundrum, the confusion gives way to irritation.

"That bastard ate the rest of my fucking food."

Part 2 - Bases Loaded

You have a serious problem. You can't seem to come without Gojo. He didn't do anything all that special the other day. Well… he said he'd show you seduction and that's exactly what he did. But in the days following his 'lesson' all attempts at masturbation have ended in complete and utter failure, just like before. The closest you got was when you'd closed your eyes and remembered him saying in your ear, "Want me to give you one more, baby?"

"Damn you, Gojo," you mutter as you yank the wand's cord from the outlet so you can toss it to the foot of your bed. He's effectively ruined you for even yourself, which is far from ideal. You've been the horniest you've ever been following that day and you're in no position to deal with it, not on your own. Things would have been better off if you'd looked for outlets other than orgasms to reduce your stress, like nightly baths in the glow of dozens of burning candles, or a weekend at the spa complete with deep tissue massages and saunas galore.

You have half a mind to call Gojo when there's a knock on your door.

"In a minute!" You pull your pants back on and throw the accursed wand back in the drawer of your nightstand before you open the door.

"Gojo? What are you doing here?" you ask. Your stomach does a little flip that you're far from happy about. 

"I'm here for your next lesson, what else?" Gojo pushes past you to sit on your bed.

"Next lesson? What are you on about?" 

"You're inexperienced, which is just a shame. I figured it's only right that we continue your sex ed with some more of the basics."

You shut your door and turn to face him. "What did you have in mind?"

He looks surprised, only for a moment before that cocky smile lights up his face. "Figured you haven't been to third base yet."

"Third base?" you ask, brows furrowing in confusion. Your mind immediately goes to the first and last time you'd played baseball at Gojo's behest, when you were all still students at Jujutsu Tech. Your performance had been exceptionally bad– you'd tried to explain to everyone beforehand that you were athletic in the sense that you could flip onto a curse's back and rip it's head off, not kick a ball into the goal or net or whatever was expected of you in a game of baseball. You'd been picked last for a team as a result, but that still meant you had to play. Gojo spent the whole game doubled over in laughter when you'd strike out within a minute of going up to bat. You'd been lucky enough for the ball to glance off the side of your bat during one of the later innings, but by the time you'd slid to first base, Geto had the ball in hand to get you out. To his credit, he had looked apologetic about it even as Gojo hacked up a lung in the outfield.

"You know I suck at baseball, no need to bring up how bad I am at it now," you snap.

"Whoa, looks like I hit a nerve," he says. Gojo reaches for your hand and pulls you to him so that you're standing between his spread legs. "No need to get all prissy. It's just a metaphor, I promise."

"So what is third base then?"

"Aren't you eager?" Gojo asks. "I gotta show you the first two before we get to that."

"Ok, then. Show me."

"Sweet!" he says, smiling up at you in a way that makes your stomach swoop. "Can I kiss you?"

You're not sure why him asking to kiss you has stunned you so, but all you can do is nod before he places a palm to the side of your neck, his thumb resting on the hinge of your jaw. He guides your lips to slant over his, petal soft. Your first kiss, and it tastes sweet, like whatever dessert he was indulging in before he thought to knock on your door.

You fall into the rhythm of the kiss, allowing his tongue to delve into the heat of your mouth. You moan as it slides against yours, and you press closer to him, sink your hands into the silky white strands of his hair to pull him closer still. To think that he gave you an orgasm before this. The thought makes your face heat up even more.

Gojo breaks away from you, a glistening web of shared spit hanging between you before it snaps with his breathless smile.

"How you liking first base?" he asks.

"Good," you pant, distracted by his plump, shimmering lips.

"Good," he echoes with a laugh. And that's when you repeat his question in your head. Good? Why the hell did you answer like that?

Before you can think yourself into a state of complete humiliation, Gojo takes hold of your waist and flips you onto the mattress. He swings one leg over your hips, cages you in with his forearms braced on either side of your head and locks his lips with yours again. Hungry and impatient, all you can do is moan into his mouth and try to keep pace. You could spend hours, days even, just doing this.

Kisses start to trail down your throat, trembling with your lustful moans. He opens up the collar of your top wide so he can suck and kiss at the dip of your collarbone. Your hips raise at the feel of his teeth on your skin, his tongue soothing the sting of his bite right after.

He grips the hem of your top and lifts his head from your neck. "Can I pull this up some?"

"Yeah, go for it," you say.

"Now we're talking." He pushes your shirt over your breasts so it's bunched up at your collarbones, rendering you practically topless. Whatever happened to pulling it up 'some'?

Gojo kisses up your stomach, your breath hitching nearly every time his wet mouth meets your heated skin. He leaves a savory kiss at the center of your chest there before he cups your left breast in his palm.

"A perfect fit," he marvels as he squeezes. He licks from underneath your breast to your nipple, flicks his tongue against the bud before he closes his mouth around it and sucks. Your pussy clenches hard and your hips grind up against his stomach. He toys with your other breast with his opposite hand, tugging and tweaking your nipple while it awaits the delicious torment that is his mouth.

His eyes meet yours as he kisses his way across the valley of your chest, a question in his blue gaze.

"Feels good, hah ahh!" He tugs your nipple between his teeth, the pain making you ache much lower. "Feels really good."

Gojo releases your right nipple with a lewd pop. "You look ready for third base. What do you think?"

"I'm ready. So ready. I want it."

"Then you'll have it, angel." This new pet name causes you to shiver. Or maybe it's the wet kisses descending to your waistline. Or it could be the anticipation of what third base could entail.

Gojo grips the waist of your yoga pants, and you nod. He yanks your underwear down with them in one go. With your shirt still bunched up, you're essentially naked, but it's more exciting than nerve wracking. You like the way Gojo appraises your body before he nips at your thigh. 

You spread your legs wide to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders as he settles between them. It's easy for you to forget just how built Gojo is. He's not the beanstalk he was when you'd first met him, far from it.

Your hips twitch upward when he ghosts his fingers over your cunt, gathering the arousal on the pads of long appendages. He pops them into his mouth and sucks, and your mouth falls open with a shaky exhale.

"I want a taste of you. That okay?"

"Anything's okay," you rush to say, and upon the awe that overtakes his face, you add, "I mean, as long as it's with you. I'll tell you if I don't like something."

"Sounds good. But believe me, you're gonna love this."

He parts your lips with his tongue, a hot lick from your entrance up to the the side of your clit. Another broad lick and you whimper. You all but gush on his tongue as he sucks on your lips and kisses your cunt. You sink your fingers into his hair, scratch at the buzzed strands of his undercut when he dips his tongue inside you, fucking you slow. His nose bumps your clit each time he pushes his tongue into you, reaching deeper into your sex.

When his mouth finally closes around your clit, you come with a near silent whimper. Your head presses back into the pillows as your body shudders with your orgasm. You can't believe how easy it was for him to tip you over the edge but you can hardly find it in you to complain when you feel like you could float out of your own body.

"Where you going, huh?" Gojo grabs you by the waist and pulls you closer – you hadn't realized how far up the bed you'd moved. His grip shifts to your thighs and he pushes them up into the air before he latches onto your clit again and sucks. 

"Holy shit," you whine at the feel of his soft lips drawing the sensitive bud deeper into his mouth. His tongue strokes it and your entire body trembles. You root your fingers into your bed sheets, hoping to ground yourself in the face of the onslaught that is Gojo Satoru, but you're helpless against the way he kisses your sex, tender and intense at once. His fingers squeeze at your thighs, push them closer and closer to your shoulders while he buries his face further into your folds with lewd moans. When you come this time, he catches nearly all of your essence with broad licks of his tongue. His eyes are closed, content, as he cleans you up.

He brings your legs back down before he leans over you to peck your lips.

"Third Base?" he asks. You sink your fingers in his hair again and deepen the kiss.Gojo matches the fervid brush of your lips with his own. 

"Good," you sigh. "So fucking good."

He presses closer, his fluttering chest to yours, trim waist fitted between your spread legs. And you revel in the heat of his body that you can still feel through his layers of clothes. He bites your bottom lip and tugs before he kisses you harder, tangles his tongue with yours. Only this time, your tongue seeks his out as well. Gojo drops more of his weight on you with a moan that ripples through you. His fingers follow a similar path, slipping between the crush of your bodies to your weeping sex.

"You still want more, yeah? " he pants into your neck. "Is that why she's crying?"

He plunges a finger inside you, your plush walls constrict around it like a vise. He moans into your ear – in concert with your mewl against his temple. 

"You're gripping me so t-tight," he stutters, just barely able to pull the finger out some. 

You try to relax as he pets your walls with his finger, but it's getting harder to breathe with his own ragged breaths tickling your neck. 

He groans in pleasure when he manages to sink another finger into the hot clutch of your cunt, scissoring them inside you until he grazes your most sensitive spot. 

"Got you," he hisses. Both fingers hone in on that spongy patch inside of you, pulling cries of pleasure from you with ease. He's eager to make you come again, fucks his fingers into you with precision and dizzying speed. Gojo nibbles his way down your chest to suck your right nipple back into his mouth. Your body has never known such pleasure and you feel drunk with it.

Your walls clench and relax in rapid succession as you come, the force of it pushing his fingers nearly out of you. He pulls them out the rest of the way and releases your breast with a wet pop to surge up and kiss you. He grinds his hips against yours, the hot line of his rigid cock rubbing against your clit. You lock your legs around his lower back to meet the frenzy of his thrusts. He's so hard and hot above you, gripping your hips and grinding you further into the mattress. 

With a sultry cry, his cock softens as arousal gushes from your pussy. Heat blossoms between you, hips move mindlessly. A drunken, almost coordinated dance only you two know. Your open mouth panting into his. Bodies melted, melting, together.

Part 3 - Curtain Call

It's late when you step up to the sliding doors of Gojo's living quarters. Most everyone is asleep at this hour, save you and, hopefully, Gojo. Or maybe you'd rather he be asleep so you can save yourself the impending humiliation.

Ten minutes pass. Ten minutes of you poising your hand to knock on the door, then wrenching it away just as your knuckles are about to make contact with the wood. One minute you're hyping yourself up, saying that you should be empowered, emboldened, to seek out your own pleasure. The next is spent convincing yourself that you're a horny freak who should not be banging down his door so late at night when he's just returned from a prolonged mission. 

In your defense, he'd been by your place every night before he left so you could…brush up on your lessons. As soon as you'd open the door for him he'd be on you, kissing you boneless into your bed for hours. He'd then pump his long, lithe fingers into you or plug in your wand. But he'd always, always, go down on you, claiming it was an effective stress reliever for him, too.

But that all changed when he'd been tasked with investigating what reporters, conspiracy theorists, and some spooked government officials alike were calling a haunted amusement park in one of the northern provinces. You'd prepared yourself for 48 hours without him, but the withdrawals really started to hit you at hour 73. He'd started plaguing your dreams, both during the day when you would space out in the middle of combat instruction and at night when you'd finally exhausted yourself from thinking of him too much. You wondered if he might have put some sex hex on you. Or maybe a lust curse got to you without your noticing, because you can't seem to function properly without an orgasm or two from the blue-eyed sorcerer.

At hour 96, you'd decided to visit Shoko for advice. You'd been hesitant to confide in her about the nature of your arrangement with Gojo beforehand, but she was far from fazed when you hopped up on the examination table and broke the news.

"Believe me, I know all about it. Satoru can't shut up about clearing his roster and focusing all his efforts on you."

"He can't?" you asked, your face flushing with pleasure. "Wait, what has he told you? And who's on his roster? Anyone we know?" You didn't want to read too much into what Shoko had said. Things seemed pretty casual on his end, and you were trying to match that. Trying, being the operative word.

"As far as I know, his roster has cobwebs on it," she said as she reached into the drawer of her desk and pulled out two nips. You took the small bottle of vodka, leaving her with whisky. You both unscrewed the top and tipped the liquor into your mouths, though you'd only managed a startled sip while Shoko drained her's of it's contents.

"But don't worry about that. He's been too busy for those dates he likes to go on."

You had to agree, it had been a while since he last regaled you all with tales of his dating life, much more robust than you imagined possible for a jujutsu sorcerer as esteemed as him.

"So you don't think I was cursed or something?" you asked.

"Not in the traditional sense. I think he might've dickmatized you, but nothing more concerning than that. My official medical advice; just ride it out, it'll pass eventually."

"But he hasn't even put his dick in me yet," you'd said.

"Oh? Then I'm curious to see what will happen to you once he does."

"What will happen to me?"

"Don't let this become a new stressor in your life," she'd tsked. "Your labs are finally back to normal, I can't have you running back in here spouting nonsense about being at death's door again. Don't overthink it, just enjoy yourself please."

Which is why you're here so late, a bag from a local dessert shop in one hand, your other hand shyly approaching his door before hastily retreating from it. 

Just as you're about to knock, for real this time, his door slides open. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. It's far from your first time seeing Gojo in his uniform but you've been seeing him in a new light lately, and tonight is no different. Your eyes travel along the length of his legs, take in the fit of the jacket hiding his well-sculpted torso. The soft strands of his hair stand up from the black blindfold covering his eyes. And that bemused smile on his face…oh now he's laughing.

"What have we here?" he asks. "Don't tell me you stopped by just to stare at me or something? That's real cute of you."

You drop your fist and hold up the bag you'd been hiding behind your back. "For you. I got some daifuku as a welcome home treat."

Gojo takes the bag and offers a murmur of thanks. He takes a bite of one of the delicate treats, and your eyes latch onto his mouth as he chews, track the movement of his throat when he finally swallows.

"This can't be the only reason you showed up here, right?" he asks, looking justly amused. "Right?"

"I want to have sex with you."

Gojo tilts his head to the side, regards you with playful curiosity. "Isn't that what we've been doing though?"

He indulges in the rest of the daifuku as you think back on his past lessons. Sure he never came himself, except for that one time when he'd dry humped you through the mattress. But that doesn't mean you two haven't been having sex. Perhaps you need to unpack that further. 

Some other time.

"Right. You're right, that's exactly what we've been doing," you say, and he smiles wickedly at you.

"So you want me to eat you out again, that it? Told you, you'd love it."

"Yes. But I also…I want…please don't make me say it. You must know what I want."

"I really don't."

"Fine. I want you to fuck me. Not with your tongue, or-or with your fingers–"

"Oh, I see." Gojo takes one of your hands, places it on the swell of his cock. "You want this, yeah?"

Your breath hitches. He's already hard?

Gojo drops your hand in favor of slinging an arm over your shoulders. He pulls you into his room and closes the door behind you. "You're hilarious, you know that? You don't have to bribe me to sleep with you. I'll do you free of charge."

"It's not a bribe, I'm just trying to be nice!"

"To think if you'd just waited another day, I'd be the one begging you. Buuuut, I can't say I'm not pleased with this outcome."

"Just finish the daifuku and fuck me."

"Oh? And here I thought you were such a lady. Couldn't even say that you wanted dick but now you're telling me to hurry up and fuck you already," Gojo puts the bag of dessert down on a low table. He pulls you into his arms and brushes a gentle kiss to your lips. "I get it though, you're aching to be filled right now, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am," you say as he pecks you again.

"Poor baby," he coos. "I've neglected you for too long. I'll give you what you need."

You sigh when his mouth meets yours in a languid kiss. The glide of his plush lips coaxing you closer until your body is flush with his. He dips his head to lick up the column of your throat and kiss his way back down again.

"You smell so good," Gojo groans into your neck. "Like flowers."

"It's lavender," you say, breathless, as he nips at your pulse point. You're grateful that you've been using that fancy soap still, because you think this moment seems to be one such special occasion that you would've saved it for anyway.

"It suits you," he says as he unbuttons your pants. You shimmy out of them and kick them aside.

"It's expensive," you say, pulling your top over your head.

"So what? I'll foot the bill so long as I'm the only one smelling it on you." Gojo unclasps your bra and adds it to the growing pile of clothes. Even with the blindfold on you can feel his eyes traveling over your body. "Fuck, you're hot."

"I am?"

"Look at you fishing for compliments," he says as he unbuttons his jacket and shrugs it off. "Yes, you're hot. I can't believe no one's tried to get in your pants before."

"I mean people have tried—"

"Not hard enough." Gojo pulls off his shirt then shucks off his pants in record time, leaving him in only his boxer briefs and blindfold. "But enough talk about those losers from before. Let's try something different tonight."

"Like what?"

"I want you–" Gojo falls into the center of his bed. "–to sit right here." He points at his smiling face. Your stomach drops. Your own face must convey that clearly, because his grin drops as well .

"What's wrong? Scared you're gonna suffocate me or something."

"Honestly, yes."

“Oh please. I’m stronger than strong. Some might even say the strongest." He flexes a bicep for emphasis, the round curve of his muscle contracting in a way that would otherwise make you drool if you weren't so nervous. "I can handle you, all of you.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other. You do really like when he goes down on you, and while you’re well versed in that now, your apprehension just won’t let you commit.

“Tell you what. You gotta sit on my face first if you want to sit on this di–"

“Hey, I’ll do it,” you hiss, already shimmying your panties off. “You are so ridiculous, you know that?" 

“Come on, enough talk. Your throne awaits."

You make to crawl onto the bed but stop short. "Aren't you gonna take off your blindfold?"

"I thought you didn't like my scary eyes." He lifts one side so he can wink at you.

"Don't put words in my mouth," you grumble before admitting, "I want to see you looking at me."

"You're being extra cute today. You must really want me," he says, but obliges your request. He pulls the blindfold over his head, polar white hair falling into his eyes again. "For your information, I'm always looking at you."

You roll your eyes. What a line.

Gojo sits up to meet your gaze, shifting every time you try avert it from him. "I see you trying to fight a smile. You like that, huh? Knowing that these 'scary' blue eyes are set on you?"

"Mind you, you have six eyes in total."

"All of them fixed on you, baby," he coos.

You push his shoulder and he flops back down. "Shut up. How should I sit?"

Gojo helps you swing your left leg over his face so you're kneeling, facing the end of the bed. Your eyes snag on the prominent bulge of his dick in his boxer briefs, and your nerves coalesce with your desire. 

"Helloooo?" he cries, wiggling his toes as if in greeting. "Are you listening to me? I said you can sit lower."

"Can you stop wiggling your toes like that?" you ask, frowning at his feet. "It's weird."

"Aww, but they just want to say hello," he whines as he spreads his toes wide apart.

"I'll get off if you keep it up."

"No you won't," he says, but still complies. 

"Thank you."

"Now you need to do something for me," he says, squeezes your plush hips. "Sit properly, I promise you'll go crazy over it and you won't kill me."

You drop down lower, and he wastes no time in flattening his tongue over your clit and lapping his way between your ass cheeks. You shiver and moan as he gives you more broad, slow strokes.

"You taste so good," he mumbles into your folds, the vibrations of his words making your entire body tighten. He sets his teeth on your clit and you lose your balance, falling forward a bit. You brace your hands on the bed as he sucks and kisses your clit.

"You're my favorite dessert. Mmm, I can't get enough." To prove it, he speeds up the strokes of his tongue. You feel him nuzzle deeper into your pussy so that his nose notches on your contracting hole. The sounds of him devouring you with such voracious, wet licks and obscene sucks is making you so hot. Your head starts to go fuzzy from the pleasure.

"Fuck, Gojo. Feels so good–"

"Ugh, enough with the Gojo," he groans as he lifts you off him, just enough that you can feel his lips grazing yours as he speaks. "Would it kill you to call me Satoru?

"Oh! No, it's just, I mean I'm just used to calling you Go–"

"No, no, don't say it again!" he cries from underneath you. It's a strange type of foreplay, this, but you can't deny you're turned on. And if the tent in his underwear are any indication, it's safe to say he feels the same.

"Can you please, please, with whipped cream, hot fudge, and three maraschino cherries on top, call me by my given name? Please?"

You lean down, kiss his stomach; the muscles contract with his gasp.

"Of course, Satoru," you murmur against his hot skin. He pulls you back down at once, nudges your clit with his nose and licks up your arousal. You rest your palms on his chest, graze them along the contours of his abdomen. Again, his stomach curves inward, even more so when you rake your nails back up. Your hands smooth back down his torso. Wondering fingers follow the trail of downy, white hair to just underneath the waistline of his briefs.

He wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you low enough that you worry that he truly can't breathe. But the concern dissolves at once. He kisses your cunt so good that you have to rest your chest along his stomach, lungs heaving, body shaking. You can hardly keep yourself upright from the passion he's sharing with you.

"Mm! Don't stop," you moan against his pelvis. He grips your hips tight and moves you along his face, his tongue delving deeper, fucking you faster. Your breaths shudder out of you, and his own body quivers beneath yours with each heated exhalation.

Through the haze of lust, you think to tug down his underwear, just enough to free his cock. You want to at least try to return the favor.

"What the hell is that?" you ask, jolting back when his hardened length springs up right away.

"Don't talk about him like that," he whines.

"It's huge!" you hiss, and his dick twitches, foreskin retracting some to reveal the flushed tip.

"Why, thank you– Wait, why do you sound so surprised? You should've assumed I'd be well endowed."

"It's not gonna fit, how would it fit?" you ask yourself as you grip the base of his cock. It's so hot and girthy in your hand, your fingers just barely reach your thumb. And it's so long, too. How are you–

"Gotta have more faith in yourself. You can take it. I'll make sure you can."

He pushes two of his fingers inside of you, slides them in and out of you while he slurps lewdly on your clit. Your hips grind down against his face, chasing the pleasure only he can give you. Fingers rub against your puffy walls, in search of your weakest spot.

"Oh? You like it when I touch you here?" He fucks his fingers faster, arousal splashing out of you the deeper his fingers reach. You sag against the smooth skin of his torso with a whimper, body jolting as starlight sparkles just beneath your skin.

"So good. Feels so good," you mewl while he drinks in your essence.

"Mhm," he moans into your folds. He still massages at the spongy patch inside of you, intent as always to make you come again even before you come down from your climax.

It takes all your strength to push yourself up onto shaky forearms. You open your mouth and let saliva drip from the tip of your tongue onto the head of his twitching cock. You smear the bubbly mix of your spit and his pre on your palm to coat the rest of his length.

"Grip it tighter," he groans after your hand glides up to his tip again. You do what he asks, but still, "Tighter. Come on, tighter. Hold on."

You gasp when he pulls his fingers out of you. It's your only warning before Satoru flips you flat on your back. With wide eyes, you watch him press up to his knees, cock erect against his toned stomach. Satoru pushes his briefs the rest of the way down and off, then goes to join you at the foot of the bed. He maneuvers you onto your side while he lays on his back. You trail your right hand lightly over his abs again, but he captures it, brings your hand up to his mouth and spits. Your pussy clenches in response, and you have to fight the surprising urge to lick your palm clean, coat your tongue with his saliva.

Satoru guides your hand back to the base of his cock; his long fingers close around yours and he squeezes so tight that his exhale is a moan, hot and wet, at the base of your neck. The veins of his cock throb in your grasp, heated blood pulsing through him.

"Let me show you." He sets a stunning pace, pumps your hand around his cock fast. He's swearing, moaning into your ear and you can only squeeze your thighs together. So close, so hot. You wonder if this is what it feels like, to melt into someone. 

His foreskin retracts fully as you both jerk him off; the glans, smoldering red, oozes pre that aids the glide of your fist around him. 

"This is what you do to me." Both your hands little more than a blur as he chases his pleasure. Your trembling breath and his. Satoru screws up his face the closer he gets. Even with his features taut and tense, you've never seen someone so beautiful. He was made for pleasure and fun, and all the sweet things.

Satoru pants your name into your hairline when he comes, the whisper soft puff of it enough to distract you from the fact that he is painting you in cum, hot and sticky on your chest and cheek. He keeps moving your hand up and down his length, until he hisses at the overstimulation, softened. 

"I forgot you guys do that," you say as you tuck in your head to inspect his release. Milky white iridescence on your skin. "You have condoms here, right?"

"Yup! But let me help you first." He leans down and licks his spend from the curve of your breast with a broad lick – doesn't stop until he reaches the slope of your cheekbone. He sticks out his tongue to show you, and you lean forward, eyes locked on his, and lick along the length of the wet muscle. Salty silk on your taste buds. You kiss him, slow and deep and charged despite how ardent your desire is for him. Satoru moans into your mouth and you press closer until you're nearly on top of him. It's hard to ignore the pure eroticism of mixing your release and his with your mouths. The knowledge makes you kiss him that much more thoroughly.

He parts from you with heavy gasps, an awestruck gleam in his eyes. "You're a real good kisser," he says.

"Thank you." A shy smile pulls at your lips. 

"Which means you have to admit that I'm the best teacher alive."

The smile vanishes. "No way."

"Yes, way," he says, squeezes you closer. "Admit that I'm the strongest, smartest, sexiest, teacher there ever was."

"You're already full of yourself as is."

"And if you really wanted to be full of me too you'd stroke more than just my dick. C'mon give my ego some love."

You peck his glossy lips, and he pecks you right after.

"Can the strongest, smartest, sexiest teacher there ever was please go get a condom so he can fuck me already?" you ask, pouting just a little bit to appeal to his cuteness sensibilities.

"Just because you asked so sweetly." Satoru gives you one more quick kiss before he rolls off the bed. You watch his retreat, taking stock of his body. His slim waist and tight ass and those shoulders. You can't imagine seeing anyone with such a physique, and you realize you don't want to. Shoko has every right to be worried. You're a bit too whipped for Satoru, and you fear you'll only act more insane once he's through with you. 

He returns with a box of twelve that only has three left, a short strip of gold foil packets. He tears one of them free and sets the other two on his nightstand.

"Now this," he says, holds the packet so you can read the XL printed on its face. "This is a proper condom. See? Not on the brink of disintegration or extra small like the one in your room."

You feel that you should defend the honor of your hidden-and-forgotten-in-the-dresser, perfectly regular sized, condom even though it has, in fact, celebrated quite a few birthdays. But your mouth doesn't form those words.

"Who did you use the other nine with?"

"Eh? Other nine what?" He follows your gaze when it cuts to the upended box on his floor. A cheshire grin lights up his face as he turns to look at you again. "Oh, are you jelly? I can't believe it. That's amazing."

"Just forget I said anything."

"If it makes you feel any better, it's been a minute since I last used these. Maybe even a minute and a half."

"I'm sorry," you say, cover your face with your palms. "I probably sound fucking crazy. I promise that I'm not."

"No, I looove when you're possessive of me. Gets me so hard, see?" He pries one of your hands from your face, puts it back on his cock. It is, in fact, standing at attention again, pre-cum bubbling at his flushed tip. You glance back up at him and he nods to confirm that yes, your question about who else he's messing with and when and how long has turned him on so much that he might as well have not come just a few moments ago.

Satoru tears the packet open with his teeth. Your breath hitches at the arresting sight of his canines ripping the plastic apart. He pinches the tip of the condom and rolls it onto the heavy length of him.

"You nervous?" he asks as he knees between your legs.

"If I say yes will you be an ass about it?"

"Nope. I sympathize with your plight," he says, and you roll your eyes. "You have to go up against the Mini-Honored One. I wouldn't make light of that. Not ever."

"Mini Honored One? Oh, my god," you giggle.

"Don't laugh, this is so, so serious." Satoru positions himself on top of you, kisses your cheek. "We'll go slow. Tell me if it's too much, okay? Only a little shame in tapping out early, less than you think."

You scoff at that. You can almost hear him teasing you now, inflating his ego even further as he goes on and on about how he's too endowed for you.

Satoru taps the head of his cock on your clit, a shock of pleasure surges through you.

"C'mon, I asked you a question. You'll tell me, okay?"

"Okay!"

Your body tenses when the head of his cock breaches your entrance. You have to grip his bicep tight when he pushes in another inch, the pressure is almost uncomfortable. He kisses your temple, breathes out a soft command, relax. On your next exhale, you try to do just that. The burning stretch of him deep inside of you becomes a simmer when he finally bottoms out. His breath ruffles your hair as he holds himself still above you. You like it, being this close and this full. You bear down on him, experimenting, and his arms buckle. 

"Oh, you are wicked," he whines when you squeeze around him again. "If I wasn't your first I'd swear you were a succubus."

"I'm sorry," you say to him, more than pleased with the results of your research. "You can move now."

Satoru draws his hips back and drives himself back into you, the matted hair of his pelvis brushing against yours. Another meeting of your hips elicits a soft sigh from you and he pulls you back in for a kiss. You like how that feels. His soft moans in your mouth zinging through your veins and straight to the chambers of your heart.

You try to keep pace with him when he speeds up, but Satoru is wild as he fucks you. Making you sweat, tiring you out, all the while whining and moaning as he nears another orgasm. He swipes desperately at your clit until your body seizes up under him. Your nails dig into the taut muscle of his ass and drag across the smooth skin of his back.

"Fuck!" he whines as you scratch him. He wraps his arms around your waist so you're plastered to him, and at once he starts fucking you faster.

"Satoru, I'm gonna come. You're gonna make me come, please don't stop. Don't stop."

Your breath catches as your pleasure crests. He fucks you through your orgasm, your body shivering and screaming beneath his, until the tension snaps in him and he comes with rough snaps of his hips. 

You whimper when he eases out of you. He pulls the condom off, his length still hard despite the orgasm. He ties it off and tosses it perfectly into a waste basket at the opposite end of the room. You watch him slide another one on before he grabs your waist and guides you onto your hands and knees. The bed dips as he presses onto his knees as well. You drop to your forearms when he presses into you again. His palm squeezes the globe of your ass then trails along the length of your spine. Fitted between your shoulder blades, he pushes you down so your chest is pressed into the bed and your back is arched, enticing and curved. 

Satisfied with your new position, he grabs your hips and pistons against your ass. He pulls your body to meet his, mind-numbing jolts of ecstasy when flesh meets flesh. Drool trickles out of your mouth as you moan and grip the bedding for purchase.

"Satoru!" you gasp when he reaches for your clit, and something snaps within him. He pulls out, flips you onto your back and drives himself in with a deep thrust. 

Satoru drapes his body on top of yours. Your chest squished beneath his pectorals, hardened nipples grazing his skin. You warble his name again, a wanton moan that is pure sin. Satoru kisses you quick as the pace of his thrusts grows more erratic. His cock softens inside you with each jerk of his hips. But he pulls out of you abruptly, sits up with a frown.

"What's wrong?" you ask, lifting yourself onto your elbows.

"You didn't come," he complains. "I have to make it up to you."

Satoru takes your hands in his and pulls you up to sit. He grabs another gold wrapper and tears it open. "Would you like to do the honors?"

 You nod, take the condom out from the lubricated plastic. Pinch the tip like you saw him do before rolling it down his length, hard and drooling. He groans when you reach the thick base of him, holding him in place so you can sink down on his dick. He's so deep like this.

You gyrate your hips; lean back, hands braced on the bed as you slowly grind your clit on his abs. The head of his cock rubs your sweet stop perfectly as you fuck him the way you want. 

He licks his fingers and swipes tight circles around your clit. You move more wildly against him. Arousal splashes onto his pelvis and he gathers you into his arms, your chest against his again. He plants his feet into the bed and drives himself deep inside you, desperate desire in the push of his pelvis and yours. You can barely move, barely breathe. Only grip his shoulders for dear life.

Satoru slaps your ass and you yelp at the sting. Your cunt squeezes him hard, and more of your essence seeps out of you. Both of his hands grab your ass so he can bounce you up and down his length, fucking you as fast as he wants. You take his face and kiss him when he pushes into you this last time, body lax beneath you as pleasure travels through him, sating him. You collapse against his chest, trying to catch your breath. You close your eyes and listen to the roar of blood in and out of his heart.

You lift yourself up, lidded eyes fixed on him. You kiss him once, awed as always at how easily he pulls orgasms out of you, makes you feel so good. The next kiss makes his dick twitch between your walls. When you go in for another, he places two fingers on your lips, keeps you from meeting his.

"Whoops. Time's up," he says.

"What?" you gasp as he pulls himself out of you, the loss of his heat jarring.

He ties off and pitches the condom into the receptacle. "No more condoms. Sorry to disappoint you. But look what we can play with instead." 

Satoru reaches into the bedside table and pulls out a miniature version of your wand. "Tada! Isn't this great, you don't even need to plug it in!"

The sight of the toy is more distressing than it should be. He's serious about calling it a night! Normally, you'd be more than happy to have him use the wand on you, but now that you've had a taste of his dick, that's all you really want.

"W-wait." You take the wand from his hands and place it on the bed. "We can keep going."

Satoru looks from the toy back to you, fixing you with a look that screams 'moron'. "Remember when I said two seconds ago that I have zero condoms left?" 

"We don't need them!"

Satoru cocks his head to the side, eyes searching yours. Caught in his gaze you see it, the arrogance overtaking his face.

"You want me that bad, huh?" he laughs as he puts you on your back again, head hanging over the side of his bed. "As long as you're sure, angel, I'll do whatever you want me to."

He drapes your legs over his shoulders and presses you in half. You mewl when he grinds his dick deep into you, the head nuzzling your cervix, walls tight and plush around him. Each slow, sticky thrust into your sweet spot makes your body prickle with heat.

"Such a good idea," he groans as he fucks you. "Feels so good without a rubber."

"Want more," you whine. 

"I know, I know. I'm going so slow, aren't I? I'm sorry." He puts more of his weight on you; your knees meet your shoulders, his firm stomach presses into yours. Smiling lips graze your mouth when he says, "Let me make it all better."

His hips snap into yours, fucking down and into your cunt. Your fingers curl into the sheets again as Satoru brings you to the brink of bliss. His body hardly parts from you, instead sinking deeper each time he drives himself into your wet heat. You can barely kiss him with how shaky your breaths are, so he buries his face into the dip of your shoulder, bites down and sucks.

"Satoru, I'm coming, I'm coming," you sob. Your walls flutter around him as you reach another sweet climax. He moans around the skin of your neck before biting elsewhere, leaving you with another love bite before he unhooks your legs and kneels before you again. 

Satoru grips your waist and rocks into you, his hips pistoning fast. The room is loud with the wet smacks of skin meeting skin, Satoru's whines and your whimpers. Your vision blurs from the tears spilling from your eyes. The pleasure is almost too overwhelming to comprehend. 

You lift your right hand to touch the sweat-slick skin of his abdomen, fingers creeping up to the left pectoral where his heart races just beneath.

"You feel s-so good, Satoru," you mewl, voice weak and thready. 

His heavy thrusts speed up, lightning zinging across your skin. You sink your nails into the center of his chest and with a loud groan of your name the rhythm of his strokes shifts from concentrated to erratic and powerful. Your head lolls to the side, overcome by the intensity, but Satoru grips your cheeks, makes you face him again.

"Hey," he says, lightly slaps your cheek. "Keep your eyes on me, baby."

 Your pussy clenches at the bright, erotic sting that blooms on the side of your face. Your hands find their way around his shoulders and you tug him closer again. He gives you a wet, sloppy kiss, tongues and teeth licking and nipping as the desire stirs between you.

"Fuck, you take my dick so well," his voice, shaky between kisses. "Like you were made for me."

Your whine is so shrill you can barely hear it. 

"Yeah, you like that? Your pussy's gripping me even tighter now. I can barely move again."

"Sorry-sorry," you pant, trying to relax but you clench around him harder. 

"No, don't say sorry, just keep milking me like that, baby." Satoru only presses deeper into you, the head of his cock kissing your cervix and making you shiver. 

"Close, close–unh." 

Satoru cuts you off with a kiss. You hear his hand scrabbling against the mattress, and then an abrupt buzz. He presses the long forgotten wand between your clit and his pelvis. Your hips soar upwards with a sharp cry, and Satoru swears harshly, drives you deeper into the mattress. He presses and rubs the wand against your sex until white hot pleasure scorches through you. The toy splatters your gushing arousal as you come, and Satoru fucks you through it, warm cum spurting deep inside as he ruts into your cunt.

He drops his weight on top of you with a groan, kisses your cheek, your shoulder, your neck in the afterglow of your coupling. You close your eyes and caress the skin of his back, try not to feel too embarrassed by the raised skin you feel. 

"Who knew you'd have a marking kink," he chuckles tiredly. 

"Don't makes fun of me! It was an accident."

"I'm not! it's fine. Just makes me want to mark you up too, is all." He pushes himself off you and surveys your body. His eyes light up at the sight of your neck. "And looks like I did! Sweet."

You gasp, hand flying up to the base of your throat. The skin is tender from his love bites earlier. But you're not as upset as you should be. Yes, you'll have to try to cover them up, but…he might be right about the marking thing. You want everyone to know that you're his.

Cum oozes out of you when Satoru pulls out with a sigh. He kisses your forehead before he climbs off the bed with a promise to be right back. Your body is sore, delectably so.

"Wake up," Satoru sings. You open your eyes in time to see him press a piece of mochi to your lips. "I did a number on you, huh? Make sure you go to the bathroom before you drift off to dreamland."

You nod before taking a small bite of the dessert. He watches you, eyes clear and warm, like stepping into a Caribbean sea. He pops the rest of the dessert in his mouth before falling on top of you. Your shriek of alarm gives way to giggles as he rolls you both to the far end of the bed, hauling you on top of him in the end. The grin on his face is decorated by a fleck of red bean paste and you giggle more. 

"I want to laugh too. What is it?" he says with a pout. 

"You got something on your lip," you point out, cupping his jaw in your hand.

"Oh, so you're obsessed with me now? It was only a matter of time–"

You cut him off by licking the sweet paste from his top lip. He looks stunned

"Only a matter of time before what?" you ask, trying to emulate his trademark smugness. 

But Satoru doesn't answer, instead pulls you down for an electrifying kiss that tells you that you won't be getting much sleep at all.

The shutter of a camera makes you bolt upright in bed. You're alone, no one around to take such a compromising photo of you. But still, the shutter goes off again. You wrap yourself in a sheet and follow the sound into Satoru's en-suite, door slightly ajar. You peek inside to see Satoru with his back to the mirror. He holds his phone up, throws up a peace sign as he takes another photo. You nudge the door open more, and your breath catches at the sight of the ravaged skin of his back. Raised streaks of red cutting through the muscled expanse. 

"Hey, the princess finally wakes. Wanna get in this next pic? Suguru doesn't believe that you'd scratch me up this good unless we were locked in combat."

"You're sending those to Suguru?"

"Uh, absolutely."

"Don't you dare." You try to grab his phone but he holds it above his head.

"Tell you what," you say as you wrap your arms around his waist and look up at him as innocently as possible. "I'll take the picture with you if you tell me if you've hooked up with anyone else we know."

"No can do." He pretends to zip his lips shut.

"Why not?" you ask with a pout.

"I don't kiss and tell," he says.

"You're literally in the middle of texting Geto about me shredding up your back!"

"It's not like I'm asking you about who else you've hooked up with."

"That's because you're the only one."

"Oh. Right…." Satoru walks you both out of the bathroom then. "Would you believe me if I said that I've gone so long without sex that I'm basically a born again virgin."

"Gojo."

"Hey, hey. Easy with the surname." He drags you back into bed with him, crushes you in his embrace. "I think the only things you need to concern your pretty little head with is the fact that I'm clean, my roster has been obsolete for a good while now, and that I fixed your broken pussy. You're very welcome."

"It's Geto isn't it?"

He stiffens. "I can neither confirm nor deny the status of past friends with benefits arrangements."

You rest your chin on his clavicle to look at him. "So this is a friends with benefits thing, too?" 

"No! The thing with Suguru wasn't as serious– Hey! You are so sneaky!"

"Sorry," you offer despite the smile he is bound to feel against his chest. You're relived at the thought of Geto being Satoru's old flame. And slightly, aroused? He's lucky you're feeling much more tender than before, otherwise…

"So if this is more serious then what are we doing?" you ask.

because it started small, the way these things always do.

you’d laugh at something satoru said, bright and unguarded, and satoru would feel something warm and dangerous unfurl in his chest. you’d say his name, just his name, satoru, and he’d forget how to form proper words for a second. you’d ramble about something stupid, some show you were watching or some drama at work, and he’d find himself leaning closer, phone pressed hard against his ear, eyes half-closed, just… listening, soaking it in like he could bottle the sound of you and keep it under his pillow.

and then it got worse.

because somewhere along the line, somewhere between late-night phone calls and lazy afternoons spent doing nothing together, his body started reacting in a i-need-to-touch-myself-the-second-i-hear-you kind of way. and that was when satoru realized he was in deep, deep trouble.

he’s tried everything; he’s tried dating other people, hoping that someone else’s voice could do the same thing, but it never works. he’s tried ignoring it, tried to power through his alone time with his own imagination or with videos like a normal person, but it’s always lackluster, always missing something, always leaving him frustrated and unsatisfied and, god, so fucking desperate.

because his body has learned, now. his body knows exactly what it needs, and it will not accept substitutes.

it needs your voice.

specifically, it needs your voice in his ear, soft and warm and completely unaware of what you’re doing to him, while satoru falls apart like the pathetic mess he is.

and tonight, tonight is the night he finally breaks.

it’s late, way later than satoru should be awake, and he’s in his apartment alone with the lights off and his thoughts spiraling in directions he doesn’t want them to go. he’s been trying to sleep for hours, tossing and turning, sheets tangled around his legs, but his mind keeps drifting back to you — to the way you said goodbye to him earlier, the casual “talk to you later, toru!” that should not have sounded as good as it did, the little hum you made when he said something funny, the way your voice dropped slightly when you got serious about something.

and now satoru is hard.

achingly, painfully hard, the kind of hard that makes his stomach tight and his thighs clench and his hand drift down almost without permission; he’s already palming himself through his boxers before he can think better of it, breath hitching at the contact, and he knows — hell, he knows — that this isn’t going to be enough. it’s never enough without you.

he tries anyway, because he has some dignity left, or at least he thinks he does.

satoru pushes his boxers down, he wraps his huge hand around his cock, and he starts moving, slow and steady, trying to summon up some kind of fantasy that doesn’t involve you. but it’s no use. every single time satoru closes his eyes, he hears your voice. every single time he tries to think of something else, his brain supplies him with a memory of you laughing, of you whispering, of you saying his name in that particular way that makes his chest ache.

it’s not working.

it’s not working, and he’s getting frustrated, and his hand is moving faster now, rougher, but it’s still not enough, and he’s actually going to lose his fucking mind.

his phone is on the nightstand, screen dark, taunting him.

satoru shouldn’t. he really, really shouldn’t.

this is crossing a line, this is something he can’t come back from, this is the kind of thing that could ruin everything if you ever found out. you’re his best friend. you trust him. you don’t know that satoru lies awake at night thinking about the sound of your voice, that he’s jerked off to the memory of you saying his name more times than he can count, that he is, for all intents and purposes, completely and utterly down bad for something you don’t even know you’re giving him.

but hell, satoru is so desperate, and he’s not thinking straight at all, and his hand is still moving, and it’s not enough, and he needs—he needs—

before he can talk himself out of it, he’s grabbing his phone, unlocking it with shaking fingers, and tapping on your contact. your name glows at him from the screen, and his heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his throat, and he’s actually doing this, he’s actually calling you at — satoru glances at the time — one in the morning, for no reason other than that he’s pathetic and obsessed and he needs to hear your voice right now or he’s going to combust.

the phone rings once, twice.

satoru’s hand is still wrapped around his cock, frozen mid-stroke, and he’s holding his breath like if he breathes too loud you’ll somehow know what he’s doing.

on the third ring, you pick up.

“satoru?” your voice is sleep-rough and confused, and god, it’s even better than he remembered, softer than usual, slightly muffled like you’re still half-buried in your pillow. “it’s like… one in the morning. everything okay?”

his entire body shudders.

no, everything is not okay. everything is the opposite of okay. everything is the least okay it has ever been, because your voice just hit his ears and went straight to his dick, and he has to physically stop himself from moaning out loud.

“h-hey,” satoru manages, and his voice sounds weird even to his own ears, strained and breathy. he clears his throat, and tries again. “hey, uh. couldn’t sleep. thought i’d—”

he has to stop, because his hand is moving again, completely of its own accord, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has to keep his voice steady.

“thought i’d see if you were up.”

there’s a pause on your end, and satoru can hear you shifting, probably sitting up in bed, and the sound of fabric rustling makes his hips jerk involuntarily.

“well, i’m up now,” you say, and there’s a hint of amusement in your voice, the kind of fond exasperation you always have when he does something impulsive. “what’s going on? bad dream or something?”

or something. yeah. let’s go with that.

“something like that,” satoru says.

oh, he hates how breathless he sounds, he hates how his voice cracks on the last word, but he can’t help it because he’s touching himself while on the phone with you, and your voice is wrapping around him like a physical thing, warm and familiar and so, so good. satoru’s head falls back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut, and he tries to focus on keeping his breathing even, he tries to keep the wet sounds of his hand moving from leaking through the receiver.

he’s not doing a great job.

“you sound weird,” you say, and satoru’s heart completely stops. “are you sick?”

“no,” he says too quickly, and then, because he has to say something, “j-just tired. couldn’t sleep. you know how it is.”

you hum in response, that same little hum from earlier, the one that’s been living in satoru’s head rent-free, and he has to bite his lip to keep from making a pathetic sound. his hand is moving faster now, a steady rhythm that he can’t seem to stop, and the friction is good, so good, but it’s not enough, not until he hears more of your voice.

“what, uh, what were you doing before i called?” satoru asks, and he’s aiming for casual but landing somewhere around desperate. “were you asleep?”

“yeah,” you say, and he can hear you yawning, the sound making his toes curl. “i was having this really weird dream, actually. about—i don’t know, something with a horse? and we were in a grocery store? it didn’t make any sense.”

satoru laughs, and it comes out strangled, because he can’t help but imagine you dreaming about him — even in the context of a weird grocery store horse situation — and it does something to him that he doesn’t want to examine too closely.

“sounds about right for you.”

“shut up,” you say.

but you’re smiling, satoru can hear it in your voice, and god, he wishes he could see you right now, he wishes he could watch your face while you talk to him, but maybe that’s for the best because he’s not sure he could handle it. his grip on his cock tightens, his rhythm falters, and he has to turn his head away from the phone to muffle a moan against his pillow.

“so what’s keeping you up?” you ask, and there’s genuine concern in your voice now, so soft and so careful. “you seem… i don’t know. off?”

i’m jerking off while listening to you talk, satoru thinks. that’s what’s off. that’s what’s wrong with me. i’m your best friend and i’m touching myself to the sound of your voice and i can’t stop, i can’t stop, i don’t want to stop.

“just thinking,” he says instead, and his voice is barely above a whisper now, rough and strained. “about stuff.”

“what kind of stuff?”

you, satoru wants to say. always you. everything you. the way you say my name, the way you laugh, the way you talk to me like i’m someone worth talking to. you, you, you.

“nothing important,” satoru lies.

and then he makes the mistake of letting his guard down, of letting a small sound escape — a quiet, punched-out little gasp that he hopes you interpret as a yawn or a sigh or anything other than what it actually is.

but you don’t say anything; you just keep talking, rambling about your dream again, about the weird details you’re starting to remember, and your voice washes over him like warm water, and he’s so far gone it’s not even funny.

satoru is leaking now, his hand slick with it, and every stroke makes a soft, sticky sound that he’s desperately trying to cover up with the blanket. his thighs are trembling, his stomach is tight, and he can feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, that familiar coil of heat that means he’s already getting close.

but satoru doesn’t want to get close yet.

not when he just got you on the phone, not when your voice is finally in his ear where it belongs, not when satoru can pretend, just for a little while, that this is normal, that this is something he gets to have.

“—and then the horse just looked at me, like, straight in the eyes, and i swear it was about to say something—satoru? are you still there?”

“y-yeah,” he breathes, and his voice cracks on the word, high and shaky and completely unconvincing. “yeah, i’m—i’m here. just—keep talking. please.”

please. he actually said please.

satoru is so pathetic he’s actually begging now, and you don’t even know, you have absolutely no idea that you have him like this, that you’re the only thing that can get him off anymore, that he’s been dreaming about this for years and it’s somehow even better than he imagined.

“okay,” you say slowly, and there’s a pause, a beat of silence where he can hear you thinking. “you’re being weird, but okay. so anyway, the horse—”

and you keep talking, and satoru keeps listening, and his hand keeps moving on his cock, faster now, desperate and sloppy and so, so good. he’s biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to keep quiet, but it’s getting harder with every word you say.

your voice is doing something to him, some kind of alchemy that turns his bones to liquid and his thoughts to static, and all he can do is hold on and try not to fall apart before he’s ready.

“—and then i woke up, so i don’t even know what the horse was going to say, which is honestly kind of annoying—satoru? satoru, what is that sound?”

his heart slams against his ribs.

“w-what sound?”

“that… i don’t know, it sounds like—are you okay? you’re breathing really hard.”

fuck fuck fuck fuck.

he’s been caught, or at least he’s been noticed, and satoru has to say something, he has to come up with an explanation that doesn’t involve the truth, but his brain is short-circuiting and his hand won’t stop moving and the only thing he can think about is how close he is, how your voice is pushing him closer and closer to the edge with every syllable.

“just—” satoru chokes out, and his hips are moving now, thrusting up into his fist like he can’t help himself, because he can’t. “just—working out. couldn’t sleep so i—i did some push-ups. still out of breath.”

there’s a long pause. too long. he can feel you thinking, can feel your suspicion through the phone, and he holds his breath, waiting for you to call him on his bullshit.

but you don’t.

“at one in the morning?” you ask, and there’s disbelief in your voice, but also something else, something he can’t quite identify. “you’re insane.”

“y-yeah,” he agrees, and it comes out as a moan, half-stifled, definitely not subtle. “insane. that’s me.”

satoru is so close now that he can taste it; his whole body is shaking, sweat beading on his forehead, and his hand is moving in a blur of motion, too fast, too rough, but he can’t slow down, can’t stop, not when your voice is still in his ear, still talking, still saying his name.

“satoru,” you say, and it’s different this time, softer, slower, like you’re testing something out. “are you sure you’re okay? you really sound—”

“say it again,” satoru interrupts, and he’s not even trying to hide it anymore, not trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. “f-fuck—please. say my name again.”

there’s a sharp intake of breath on your end.

“…satoru?”

and that’s it. that’s the thing that breaks him.

satoru’s whole body seizes up, his back arching off the bed, his mouth falling open in a silent scream as he cums harder than he has in his entire life.

his hand keeps moving, milking himself through it, and he can’t stop the sounds that are falling out of his mouth — high, broken little whimpers and moans that he can’t hold back, can’t muffle, can’t do anything about except hope that you don’t hear them, even though you definitely, definitely do.

his vision whites out for a second, maybe longer, and when it comes back, he’s shaking, trembling all over, his thighs slick and his stomach a mess and his phone pressed so hard against his ear that it hurts. he’s gasping for air, chest heaving, and there’s a ringing in his ears that isn’t from the phone.

and then he hears you breathe.

“satoru,” you say again, and your voice is different now; it’s lower and careful, like you’re putting something together in your head. “were you just—”

“i have to go,” he says, fast and panicked, and he’s already reaching for the end call button, already pulling the phone away from his ear, but your voice stops him.

“wait.”

satoru freezes, and his thumb hovers over the screen, and his heart is pounding so hard he thinks he might actually be having a medical emergency.

“don’t hang up,” you say, and there’s something in your voice he’s never heard before, something that makes his stomach flip in a way that really has nothing to do with what just happened. “satoru. don’t you dare hang up on me.”

he doesn’t. he can’t. satoru just lies there in his bed, covered in his own release, phone pressed to his ear, waiting for you to say something, anything, while the silence stretches between you like a wire pulled taut.

and then you speak again, and your voice is soft, softer than he’s ever heard it, soft like you’re about to tell him a secret.

“satoru,” you say, and his name has never sounded like that before, his name has never been weighted with so many things at once. “i think we need to talk.”

Satoru was your longtime friend. One of those ones you met in high school and brought into adulthood, in spite of all odds. You were a shy, keep-to-yourself kind of girl. You wanted to be alone, to get through the rest of high school without incident. He hadn’t cared. He latched himself on and never let go, and you were thankful every day.

Some more rifling through a box rang out in your relatively quiet bedroom.

“Okay, what about this one?” he asked.

You turned your head and hummed. “That’s just a rope, Satoru.”

He hooked a thumb under his blindfold to reveal a dazzling eye. It sparkled with mischief. “You’re the world’s most creative sex toy creator. I find it hard to believe this is ‘just a rope.’”

That was factually inaccurate — you were not the most creative anything. You were merely a mildly successful sex toy designer at a popular, well-established company. But Satoru never listened when you tried to correct him on that matter.

Returning to your sketches, you replied, “It’s made from a synthetic material that’s meant to adjust to the skin’s temperature. It warms up and is supposed to feel close to burning, without, y’know, burning. The legal team vetoed it, though. They said it was too dangerous and could catch on fire. Liabilities and all that. I don’t know. I wasn’t really listening.”

“Boooo,” Satoru said, sitting down on your bed behind you. “Suits always ruin the fun.”

You snorted in agreement.

A moment of silence passed, and you thought perhaps he had gotten bored, that he had gone on his phone and was sending memes to his poor students, who were off doing his missions for him. He soon opened his mouth again, however, and said something that had your hand, which was clasping your pencil, stilling:

“Wanna try it out?”

“…what?”

Satoru nudged your chair around with one of his long legs. You spun to face him. Blindfoldless suddenly, he had his legs spread and the long, blue rope dangling between his pale hands. “Let’s try it out. I always get sad when I look at your failed inventions. There’s usually never anything wrong with them, just legal stuff that gets in the way of fun and creativity. I feel for you, little inventor.”

Bullshit, you wanted to say. Instead, you fixed him a look and said, “No, Satoru. We can’t do this again. We promised.”

He groaned with an eye roll. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so serious. I’m curious, and you always get inspired after we try things out. It’s a mutually beneficial situation.”

“Don’t act like you’re doing this for me. You just want to get off, don’t try to manipulate me. I’m not in the mood to be tied up by a reminder of my failures, thanks.”

That should have been the end of that, you thought as you stood to take the rope away.

He snatched it from your hand before you could take it. You frowned. Satoru grinned. “Who said you were the one getting tied up?”

You blinked.

Satoru wanted to be tied up?

The thought of the blue rope digging into his fair, flawless skin, with redness blooming where the rope touched, had your knees weak. Would it be so bad to see him all tied up and at your mercy, you wondered. Were you even into that? Was he?

Cautiously, you reminded him, “You could break out of the restraints at any time you wanted, though.”

One of his hands crept around your thigh, tugging you forward and encouraging you to step between his legs. His hand was warm. He peered up at you with a smile. “I won’t. Not unless you tell me to.”

“...you’ll listen to me?”

“Yep,” he says, pressing a hand to his heart. “Scout’s honour.”

A shaky exhale leaves you.

Just like that, he knew he had you.

“Fine.”

And that’s how you end up straddling his hips with him leaning back against your headboard, arms tied behind his back, and blue rope running across his bare torso. He’s just in his boxers — you didn’t want to cross the line…again. Or rather, you didn’t want to cross the line too far. 

The rope frames him, tracing the natural planes of his body: the broadness of his shoulders, the unsubtle definition of his chest, the slutty dip at his waist. His skin appears almost luminous against the deep colour. Where the rope pressed in, it leaves a gorgeous flush, a blooming warmth that made the contrast all the more striking — dark blue against divinely-carved marble. 

His head rests back, just slightly tilted, exposing the long line of his throat. There’s no blindfold now. His eyes watched you from beneath half-lowered lashes, amusement curling lazily at the edges.

Waiting.

Satoru has never looked more delicate and powerful at the same time.

“You’re totally thinking I’m the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, right?” he asks though it doesn’t sound like a question at all. His brows dance. 

Naturally, you want to scoff and say something humbling, but truthfully, he’s not too far off.

Still, you don’t want to contribute to his huge ego, so you casually say, “Eh, you’re alright.”

You’ve tried out the rope on mannequins before so you’re somewhat experienced in the knots and rules, like making sure you leave it loose enough for two fingers to slip under and not knotting it so complicatedly that you can’t easily unravel it in case of emergencies. 

But it’s different when you do it on an actual person. His skin is soft and plush, unlike hard plastic. It’s warm and smooth, and reacts at your touch. Veins pop. Muscles flex. Breaths come out low and sudden. 

For the most part, Satoru was quiet. So were you. He allowed you to bend his arms however you pleased. It was a balanced exchange with how much he was staring at you. It made you self-conscious. Perhaps you should have worn something cuter when he came, you thought. Maybe brushed your hair and tidied up. In your defence, however, how were you supposed to know a simple visit to catch up after a long day of working was going to turn into lines blurring?

“Would it kill you to give me a compliment or two?” he grumbles petulantly. 

Swallowing a tense ball, you run your fingers down his chest, bumping up and down the thick rope. He shudders. “You look good, Toru. Blue’s totally your colour.”

One corner of his lips curls up. “Well, duh.”

“Is it too tight?” you ask, brows furrowed. You aren’t in this position very often at all, and you want to be sure you’re not breaking humanity’s only hope against curses. “Does it hurt?”

Satoru tries to stretch his limbs out, to no avail. He shrugs as best he can. “Been in tighter situations.”

“And do you like it?”

“Eh, it’s fine,” he replies.

A glance down at his crotch reveals a hardness too familiar and at the same time too foreign. And is that a wet spot?

“Seems like you like it too much,” you say absentmindedly. “Is being tied up actually turning you on?”

When he finally processes the weight of your gaze settling on his hard cock, his hips jolt up ever so slightly. The rope creaks with the flexing of his thick biceps. A challenge glints in his eyes. “You’re leaving a snail trail on my thigh with all the humping you’re doing,” he points out blankly. “If we wanna address my boner, we’ll have to address your clit pulsing in morse code, ‘suck me, Toru! suck me ngh!””

Cheeks flushed, you smack his chest. “Ugh, shut up.”

You were humping his thigh without realising it. Now that he’s made you aware, you can’t stop noticing how your wetness has soaked through your panties and shorts. Every shift and shuffle has the faintest squeelchhh reaching your ears. He must hear it too because he can’t stop smiling.

Fuck, you’re too worked up at the sight of his pretty skin contrasting with the rough rope. 

Breathlessly, you ask, “How does it feel, Toru?”

Long lashes flutter as he reflects for a second. “It’s good… The rope’s definitely warmer than I expected. I didn’t think I was into temperature play, but it’s better than I thought it would be. You did good, babe.”

“Yeah?”

Without really thinking about it, you shuffle forward. His face is buried in between your clothed breasts for the briefest moment before you sit back down on his lap. More specifically, right on his cock. 

Satoru sucks in a sharp breath. He throbs. “W-what’re you doing?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own as you begin grinding on his boner. The pulsing in your clit has you unable to think. All you know is that every time you feel his cock pushing against the small bundle of nerves through all the layers you cream even more. 

He groans, arms starting to fight his restraints. 

“Don’t,” you say. “You promised.”

“Yeah, but that was before I knew you were going to be riding me like your pillow.”

“Ugh, that was one time, and I told you that in confidence,” you complain. “Stop bringing it up.”

He makes a tortured noise. “Then stop rubbing your pussy on my dick.”

Slowly, you remove your shirt. His eyes fall on your tits immediately. He stops resisting. 

“Do you actually want me to stop, Satoru?” you whisper, all shy. 

“Fuck no,” he replies without missing a beat. He looks downright mesmerised. Entranced. Positively bewitched. “Rub your pussy on me forever, baby. My hands, my thighs, dick, face, everywhere.”

Tempting…

A giggle escapes you. “You look like you’ve wandered into a sweet shop. Stop drooling.”

“I will as soon as you pop a nip into my mouth,” he retorts. Satoru darts forward, chasing a breast. You pull away all while you press a hand to his shoulder to keep him back. 

“Uh uh uh. You seem to be forgetting you’re not in control here anymore, Satoru Gojo. You’re all tied up and I’m on top. I hold all the cards, and you just have to sit back and do as I say.”

His cock throbs again under you. You moan, head thrown back. Satoru groans, “Oh, fuck. I love when you get all bossy.” He reaches forward despite your words and flicks his tongue against your hardened nipple. You clench around nothing. “Our friends don’t understand why you quit being a sorcerer to have a normal 9 to 5, but I get it. This suits you. They don’t see this part of you. Only I do, right?”

Threading your fingers through his hair, you guide his face to a breast and finally let him suckle on a nipple. The pleasure is instant. He sucks with no need for further instruction. So desperate. So eager. His satisfied moans vibrate through the sensitive bud, running through your veins, and pooling in your panties. The way he suckles, flicks his tongue, rolls it between his teeth — it’s obvious he’s doing this for his pleasure more than yours, and it’s getting you more hot and bothered than if he had been trying to make you feel good.

“You’re the only one who wants to get it, Toru,” you mutter. “You’re the most curious out of everyone because you know you get something out of it.”

Who can count how many times he’s taken one of your creations for himself? 

You’ve never asked questions about what exactly he does with the vibrators, the splitting bars, the freebie aphrodisiacs, or the costumes you win at company parties. Sometimes, you think he wants you to. But he never offers up the information himself.

Satoru’s words come out muffled because he doesn’t want to let go of your breast: “who doesn’t like orgasms and free things?”

Scoffing, you tell him, “You’re rich; everything’s basically free for you. And you can get orgasms from anywhere and anyone.”

He releases your tit with a pop! 

A long string of spit stretches until it breaks. Satoru nonchalantly mutters, “I only want orgasms from you.”

Then he latches onto the other one, sucking so hard your chest arches forward with the intensity of it. It’s almost as if he’s searching for milk, as if he thinks the reason you’re not leaking into his mouth is because he’s not trying hard enough. 

Meanwhile, your hips haven’t stopped gyrating on his cock. Chest to chest, you feel the rope rubbing your skin. The heat of the rope and his body keep you warm. Tingles from within erupt wherever you touch. It’s exhilarating and addictive all at once. 

You dig your nails where there’s no rope. He’s taken his Infinity down, or maybe he’s extended it to include you. It hardly matters. You’ve always been able to touch him.

“Satoru,” you moan, arms wrapping around his back. 

“I know,” he rasps. “Me too.”

Your hips work together. Faster and faster. With no rhythm. No rhyme. Just chasing bliss. 

His lips move from your tits, which he’s left slippery and sore. He kisses your neck, licking a drop of sweat from the curve that meets your shoulder. Satoru can’t touch you. He can’t break out of the rope— No, he can. He won’t. 

You both know he can easily rip the ropes to shreds. It wouldn’t even take anything from him. It’d be the easiest thing he could do, but he’d never want to disappoint you. 

“Dig your nails in,” he pleads, eyes rolling back. “Wanna feel it, wanna feel you.”

You only hesitate the most miniscule of seconds. Then, you’re digging your nails into his perfect skin, dragging it up his chiseled back. It feels wrong, like damaging David, even if Michaelangelo himself asked. But when his back arches and he hisses and his hips rut up into you at the same time, you can’t imagine this is anything but right.

The bed creaks. The headboard bangs against the wall. Pillows slip off the edge. The covers have disappeared. There’s only you and him and the ropes and the mixed juices you’re rubbing on each other.

Together, your bodies spasm with the force of your orgasms.

“Fuck!”

The air between you grows humid with your heavy breathing. Your hard nipples scrape his chest, his abs pressing to your belly, his cock and your clit pulsing in time with each other. 

Satoru calls your name out, eyes flashing. Objects around the room vibrate. They rattle. The walls creak, and in the haze of your bliss you almost see cracks forming along the surface, but a blink of the eyes washes all of that away. 

A loud snap! echoes.

The rope falls dully to the bed, completely loose, and totally damaged. Satoru’s broken free. He didn’t mean to. It just happened. His hands don’t grab onto you. He doesn’t flip you over and takes what he wants. He merely slumps onto you, panting into your neck, and clasping his hands together behind his back so tightly you’re scared he’ll break his own bones. 

Red lines criss cross around his torso. When your fingers graze the sensitive skin, he ruts up into you with a lewd moan. 

“Oh fuck, that was good,” Satoru eventually breathes out. 

“And never happening again,” you say, thoroughly disappointed in yourself. Again. Why do you keep falling for his games? Why do you keep cumming at his whim? Why do you want to do it again so soon? 

The allure of seeing a good looking man in something you designed was too much for you to resist. Now that post nut clarity is clearing your mind, you can only kick yourself mentally.

Pulling away, you throw your shirt back on, smacking the hands that reach for your tits away. There’s an uncomfortable wetness between your legs. He, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind the wetness on his own boxers. He’s always been more unbothered by the whole ‘doing things we shouldn’t scheme.

Satoru throws himself onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling and testing the marks on his wrists. He marvels at them. He’s not used to being marked up. With a happy little whistle, he pats his belly and replies, “Uhuh.”

“No,” you enunciate. “No ‘uhuh.’ It’s not going to happen ever again. You’re banned from touching any of my designs again.”

“Okay,” he says, looking at you with a faux innocent look. “You can touch your designs. I’ll just touch you. Good thinking!”

You give him a deadpan face.

And unfortunately when he winks at you, you know you’re both thinking the same thing:

It’s going to happen again.