mona

“and you are here again because..?” you hummed, stepping through the warped entrance of the abandoned inn where the special grade cursed object was rumored to be hidden, floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet.

behind you, gojo followed without a shred of caution, hands tucked behind his head like some sort of casual stroll instead of a mission for grade one and above.

he chuckled. “why can’t i? i just wanna spend time with my favorite girl.” his voice tilted into a teasing sing-song. “don’t act like you hate it~”

you stopped and turned to face him.

“im not acting. and since you’re here,” you began flatly, crossing your arms, “why don’t you ... go find whatever it is we’re looking for.”

he gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “i came all this way and yet you decide to dismiss me? i guess they were right…” he sighed, shaking his head. “you truly are a cruel woman.”

your eyes widened and you slapped his chest. “what? whose they?!”

he let out that stupid familiar giggle of his before turning and dashing off in the opposite direction, disappearing down the dark hallway.

“stupid idiot…” you huffed under your breath.

you wandered through the inn for a while, your flashlight sweeping slowly across warped walls and half opened doors as the old hallways creaked with every careful step.

the place smelled like dust and rotting wood, the kind of quiet that made every little noise feel louder than it should be.

you walked endlessly, the hours blurring together as every room you entered stood just as the last—dusty, abandoned, and hollow.

and despite knowing satoru was somewhere nearby, you couldn’t help the small tension settling in your shoulders.

“satoru?” you called once, mostly out of habit.

no response.

rolling your eyes, you continued down the hall, pushing another door open with your foot and flashing the light around the empty room before stepping back into the corridor—only for a voice to suddenly appear right behind you.

“boo.”

you yelped. the sound tore out of you before you could stop it, your flashlight jerking wildly as you spun around to find gojo standing there, already laughing.

god you just wanted to slap that infuriating smirk off his face. or kiss it off. you weren’t exactly sure of anything whenever it came to him…

“satoru!” you snapped, slapping his chest again, warmth spreading in your face from embarrassment. your punches and hits always landed easily, because, for reasons you’d never quite questioned, satoru gojo never kept his infinity up around you.

you dusted yourself off, ignoring the crippling wave of embarrassment that washed over you. “have you seen anything?”

even behind the fabric of his blindfold, it felt like his gaze hadn’t left you. it was always so heavy, unwavering, like he could you and pin you in place with his eyes alone if he really wanted to.

“nope!”

“gosh.. you are seriously useless.” you muttered, walking toward one of the last rooms in the hallway. one where the cursed energy felt strongest.

“well you could try to be nicer to me instead of mouthing off to me all the time, maybe i’d be nicer to you.” he pouted, following right behind you.

“really? be nice? how old are you again???”

in the center of the room sat an old incense box, the wood darkened with age and wrapped loosely in forgotten talismans. you knelt down beside it while gojo leaned against the doorway behind you.

“seriously…?” you murmured, opening the box. a faint pink mist drifted upward, slow and almost pretty in the dim light.

“this is our cursed object? they couldn’t have sent one of the second years? ridiculous.”

the scent that followed was surprisingly sweet and warm, something soft and calming that made you pause for a second longer than you meant to.

you took a breath.

“uh..” gojo spoke suddenly from the doorway, his voice losing some of its usual laziness. “i don't think you should go around sniffing random cursed objects princess.”

you huffed, rolling your eyes. “whatever.. besides, what did i tell you about the pet names?”

“well, i think they're cute.” he hummed, taking the box from your hands, slender, cool fingers brushing briefly against yours before he snapped the box shut with a quiet thud. the sudden shift in his energy left you slightly confused, but he only gave you a reassuring smile like nothing had happened.

“i’ll call ijichi and we’ll be on our way, yeah?”

you nodded slowly, thinking nothing of it.

the two of you waited outside the inn with your arms crossed against the cool night air while gojo paced in loose circles nearby, talking loudly enough into the phone that you could hear half the conversation even from where you stood.

when he finally finished, he stuffed the cursed object into his pocket.

“good news!” he announced. “ijichi said it’ll be handled. bad news is he thinks it’s some weird—”

oh.

satoru's voice softened slightly. “hey.. you okay?”

you blinked at him slowly.

there was a warmth spreading in your stomach that wasn’t there before, a heavy, unfamiliar sensation making your thoughts feel a little slower, a little foggier around the edges. you pushed yourself straighter against the street pole, trying to ignore how your face felt slightly warmer than it should.

especially around gojo out of all people.

“m’fine…” voice small in a way he’d never heard before.

that’s when he noticed it properly.

you, who never slipped. you, who never needed anything from everybody, especially not from him. the weariness and hesitance in your eyes.

“you don’t look very okay..”

he frowned slightly, stepping closer, his hand rested lightly on your arm as he spoke. “you sure? you look sick. if you want i can get us to shoko and—”

and the warmth in your stomach sharpened, more intense than before.

“—no!” you blurted suddenly, louder than you meant to.

gojo blinked.

“sorry,” you said quickly, already turning away from him. “no. i- i’m gonna go home, you can wrap this up.” you huffed, breath more shaky and worn out than you’d like it to be.

the night air clung to your skin, biting and sharp, a stark contrast to the warmth still lingering in your body. the moment hung quiet, too quiet, before gojo shifted closer, spinning you back around gently.

his free hand lifted, cool fingers brushing your cheek as he gently angled your face toward him. the chill of his touch seeped into your warmth, but this time there was nothing casual about it. his movements slowed, more deliberate as he studied you.

his thumb hovered near your cheekbone, lightly turning your face side to side checking for any physical markings as for what was making you act so strange.

“how can you even go home like this? i'm serious, let me.” he muttered under his breath, the usual teasing edge in his voice replaced with worry.

a soft whine slipped from your lips, more reflex than intentional, and you immediately swatted his hand away—half protest, half instinct—breaking the contact as you huffed in quiet defiance.

“i’m serious too.” annoyance bubbled in your chest, turning on your heel and storming off into the night, leaving behind a very confused satoru.

+ ❤︎ ℘

as soon as you got home, you showered.

once.

then twice.

letting the cold water run over your skin until your fingers went slightly numb and your breathing felt slower under the steady hiss of the faucet. the warmth in your stomach didn’t leave. it only sat there stubbornly, dull and heavy like something pressing quietly beneath your thoughts.

you turned the water colder, leaning your forehead briefly against the tiled wall, trying to focus on anything else — the sound of water hitting the floor, the faint echo of your own breathing in the empty bathroom — but every time you closed your eyes you kept remembering the way he had touched your arm earlier, light and warm and far too distracting to shake off.

fuck.

it felt like your body couldn’t settle no matter what you tried, you changed into the lightest, thinnest clothes you had, hoping the strange heat under your skin would ease even a little bit.

but it didn’t.

satoru had been pacing the emptied out office ever since you went home, anxiety slowly gnawing at the back of his mind. it had been hours—no call, no text, nothing at all—and even though he told himself you were probably just resting.

the silence felt wrong.

so when his phone finally lit up with your name and his favorite photo of the two of you: where you had fallen asleep and slumped against his shoulder on the train back home, cheek squishing against his chest — his heart fluttered with a pang of hope before he answered.

“hey, i was just thinking of you,” he said when he picked up, voice instantly softening. “did you get home safely?”

he frowned when you didn’t answer right away. “uh, helloooo?”

on the other end of the line, you were clutching your phone tightly, his voice alone making the strange warmth in your chest feel sharper, harder to ignore.

“satoru—” you called, practically moaning out his name, breath uneven. body burning in embarrassment and taut with need as you buried your face into the arm of your couch, the scratchy fabric pressing against your sweaty forehead.

“i’ve tried everything. my fingers, my fucking shower head, my vibrator–” you whined, voice strained as you couldn’t stop yourself from blubbering everything out to him.

“i just— s’no use.” you wailed in defeat. the way your top brushed against your overly sensitive nipples each time you moved, the way your panties rubbed against your throbbing clit — it was all so overbearing, you couldn’t even think properly.

poor satoru couldn’t help but feel like a pervert.

the image of your legs spread, cunt swollen and fluttering around nothing, desperate to relieve the ache... just front and center in his mind, making his chest flutter. and well..

his dick throb in his trousers.

“hey, hey,” he said quickly, doing his best to ignore the slow strain against fabric. “it’s alright. what do you need me to do?”

“can you come over? please.”

the words were quiet, but they carried a weight he understood immediately.

not just any “come over.”

that kind of “come over.”

“be there in ten.”

“no.” you said immediately, voice stubborn and a little whiny. “five.”

he huffed quietly on the other end of the line.

“…fine. i’ll be there in three.”

you could’ve swore you heard the man smirking as he spoke.

truthfully, satoru wasn’t sure he had ever moved this fast in his life. he made a quick stop at a 24 hour convenience store on the way to yours.

if whatever this shit was had you asking for his help and using your manners???? it had to have been serious.

he avoided eye contact with the elderly lady at the register while she scanned his items, a faint beep cutting through the silence.

his items of choice?

a container of your favorite flavored mochi’s.

for you! post sex..

and a box of xl condoms.

also.. for you.. during sex.. if the two of you were to have sex that is.

soon enough, satoru was standing at your front door in just about two minutes, thanks to his inhuman abilities of course.

he was also a man who, annoyingly enough, did stick to his word.

he knocked once.

no answer.

he was about to knock again when the door suddenly swung open, revealing you standing there. a soft sheen of sweat on your skin, eyebrows knitted together in irritation—or arousal—lips stubbornly pouting while your body was enveloped by one of his worn out shirts with some faded digimon print on it—the same one he had left at your house last time he was there.

worn because you likely wanted to hide the fact you only had panties on under there.

“you said three minutes,” you said, frowning up at him

“yes. and i got here in two princess.” his tone was light, but his gaze dipped briefly below your chest, taking in the scene in front of him.

normally, his pet names pissed you off. so what the hell was this? why were you getting lightheaded??

“…is that my shirt?” he hummed, unable to fully hide the amusement threading through his voice, a grin already tugging at his lips, “—where exactly are your pants?”

you let out a groan, already regretting calling him in the first place. “it’s too hot for anything else.” you muttered, pulling the fabric of the shirt down a little.

as if that would make a difference…

you glanced down at the bag in his hand, raising an eyebrow, ignoring the way your pussy throbbed maddeningly at the sight and faint smell of him.

he noticed the shift.

of course he did.

his head tilted just slightly, quietly piecing together a thought he didn’t bother to say out loud, the corner of his mouth tugging up in quiet amusement.

“it’s stuff for you, don’t worry about it,” he spoke with a small, reassuring smile.

he stepped inside fully, the door clicking shut behind him as he locked it without a second thought.

“you’re gonna listen to me for a bit, yeah?”

his voice was light. easy. infuriatingly so.

his hand came up anyway, despite the fact you usually punched him if he tried, tilting your chin just enough to make sure you were looking at him.

his touch softened, less insistent now, more reassuring than anything.

“don’t get shy on me now,” he murmured, voice dipping just enough to make your breath catch.. “what is it you want?”

your breath hitched. “i… i wanna see you. please.” you mewled, embarrassed at how such a low level curse made your libido and sex drive skyrocket – to a point beyond your control.

he caught on right away.

slowly, he lifted his blindfold and unraveled it, the fabric falling away in one smooth motion. his blue eyes were clearer now without the barrier, sharp but unusually soft when they settled on you, the loose strands of his hair framing his face in a way that made your chest tighten.

you didn’t think about what was to come next. couldn’t, really.

the words died somewhere between your thoughts and your tongue, and before your mind caught up, you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer on pure instinct, locking your lips with his in a bruising kiss.

one large hand shot up instinctively, steadying you, while his eyes fluttered shut for a split second. he leaned down, meeting your eager lips.

he caught himself with ease, grip on you firm but controlled. satoru had always been ready for anything… just not that.

as you clung to his jacket, satoru tossed the bag aside—quick, almost careless in its urgency.

with his blindfold gone, his sharp gaze met yours without anything in the way. one hand settled on your hip, firm enough to steady you, but gentle in its hold—quietly letting you take the lead, giving you exactly what you needed.

you pushed him back until the couch hit the back of his knees, forcing him to drop down onto it with a soft thud, instantly following him down, settling on top of him.

a soft grunt slipped from him as you crashed into him, your whole body shuddering before you buried your face into the crook of his neck, trying to regain some form of self control.

you let out an embarrassingly loud moan as you slotted yourself right over his clothed cock, warmth seeping through the point of contact and spreading throughout your body.

“fuck… m'sorry toru,” you groaned, your face burning with embarrassment, frustration, and something you couldn’t name.

his breath hitched. toru…? well that was new.

he blinked, caught off guard, a grin threatening to slip past his composure. fingers tightening just enough on your hip, not to control, just… to keep you upright.

“…toru, huh?” his voice was low, teasing, but there was something raw beneath it, something he barely recognized in himself.

his smile dropped slightly when you didn’t indulge in his teasing.

“hey… look at me,” he hummed, gently tilting your head up, his finger resting lightly under your chin as he guided your face toward his. “don’t apologize, okay? aphrodisiacs aren’t that bad… you just need a bit of help is all.”

his hands settled at your waist to steady you, thumb brushing lightly against your sides as he met your gaze.

your eyes kept avoiding his, unable to settle. he noticed, gently tilting your chin up once more to meet him halfway.

“nuh uh—eyes on me, princess,” he murmured. “i’ll only do anything you want,” he hummed, booping your nose, making you blink abruptly.

“now tell me,” his teasing tone returned, though his gaze remained attentive. “this you or that cursed thing talkin'?”

you scanned his face rapidly, heat pooling in your stomach, growing heavier the closer he leaned. his large hands molded against your curves with ease, and his scent—soft, yet intoxicating—made it impossible to think straight.

“i—” you tried, but the word caught uselessly in your throat.

he cocked his head to the side, gaze sharp behind the faintest smirk. “don’t tell me you’ve gone all shy on me...” he murmured, his thumb pressing soft, steady strokes against your hip. “you were just mouthing off to me a couple of seconds ago.”

your grip on his shirt tightened immediately.

“yes—fuck, it’s me talking, satoru!”

his gaze lingered on you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “yeah… i know,” he murmured softly. “that’s my girl. we’ll go at your pace.”

you groaned, still visibly annoyed, though the edge in your voice gave you away. “you don't need to coddle me satoru…” you muttered, pout lingering.

he let out a quiet breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “sorry for trying to play nice,” he murmured, though there was no real bite to it. “don’t wanna break you sweetheart... now c’mere.”

his hand slipped to the back of your head, steadying you as he kissed you first. slow, deliberate, giving you time to change your mind.

a chance to back out.

you let out a sigh as his lips met yours again, hands gripping at his jacket, entire body on fire as your hips moved on their own, gently grinding against him.

a purr of delight rumbled inside his throat as your hands hiked up underneath his shirt, tongues brushing against each other in tandem. you moaned into his mouth as his hands found your hips, rolling you against him, firmer than you had been doing — an attempt to ease the raging pool of arousal in you.

and only after a long, quiet moment did he pull back just enough to breathe, eventually (and regrettably) pulling from your lips, a string of saliva bridging the gap between you two. his forehead still hovered near yours, close enough to feel every shallow inhale you took.

“please… toru,” you whispered, voice small, urgent, almost trembling. “i need it…” grinding down on him once more, a spark of warmth building up and throughout your nerves.

he let out a quiet, breathy chuckle, tilting his head at you.

“mouth or fingers then?”

…

“w-what?”

you fumbled over your words, the need coiling tight in your chest, twisting sharper with every second he kept teasing.

if anything, it only made you wetter.

“w-w-what?” he echoed, a quiet laugh slipping out. “you heard me. mouth or fingers—pick.”

“now’s not the time to be fucking around, you dickhead,” you bit out, your voice tighter than you meant it to be.

you hated it—hated how he was still trying to be playful when you felt like you were falling apart inside.

he always knew exactly which buttons to push.

and somehow, you always reacted anyway.

“fucking around? i just want to be thorough.” his voice low but not unkind.

…

“h-hands…” you muttered, barely getting the word out, eyes refusing to meet his.

he let out a soft chuckle, clearly entertained, canines catching in the dim moonlight that creeped in through the cracked curtains. “there it is,” he murmured. “see? that wasn’t so hard.”

he hummed, a faint smile playing at his lips, canines catching the dim light.

“though, i was hoping you’d aim higher.” — making you roll your eyes with a heavy scoff.

normally, you’d tell him off. tell the six-eyed freak to go fuck himself.

but not tonight.

tonight was different.

he shifted slightly, guiding you with careful, deliberate movements until your back rested against the arm of the couch, lowering himself to his knees in front of you.

your thighs pressed together instinctively, a small whimper slipping out as if you could hide from him—hide how badly you really wanted it.

“c’mon… what'd i say about getting shy?” he murmured.

“can’t help you if you’re hiding from me pretty.” his grip shifted, and with an almost unfair ease, he used just the span of his hand—thumb and pinky guiding your legs apart, your slick having already soaked through the thin cotton of your panties.

if you knew satoru gojo was going to be fingering you until you came all over his hands tonight… then you definitely would’ve worn something a lot cuter.

maybe something silky, with lace around the edges, something easy to slip off.

but it’s not like he minded.

his breath caught in his throat. “…fuck,” whispering under his breath. and for a brief moment, his usual composure slipped. his gaze lingering just a second longer than before..

he was just so fucking obsessed with you.

with one slender digit, he hooked your panties, knuckle slightly grazing your entrance, collecting some of your slick along his knuckle. he pushed your panties aside with a slow, careful motion. exposing your sopping cunt to the cool night air.

after about a minute of tense silence, he hadn’t even realized he’d been gawking at your pussy. he couldn’t help himself. the way it was practically leaking, every curve, every clench.

so fucking pretty…

“satoru!”

he blinked, dragged back to the moment, and after a brief pause, finally looked up at you, a faint chuckle escaping.

“heh… sorry.” his voice steadied again. “just tell me if it feels good, okay?”

and with that, he inserted two of his slender digits past your wet folds, your juices coating his fingers entirely as he slipped in and out of you. a loud, sinful ‘shlick’ shattering the quiet of your living room.

your jaw went slack and your eyelids fluttered shut instantly with a loud moan as he angled them deep inside you, occasionally curling up and reaching spots you couldn’t even dream of reaching yourself—whining each time he did so.

you reached for the nearest couch cushion and pulled it over your face, attempting to muffle your moans, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

you weren’t normally vocal in bed. you had no reason to be, not with others or when you got off on your own.

you couldn’t tell if it was satoru’s effect on you… or just the curse wearing you down. everything felt contradictory, like it shouldn't make sense.

and yet… it did.

it felt wrong and right all at once, as if somehow, he was the only one meant to see you like this.

it just felt so good. so perfect.

you bit your lip, holding back a sob, trying to ignore the aching in your tummy temporarily ceased to make way to utter bliss as waves of pleasure wash over you.

his free hand lifted, fingers catching the edge of the cushion. he didn’t yank it away.. instead, he tugged it down slowly, giving you a chance to stop him.

but you didn't.

“you’re doing a terrible job of hiding from me, you know that?” he hummed, tossing the cushion somewhere behind him.

“such a messy girl..” he added, adoration oozing through his voice. the way your cunt refused to let go of his fingers was almost hypnotizing, his knuckles glistening in whatever light came through the curtains, covered in your wetness.

“better than your own?” he hummed.

though it may have come across as condescending in practice, there was a hint of concern underneath it. his tone softened just enough to reveal something more genuine beneath the usual teasing edge.

“t-toru… fuck,” you whined, tears already brimming at the corners of your eyes. “yes! somuchbetter.” mewling as he continued to work your pussy open.

his smirk widened, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“you mean that?” he asked, tone playful, cocky, as if daring you to take it back.

he wasn’t going to let you live that down.

not ever.

“hmm… that good, huh?” he murmured, leaning just a little closer, thumbs brushing at your waist, letting you feel him, letting you know he knew exactly what he was doing.

“you sound way too easy to please, princess.”

“please. just. shut. up— hngh–!”

your complaints died in your throat, as an unexpected stretch pulled at you, sharp and delicious, and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped.

satoru had added another digit.

“gojo—” you choked. “toru! w-wait—” writhing against his grip, mind going fuzzy.

without a second thought, his other arm wrapped around your thigh, hand slithering down with deliberate ease, thumb circling your clit with a quick light hand, making you arch into the couch. moans getting louder with each press and swipe.

“i take it you like it?” hummed, curling all three his fingers up against you, his fingers grazing a perfect spot inside you, vision going hazy as your pussy clenching desperately around his digits, refusing to let go.

“hah… easy…” he hummed, watching the way your body tensed under him.

there weren’t enough words in any dictionary to capture how overwhelming it all felt.

too urgent, yet the perfect pace.

like it had been building far longer than you’d like to admit. everything amplified beyond reason, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed.

you needed this. needed him.

but still… it wasn’t enough. the aphrodisiac clawed at your senses, twisting every nerve into ache and frustration rather than pleasure.

“toru… please… i can’t—” you gasped, desperation lacing every word, trembling against him.

huh…

normally, this would have anyone else gasping and cumming in seconds, he was satoru gojo afterall.

this shit really was taking a number on you.

not that it mattered to gojo. he could keep up just fine.

“yeah… yeah.. of course you cant” he murmured underneath his breath. “you always this hard to handle?”

“j-just stop talking. so fucking—annoying.”

“annoying??” he huffed, warm breath ghosting your cunt.

“i’m hurt. thought you’d have something better for me than that princess.” a low purr escaped him as he brought his fingers to his mouth, savoring the evidence of you as his lips glided over them, tongue insistently circling around his digits, all while making eye contact with you.

every nerve in his body ached. he’d waited for this moment for so long. too long.

his thighs clenched underneath his slacks, his dick pressing up against his zipper, a painfully obvious bulge in his pants.

but he ignored it, for you.

the only thing on his mind was making you feel good. he could handle himself later; right now?

it was all about you.

the couch groaned beneath him as he leaned in, arms snaking around your thighs, yanking you down to his waiting face.

and without a second thought his plush lips latched onto your cunt. his tongue lapped up your juices, slipping in between your folds, eagerly exploring your velvet walls. “oh– satoru!”, you moaned, voice coming out cracked and quiet, eyes snapping shut in pleasure.

you choked on a sob as his tongue dipped lower, teasing your hole, completely drunk on how sweet you tasted. he fought back a smile as he practically made out with your pussy, working you open with his tongue before dragging upwards, tongue pressing flat onto your clit.

you sobbed again, hands flinging down to his messy white strands while he tucked his arms under your thighs.

tighter.

harder.

as if you were trying to run.

well… maybe because you were.

he lifted your hips to meet his mouth. your thighs trembled as your small whimpers filled up the room.

he was good at this. too fucking good.

you gasped, arching against him, brain melting into pure chaos.

tears brimmed at your water line as your body trembled, betraying just how far gone you were.

you tugged on his hair, some sort of signal that you were close. or so you thought.

your pussy pulsed under his tongue as he continued to lap at your hole. tongue swirling faster. the occasional digit plunging inside you over, and over, and over, juices coating his entire hand.

his cock achingly hard, pressing into the couch — the small friction relieving the ache in his pants.

you were certainly going to have a talk with him. about where the hell he learned all this, how he always gets it right, and why it feels like he knows your body better than you do…

you were so out of it, you hadn’t even realized he’d been speaking until a low, humming vibration shot through your body.

“good?” he murmured, muffled by your puffed up folds, reinforced by the soft slurp of him drinking you up.

when you finally forced your eyes open, satoru was already staring straight into you—bright blue eyes cutting through the dim room like he’d been waiting for this exact moment the entire time.

normally. such a sight would've made you cum immediately.

you had the strongest sorcerer on his knees… for you. every movement, every sound he drew from you, made your chest tighten, and your mind screamed at you: how the hell is this happening?

but the loudest thought pounding through your dazed brain was simple.

more.

your thighs began to quiver, hot tears of frustration spilling down your cheeks before you slapped your hands over your face—and out of his hair—letting out a frustrated groan.

your body didn’t wanna let you come.

it was the same thing over and over again: the pleasure built, warmth spreading, but no peak. it was never enough.

normally, crying in front of someone didn’t faze you—no one would believe them if they tried to say otherwise. so why did it feel different with satoru?

he noticed immediately, a wet pop breaking the quiet as he paused, wiping his face with his sleeve, leaving a dark mark on the navy fabric. his eyes met yours as he rose to his knees, eyebrows furrowed as he took in your flushed, trembling body.

“fuck… was it too much? i—”

“fuck me.”

he froze, eyes wide. “what?”

you sat up on your elbows, cheeks wet with tears, lips red from biting down on them so much.

it was so incredibly sexy.

“need your cock— toru. fuck me.”

he blinked once, them twice. “well, that escalated real fast..” he murmured. “you sure about that angel? or are you just talking all big again?”

“do it.”

“bold,” he chuckled under his breath. “but i didn’t hear a ‘please’,” a faint smirk forming. “try again, sweetheart.”

you groaned, hands gripping into the couch, brows furrowing.

“please.” you deadpanned.

“pretty please with a—”

“satoru!!”

he broke into a quiet laugh, clearly entertained, shoulders easing as he looked at you again. “alright, alright,” he murmured, still smiling. “you don’t have to shout.”

“where do you want it? here or—”

“—bed. now please.”

without another word, he scooped you up in his arms, carrying you effortlessly and placing you gently onto the mattress.

he leaned over you, slotting himself in between your legs caging you in completely, capturing your lips in a messy bruising kiss.

he pulled away from you, leaving you panting, that maddening, insufferable flutter in your stomach returning tenfold.

in one swift motion, he stripped off his uniform, tossing it somewhere across your room, revealing a chest and arms sculpted like they’d been carved from stone.

every muscle was defined, taut and powerful, a perfect balance of strength and sleekness. his shoulders were broad, his biceps solid yet flexible, his torso a masterclass in controlled power.

even the faint line of his abs beneath the pale skin hinted at raw endurance.

underneath all those fabrics, satoru gojo was full muscle. a sleeper build if you’d ever seen one.

he couldn’t help but let out a low, amused chuckle as you shamelessly ogled him, eyes wide and stomach twisting.

his gaze lingered on you as he exhaled a quiet chuckle.

“go ahead, princess. it’s all yours.”

you let out a small whimper, pushing yourself up onto your knees, hands instinctively finding his waistband.

your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the waistband, tugging slowly, deliberately. every motion was careful, teasingly slow, letting satoru see exactly how desperate you were, every second stretching out, electric with tension.

his eyes stayed locked on you, bright and sharp, a small smile tugging at his lips. the way he watched you… it made your pulse race even faster, stomach fluttering with anticipation.

after a shaky moment, you finally succeeded, the last piece sliding free under your fingers. you froze mid-motion.

“hello kitty… boxers…?”

your eyes widened, staring up at him.

“what? i have class.” he said, utterly unfazed.

you couldn’t believe you were about to fuck this idiot.

he hummed, interrupting your thought process. “hold on, let me go get something.”

you shot up instantly, grabbing his wrist. “what could you possibly need right now??”

“err… condoms?” he hummed, tilting his head innocently.

condoms.

“satoru. are you fucking serious?” you barked, frustrated and need overriding all rational thought.

“well… yes!” he huffed. “gotta be safe, princess.”

with a sharp tug on the waistband of his boxers, you pulled him forward, and suddenly he was hovering over you again, chest just above yours, a flash of surprise in his bright eyes.

“i’m on the pill,” you murmured, eyes glinting with unadulterated lust. “don’t worry about it.”

he paused for a moment, letting out a low hum. “god… you really are something.” he spoke, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

then, with a soft, deliberate movement, he pulled back slightly, settling on his knees and locking eyes with you—cocky, amused, and just a little surprised by how bold you were.

he dipped his thumbs into the corners of his boxers, tugging them down completely, his hardened cock coming up with a ‘thwack’ to his stomach.

it looked borderline painful… his tip was a crimson red, clear rivulets of precum dangling off, threatening to hit the sheets beneath.

the weight of it was unmistakable. large, thick, and traced with faint veins that made him feel even more…

big.

it was almost impossible to ignore—you couldn’t help but stare, eyes tracing every twitch, pulse, and everything in between. unsure if you should laugh at the absurdity or flat out cry...

he dipped back down over you, close enough that you could feel his breath fan across your skin, his cock sliding in between your folds, the tip occasionally nudging against your clit, a small squish each time he made contact.

“say the word,” he murmured. “and we stop.”

you shook your head almost immediately, breath uneven.

“does it look like i wanna stop?” wrapping your arms around his neck for support.

his brows lifted slightly, then relaxed as a small smile tugged at his lips.

“fair point. didn’t think you’d be this eager.” he murmured. “…but you tell me if that changes, alright?”

and with that, he lined himself up with your entrance, making your breath hitch in your throat. he tilts your chin up slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, eyes sharp with focus.

“eyes on me pretty.. it's a big stretch.”

he slowly pushes in, inch after inch, your pussy swallowing him entirely, the two of you choking up in unison as he bottomed out inside you.

he filled you up entirely. cunt already spasming around him, nails digging into his back leaving small red crescents.

he was so close you could feel every exhale, every uneven beat of his heart—like it was syncing with yours. and he felt it too.

“fuck—” he choked, voice rougher than before. “are you okay? can i move?”

“satoru.”

“alright, alright…” he huffed, a breath of a laugh slipping through. his forehead dipped closer to yours, lips brushing the air between you.

“so bratty…” he murmured. “maybe i should stop going easy on you.”

“oh please, like you—mmph!”

he silenced you with a hard thrust, knocking the wind out of you.

then another.

and another...

they started coming back to back, all perfectly timed.

and for a minute, neither of you said anything.

the only sounds were the occasional whine from you, a groan from him, and the soft smacks of his sack against the curve of your ass as he gradually sped up finding his rhythm, a white ring already forming around the base of his cock.

lewd thwaps bounced off the walls, filling up the room, his eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unblinking, lips a breath away from your own.

a faint smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, his hand finding the flesh of your hip, voice low and teasing, tickling the shell of your ear.

“this what you needed?” he hummed, lengthy cock stirring up your insides. “hm? some dick—hah—just to make this pretty pussy feel better?”

“satoru—” a pathetic whine ripped through your throat as his mushroom tip grazed one of your sweet spots, picking up his pace, your tits bouncing upwards with each slam, digimon shirt covered in sweat and the smell of sex.

“shh, m’gonna take care of you baby, gonna take care of this pretty pussy, gonna feel so nice..” he hummed, teeth grazing your pulse point.

and unfortunately, you couldn’t deny it.

you felt every inch of him, every movement, and it was impossible to ignore. you always felt this way with him—like the world had narrowed down to nothing but heat and sparks. your vision danced, stars bursting behind your eyes, heart racing, completely undone.

he always made you feel good.

this time it was just with his dick.

your sopping cunt squeezed down on his cock, as if trying to milk him, simply refusing to let go each time he pulled back away from you.

he choked on a laugh, eyes flicking down at you, lips twitching with amusement. “s-so needy…” he murmured.

you tugged him down, just enough to bury your face in the crook of his neck.

he fucked you so good. almost too good.

you weren’t surprised, he was satoru gojo after all. your arms curled around him, clinging tighter, while your body pressed closer, desperate for every inch of contact you could get.

“been thinking about you for so fucking long.” he grunted, the slaps of his hips knocking into you, the force sending waves of shock throughout the meat of your ass. “always wanted you on my cock, to be mine—”

your legs wrapped around his waist, pressing into him instinctively, pushing him deeper inside you. every small movement pressed your bodies together, your arms clinging tight as you let out soft huffs of breathless laughter, face buried in the crook of his neck.

he let out a soft, almost pathetic whimper, chest rising rapidly. “fuck… feel what you do to me baby?” he hummed, pressing a large hand over your tummy, pressing down so that he could feel his cock inside you, drawing out pathetic syrupy moans from you.

his voice was rough. strained.

and just low enough to send shivers down your spine.

satoru was in heaven. the way you clamped down on him refusing to let go of him. the way his cock slid in an’ out of you with ease — a loud wet squelch echoing each time, length completely covered in your juices, the soft sheen of his cock blinding him every time he pulled out of you, just to slam back into you once more.

so wet… and so… nasty.

and all for him.

your mouth went slack, drool pooling at the corner, threatening to spill over. he couldn't help but let out a sharp laugh.

who knew that all you needed was a little bit of dick to act right?

every touch sent shivers down your spine, every stroke of his cock made your pussy flutter helplessly, the way his cock filled you up was so… perfect. his tip grazed every nook and cranny of your walls, a white froth coating your folds and dripping down his sack as they slammed into you.

it was all too much. your folds were puffy from hours of torture pleasure: his slender digits working you open, his tongue lapping up at your cunt like a man starved. and now. this. fucking you so good as if he was trying to imprint himself into every part of you.

you couldn’t even form a proper sentence, just blubbering and whining about how good he felt, how big he was. he pressed down on you further, pressing you into the mattress as he slammed into you, curving up right into your sweet spot.

“such a good girl.. so perfect for me…” he breathed out, eyes locked on you

“ngh!— satoru– pleaseplease–” you whined helplessly, lips finding his flesh, biting down softly to muffle your moans and cries.

“look at youuu…” he murmured, pressing a small kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“so fuckin’ cute. gonna cum all over my cock like the pretty little princess you are?” crooning, as if he wasn't drunk off you and you alone.

he let out an absurd laugh, sharp and breathless, like he couldn’t believe how much he was unraveling under you. “m’close already.. you’re giving me a bad rep here..”

he looked down at you, expecting some sort of answer—only to be met by a small glare, or at least what you were trying to manage. your eyes were hazy, brows scrunched up, and it was laughably pathetic, but in the best way.

he let out a soft huff of laughter.

“right… sorry,” he murmured, smirk tugging at his lips at the fact his dick rendered you speechless.

“f-fuck— toru, m’close—” you whined, burying your face into him, squeezing your eyes shut.

he pulled back just enough to get a good look at your face, taking in the tremble of your lips, the warmth radiating from your cheeks, the sweat glistening off your skin…

so fucking pretty.

“don’t hide that pretty face from me, angel… i wanna see you,” he murmured, placing sloppy kisses along your neck and jaw.

you couldn’t help it—breath coming in short, uneven huffs, eyes locking onto his as if begging for more. your hands curled around his shoulders, clutching him tightly, legs instinctively wrapping closer, pushing him deeper into you.

he chuckled low and absurdly, leaning in so your faces were inches apart, breath mingling. “there you are… see? wanna see your face when you cum all over my cock.”

small, desperate whines escaped your lips, soft and almost helpless, and every tiny movement pressed you harder into him, “satoru—”

before you could react, he cut you off with a bruising kiss, noses knocking together, lips pressing hard and claiming, stealing your breath. your hands fisted against him, pulling him closer, while your legs instinctively curled around his waist, clinging like you couldn’t get enough.

he dragged his tongue from your bottom lip, down to your chin, before placing a sloppy kiss right below it. his hand slid down from your hip, his thumb carelessly found your clit — pressing hard firm circles making you cry out, his hips stuttering and becoming sloppy.

“…fuck… i love you, so perfect f'me” he gasped, voice raw and trembling, eyes locked on yours like he couldn’t look away.

the warmth in your stomach multiplied tenfold, spreading through every nerve and pulse.

“w-what?” you choked dumbly, voice trembling, before your body betrayed you and locked up, every muscle tightening as if it couldn’t handle him.

your orgasm had snuck up on you, hitting you like a truck.

your pussy spasmed helplessly as your lips pressed into a thin line, eyes crossing into each other as all the air got knocked into your lungs, toes curling uselessly in the air.

“that’s ittt...” he purred, smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you shiver, rolling his hips against yours.

soon enough, his own orgasm came rushing up on him, choking on a soft gasp as thick hot rivulets of his seed spilled out inside you.

rocking his hips back and forth, slow and controlled, pubic bone crushing down on you, burying his cock as deep as it can go.

his body locked up over you, thick white ropes still spilling out inside you, his balls clenching until they completely emptied out inside of you.

you slowly regained your senses, breath heaving, the warmth in your tummy slowly dying.

for a quiet moment, the two of you just stayed there, hearts racing in unison. he pulled out of you slowly, thick warmth slowly rolling out from your cunt.

he practically collapsed on top of you for a brief second before rolling onto his back, pulling you with him as he leaned back against the headboard, instinctively settling you on top of him. your head resting on his bare chest, listening to the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath you..

his hand reached for a nearby throw blanket, careful not to move you too much, dragging it up and over the two of you, covering you both as he settled you against his side.

as your chest rose and fell against his, his touch lingering in your hair, soft and grounding

he let out a small cough.

“did it work?” brow quirking as he glanced down at you.

“uh-huhh,” you croaked out, chest still rising and falling fast, eyes still hazy and utterly exhausted.

another quiet minute passed, him absently stroking your face and tracing lazy patterns along your back.

“i got you mochi,” he spoke softly, his gentle caresses not ceasing.

you lifted your head from his chest like a newborn just learning how to use their motor skills for the first time.

“you did…?”

“mhm… thought it'd make you feel better.. though it might have melted. you didn’t give me a chance to put it in the freezer.” he added with a small chuckle.

“i hate you…” you groaned, plopping your head back onto his chest.

“don’t think you’re off the hook, satoru.” you slurred, poking his cheek lightly.

“wouldn’t dream of it, princess,” he murmured, smirk tugging at his lips, thumb idly tracing along your arm.

“soooo..” he began, brimming with way too much energy for what he just put you through, practically vibrating on the spot. “this means you'll go on a date with me right?”

you blinked up at him, lazy and teasing, then simply patted his cheek.

“don't make it weird.” you hummed, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“i didn't even get to say anything weird..” he pouted incredulously.

“don't have to.”

“date me. please.”

“you seriously are so annoying.”

“considering we just had sex, i can't possibly be that annoying.”

...

with a roll of your eyes, you pressed a small, fleeting kiss to his cheek. the soft press of your lips lingered longer than you intended.

despite your gruff exterior, your heart was pounding in your chest, betraying just how flustered you actually were.

“fine. only one,” you muttered, trying to sound indifferent, though it was clearly a lie.

he blinked, smirk tugging at his lips, eyes glinting with amusement. “hm… i’ll take it,” he said, voice low and playful, tugging you a little closer as if to savor the moment.

he leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially, “you know, one of these days, i’m gonna get you to confess your undying love for me.”

your breath choked up — “dont get greedy.” you huffed before laying back down against him, your cheek squishing against his bare chest.

he pulled you closer, fingers lazily tickling your back.

you were perfect.

absolutely perfect.

still… it wouldn’t kill you to spice things up a bit. if he wanted to play games, you were more than capable of playing too. the show he put on with the girl on the dance floor didn’t bother you in the slightest, but you were pretty sure if the roles were reversed, he’d be foaming at the mouth. and really, you wouldn’t mind using this as a poor excuse for hooking up with someone for the night. 

you smirked to yourself while you scanned the crowd, needing to find someone who’d hit him right where it hurts, he deserved it after all. your eyes immediately caught another pair, those of a person who’d make for a perfect target. gojo satoru. 

star athlete, leader of the frat, host of the party and objectively, gorgeous. he fulfilled all of the qualities your ex lacked and surely would make him weep like a little baby at night because you deserved better than him, which wouldn’t be a lie.you weren’t a nobody in your class, owning a fair share of popularity gave you a striking social life. apart from your captivating personality, came the out-of-this-world beauty. 

this was another reason you didn’t take time to second guess your plan, you knew any guy would feel rather accomplished to even breathe your air, let alone have a night with you. you had an unmatched ability to coin any man, even with pretty boys like satoru. undoubtedly the perfect woman, it’d make for a great achievement to boast about to the guys lining up at your feet for a chance. 

so you began to strut towards gojo, watching the smug smirk on his face grow as the distance between the two of you grew.

“damn, i was starting to think you were shy,” he called out, eyes practically glowing beneath the neon lights. “usually they come crawling after five seconds of eye contact. figured you were immune to my charm or something.”

“guess i just needed a drink first,” you quipped, lightly hitting his chest with the back of your manicured hand before stretching it out towards him. “wanna dance?” 

“thought you’d never ask,” his smirk only deepened as he slipped his fingers through yours, letting you tug him forward with zero resistance.

you weaved your way through the sea of people, the scent of sweat and vodka clinging thick to the air, until you found a spot to press against him, the bass thumping beneath your feet.

giving your ex a perfect view, you pressed your back into the boy behind you, arms wrapping around his neck as you slowly began to move your body against his. his hands lowered to your waist, taking a firm hold of it once he felt the rhythm of your grind, not hesitating to match it.

he dipped his head close, voice low against your ear, just loud enough to cut through the blaring speakers. “guy in front of us is practically shooting daggers at me,” he muttered with a grin. “if looks could kill, i’d be six feet under by now.”

you ceased your actions to turn around and face him, looping your arms loosely around his neck, tilting your head to the side. “yeah, ’s why i’m doing this,” you replied, letting out a soft laugh.

he raised a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “damn, so i’m just a prop in your little revenge plot? using the gojo satoru like some pawn?”

“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you snorted, eyes narrowing slightly. “you in or not?”

his grin widened, blue eyes flickering down to your glossed lips, the corner of his mouth twitching. “oh, sweetheart. i’m very in. wanna see how mad he can get?”

“mmm… show me.”

and with that, he leaned in and kissed you.

his lips crashed into yours like he’d been waiting all night for it— eager, warm, and just cocky enough to make your stomach flip. you melted into him immediately, the taste of cherry gloss coating his tongue, and for a second, he forgot why this even started.

you did too.

the kiss was deeper than it had any right to be, your mouths moving perfectly in sync like muscle memory you didn’t know you had. you felt the burn of his grip tighten just a little around your waist, and you let him pull you in closer, all thoughts of jealousy games replaced by the press of his body and the way he kissed like he had something to prove.

you and gojo had known of each other— same campus, same parties, passing glances— but neither of you ever cared enough to bridge the gap. he was too caught up in sports, you were too focused on yourself to bother with the dating scene. but this kiss, this kiss made it painfully obvious just how much you’d both been missing, and it didn’t take much for the two of you to crave more.

the slight nibble on his lower lip had him grinding his clothed length against you, the friction pulling a soft sound from his throat as you tugged him closer to deepen the kiss. when you finally pulled away, it was only for air, lips hovering just a breath apart. he looked unfairly pretty above you— swollen lips, lashes fluttering, those big baby blues already glazed over as he silently begged you to kiss him again.

just as he was about to lean back in, you pressed a finger to his lips, “not here.”

he blinked, a brow quirking in mild confusion. “seriously?” he asked, but followed you anyway, trailing behind as you led him upstairs and into an empty bedroom. you were on him the second the door clicked shut, pulling him into another kiss as you pushed his back into the wood. he barely had time to breathe before your tongue was sliding against his again, your hands tugging at his shirt while your leg pressed between his thighs.

a muffled moan escaped him as he rutted against your thigh, already so hard that it made your stomach twist with need. you palmed his chest, tugging at the fabric of his shirt. “can i?” you asked.

he nodded way too quickly, “yeah- yeah, take it off.”

the second it was up and over his head, he was grinding down again, the friction overwhelming as his clothed cock rubbed along your thigh. it clearly short-circuited his brain because when you leaned in again, he suddenly tensed.

“w-wait, y/n…” he pulled back slightly, “he’s not even here anymore.”

his puzzled look made you snicker at his oblivion. “what, were you hoping for an audience?” you teased, watching the way his chest rose and fell. his lips were parted, eyes hazy, body still rocking subtly against your leg.

you cupped his cheek gently, coaxing his gaze back up to yours. “this stopped being about him the second you kissed me,” you whispered, nudging your knee higher just to watch his breath stutter. “but we can stop if this is outside of your intentions.”

your finger brushed along his cheek, and you watch as he melts into your touch instantly.

“no! i mean- nah, it’s okay,” he stammered, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of your face, eyes soft despite how worked up he was. “more than okay.”

you smiled, resisting the urge to kiss him again. “go sit on the bed, baby. take off your pants for me.”

you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping back, watching as he obeyed almost immediately, settling against the headboard and kicking off his pants along with his calvin klein boxers.

his pretty cock sprung out, thick and flushed, veins leading up to the swollen red tip that brushed his lower stomach. you moved toward the foot of the bed, taking your time as your gaze traced him. “want you to touch yourself for me, yeah?”

he nodded in compliance, a little breathless, and you smiled as you reached behind to unzip the back of your corset-like top, letting it fall to the floor exposing your perky tits.

content with gojo’s reaction, who eyed you down with his bottom lip caught in his teeth while he gave a light squeeze to his length, you began to slowly slide your skirt down. you made sure to wiggle your hips a bit, adding to the show you were putting on for him. once your skirt was fully discarded, you pulled down the skimpy pair of red laced panties you’d purposely worn for tonight. you hadn’t planned for gojo to be the one seeing them, but judging by the looks of it, he was more than happy to be the lucky one.

you walked over to the side of the bed as he followed you with his eyes, watching you climb the bed and sit on his lap, close enough to his cock that he could almost feel the heat radiating from your core. he instinctively bucked his hips up, searching for your touch after he let his hand fall uselessly to his side.

“that eager already?” you teased.

he swallowed, nodding before mumbling a quiet “yeah.”

your hand wrapped around his cock, using the thick glob of precum gathered at the tip to glide your grip smoothly up and down his shaft. his head fell back immediately, a soft groan spilling from his lips as your hand worked him just right, fingers pressing into his weak spots like you’d already done this with him before.

“r-right th- ahh” the sound tore from him when your fingers brushed beneath the head of his cock, making it clear he no longer cared who might hear— if anyone even could.

unable to keep his hands to himself at this point, he brought one down to grip the side of your hip, while the other trailed up to cup your breast. he rubbed the hardened bud, making your hand fasten its pace on his cock.

“wan’ you” he looked up at you with glossy eyes, never breaking eye contact as he leaned forward to take your nipple into his mouth, swirling his wet tongue around your soft skin.

you sucked air through your teeth at the sensation, bringing your free hand to run your fingers through his snowy hair while you stared in admiration at the state you had him in. so compliant and malleable under you, ready to pleasure you at any moment yet so needy for the bliss of his own. “just like that, ‘toru..”

a combination of your moans and the sound of your hand tugging on his cock filled the room as he progressively began to leak more, a sign that he would come soon. his breaths became arrhythmic while his chest pressed flush against yours, hearing him become more vocal by the second.

as much as you’d like to watch him whine around your tits while he came undone beneath you, your core was aching for his thick cock to fill you up. “uh uh,” you tutted, ripping your hand away from him and chuckling at his protesting mewls, “inside.” you caught his lips in your mouth, slowly using your hand to guide his cock. you hovered above him, allowing your arousal to drip down his shaft.

“ride me, y/n, p-please” he choked out, not needing to say more before you sank down onto him in one smooth motion.

he felt his breath hitch in his throat and limbs turn into jelly as his cock entered your plush walls, growing slightly dizzy at the feel of your immense wetness coating his shaft. despite the cocky reputation he sometimes played into, the truth was he didn’t have much experience. between nonstop training and late nights studying, hookups were few and far between. but none of them ever felt like this.

none of them ever felt like you.

the way you so pleasantly sucked his cock into your tight pussy had him already seeing stars, leaving him an incoherent mess of babbles underneath you. all he could think about was how nothing had ever, ever felt this good.

as for you, the stretch his girthy cock had offered you was unreal. the position had his tip brushing your g-spot everytime you bounced on his length. you kept your pace slow and gentle, not wanting gojo to cum before you could do it together. your core already felt hot and tight, a familiar burn curling low in your belly, but at the same time, you wanted to see just how much he could handle.

it didn’t take long before he started to unravel.

his hips suddenly snapped upward, catching you off guard and pulling a moan-gasp from your throat. “cant- can’t s-stop,” he choked out as he began moving with you instead of beneath you. the sudden change had your hands flying to his shoulders, gripping for balance.

the headboard knocked against the wall in uneven thuds as you tried to steady your voice. “keep going,” you panted, words breaking apart. “be a good boy and make me cum.”

that did it.

his thrusts turned frantic, cock dragging deliciously against every sensitive spot inside you. “f-feels s’good,” he cried, eyes squeezing shut as his control slipped further. “i-i love your pussy… love how you feel around me, could do this for hours.” he whimpered, fucked so out of his mind that the only thing he could think of was your cunt and nothing else.

“yeah?” you breathed out, leaning down closer. “gonna make me cum on your cock?”

“f-fuck, mhmm, gonna—” he threw his head back, sentence dissolving into broken sounds.

you smiled through your moans. “look at you, baby. can’t even form a sentence,” you teased, grabbing his chin and forcing his gaze back to yours. “do your friends know what a whore you are in bed?”

his answer was a sharp cry as you clenched around him. “cum with me,” you whispered.

that was all it took.

his body locked up beneath you as he spilled deep inside, warmth flooding your pussy as your own orgasm crashed over you moments later. slick and cum mixed messily, running down his balls and thighs as you both rode it out, trembling and breathless.

even then, he didn’t stop right away.

his hips kept stuttering, cock still nudging into your oversensitive cunt like he couldn’t help himself, he needed to feel you just a little longer. it wasn’t until you tapped his bicep weakly that he finally snapped out of it, slowing down until he came to a full stop.

you collapsed against him, going limp as his arms immediately wrapped around you. he carefully pulled out, still breathing heavy as the two of you lay there, tangled together and catching your breath. faint aftershocks ran through him, his body still trying to recover from how thoroughly you’d wrecked him.

your fingers traced slow, soothing circles over his skin. “you okay?” you murmured softly.

he hummed in response, tightening his hold on you— only to blink when he felt your shoulders shake with quiet giggles.

“what?” he smiled, watching you lift up your head to face him.

“nothing,” you leaned down to press a kiss to his rosy-tinted cheeks. “just didn’t expect you to go all pussydrunk on me.”

he laughed softly, still dazed, “guess it takes a special person to unlock that side of me.”

“how flattering,” you teased, settling back down with your head on his chest, wanting to spend some time with him before the night ended.

you stayed there like that for a while, listening to his heartbeat slow beneath your ear, both of you knowing this definitely wasn’t going to be a one-time thing. not even close.

Okkotsu Yuuta prides himself on many things. He prides himself on being a good friend, on being a good person, on being a strong enough sorcerer to protect those weaker than him, and most of all, on being a good boyfriend.

Yuuta likes to think of himself as being well-disciplined, as having good self-control. He’s a hopeless romantic, and he spent the longest time at the beginning of your relationship trying to ensure that you perceived him as your soft, sweet, sappy boyfriend. And he is all of those things. But under it all, Okkotsu Yuuta is nothing if not a pervert.

And he knows it.

He knows it when you smile at him so sweetly and ruffle his hair, and he feels himself hardening in his pants, imagining you pulling it, forcing his head back, smiling that sickly sweet smile at him as he melts under your gaze.

He knows it when you plop yourself onto his lap for a movie night with your friend group, and he squirms, retreating against the back of the couch, trying to put as much distance between you and his groin as possible, unable to focus on a single scene of the movie because you’re so close to him he can smell you.

He knows it when he feels that humiliating pang of jealousy in his stomach when you stop on a walk with him to say hi to a dog. Scratching its head, telling it to sit, paw…the way your face lights up as you say “good boy!”, and his flushes dark red.

And he knows it now, as he stares at your contact, knuckles white around the edges of his phone, thumb hovering over the call button as his right hand frantically works itself on his cock, the small hotel room filled with nothing but slick noises and his soft, breathy whines.

Yuuta has been away for just under a week on this mission, and he already feels he’s going crazy. It’s only been six days, he tells himself, trying to refrain from calling you at 2 in the morning. He’s already called you every day since he’s left, including four hours ago when he was supposedly going to sleep – but they’ve all been sweet, innocent calls, filled with declarations of how much you miss each other, and how you can’t wait to squish his cheeks and hug him so tightly when he gets back.

He shouldn’t need to call you to get off. He doesn’t, he tells himself.

Except he’s tried everything now. He’s tried looking at pictures of you, he’s tried watching porn and pretending it’s you - all the things that usually work. Yet, for some reason, it’s just not doing it tonight.

By the time he finally gives in and presses call, he’s already so worked up, panting and humping up into his hand. He’s essentially been edging himself without meaning to for the past hour trying to get off without you.

You pick up after four rings, and as soon as Yuuta hears your voice, it’s like a new pathway in his brain lights up that was dark before; he knows he’s done for.

 “Hi puppy~” you chide, voice slightly rough from not using it for the past few hours, “What’re you doing up at this hour?”

Yuuta lets out a breathless moan, making you freeze and grip your phone harder. He instantly spills into his hand, unable to control it. Any humiliation at calling you in such a desperate state is forgotten as he whines and gasps into the phone, his eyes rolling back in relief at finally being able to cum.

“F-fuckkkk, mommy, nnnh–...missed you so much…hah…n-needed to hear you…”

 “--Yuuta?”

Yuuta shivers at the way his name sounds coming from your mouth. “Fuck…y-yea? Ahhh I c-can’t…feels so good…f-fuck I love you… hah…”

You’re stunned into silence, hearing such lewd noises coming from his cute voice instantly having an effect on you.

“Fuck… Yuuta, I–...Did you just cum? From me picking up the phone and saying hi?”

Yuuta nods shamelessly, whimpering a soft “mhm” into the phone, still trying to catch his breath, twitching from the aftershocks of his much needed orgasm. He lifts his shaky hand up to his face, spreading his fingers, watching his thick cum web between them.

“Shit, mommy…I came so much…”

Your breath catches in your throat, still in shock.

“My god, puppy. I don’t even know what to say.” “Are you mad?” Yuuta whispers breathlessly. “Of course not. Just surprised, I–...that was so hot.”

Yuuta whines softly, feeling himself twitch again. “Nnnh…y-your voice is so hot…I needed to hear you so bad. W-Was tryna’ cum for so long, couldn’t do it…b-but as soon as I heard your voice, it just happened, I c-couldn’t even help it…nnnh…”

“Aww, Yuuta! You’re so precious.” Yuuta’s pupils dilate at your praise, and he feels heat start to pool in his tummy again. Fuck, the effect your voice has on him is crazy. “So cute. puppy jus’ needed to hear my voice to cum, huh? S’ that easy?”

Yuuta nods, whimpering, unable to stop his hand from sliding down to gently palm at his wet cock, starting to feel uncomfy again. He gasps, sensitive, but pushes up into his hand nonetheless.

“Y..yeah…hah….needed it…t-tried watching porn, 'nd it didn’t even work…jus made me sad…need you…I miss you…”

Yuuta has been quite pent up for the past week, as well, his mission keeping him thoroughly busy. He thought he just needed to cum once, but he doesn’t feel satisfied anymore, especially with you talking to him like this.

“Awww. You’re so cute. I’m glad I could help. I miss you too, Yuuta -so much. How are things going? We didn’t get to talk long today. You must be tired, huh, puppy?”

“M—mhm…” Yuuta’s eyes flutter shut as he grips himself fully, his cum helping his hand glide up and down as he starts stroking again. “Things are going as well as they can... But m’tired, yeah…” “Well I’m sure you’re doing amazing. You’re so strong, Yuuta. And you’ve trained so hard. I know they overwork you, but I’m so proud of you, baby. There’s nobody better suited for the missions they send you on. Did you eat tonight?”

“Ngh—thank you…” hearing your gentle voice praise him through the phone sends a fresh wave of tingles through his body, making Yuuta shiver. “Wish you were here…y-yea, ate dinner earlier…mommy I—…’m touching myself again…” Yuuta’s face flushes at his admission. Your eyes widen in surprise and you let out a breathless laugh into the phone. You had picked up on how panty and whiny he sounded, of course, but you had assumed it was because he was still settling down from his orgasm. Leave it to Yuuta to feel horny again within a minute of cumming. Thoroughly entertained, you decide to cut him a little less slack this time.

“Yeah?” You whisper to him, the seductive lilt in your voice making him clamp his legs together around his hand, head falling back against the pillows. “It’s been how long since you came, Yuuta? A minute? Less?” Yuuta whines, stroking harder, his mind starting to fog up. “d-dunno…less, maybe—hah…” “Awww. Puppy can’t even hold a conversation with mommy without getting worked up again, huh? M’tryna talk to you and you can’t keep your hands off your pretty cock? Miss me that bad?”

Yuuta feels his balls tighten at your words, tummy starting to clench up, twitching hard into his hand. He can barely think of a response, the way you gently degrade him making him feel all floaty and light, and your soft voice in his ear making him tingle all over. “Ahh, I—I—y-yeah, I.. c-can’t help it, I…nnnn~” “What’re you, in heat?” you goad him through the phone, endlessly amused by his antics. “Hah…maybe…d-dunno... your voice…m-makes me so hard, couldn’t stop myself...hah…fuck, I l-love you…”

“Did you even want to talk to me, Yuuta?” You decide to tease him more, “Or did you just want me to talk at you so you can cum to my voice without even telling me like a little perv?” “M’sorrryyy~” Yuuta whines, hips bucking off the bed into his hand at this point, “Ngh..w-was trying to listen to you…just need you so bad…m’not a perv…” “No? You’re not?” Yuuta squirms at the scolding edge to your voice, legs thrashing against the bed, brain growing hazier as he gets closer to his orgasm.

“Mommy please…” “You’re telling me you wouldn’t be touching yourself to my voice right now no matter what I’m talking about?” “I-I…nnhh…” Yuuta tries to think of a response, needing to keep you talking. As soon as he opens his mouth, a loud moan rips from his throat, toes starting to curl in pleasure as he focuses his strokes at the sensitive spot right below his tip. Yuuta whines, realizing he can’t remember your question. “C-can’t think, mommy, I—haaaah~… p-please, please…please.”

“Please what, puppy?” “Please keep talking,” Yuuta moans out, fighting against the foggy feeling in his mind. “Yeah? What do you want me to say, puppy? Do you want me to praise you?” Your voice goes softer and Yuuta nods frantically, feeling tears start to well in his eyes. “Want me to tell you how pretty you sound? How good you’re being for me? How well I’m gonna take care of you next time I see you, how I’m gonna make you cum so hard your little puppy brain won’t even be able to process it?”

Yuuta gasps, cursing under his breath, head thrown back, practically drooling at this point. He’s dropped the phone from his left hand onto the pillow by his head in favor of clutching the sheets next to him, right hand frantically pumping his flushed, dripping cock, the wet noises almost overpowering his whines. “Yes, yes, pleeease mommy, p-please please, hah… m’so close…” “Don’t cum yet, puppy. Stop.” “W-What?” Yuuta’s hand slows on his cock, his tummy twisting up. “I said, don’t cum yet. Take your hand off your cock, turn over. I want you to hump one of your pillows.”

Yuuta groans in frustration, his hand automatically ripping itself off of his cock, his body so attuned to following your commands that it listens to you without him even having time to think it through. He thinks about it more as he watches his pink cock twitch painfully against his stomach, desperately fighting the urge to take it back into his hand. He could just…keep touching, and not tell you. “I-…b-but…ugh…s’gonna make a mess..” “I don’t care.” “But I–” “Do you wanna cum, Yuuta?”

Yuuta huffs in frustration, cock still throbbing from stopping so suddenly when he was so close to cumming, and reluctantly flips himself over. As tempted as he is, he knows he can’t go through with disobeying you – he’d feel guilty about it the whole night until he’d end up snitching on himself. “Are you listening to me?” you ask, your voice sharper than before. “‘Course I am,” Yuuta mutters, huffing again as he grabs a pillow and folds it in half. "Why're you bein' so mean?”

“I’m not!” You smile innocently against the phone. “You don’t have to do any of this, puppy. I can hang up right now and go to bed–” “No!” Yuuta panics, frantically shaking his head. “D-don’t hang up. Please. I’ll be good, wanna be good for you. I’m listeni–ngnhhh~” Yuuta’s pleading breaks off into a pitchy whine as he sinks his hips against the pillow, eyes rolling back at the soft feeling of the fabric against his cock, already so sensitive from being edged. “Oh... mommy i–it feels good…” “There you go, puppy. See? M’not being mean, am I? A puppy in heat doesn’t use his hands, you’re supposed to hump something. You’ll love it.”

Yuuta whines in embarrassment, grabbing a second pillow to bury his face in. “M’not in heat,” he mumbles. Yet, he can’t stop himself from rolling his hips, pressing his cock harder into the pillow. “No? But it seems like you are, puppy. You’re so desperate, you can’t even control your instincts. You were touching yourself without asking me, you came without asking me, and then you started jerking off again while I was talking to you.”

Yuuta pouts, shaking his head as he humps against the pillow harder. “I said m’sorryyy,” he whines, grabbing the phone and holding it closer to his face, eager to hear your voice more. “Couldn’t help it.” “Because you’re in heat? Or because you’re a pervert who can’t hear my voice without getting hard?” “I-I–” Yuuta’s cheeks flush with humiliation, and he moves himself up a bit on the pillow, humping it harder, his precum soaking a wet spot into the fabric. “Nghh…hah…m’not…n-not a perv…y-you’re being mean, mommy…”

“Am I?” Yuuta knows the exact look that’s on your face – you’re pouting at him in false sympathy – and just imagining it makes his tummy tighten, and he moans as the tingly feeling in his groin starts to spread up through his body. “Am I being mean?” “Y-Yeah…hah…s-so mean…” Yuuta pants out. “And is it turning you off, puppy? Be honest.” Yuuta drops his head in defeat, letting out a low whine. “No…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Good boy. Because it doesn’t matter what I’m saying, you’ll cum no matter what just from hearing me talk to you. Because my voice overpowers every last thought in your hazy little puppy brain. Isn’t that right?” Yuuta just whimpers in response, feeling himself twitch harder, his rhythm becoming irregular. All he can do is pant into the phone, drooling on the pillow that he’s clutching in his arms. He was already so close before he started humping the pillow, he knows he’s not gonna last long.

“Answer me, puppy.” Yuuta opens his mouth, tries to think of the right answer, and just lets out a sob instead. “g-gonna cum,” he moans. “Of course you are. Because you’re a pathetic little thing, aren’t you?” “Nggh…y-yeah…m’pathetic…hah...can I cum mommy? Please please, c-can’t stop…” Yuuta feels his tummy tightening, and he tries to hold himself back, desperately needing your permission this time.

“Say it again, then you can cum. Tell me how pathetic you are.” Yuuta sobs against the pillow, your voice in his ear making it almost impossible to hold himself back.

“I’m pathetic! I’m your pathetic little puppy. I– ah–j-just thinking about you makes me horny…all I can think about right now is f-fucking into you…c-can’t even listen to you talk–w-without–nghh- ffffffuck I needa cum mommy, pleease~I–I cant–can’t think–” “Shhh, s’okay. Relax. Don’t need to think anymore. Just cum for me, puppy. Don’t overwork your pretty little brain.”

“Nngh–” Yuuta’s hips stutter and he tenses up, going silent, vision going white, before he whines loudly as he’s thrown into a shaking orgasm, shooting thick white ropes against the hotel pillow. “Fuck mommy–ahhhh…” You talk him through it gently, finally whispering the praise to him that he’s been waiting for. “Goood puppy, that’s it. That’s my good boy. Did so well for me, Yuuta. Such a good listener. Let it all out.”

Yuuta basks in your praise, whimpering out almost unintelligible “thankyou”s as he rocks his sensitive cock into the pillow, smearing his cum deeper and deeper into the fabric. After a minute, his body slumps against the pillows, and he lets out a shaky breath, high on the endorphins running through his body. He feels around blindly for his phone that he dropped at some point in his haze, grabbing it and holding it close to his face, curling his body around it like it’s you.

“Mommy?” he pants out softly. “I’m right here, puppy,” You quickly reassure him. “You doin’ okay?” “Mhmm,” he hums, blissed out, your voice lulling him into a sleepy trance now that he’s not so pent up anymore. “Not mad at me, right?” You laugh softly, feeling a bit bad for him. “Aww. Not even a tiny bit. You did so good, Yuuta, that was so hot.” “Mmm,” Yuuta hums softly again, smiling. You hesitate for a moment, before asking, “Was I too mean?”

“Nuh-uh. I liked it.” Yuuta nuzzles his head into his pillow, winces at the wet spot from drooling on it, and flips it over before nuzzling back into it. “I’ve been so horny for you this whole trip. Can’t stop jerking off to your pictures. I need to be put in my place sometimes,” he giggles. “Dumb puppy,” you try to calm yourself down, cheeks starting to hurt from smiling into the phone. “You know that being horny for your girlfriend doesn’t actually make you a perv, right? I just like messing with you.”

“I know,” Yuuta smiles dreamily into the phone on the other end of the line. Lying there, dazed, with a worn out variation of the same expression as you, hundreds of miles away. “I like when you mess with me…” He pauses, before adding, “Sometimes. As long as you’re extra nice to me after.” “Of course, puppy. I can only handle being a little mean to you, anyway. You’re such a good boy at heart, aren’t you? Always so perfect for me.”

Yuuta whines, kicking the soiled pillow away from between his legs so he doesn’t get tempted to rub himself against it. “Stop ittt…I love you, but you’re gonna make me horny again.” “Awhh, I’m sorry, I’ll stop. I love you too, and you need to go to bed.” You pause, before adding, “You know I don’t mean anything I say when I'm mean to you, though, right?” “Of course not,” Yuuta yawns, smiling. “I know I’m your good boy.”

©decayofalice

You pass pictures hung along the walls as you make your way down the hall, some portraying Satoru’s little family along the years, a few of your mothers, and too many of you and Satoru as children.

Satoru’s door. The ‘No boys allowed’ sign that 15 year old Satoru deemed hilarious and profoundly clever still hangs crooked on his door. The idea of a girl other than yourself and his mother ever crossing this threshold voluntarily is a stretch, considering his less than subtle lack of hygiene and messy tendencies.

You don’t knock before opening his door since he’s —more often than not— slouched over his bright monitor and keyboard with bulky headphones on full blast.

The stuffy, unventilated air of his room fans your face as you swing the door open and begin your automated message, “Your mom wants—”

You stall immediately, your bored eyes widen drastically when you catch sight of Satoru, who’s not in his usual spot at his desk.

He’s attempting to suck his own dick, to put it bluntly. The incredibly tall man is curled in on himself atop his messy Pokémon sheets like an armadillo, ass up. His deeply hued pink, lengthy dick is hanging over his own open mouth while his lanky hands push into his mid back in attempt to stretch it enough to get his tip past his lips.

He’s immediately and visibly panicked at your sudden presence. His reaction plays in less than half a second: His desperate tongue snaps back into his mouth, retreating from its endeavor at uniting with his sensitive tip. Owlish blue eyes lock on you, fast, as his brows knit together to show off utter embarrassment. You gasp sharply, surprise still stuck on your face, when he falls off of his bed and onto the floor awkwardly.

“Y-You— knock! You have to—you have to knock!” He’s shouting at you as he poorly recovers from his tumble, making sure to shove his sweatpants back up before standing up with a stumble.

His panicked, confrontational voice directed at you makes you feel defensive and just as frenzied.

“Sorry! Sor— I never knock— I never— sorry!” you defensively squawk, yanking the door shut mid yap as if giving him privacy now will do anything.

The sign on his door topples to the ground with the strength behind your swing. Your face burns dangerously hot as you scramble to pick it up and fumble it back onto the hook before racing away from his room.

You almost trip hurrying down the stairs and sink into the couch, seeking solace in a throw blanket you pull up to your nose with your knees to your chest.

“He coming?”

You almost choke. Your eyes snap away from the tv screen that feels much further away than before, over to Satoru’s mother who’s looking at you in question, casually.

“W-What?”

She cooly repeats her question, “is Toru coming down?”

“Oh— yeah, he’s— I think so,” you nod aimlessly before turning back to stare blankly at the tv. You honestly aren’t sure if he’s coming down or not, considering.

Satoru’s mother nods and returns her attention to plating dinner with your mother.

A few minutes later, you gulp as you hear muffled footsteps coming down the stairs.

You don’t dare to openly glance at him as Satoru’s mom acknowledges his arrival.

“Look who finally decided to bless us with his presence,” you hear her tease him rhetorically, followed by your mother asking Mrs. Gojo what serving utensils she wants to use.

Satoru doesn’t say anything as your moms chatter on, but you can assume based on the noise that he’s grabbing some glasses for drinks to help out.

You’re just so distracted with the movie you absolutely are watching, that you definitely don’t notice when Satoru’s heavy gaze focuses in on the side of your head. That’s what you’re pretending anyways. You don’t even have to look to feel it, but it’s brief, like he’s hoping you don’t notice his peek. It’s half of a second of observation that affirms to him that you are just going to ignore and ‘forget’ what you saw.

Dinner is filled with your mothers cackling to each other about some reality romance tv show while you avidly avoid any possible eye contact with Satoru. There’s a clear, awkward tension in the air as you sit beside him and poke at your food, but your moms aren’t perceptive enough of your dynamic to notice.

You help out after dinner, picking up plates to take to the sink and Satoru’s already making an obvious move to go back upstairs.

“No, no, no you don’t mister,” Mrs Gojo chides, making him pause and slowly turn his head to look at his mother with the lenses of his bulky glasses gleaming, blocking the sight of his eyes. “Help out and then you two can watch your little movie.”

She says it as though Satoru was just trying to skip cleaning so he can watch a movie with you sooner, when that can’t be further from the truth and you both know it. You haven’t held up that- movie after dinner- tradition since you were twelve. Satoru grumbles to himself, but inevitably starts helping.

Eventually, one thing leads to another and you’re washing dishes while Satoru dries beside you. Other than the running water, you can distantly hear your mother’s boisterous laughing and loud chatter coming from upstairs in Mrs. Gojo’s room where they drink wine and girl talk every Friday after dinner.

As you wash a plate, you notice the suds are growing less and less. You need more soap. You glance over at the bottle that’s closer to Satoru than yourself.

“Could you—”

He almost drops the bowl in his hand. “I wasn’t doing anything— ! I just— I just had a scratch on my back and— and I know what it looked like but it wasn’t anything weird or something.” Satoru interrupts you, nervously like the defense has been waiting at the tip of his tongue. His hands are shaking where they grip the drying cloth, an incessant squeak can be heard throughout his speech from drying the bowl that’s already much too dry, frantically.

You pause washing to blink up at him.

“Uh—” you clear your throat and point to the bottle, “I was gonna ask if you could hand me the soap.”

A beat of silence. His cheeks are flaming pink and his lanky torso is tight, straighter than his usual slouch.

“Oh.”

He awkwardly wraps his long fingers around the bottle and squeezes some soap onto your sponge.

You gulp at the silence and continue washing, eyeing the few dishes you have left.

“I—” you begin, eyes locked onto the sudsy dish, “I’m sorry for just—for just coming in without knocking. —Whatever you were doing.”

You continue.

“It’s just, I never knock. I just thought— I never knock and— fuck I don’t know— sorry.” You’re not trying to make an excuse but you feel the need to defend yourself after seeing what you did, like it’s your fault.

In the many years you’ve known Satoru, it was never a problem when you’d barge into his room without warning. He didn’t seem to care, until now. Clearly you lost the silent memo that privacy was necessary now.

He clears his throat and uses an awkward hand to shove his glasses up, instinctively. “I know. I accept your apology, but you don’t— you don’t really need to say sorry. I was just scratching my back anyways.”

You hum a quick, high-pitched affirmation, side eye flicking at him briefly. Right.

You finally finish up. Satoru awkwardly stands in place, watching you dry your hands as if he’s not sure when or how he should make his leave.

You glance at him and speak hesitantly, “Wanna— um, watch a movie?”

You’re almost expecting socially stunted Satoru to bluntly tell you no and leave. Instead, he nods in one harsh affirmation— like a soldier formally addressing their colonel.

“Sure. Yes. I wanna.”

You huff in amusement when he doesn’t make any move to lead in his own house.

His socked feet shuffle behind you until you’re plopping down onto the living room couch.

Satoru throws in the DVD that’s worn from your past uses without having to ask you what you want to watch as you adjust to get comfortable on the sofa.

Then, he scratches the back of his head lazily as he moves towards the light switches and turns them off so the large TV is the only source of dim light fluttering over the living room. It’s like he’s on autopilot because when you were young, you’d always beg Satoru to get up and turn the lights off as you watch your movie together so you didn’t have to.

The couch dips as he sits beside you, he likely didn’t even think twice about it because he’s not leaving too much space between you— not that you mind.

You’ve practically had this movie memorized by now, and your thoughts drift to more interesting things as it drones on.

You tilt your head towards him and part your lips, just to hesitate and brush it off. You think it was subtle enough to slide past Satoru’s perception but you’re wrong.

Satoru blinks repeatedly, his gaze flickering from you to the screen and back.

“What?”

“What?” You repeat, feigning ignorance.

“You were gonna say something,” he points out. Anyone else would get the hint and give up, but not Satoru.

You shrug, “Just thinking, I don’t know.”

He angles his body to face you a bit more, his leg bending and the couch adjusts with his weight.

“About what?”

You exhale and glance at his obvious focus that’s alternated completely from the movie, to you. Satoru has seen you go through your aggressive side part phase, the time you got grounded for a month at fifteen and ugly cried while you screamed for an hour, and the entire year you truly believed you were a vampire and would scream in agony any time the sun touched your skin. He’s seen some shit, and vise versa.

It’s not too difficult to abandon the movie and turn your body and attention towards him with intent to indulge your curiosities.

“Have—,” you glance at the opening of the living room that leads to the stairs where your mothers are and lower your voice a bit, “Have you actually done it before?”

“Done.. what?” He blinks at you, confused.

“You know,” you murmur shyly, whispering the next part, “sucked your own dick.”

Satoru eyes widen and he freezes. “I- I don’t— I don’t—what are you— I’d never—”

You shove his oddly sturdy shoulder and your cheeks warm. “Come on, Satoru. I saw you.”

His hands protectively slap over his flustered face, glasses and all like it’s his last defensive measure. He’s murmuring to himself, but it comes out as muffled noises. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was calling you stupid defensively.

“Hey.” You poke his hand but he doesn’t budge.

You huff, slightly amused, and after a beat of stillness, you gently pry two of his fingers away until it uncovers an eye.

“Look, I’m not judging you, okay?” you explain, and then shrug, “I’m just curious. It’s not like I’ll tell anyone.”

His adams apple bobs. He slowly places his long hands into his lap.

“Curious— um— about what, exactly?” His white lashes flutter as his eyes travel from his fidgeting hands to your face.

You chew on your bottom lip as your eyes flick to the side, thinking briefly.

“Have you ever succeeded?” You question eagerly and in a hushed tone.

“Like— it looked like,” you clear your throat, “you couldn’t reach.”

He glances over his shoulder at the entryway to the stairs to confirm you’re alone before pushing his glasses up.

“You won’t tell anyone?”

You shake your head and pull his hand up to force his long pinky to curl around yours. He can already tell you’re trying to pinky swear the way you used to when you were kids, with kisses.

“Swear,” you say definitively before twisting your interlocked hands until his fist is in front of you. You press your soft lips against it. He stops breathing.

Satoru’s in shock until you gesture dramatically for him to hurry, snapping him out of it enough to awkwardly press his puckered lips to your hand.

You smile into his fist at the sight of your locked-in promise, noses close to brushing, and pull your hand away.

You adjust in your seat enthusiastically, scooting closer to him until your knees are brushing his as you both sit with criss crossed legs.

“Now spill.”

He nods with a swallow, scratching the side of his head.

“It reaches,” he confirms with pink tinting his cheeks, “not all the way, but— enough.”

You inhale deeply while blinking, amusement and intrigue sitting on your chest as you process.

“Like your— uh— tip goes in?”

His eyes flick to the left briefly. “Just about.”

“Woah,” you exhale, “you’re flexable.”

He shrugs, “I think it’s because I’m so— long?”

Your brows raise and your eyes can’t help but trail languidly down to his lap.

He immediately shakes his head. “No, no, no I meant my body— my back, my stomach. Not my penis.”

“Oh.” You press your lips together to poorly hide your amusement and his face drops into a deeper red.

“We’re missing the movie—”

“So you suck on the tip or lick it?” You interrupt him curiously as if he didn’t even say anything.

“Uh— sucking hurts my neck so only for half a second,” he rubs the back of his neck, “so— so mostly licking.”

“Does it actually feel good?” You’re analyzing his every facial expression, intrigue hiding a splash of arousal. Every question feels more extensive than the last, and his heart is thrashing.

Satoru abruptly drops his face into the head rest cushion beside him and groans into it. His system is going into overdrive.

You huff a laugh. You’re not used to seeing him in this position, genuinely embarrassed having been caught in such a vulnerable state. Satoru is usually mean before he’s ever embarrassed or shy.

“I’m waiting,” you prod in a sing song voice and he slightly whines before sitting back up— slouching— but still.

“Do I have to answer that?” Despite his glasses, you can tell his gaze is down and off to the side.

“Absolutely.” You nod definitively with a proud tight- lipped smile, as if what you say, goes. Suddenly, he feels like his younger self being bossed around by you everywhere you two went.

“I don’t want to,” he mutters stubbornly under his breath.

“Come on,” you whine annoyingly, pushing even closer to him until your knees are slightly overlapping his shins, “I wanna know. It’s just me.”

“Yeah, it’s just you. And you’re a girl.”

You squint at him and lean back a bit. “What does that mean?”

“That this feels— wrong— weird—I don’t want to be talking to you about this,” he mumbles with a hint of irritation.

“Just because I don’t have a dick, doesn’t mean—”

He shakes his head, immediately and cuts you off with an authoritative ‘nuh uh,’ and you let out an amused scoff.

“What?” You urge him to explain, curiously. “Come on, why is it any different with me?”

“Because you’re hot. Seriously?” He grumbles and rolls his eyes at you. “And you saw me trying to suck on my own penis and your face when you walked in—” he ends the sentence with a groan, face falling right into his hands.

Honestly, you already thought he was a little weird before you caught him self sucking, but you’d never admit that and potentially hurt the smelly, awkward boy for no reason. You certainly didn’t know he cared what you thought of him, considering he’s usually unapologetically himself. Apparently, he does care what his childhood friend thinks.

“We all do weird things sometimes, that doesn’t make you weird.”

He shakes his head, face still shoved into his hands. “Not you.”

You huff through your nose, “I didn’t know you had so many opinions about me, Satoru.”

“I don’t. It’s a logical analysis from a scientific perspective. I have eyes.” His tone is more nasally than normal due to his face in his palms.

“You don’t know what I do when I’m alone. Me being weird or not is irrelevant,” you say looking down at his fluffy head that’s a bit greasy, “I get horny too.”

In a split second, his head shoot’s up desperately, almost knocking the back of it into your face on the way.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Satoru sit up so straight in his life. You’re forced to look up at him now, reminding you of how tall he really is. His glasses were left behind when he jolted up, and you can suddenly see the full intensity of his wide crystal blue eyes piercing into you with full focus.

You slightly adjust in your seat, borderline uncomfortable under that sharp gaze that’s roaming your entire persona as if he’s a computer collecting every piece of data in your soul at a high speed. Those eyes used to scare you straight out of bed with a scream when you were small and having little sleepovers with him— they still give you chills.

“You do?”

You cower a bit, not expecting such a reaction to what you thought was an obvious fact. “Um— yeah? Of course I do,” you murmur, brows furrowing.

He swallows and slides a pillow into his lap, gripping it.

You glance down at it. You blink at it. You glance back up at him.

“Did that make you hard..?” you slowly ask, voicing the obvious in hesitancy.

“A little.”

“Okay,” you pause, “why?”

He pushes up his glasses. “Because I thought about your vagina being wet. And then I started speculating about what your vagina looks like. And then how it tastes, because online—”

“Satoru,” you quickly interrupt him, flustered, pushing a palm to his lips, “shut up.”

He blinks and nods, making you take your hand off of his lips hesitantly. He reaches under the pillow and, you assume, adjusts his boner.

“Okay,” you change the subject, shaking your head of the imaginary vision of his hardening cock, “We’re getting off track. Don’t avoid the question.”

He rubs an eye, like it’s sore from having been using his glasses for so long before they fell off.

“It feels good enough,” he mumbles, spine already returning to his natural slouch, “but I have to kinda— like— focus.”

“On what?”

“On anything but the fact that I’m sucking dick, what do you think?”

You accidentally let a snort pass, and he sighs deeply to himself.

“Sorry sorry,” you shake your head, holding back a laugh.

“Are you done yet?” He murmurs in a whiny tone, eager to stop answering questions.

“Has it ever made you cum? And do you like— bust in your mouth? Or all over your face?”

Satoru suddenly bursts into a coughing fit, choking on his own spit and your brows furrow in concern.

“You okay?”

He nods as he coughs, brushing off your concern as you rub his back soothingly and briefly. He gasps for air as the fit calms.

“I’m fine,” he massages his throat and glances back at the opening to the stairs, “why do you want to know that?”

“I’m curious.” You shrug, although you’re ignoring the subtle throb in your clit.

“Curious about my cum.” He says it like it’s more of a statement than a question.

“What? No,” you defend yourself quickly, “No, I mean— kinda but— No, stop it. Don’t twist my words.”

Now, he snickers, wiping his nose against his sleeve.

“Shut up,” you shake your head with a small smile, pushing his shoulder. “Answer, freak.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek, “It’s not like I mean to cum on my face. It just happens.”

You can’t help but drop your jaw in astonishment, unable to ignore the tingle in your lower abdomen.

He whines, “stop,” as he grabs your jaw with warm, shaky fingers and manually closes your mouth.

You gulp, subconsciously grabbing a few of his fingers from your face and pulling them down to your lap to hold onto like you need it to ground you. You’re not holding his hand, you’re more so awkwardly grabbing parts of it. Satoru glances at the connection, but you don’t seem to notice that you’re even holding it because you’re so focused on his words.

“So you’ve,” you blink rapidly, “tasted your own cum?”

He chews off a chunk of his inner lip and grumbles under his breath, “Yeah, I wish I didn’t— tastes nasty.”

“Like what?”

“You know wha—” Satoru almost slipped and confessed that you’ve tasted his cum before. On that fucking strawberry donut. You tilt your head at him, wondering why he stopped talking.

He clears his throat. “Skip.”

You blink. “Skip?”

He nods, definitively. “Skip.”

You squint at him for a beat, he doesn’t budge. You move on.

“Okay, How many times have you done it?”

He exhales in thought and shrugs. He holds up two fingers.

“Why did you do it in the first place? Like what was going through your mind?”

“Uh— That my hand doesn’t feel that good anymore.” He scratches his chest with the hand you’re not keeping prisoner in your lap.

You hum a short confirmation, huffing at his reasoning, and adjust his hand so it’s palm up. You silently ponder as you begin to trace his skin absently, the lines and ridges. Goosebumps race up his veiny, pale arm.

“You know, when a guy gets tired of their hand,” you smile in amusement, “I don’t think their first thought is their own mouth.”

He shakes his head. “Every guy has done it or tried to do it at least once,” he defends, “and if they say they haven’t, they’re lying.”

You giggle and he can’t help but breathe a little laugh with you.

“Still, why not just ask a girl out from class or something?” You continue to trace down his long fingers.

He snorts loudly and wipes his nose against his sleeve again. “Yeah, right.”

You glance up at him with furrowed brows, “Huh? I’m serious. Why not?”

He sniffs and shrugs, “I dunno. Whenever I’m around, they just..” he trails off.

You blink. “They just what?”

He looks down at your fingers trialing his palm. “Go away from wherever I am.” He doesn’t seem bothered, just stating facts.

You hum, tongue prodding your teeth in thought for a beat. You imagine it has something to do with his smell, his unkempt appearance, and honest-to-a-fault demeanor— he’s unapproachable. Even you’re guilty of this too, and you know it.

He continues in the face of your silence. “I’m not stupid, okay? I can tell girls don’t like me, I just— I don’t know why.”

An opportunity arises.

“Maybe,” you place his hand back down and coincidentally into your lap. He tries not to react to the fact that his palm happened to land on top of your clothed, warm inner thigh, “Maybe, I could help you with that— I mean, if you want.”

He blinks at you. “Help me with— help me with girls?”

You shrug. “Yeah, why not. Girls.”

He’s silent for once with his eyes trained down to your lap, and you tilt your head at his hesitancy.

“If you’re so desperate that you literally shove your own dick in your throat then what do u have to lose, huh?” You’re teasing him, clearly getting off on this new advancement in your ‘friendship.’ His face jolts into the human embodiment of an exclamation point.

He explodes, “It doesn’t even reach my throat, stupid— I don’t shove anything down my throat. I knew I shouldn’t have told you!”

You can’t hold back the laughter that bursts out of you before he even finishes speaking. You clasp your hand over your mouth but it continues to spill out. Satoru refuses to take his hand off of your inner thigh, even despite the embarrassing topic of conversation, because game is game, but he does use the other to cover his one of his hot ears because he just knows they’re probably the deepest shade of red.

“How exactly are you going to help me?”

Just as Satoru grumbles the question, both of your fathers waltz in. “Hey kids.”

Satoru jumps in place like he’s been caught, ripping his hand away from your thigh so dramatically that it makes each of your father’s brows quirk. You hadn’t even heard them open the front door.

You hide an amused smile at Satoru’s reaction and rise to your feet.

“You ready to go?” Your father asks, and you nod as Satoru’s father ruffles his son’s hair briefly in greetings. Though you just live next door, you still like to walk back with your dad.

As your father walks over to the front door, knowing your mother will likely stay longer, Satoru’s father walks upstairs to greet his wife. You bend down to whisper into Satoru’s ear.

“I’ll come over next Friday when my classes end.” You flick his forehead with a teasing grin and he rubs the injury with a grimace as you walk away. “Bye!” you shout just before his front door slams shut behind you.

Friday. 3:05 pm.

You let yourself into the Gojo front door with the key copy you received years ago.

Mrs. Gojo chirps, “Oh hi honey! Toru and the others are upstairs,” as you pass her to get to the stairs.

You pause at the bottom of the stairs and blink at her. “Others?”

She hums and nods her head with a smile before continuing to sort through her documents at the kitchen table.

You curiously climb the stairs and the closer you get to Satoru’s door, the sounds under it grow louder. Definitely more voices than just Satoru’s, as well as the loud music of a video game playing.

You stop yourself before you just barge in, again, and choose to knock instead.

Satoru’s voice answers your knock. “We don’t need anymore snacks, mom! We have chips and—”

You push open the door and the sight of you, instead of his mother, makes him shut his mouth.

Satoru and two other fellow college boys sit on the carpeted floor, facing his flatscreen hanging on the wall, playing some kind of mortal kombat style game with their sides to you. Bags of chips, drinks, video game cd cases, and controllers litter the floor around them.

Satoru is the only one looking at you while the other boys mash their controllers with focus on the game as their characters fight against one another.

Satoru pushes his glasses up instinctively as he says your name, even though they’re already pressing deeply against his face. “What are you doing here?”

Your name in Satoru’s mouth makes the boys turn their heads to look at you. Their jaws drop at the sight of a girl.

You give the- blunt as ever- Satoru a look and sigh. “I told you last Friday that I’d be coming over next Friday. It’s next Friday.”

“Oh yeah,” he scratches the back of his head. “Okay, come in then.”

You step inside before closing the door behind you.

“You gonna introduce me or what?” you ask as you drop your bag onto the floor and sit. They’re in a half circle; Satoru faces you while the other two are half turned towards you and half on the tv.

“Yeah— okay,” he says awkwardly. He gestures at the long, jet black haired one sporting a very uncoordinated, greasy bun on his head. “This is Suguru.”

Suguru peeks at you while continuing to expertly mash buttons on the controller. “Hi,” he says in a tone that seems naturally soft.

Satoru gestures at the blonde one with a long side part covering half of his face next. “That’s Kento.”

Kento looks at you and stops playing to raise his hand briefly in greetings.

You give them a polite smile. “Nice to meet you.”

They both seem a bit geeky, exactly the type you expected Satoru to be friends with. They probably met playing an online game or something. There’s a very specific musky smell in this room.

“So,” Suguru begins teasingly as he concentrates on the game, “she your girlfriend, Gojo?”

Kento scoffs lowly at the idea.

“Nope,” Satoru says freely, throwing a chip into his mouth to rudely chew while he speaks, “she’s lived next door since we were like two and our moms are friends.”

“Have you guys kissed?” Suguru easily questions before taking a sip of his soda while his other hand continues to operate his controller.

“No way in hell,” Kento answers the question meant for Satoru in a matter of fact way, “Gojo kissing a girl like that is ridiculous.” Kento glances at you briefly.

Your brows raise and you huff to yourself. You almost expected them to be shy and quiet but they’re talking about you like you’re not right in front of them. You can tell they don’t have bad intentions, they’re just a bit socially unorthodox.

“Actually,” you butt in casually, reaching over to snatch a chip from the bag in front of Satoru, “we kissed when we were six.”

Suguru and Kento ‘oo’ simultaneously without taking focus from their game, slightly monotoned and unfazed.

“Hey, you’re a girl,” Suguru murmurs, “What's it like being able to see boobs any time you want? Does it ever get old?”

The chip making its way into Satoru’s mouth delays and falls to the floor as his eyes lock on you.

“You can’t just ask a girl about her boobs five seconds after meeting her.” Kento’s tone is judgmental but you can tell he’s just as curious if you’ll answer as the others are, just better at hiding it.

You take a deep breath. “It’s okay. Umm— the boring answer is I’m pretty used to them, they’re just part of my body. But, I won’t deny that half the time I pass a mirror in my house I lift my shirt and look at them. I think every girl does.”

“Really? You flash yourself?” Satoru questions, flabbergasted at this information. The other boys completely desert their controllers and tilt their bodies to face you with criss crossed legs and a matching ring of Cheeto-type dust around their mouths.

You shrug.

“What’s it like seeing a dick all the time?” you counter and pop a chip into your mouth.

“Gross, probably.” Suguru says, making you chuckle.

All of their eyes comically trail down to your chest at the same time— as if you can’t literally see them do it.

“You’re so lucky,” Satoru murmurs.

“Do you—” Kento clears his throat, “nevermind.”

Suguru’s mouth opens and closes, like he’s hesitating to say something.

You sigh. “Get it over with. Come on.”

Satoru blinks up at you, finally breaking his eye contact with your tits. “What?”

“Ask your questions, it’s fine. Hurry up.”

Their eyes light up like dominos.

“We can’t just—” Kento begins, as the voice of reason, but is cut off by Suguru who doesn’t give a fuck.

“Do your nipples get hard when you’re horny?” Suguru asks eagerly, not wasting a moment.

“They usually just react to cold temperatures, but sometimes when I get a tingle or something, they get hard, sure.”

Satoru’s mouth hangs open, mouth-breathing. Kento gulps and Suguru breathes out a ‘sick.’

“Does— um— does it feel good when they get sucked on?” Kento timidly asks, a pink tint to his cheeks. He keeps his head tilted down a bit, a shy habit, but he’s still staring at your chest with the eye that’s not covered by his bang.

You can’t help but slightly grin in amusement. “Depends on the girl and her sensitivity. But yeah, I’d say it does. It’s kind of comforting.”

You wouldn’t be surprised if they were to drool. There are obvious tents in each of their pants.

You’re playing the ‘bored, pretty girl casually answering horny, ridiculous questions like an angel’ part well but your abdomen tingles seeing Satoru use a long, veiny hand to pull at the uncomfortably tight fabric over his hard cock to adjust.

“Do you ever,” the skin between Satoru’s brows slightly pinch and his eyes flick up at you while his friends ogle your breasts, “play with them?”

“Jesus,” you snicker with amusement and tease, “you guys are so horny.”

“Yeah, do you pinch your nipples or flick them?” Suguru adds on to Satoru’s inquiry, as if he didn’t even hear your remark.

“Is it possible to suck on your own nipples?” Kento’s question follows Suguru’s quickly. Their eyes are practically swirling and you swear you can see their heads spinning.

It doesn’t end there. They don’t even wait for an answer between slurred questions. You’ve had to have already missed more than ten of them. You can’t help but tune it out eventually, lidded eyes blinking at the ceiling as they ask every diabolical thing you could think of back to back without leaving room for a reply.

You sigh.

In one fell swoop, you yank your shirt up to your collarbones, successfully shutting them up.

Their eyes turn into large, bulging hearts that boing like a spring and their tongues roll out onto the floor while steam comes from the top of their heads.

Things like, ‘holy shit,’ ‘oh fuck,’ and even, ‘holy bazingas,” bounce through the air as your bare tits glow within their perspective.

“No more questions,” you decide, making all of them nod eagerly. They’d probably agree to anything you say right now.

“Woah. They’re so— they’re so beautiful,” Satoru whines, glasses wildly crooked on his face as they all subconsciously start crawling towards you.

“I think I’m dying,” Kento breathes before slurping a bit of drool that threatened to escape his lips. “Is this heaven?”

“My mouth is so empty,” Suguru groans, licking and smacking his lips.

Thankfully, they stop crawling when they’re close enough to get a better look but not so close that you can feel their breath on your skin. It’s not hard to conclude that this is the first time they’re seeing tits in real life.

Your lips press together as you hold back a laugh, but when your eyes meet Satoru’s face, your expression falters. He looks wrecked, pinched brows, cheeks and ears a deep red, messy glasses, wet swollen lips, and glazed eyes— he looks sexy. You’re apparently finding out many interesting things about yourself, ever since you saw him in armadillo mode.

“Okay, shows over.” You lower your shirt, and their heads comically tilt lower and lower until the material is covering your entire torso once again and the sides of their faces are smooshed on the floor.

Just then, a knock at Satoru’s door comes, followed by his mother asking if you guys want more snacks.

She opens the door and the two boys hop up to their feet, scrambling.

“I— I gotta go home,” Kento says frantically before grabbing his bag and placing it over his crotch. “It was really nice to meet you. Thank you— um— for— yeah. Okay bye,” he stutters to you on his way out.

“Oh yeah, me too. My mom is expecting me for dinner.” Suguru nods quickly and scrambles to follow Kento out, pulling the hem of his baggy shirt down until it covers his boner. “Thanks— you’re cool— yeah thank you,” he says to you on his way.

Satoru’s mom looks a bit confused with a plate of apples in hand as she let them pass her to leave. “Okay, bye boys! Be safe driving home!” she shouts after them.

The front door slams behind them and she turns to you. “You want some apples, honey?”

“Oh, sure. Thanks, Mrs. Gojo,” you say politely and she smiles as she places the plate down on Satoru’s desk.

She brushes her hands together and rests them onto her hips as she stands in the doorway. “I have to say, it’s so nice to see you two together again. Just shout if you need me.”

“Okay, thanks.” Satoru has always been polite to his mother.

“Of course.” She smiles at her son before leaving, shutting the door behind herself.

You take a beat to look around his room as Satoru fixes his crooked glasses with a balled up blanket in his lap he must have grabbed when his friends were leaving. Action figures, comics, video games, the usual. It looks eerily similar to when you used to hangout with him everyday after school when you were younger.

You glance at him, you can’t see his eyes clearly from this angle due to a gleam on his lenses.

“Are you thinking about how badly you want me to go so you can put your dick in your mouth again?”

“Wow, that was fast,” he says bluntly and flicks something in the carpet absentmindedly, “I thought for sure it’d take a full sixty seconds before you made the first penis joke.”

“Was debating between that and a Where’s Waldo one. Sorry, I’ll be quicker next time.”

“Oh thank god,” he sarcastically says.

You obnoxiously lay back on his carpet, eyeing the ceiling as if there’s something interesting up there.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” he sniffles loudly, telling the whole room that he has mucus. You sit up just as quickly as you laid down.

“Yeah, well,” you sigh deeply and lean back on your palms, “couldn’t abandon a friend in need, could I?”

He deadpans at you. “And.. why am I in need again?”

“Wahh— I’m horny and girls hate me,” you mock his deep, blunt tone as you bring your fists to your eyes to dramatically act like you’re crying, “I have to fuck my own face to cum because my hand sucks— wahh.”

Satoru is not amused. “So, you came here to flash my friends and bully me.”

“Woah woah, just giving you a little recap, Satoru, don’t get your Pokémon panties in a twist.” You point at him dramatically with a squint in your eye, “and hello? I flashed you too, you’re very welcome.”

He pushes up his glasses. “I see your point. I’ve come to the conclusion that I can agree that what you did was very generous. Carry on.”

“Oh, good.” Your sarcasm is laced with amusement. “Anyways, back to what I was saying.”

You lean over and pop another chip into your mouth.

“I’ll let you fuck me.”

For a second, all that can be heard is the muffled munch of the snack in your mouth and the background music from the abandoned video game.

“What?” Satoru enunciates each letter in the word drastically. “What— What did you just say?”

“Oh sorry, when two people love each other very much—”

“Shut up,” Satoru interrupts your obvious teasing by throwing one of his plushies at you.

You catch it with a laugh and hold it in your lap like you’d asked him for it in the first place.

“Are you being serious?” He questions you hesitantly, aware of how poorly he is at speaking with and understanding women.

“Mhm,” you affirm, casually with a nod.

His brows furrow and he almost looks around his own room for cameras like he must be getting punked right now.

Slowly he asks, “Why?”

You chew on your lower lip as you hum in thought, eyes trailing the ceiling, briefly.

You land on, “I want to help you.”

He looks at you with skeptical, squinted eyes.

You sigh.

“Look,” you regard him genuinely, “all jokes aside, when I saw you doing what you were doing, and then when you were telling me why you do it in the first place, I just felt like, I don’t know, I wanted to help you.”

“So, I’m a charity case?” He questions insinuatingly, making you sigh in slight frustration with yourself for not expressing your feelings correctly.

“No. It’s more like—” you chew on your lip as you gather your thoughts, “I wanna be useful to you. Remember when we were younger and my ice cream fell on the floor because that annoying kid kept pinching me and you gave me yours? And then when I asked you why, you said that you have to take care of the people you love?”

Satoru’s eyes bulge and his lips part. “You’re in love with me?”

You deadpan at him. “Really? Thats what you got from that?”

“You literally just said you love me and that’s why you want to let me have intercourse with you,” he passionately defends his conclusion, like he’s trying to show you logic.

“Oh my god you’re gonna make me say it,” you sigh to yourself, “Fine. Of course I love you Satoru, I’ve loved you since I was like five. I’m not confessing my love for you, okay? It’s like a childhood friend love, like—”

Satoru interrupts you quickly with a long pointed, accusing finger. “Don’t you dare say family after you just said you want me to put my penis in you.”

You rub your eyes briefly in frustration with your pointer finger and thumb. “My point is, I care about you and I don’t want you to suffer with a hard dick. I have your solution between my legs, so, here.”

“No,” Satoru immediately denies, “Intercourse is a two person activity where both parties have a desire for it. I don’t want you to just give me your vagina to use like a fricken fleshlight because you feel bad for me.” —No matter how much he might want to.

Your brows raise and your speak slowly. “You’re worried that I don’t want it?”

“Obviously?” He looks at you like you’re stupid.

“Satoru, there’s a reason I’m not just offering you a handjob,” you huff and shake your head, amused that he’s worried about you, “I want it.”

“You do?” He asks you like you’re crazy and not even aware of what you’re saying, loudly and enunciated dramatically.

“I do,” You confirm, definitively.

“Like, you’re attracted to me?”

You squint at his overall appearance for a beat and then crawl up to him until your nose is brushing his sweaty neck, making him jerk back hesitantly, but ultimately allowing you to get way too close.

“What are you—”

You take a big sniff of his skin and he shuts his mouth with an alarmed expression. You take a few more inhales of different patches of skin on his neck and then sit back down, criss crossing your legs in front of him with your knees overlapping his shins like last Friday.

“Yeah,” you nod absolutely, as if you’re speaking to yourself, eagerly, “I definitely want you inside of me.” What you aren’t saying is that his musky smell, the one you usually avoid getting a whiff of, is now triggering a primal response within your reproductive system.

“Holy shit,” he breathes under his breath, chills racing down his spine. “You want me inside of you.”

“Are you attracted to me, Satoru?” You repeat his question back at him, a little smile and tilt to your head.

“Um,” he picks up your hand, “do you want to feel it?”

He tosses the blanket in his lap to the side, exposing his hard on.

“Your dick?”

“My attraction for you,” he corrects.

You nod.

He lays your palm flat on his warm, beating chest, making your brows raise in surprise.

His heart is thumping at a steady pace, a little fast, but it’s to be expected with you so close to him.

“This is,” you blink, “your heart.”

He nods. His heart picks up pace and you can feel the rise and fall of his breath.

“The blood that it’s circulating,” he uses a large hand to guide yours on a slow journey down his hard chest, “is reacting to the ventral tegmental area of my brain.”

Your eyes are locked onto his hand on top of yours, silently gasping when it reaches his tent. You don’t miss the deep ridges of yummy abs on the way down either.

“And it sends that blood,” he lets out a barely noticeable grunt, ‘guh,’ under his breath when your hand caresses his bulge, “here.”

My attraction for you starts within my heart.

You can’t help but let out a sharp breath, an airy, amused scoff, despite the little tingle in your own heart. “Oh, wow, you’re good. I underestimated you, you little geek.”

He doesn’t answer you, just gives you proud twitch at the corner of his lips. He’s breathing heavy, hazy eyes already lidded in pleasure, simply due to your warm hand on his clothed cock.

“You’re so hard,” you breathe as you gently squeeze around the stiff base, making him grip the carpet beside him, “You already thinking about how it’ll feel to be inside me?”

He groans, tossing his head back. “Of course I am. Can we do it now?” He looks at you with impatience and then down at your lap, “Are you lubricated?”

You grin at him, “Am I lubricated?”

“Yeah, it’s a word in the dictionary, stupid.” His grumble is a little too breathy to be cruel. The insult makes you nostalgic, it was practically your assigned nickname when you were kids.

“Maybe you should try Urban Dictionary,” you tease, hand still resting casually on his bulge like its normal, “because wet is what us regular earthlings use.”

“Okay,” he speaks bluntly, “Are you wet?”

You shrug. “I might be.”

He squints at you. “What do you mean might? You have to be properly prepared before we can do this.”

“You know what? Yeah, you’re right. And now that you mention it,” you say like a performance, “I know exactly what will ‘properly prepare’ me.”

“Okay,” he says expectantly and slightly suspicious, “What?”

Satoru almost throws a fit when you take your hand away from his cock and lean back on your hands.

“I want you to self suck again and I want to watch.”

You must have learned that phrase online in the time you’ve been apart since last Friday, but that’s not why his face scrunches up in judgmental confusion.

“What? No fucking way,” he immediately denies passionately, “Are you serious?”

“I barely got to see it before,” you whine, leaning towards him with your hands up in prayer and an exaggerated pout on your face, “Please?”

“That’s what’s gonna make you wet?” He’s in disbelief.

You shrug, dropping your hands. “Something about it is hot. Don’t judge, self sucker.”

Is this what girls are into?

“You think putting my own penis in my mouth is hot?” he asks you judgmentally, overly enunciating as to get his point across, “Why??”

You sigh, glancing up at the ceiling in thought.

“I don’t know. Something about the desperation you have to feel to do something like that,” you bite your lip and flick your gaze down at his bulging tent, “Like you’d do anything to feel the pleasure of a blowjob.”

Oh. Okay, no. It’s just you that’s this weird.

“I don’t even know what to say right n—” he cuts his own astonished remark off, “You’re a freak, you know that? Like you’re weird.”

You huff and shove his shoulder. “You’re the dick sucker.”

“Getting off on watching it is worse,” he shakes his head at you, but he’s unable to hold back a flicker of a smile.

“Oh c’mon,” you tilt your head at him, “seeing you feel good makes me horny, doesn’t that do anything to you?”

He knows you know the answer to that, if his cock jumping at your words says anything.

“Then why can’t it be in your mouth and not mine?” He grumbles, trying to avoid your powerful stare— the one where you make your eyes all big and gleamy; you’ve been manipulating him with that look since you were young.

You light up seeing his resistance breaking down by the second, your words coming out quicker now.

“You don’t have to do it for a long time, I just wanna see you actually lick the tip,” you gush, as if begging at a fast pace will make him more likely to agree.

He rubs his nose against his sleeve and glances at the closed door with a sigh. “Okay.”

“Yes,” you say to yourself in victory as you thrust your elbow downward with your hand in a fist. Satoru deadpans.

You stare at him expectantly with a smiling bite to your lower lip.

Satoru sniffs and nudges your knee that’s on top of his leg. “You have to back up a little.”

“Oh,” you chirp, scooting back a tad so that your knees aren’t touching.

Satoru’s awkwardly maneuvers his lanky body to lie on his back, and you’re facing his side. You stop him.

“Wait, you have to actually walk me through how you’re doing this.”

He turns his head to blink at you. “You’re such a freak. How do I know you’re not just messing with me and I’m doing this for nothing? I’m not—”

You sigh, sharply, and with determination, you lean down and shove your face onto his.

Your lips connect abruptly, and Satoru gasps as his hands twitch, mid air. A peck. Your lips stick together as they part, making a ‘chu’ sound before you begin to lay multiple dense pecks onto his. He’s fighting to return the kisses with panicked hums, not understanding why you’re doing it but too enthralled to care.

You finish it off with one long, pressurized kiss, even shaking your head back and forth a few times to really imprint the feeling onto his nerves before pulling away just enough.

“You kissed me,” Satoru breathes, clearly trying to process what just happened. He doesn’t get far though, because you start laying wet, open mouthed kisses onto his jaw and down to his neck where you start suckling on it. Satoru’s making all kinds of hisses and gasps. His desperate hips jerk into the air instinctively in one harsh movement.

You slide your lips off after one final self indulgent lick to his protruding Adam’s apple and he’s exhaling audibly in euphoria.

“It’s not for nothing. Please show me how you do it,” you beg him in a soft tone, brows pinched. You nudge your nose into his like a cat yearning to bond, and he just melts.

He nods and lets out a shaky ‘okay’ as you lean back to watch with an excited smile.

He gently takes his glasses off and folds them, eyes blinking and squinting to adjust briefly.

“Why are you taking your glasses off?”

He glances at you as he places them aside. “I don’t want to get them dirty,” he explains and clears his throat.

You lick your lips and nod, enjoying the topic of conversation too much.

“It’s kinda hard to,” he grunts as he kicks off of the ground with one leg to push both over his head, “do this part.”

You’re sort of astonished at how he’s able to put such a long body into this position.

“Uh— I’m gonna take my penis out now,” he glances at you awkwardly but you just nod encouragingly.

He pulls his sweatpants down enough to let his cock hang out and keep his balls and ass within the confines of the material. He places his focus on the act itself so he doesn’t psyche himself out of this ridiculous situation. His true eyes are on the prize, he’d do anything to fuck your pussy.

Seeing his cock this close up is a whole nother experience compared to the panic of barging into his room and happening upon it. It’s a light pink color, and it’s quite lengthy as it bobs over his face. It gets thicker towards the middle and up to the tip, sort of flared— as if it’s begging to be encased inside something. It feels as though it’s already anticipating his warm mouth.

“Just— just a lick, right?” He asks you, face a deeper pink than his dick is.

You hum an eager confirmation and he sighs to himself in slight preparation.

He uses two hands to nudge at his back and his tip slowly reaches down to brush his lips.

He drops his jaw and hesitates to let his tongue out. But ultimately, he slowly slides it out and you can see the muscles in his tongue twitch as he gives the top side of his tip a nice, wet lap— incidentally collecting a small dribble of pre.

“Did that feel good?” You quickly question, biting your lower lip with observant eyes.

He swallows. “A little. Can I stop now?”

“Does sucking feel better?” You ask instead, and he releases the pressure he’s pushing into his back just a bit so he can answer you more comfortably.

“I guess, but not really, I can tell it’s my own mouth.”

“I have an idea,” you scooch in closer, “try sucking.”

Despite this being kind of lame compared to the idea of you stimulating him instead or the promise of sex, it’s clearly entertaining you so he pushes into his straining spine again until his desperate tip greets his mouth again. Satoru has stuck his dick inside of crazier things in weirder situations just to get off, this is nothing.

He opens his mouth wide enough to allow his cock inside and sucks his lips closed around half of the tip. His white lashes softly flutter shut at the dull tingle growing through his dick.

His eyes shoot right back open when he feels a long, warm, wet sensation run across his mid shaft. You start licking at his reactive cock like an eager kitten, making that dull tingle erupt into much more as bitter pre oozes into his mouth in reaction. His wide eyes roll in pleasure once he realizes you aren’t stopping and he uses his tongue to suck a little better at his cock head, unable to resist the need for more stimulation.

When your tongue starts wetly tracing the edge of his tip where it enters his mouth, even licking at his lips a little, he can feel his balls tighten up. He thinks he can handle it, hold back his orgasm, but then you latch onto the side of his upper dick and suckle.

He doesn’t want to cum in his own mouth so he eases the tension his hands are putting on his back to let the tip slide out but not enough to pull his legs back and lay flat because he doesn’t want to lose the pleasure your mouth is giving him. “Wait— hng!— I’m gonna cum!”

You hum happily and, faster than he can blink, your warm mouth is enveloping his entire throbbing tip. His abs clench and his eyebrows shoot up with tension, moaning loudly with parted lips as you slide your tongue all around his sensitive skin. He’s never felt anything like this, it’s not even comparable.

You’re coaxing his cum to build and build, and Satoru swears with a burst of excitement within his chest that he’s finally going to ejaculate inside of a woman’s mouth. That is, until you suddenly let his cock go with a pop and the next thing he knows, cum is shooting all over his face. His cock spasms and pleasure bursts all the way into his toes, he’s overwhelmed by it for a long blissful moment.

Pure bliss until he comes down enough to realize that warm splooge is streaking down his cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin. He slowly maneuvers himself to lay flat and blinks at the ceiling for a beat. He’s about to sit up and do the whole irritated-at-you thing, but then your thighs are suddenly on either side of his hips with only your shirt and panties on, sweatpants no where to be found, only soft bare legs. He gasps.

“That was so fucking hot,” you groan as you quickly shove your panties to the side and ease down enough to rest your warm, wet labia against the bottom of his soft, twitching dick.

He hisses in sensitivity, hands shooting to grip your thighs to cope as he tilt his head up to look at you. You’re a little blurry without his glasses but he can still see how flustered you look.

“Think you can get hard again?” You ask, out of breath as you begin to slowly grind your pussy against him with eager hands on his chest.

He groans in overstimulation, “Oh god— wha—? I don’t know— oh fuuuck.” His fingers tighten around the flesh of your flexing thighs.

“I have cum all over my face,” he groans, refusing to make you get off of him because he’d rather die, but still complaining about it.

“It’s okay,” you say quickly and lean down and begin to lick the cum off of his face casually, making him slightly grimace.

“Just grab a shirt,” he basically slurs when your licking abruptly stops and you pull back enough to look him in the face.

Your hands are on either side of his head now, hips unfortunately stopping all movement, and you’re suddenly blinking at him like you’re realizing something.

“Oh my god,” you slowly express, a disbelieving smile on your lips, “you came all over that fucking donut! I knew you were acting weird, you sick freak.”

His eyes widen and he doesn’t even know what to say, you clearly recognize the taste enough to place it, so he just blurts, “What are you talking about?”

“Why didn’t you stop me?” You still question him with furrowed brows, not buying his feigned ignorance, “Your mom was right there!”

“I don’t— but, you said it tasted good! And you only took one bite.”

You huff and shake your head. And then you lean down to lick a long lap up his cheek, gathering a bit of very bitter cum on your taste buds. You swallow it and press your lips to his ear, “You’re lucky I’m throbbing because otherwise, there’s no way I’d fuck you knowing that, you pervert.”

Whether that’s a lie or not, doesn’t matter, all Satoru can hear is the subtle squelch of your pussy lips rubbing against his hardening cock as you begin to grind again.

His toes curl and twitch. He breathes, “You made me cum— agh!— on my face, we’re— we’re even.”

You huff and sit back up while your hips work. “Fine. We’re even.”

He brings a shaky hand over to his discarded glasses and throws them back on before yanking the hem of your shirt up enough to see your pussy.

“Ohhh my goodness gracious,” his voice shakes but he’s very sturdy in his words, astounded by the sight of pretty pussy in real life— especially those folds against his own penis, the folds connected to his beautiful childhood friend.

He can’t help but eagerly buck his hips once, making you gasp at the direct hit to your clit and grip onto his shirt over his chest.

“You’ve never had sex before, right? You’re a virgin?” You breathe out, humping increasing in speed.

His mouth hangs open. “Never. Mhm, yeah, virgin.” He nods quickly.

You lean in and your lips brush his as you speak. “I’m gonna be your first, baby?” you egg him on.

He whines into your mouth. “I always— I always suspected you would.”

“What?” You breathe in amusement, pressing a kiss to his jawline, “Why?”

“Because,” he moans beautifully as you suck on his earlobe, “You’re the only girl that talks to me.”

You lean back and jut your bottom lip out into a dramatic pout. “Aww, so it’s not because you’ve been in love with me since we were kids? You’re breaking my heart.”

“No,” he hisses when his tip almost gets caught on your entrance that seems to be attempting to suck him in every time it passes by, “I’ve definitely been in love with you since we were kids.”

Your hips stutter to a painful stop and you blink at him, playful expression slightly faltering. You can barely tell when Satoru is joking, the ease and blunt manner of the way he speaks doesn’t help.

“Wait, are you being serious?”

He sits up to lean back on his elbows and nods. “I thought you knew that.”

“How could I know that?” you ask him like he’s an idiot, “The most you say to me in a week is that I have something in my teeth.”

He sniffles his runny nose obnoxiously, like always. “Because you do. And, you don’t talk to me either,” he says factually and defends himself.

“That’s—,” you exhale sharply, reaching down to grip his base, ignoring his little ‘guh!’ as you raise your hips a bit, “because we got older and— I don’t know— grew apart.”

You rub his head against your opening and his eyes lock onto the movement like it’s glowing gold. Drool dribbles out of the corner of his lips. “Holy shit. It’s finally— ngh!— happening. You’re finally going to have sex— oh my god— it’s so soft. It’s so slimy, woah.” He’s talking to himself like a little weirdo, but you don’t mind, it’s actually creating more slick to join the rest.

You bite your lip and slowly push down against his head until it pops in with a painful little stretch.

You hiss out a strained, “Fuck,” and Satoru pushes through his overwhelming desire to just moan and whine and succumb to his own pleasure like a limp fish to ask you, “Are you okay? Does— hahh— does it hurt?”

You nod with a shaky exhale, eyes closed in concentration. “A little, your tip is— mm— almost as big as your head is.”

You’re clearly not in enough pain to ignore an opportunity to tease him, it seems. You take a deep breath and attempt to calm your muscles.

But then, your head snaps down to make sense of the sudden stimulation against your clit to see Satoru’s long lanky fingers rubbing it sloppily. “Oh— mm!” Your abdomen and thighs clench as you grip his shirt harshly, breathing choppy.

“Does that help? Your clitoris should ease the pain,” Satoru bluntly expresses with clear concern, focus flicking from your clit to your expression, “I read it.”

You whine and grab onto his wrist connected to the lanky fingers moving in a ‘dj’ motion against your ultra sensitive skin. “Try— hah— little circles.”

He immediately complies with upmost focus, fingertips and knuckles rotating. “Like that?”

You moan and your cunt answers his question for you, squeezing his tip nicely. Before he knows it, you’re dropping all the way down till he feels your plushy cervix kissing his slit. It feels like you just punched him in the gut with how abrupt the feeling of being enveloped whole is.

“Oh god, holy shit! You’re so wet and tight and,” he’s wailing like an animal in the jaws of a predator and he’s physically unable to stop himself from gripping the carpet harshly to ground himself, “it’s bumpy inside, the perfect— perfect balance between—ngh— stimulation and plushy, soft, gooey— ahh it’s like clouds.”

“Yeah? Keep going Toru.” You’re clearly trying to mock his ramble but your tone is anything but a tease as you sit still, cockwarming him with reactive walls.

He’s lucky that he busted recently because he wouldn’t have been able to last this long otherwise, movement or not. But you’re fighting your own battle too. You’re so full, there’s a pang of radiating pain pinching your cervix that refuses to stretch to make room for Satoru’s lengthy cock and you’re trying your hardest to hold on until your body adjusts the way it’s meant to.

“Fuck!” You blurt after a long moment of trying to push down the feeling overwhelm, “I don’t think I can do it. It’s— It’s too much. It hurts.” You’re speaking in a completely genuine way for once, not even a small teasing comment about why his dick has to be so long; he can tell you’re actually scared.

Satoru immediately sits up and grabs onto your waist, eyes flicking over your expression quickly. “It hurts?” he repeats softly, clearly concerned and attempting to console you, “Okay, breathe. You’re okay, I’m here, I’m with you, I’ve got you. Your body can stretch, it’s made to stretch for this.”

You take a deep breath and nod as he speaks, brows pinched as you attempt to hold your focus on his coos and not the invading, pulsing flesh within you.

“I can feel you twitching,” you whine, head thrown back briefly, “stop it.”

“I can’t control it,” Satoru defends, using his thumbs to gently rub circles into your waist, over your shirt.

“It’s your dick,” you whimper, dropping to rest your forehead onto his shoulder, “Tell it to stop hurting me.”

He hums, entertaining your words and the next thing you know, a lanky hand is snaking under your shirt to lay flat and warm on your lower tummy.

“Stop hurting her,” Satoru scolds his mounted penis, “Or I swear I’m gonna take you out of this amazing, warm little pussy and you’ll go right back into your boxers. You hear me?”

Your pussy involuntarily convulses around him, hearing him indulge your little sillies in such an oddly sexy way. You both breathe out a groan at the delicious feeling.

You lift your head, breathing heavily with lidded, hazy eyes. “That helped,” you mumble as you shove your lips onto his eagerly, nudging his head back slightly at the force and making him hum.

He locks his lightly dry lips onto your soft ones as immediate as possible, not allowing the risk of missing out on your sweet pecks like before when he could barely keep up.

But this isn’t a peck, you’re tilting your head, side to side as your lips smooch, keeping them interlocked between ‘chu’s.’

Your eyes peek open because, your intuition was right, his intensely blue irises are staring at you through his lenses. You unlatch as you push his shoulder, lightly, not keen on accidentally making his hips jolt. “Why are your eyes open? Close them while we kiss,” you scold, feeling a light heat rise within your cheeks.

He licks his lips to taste you instinctively. “What’s wrong with that? I want to look at you, you’re pretty.”

You roll your eyes half heartedly and slide your hands onto his shoulders to hold. “Open your mouth.”

You don’t give him a chance to respond because you’re shoving your wet tongue into his mouth, making him moan directly into yours. His hands tremble around your waist as they tighten their grip, using all of his will power to not listen to instinct and rut up into you.

“Wait wait—” he says between licks and you know he’s scared to accidentally hurt you.

You shake your head and hum a denial. “It’s okay, you won’t,” you breathe before latching back on.

He tastes like lingering traces of sugary soda and a hint of tic-tacs, but mostly like natural saliva. His tongue is sloppy and a bit odd in how it meets yours, but it’s his and you can’t help but desire for more of it as it lathers and lathes yours.

“Okay,” you pull back impatiently, “Let’s fuck.”

“Fuck— fuck,” Satoru grunts frantically, face clenching, “don’t say that, I’m gonna ejaculate too quick.”

“No, you won’t,” you soothe him, almost like you’re speaking it into existence, ignoring the instinct to make fun of his word choice.

He whines, but then gathers his determination and nods. “Okay, okay— mhm— should I move?”

You shake your head. “No, me first.”

You softly raise your hips, using your knees on either side of his body for grounding, until half of him is glistening and exposed. His mouth hangs open and his eyes have glazed over where they lock onto your connection.

You take a deep breath and drop all of your weight down until he’s sliding right back into his little nook within you. “Nngh..!” he moans on impact, brows pinching aggressively into a defensive pout. “Was that okay? Are you okay? Did it hurt? Because I think you stretched a little more—”

You cut him off by rubbing your nose into his with closed eyes, humming in affection as you squeeze his shoulders lightly. “I’m okay,” you dismiss, resting your forehead on his, “How does it feel? Good?”

“You,” he pauses to shakily breathe out deeply and slowly as his hands start massaging your waist in primal instinct, “You feel like heaven. I love you.”

You huff and lean away with an amused look. “Tell me when you’re about to cum,” you warn him suddenly, and you don’t leave any room for him to answer because your hips begin to ride. His thick head is immediately slamming against all of the sensitive parts inside you, nudging your g-spot deliberately with each embrace.

“Oh shiiiit,” his voice undulates with the pace of your thrusts, and his glasses are already lying crooked on his face due to the recoil his body is taking. “Oh my god— nngh! oh!”

“Yeah?” you breathe out with pinched brows, “Does my pussy feel better than— mmh!— your mouth, Satoru?”

His eyes are threatening to roll continuously, but he’s trying so hard to keep them straight and on your blissed out face. “Your pussy is— oh fuck— so much better. I want to live inside of you— please keep going.”

“I’m not stopping, I’m not stopping.” You’re cooing at him, sloppily, and as if you’re desperate for more, you transition to start bouncing. The impact of the change in positioning and the force of gravity aiding in your movement makes Satoru absolutely keen. His toes curl and his abdomen clenches painfully. The squelch of your connection is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard and felt.

“Oh no, oh no,” Satoru grits pleadingly and his surprisingly strong hold on your waist subconsciously tightens to the point that it’s tough to continue to bounce through it at the velocity you are. “I’m gonna cum— I’m gonna cum— I can’t hold it.”

“Are you sure? Right now?” You question him through moans with hope that he’ll be able to hold it.

“I’m sure! Fuck! Don’t get off, just stop moving.” He’s biting his lower lip so hard that he could very well bite it clean off.

You stop at the next bounce, whining like you’ve been stabbed once you settle. His cock whimpers within you too, like it’s threatening to bust at any moment, begging to make this amazing place inside you it’s new home, decorated with little Toru’s DNA and a welcome mat. His dick doesn’t have to know English for Satoru to know that it won’t be accepting anything less than your pussy from now on; he can say goodbye to the makeshift pocket pussy made out of a Pringles can, gloves, and tissues already dusting in his cabinet.

“What’s wrong? Are you gonna cum?” you question, you were already preparing to hop off and jerk him onto your face or into your mouth.

He gulps between deep breaths, trying to catch it and calm down. He massages your hips and waist and ribs, up and down, affectionately. “I don’t wanna cum until you do,” he explains with a gleam of a heart within his eyes. “How do I do that?”

You smile and exhale deeply at his question. “I don’t think I can cum unless you do something to my clit.”

It’s obvious to the both of you that he won’t be able to maintain that if you start bouncing again.

“Oh!” You grab onto him reactively when he suddenly flips you over onto your back with his large hand protecting the back of your skull and the other wrapped around your back.

You let out a gasping moan at the new angle the second your back hits the carpet when his cock wetly sinks all the way back into you. Gravity. “Oh,” you whimper at how deep he is, socked feet and thighs twitching mid air beside his ribs.

His breath fans your face, hands on either side of your head. He’s holding himself together, brows drawn in. “I’m gonna make you orgasm,” he pledges to you like a knight on his knees, eyes digging their way into yours.

“You are?” Your response shakes out airily as he falls down to rest on his forearms beside your head, face inches from yours and white hair leaning down with gravity. His boxers are showing over the expanse of his covered ass and his sweatpants are halfway down as he lies in between your bloomed legs.

He nods with determination as he shoves his glasses up, but they fall back to the lower part of his bridge just as fast. “Can I start humping?” His intention within that geeky phrasing is so pure that your heart can’t help but flutter into little butterflies.

You lift your head at a snails pace, eyes refusing to stray from his pink lips until you connect in a soft, caress of a kiss. “Go ahead,” you smile into his mouth.

Yearning for the life between your thighs, forced to pull the distance just to regain closeness again, his hips gradually pull back until he’s almost completely gone, and then he’s thrusting back inside, experimentally.

Your lips part with the drive of it in perfect synchronicity, sharing the experience of deriving pleasure from one another with a shiver.

He repeats it, this time brisker, and his eyes roll. “Oh that’s so good,” he expresses, and getting lost in the sauce, his isolated thrusts turn into a sloppy, inexperienced pace of its own, your legs brunting the force with every collision. You’re sucking him in with every draw back and milking him when he’s fully seated.

His soggy cock sadly slips out when his focus flickers and his desperate hips lose direction; pleasure like this is blinding for an eager virgin. He takes the opportunity to breathe and recenter, slouching down to press his forehead to your collarbones as his bobbing cock jumps and pulses in yearning over your sloppy pussy.

You rub the back of his head soothingly while the other kneads his alarmingly muscular back.

He exhales against your skin. “‘M still gonna make you cum,” he mumbles and you hum with a warm smile, eyeing the ceiling as you soothe him. “Just need a second.”

“Take a second,” you hum and lazily rub the inside of your calf against his side. “But I’m so empty,” you whisper against the top of his head like you’re casting a sultry spell, “and so ‘lubricated.’ It would be such a shame if your cock didn’t fill that space inside of my gooey—”

“Jesus fuuck,” he moans and shivers, whining at your words that seem to be just fucking right. He picks his head up to level with yours again, “Okay, okay. I’m good. I’m ready.”

He reaches down without looking, grasping his shaft to lead it back into you. He pokes your lower hole and you squeak, “Wrong hole! Higher— higher, Satoru.”

“Oh,” he breathes a huff into your face, a geeky smile on his lips.

He pokes your clit. “Too high. You need some help, Satoru?” You’re teasing him, but you’d still gladly do it for him if he needed you to.

He shakes his head and you nudge his glasses up for him before they potentially fall all the way off. “I got it, I got it.” He sticks his tongue out of the corner of his lips in concentration as he takes his hand off of his cock to search for your pussy, blindly.

Your abdomen clenches inward in a jolting fashion when he lays his long fingers over the entirety of your pussy. “Just need to see where..” he trails off with focus, eyes locked on nothing in particular over your head.

His bony fingers start pawing, groping, and spreading your folds, probing them like he’s trying to memorize the anatomy. Your hips and abdomen muscles are jerking with his rough touch, letting out a few whines as you writhe. “What are you doing?”

“There it is,” he breathes, ignoring your gasp as his fingers poke at the clenching entrance to your insides, “See, baby? Got it.”

He hurriedly shoves his dick into you to the hilt, while he still remembers where it’s at, with a deep, loud, throaty exhale of relief you’d only hear from a forty year old man. Your hands snap to grip his back, nails pushing into the cloth as your spine arches into him. “Satoru— nngh!” you groan in shock at the sudden impaling of your guts.

“Yeahh,” he sighs, nudging your face to the side with his to nose at your neck, “My name, keep saying that.”

Your jaw drops as he brutally begins to thrust deeper than before, like he’s stabbing you with every hit, he sucks and licks at the side of your neck unsteadily. He reaches between your bodies and finds your beating clit while you squeak on every thrust like you’re a sharp-teethed dog’s stuffed squeaky toy.

You can literally feel the tendons in his forearm undulate against your tummy as he swipes electricity through your clit and into your legs, down to your curling toes. Now that he’s destroying you, it’s clear that previously, inexperienced Satoru was striving to grasp an understanding of holding a steady pace before he could attempt at multitasking his focus onto your clit as well.

He pulls back from your neck to search your expression with upmost curiosity. He can see the clear change in your every expression at the new advancement. “Ohh, oh— that feels good, huh?” He’s almost taunting you and cooing at you simultaneously.

You nod eagerly as your arms scramble to wrap under his arms to hold onto his sweaty shoulder blades from behind for balance; since he’s so tall, you have to reach a bit. The gymnastics your mind would have to go through to tease him back is shut off and being bypassed completely as he manipulates an orgasm to appear within the distance.

“Little magic button,” Satoru huffs as drool seeps out of the corner of your parted lips, moaning like you’re being hurt.

“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, nodding again like it’s your job, “don’t change pace. Don’t stop— please.” He hisses when your nails start clawing down his back muscles, but he couldn’t care less about pain right now, there’s a wicked, domintating look of euphoria on his face.

“Cum, please, cum— I need you to cum. I’m not stopping,” he confirms into your ear before slobbering all over it. He’s been holding back the need to burst within you for too long already but he’d sooner pull out and continue to rub at you in hope of maintaining the build of your peak and then diving back in when his high dissipates than cum before you.

“Oh my god, it’s happening!” You cum with a shuddering, pathetic whine that turns into a silent cry, overwhelmed by the burst of white love and the piercing of his teeth into your soft neck.

He’s in bliss knowing he’s finally pushing you over the edge, but the feeling of your cunt squeezing in convulsions he’s only read online about happening when a woman experiences an orgasm and her body instinctively goes through the primal motions of milking the penis within of all the sperm it can offer, he falls over the edge. He wouldn’t have been able to cut off his high even if he yanked himself out this very second.

His hips slam one last jack hammer as deep into your cunt as as he can penetrate before he holds still in your guts, making you, ‘guh!’ like you’ve been stabbed.

“Thank you! I’m sorry— fuuck! Thank you!”

He can’t help but abandon your clit as he falls of the cliff, though you don’t even need it anymore. That first spurt of cum travels through his convulsing cock and shoots into your cervix, bullseye. His leg muscles shake as he repeats those slurs of gratitude and apologies into the skin of your cheek with slobbery, drooling lips.

You can feel the violent pulses of his cock, indicating he’s spurting cum into your tummy, but all you can do is hold onto him in a deep embrace as you catch your breath, coming to the conclusion of your orgasm.

You’re spent. He groans as his lips smear down your cheek, over your jaw and then down to tuck his face into your neck, leaving a trail of drool in their wake. Suddenly, his extremely tense body turns to heavy deadweight and drops fully on top of you. He’s now a starfish, arms and legs flailed out while his softening cock is still snug inside your continually massaging, convulsing walls. He’s sweating and you can smell his specific musk more potently, though most of you is instinctively comforted and weirdly domestically affected by it.

“Satoru,” you whine and writhe underneath him, air knocked out of you due to the 300 pound fish on top of you, “you’re heavy.”

Satoru blurts a tired noise, making you groan and squeeze your legs together around his hips.

He noses at your neck and starts kitten licking it, making your insides squeeze and twist around his sensitive cock. His ass clenches. “Oh! Oh! Tight!” he hisses as if he’s touched a hot surface but refuses to pull out.

“It’s your— ngh— fault,” you mewl, hitting his back weakly. “Don’t lick me like that!”

He lethargically pulls his face out of your neck to smirk at you. “I made you cum so hard.” Proud. Cocky. Borderline sexy— and then he ruins it by sniffling with obvious mucus.

You squint at him accusingly. “And you came inside me.”

He huffs nervously and shoves his glasses up. “Yeah.. I’m sorry.”

You sigh. “You know I can’t take plan b, right?”

He blinks at you and his face pales a bit. “W-What? Why? I can buy it— ”

“Because it’s really bad for your body,” you flick his forehead, “I told you to tell me when you were going to cum for a reason, stupid.”

“Fuck.” He drops his forehead down onto the carpet beside yours. His, already half hard, cock twitches against your walls.

A long pause. You’re almost suspecting that he’s turned on by the idea of impregnating you.

He lifts his head, brows pinched. “We’re having a baby?”

“No, Satoru.” You sigh and rub the top of his head comfortingly, “I’m not ovulating so hopefully it just.. doesn’t stick.”

He immediately shakes his head as if that just won’t do. “No, it’s gonna stick. Gojo sperm always makes it home on the first try.”

You blink and your face screws up as you attempt to process his words. “What are you talking about? How could you possibly know that?”

“My dad told me when I hit puberty,” he adjusts his body so he can lean on his forearms and you both emit a soft sound at the incidental movement down below, “Grandpa told him the same thing. He was a first try baby, my dad was too, and so was I. All boys too.”

He grabs onto the sides of your head in a caress, then sniffles causally and smiles down at you like he didn’t just drop a bomb on you— more accurately, inside of you.

“Satoru,” you say his name like it should trigger some kind of common sense in this scenario, “We are not having a child while we’re still in college and live with our parents.”

“Your intentions don’t change the very real science of my sperm traveling within your uterus, right now.. You know that, right?”

You grab onto his biceps and glare at him while his dick is still plugging your cunt that’s filled to the brim with Gojo sperm. “I’m not joking. I am not getting pregnant Satoru— I mean fuck! We just had sex for the very first time ever.”

He leans down and smooshes his arrogant lips to yours, ignoring your fists hitting his arms stubbornly. His tone lowers to a whisper as he speaks against your lips.

“Does that mean we’re gonna have sex again?”

“Oh my god, I need to get out of here,” you start squirming and shoving at his chest futilely, “I can’t believe I let you put your dick in me.”

“Okay, okay. Look, it’s useless to worry about hypotheticals,” Satoru calms you logically and gives you a serious look. “Okay? We’re okay. You’re okay.”

You exhale and nod, minutely, hands stilling against his chest.

He leans in close your lips, breath mingling. “Your insides feel so fucking good. I wanna stay in here forever.” He slides his tongue against the seam of your lips before kissing them like it’s natural.

“Yeah?” you hum into it with hands sliding down to his chest and bumpy abs and then up again. Satoru is weirdly muscular and eerily strong, a sleeper build if you will. You hadn’t realized due to the continuous long sleeves and pants covering him— he also usually wears the same clothes everyday since he barely does laundry unless his mother does it.

You squeak when you feel his cock begin to stretch your insides out as it hardens. “You’re already hard again??”

“I told you,” he muffles into your mouth, refusing to part ways enough to speak coherently, “Gojo anatomy is just different.”

He leans down and starts licking your neck like an affectionate cat, again. “I’m never gonna be able to look your dad in the eyes again.” You cringe at the idea of Satoru’s father being a good cum shot.

“Hey,” he nips at your neck with sharp teeth, making you hiss, “you’re not allowed to think about anyone’s penis but mine right now.”

“Why do you say it like that?” You giggle as his nibbles tickle your skin and you mock his tone dramatically, making it extra nasally, “Penis.”

“That is it’s proper title.” He pulls away to eye you with judgement, like you’re the stupid one.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say cock once.” You snicker at him, grinning in amusement as you eye his expression. “Say it.”

“Cock.”

You blink.

You giggle.

You mock him, quietly. “Cock.”

“Oh yeah? Okay, how about this,” he hums and his voice drops into a warm, sultry embrace, “I’m gonna fuck my cock into your fucking heavenly cunt. What’s one more load, hmm?”

The tingles that spark in your abdomen suddenly erupt into an explosion and you let out a shuddering gasp when Satoru suddenly starts grinding thoroughly into you again with a fully erect ‘cock.’

Maybe walking in on your childhood friend sucking his own dick was meant to be <3

He looks…distinctly inhuman. Not just inhuman, but also not himself. Apart from the pointed ears and the glow in his eyes and those bright, iridescent wings (you’ll focus on that later, you decide), Kyryll is also not wearing a shirt with his hair hanging in a loose bun to keep it out of his face. He looks hot and sweaty and flushed—so unlike that typical collected, well-dressed, and polished man that you know who always runs a little cold. 

“I was looking for you?” You blink at him as you answer like it’s obvious, “You missed work.”

“Yes. That was an intentional decision,” he says, closing his eyes and gritting his jaw. He turns away from you, as if the sight of you physically makes him sick. You’re a little offended. “You should not have come here.”

“What? I have not seen or heard from you in almost a week! How do you think it makes me feel when I have to hear from your superiors, of all people, that you’ve taken a personal leave from—”

He exhales, the sound thin and weary. “Yes,” he says at last, each word carefully measured, “I took leave—for a reason.”

You blink at him, frowning. “And that reason would be?”

He closes his eyes, his jaw flexing as though he’s counting to ten in his head. “A personal one,” he replies evenly, though there’s a faint tremor in the calm of his voice. “When I am ready to return, I will do so. Until then, I would be grateful if you allowed me some solitude.”

“Solitude?” you echo, incredulous. “Kyryll, that’s not how this works. You don’t just vanish without a word and call it solitude. You didn’t reach out, you missed work for nearly a week—I was worried.”

“I am aware,” he says quietly, gaze lowering. “And for that, I apologize. It was never my intent to worry you.”

“Then what was your intent?” you demand, stepping closer as you cross your arms. “Because you can’t just disappear and expect me to act like that’s normal.”

A muscle in his cheek twitches. He’s clearly fighting something internal, trying desperately not to let it show. When he speaks again, his voice is soft, careful. Pleading, even. “I know what this looks like to you. I know it seems as though I am shutting you out. But please—believe that it is not from malice or indifference. I simply cannot…be as I should, not right now.”

You hesitate, your irritation giving way to confusion. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” he groans, “that there are parts of me I would rather you never see. And those parts are…difficult to keep hidden at present.”

You stare at him. You blink once, then twice, then you stare some more. “I have no idea what you’re implying, but your solution is to just lock yourself away and say nothing? That is ridiculous.”

He sighs, the sound faintly exasperated. “It is not ideal. But it is safer—for you, and for me.”

“Are you in danger? What is going on? Is something after you? Is it the wild hunt? Maybe we can—”

“You need to leave,” he cuts you off. “Please.”

That part makes you pause. He adds that last part with a broken, croaky little voice—like he’s begging, and it’s so bordering on pure desperation, you almost feel scared. What could possibly have happened in less than a week’s time to make him plead not to see you? To skip work? To…to look so different and not human?

Because he isn’t like you. Kyryll is not human, you realize. Concern for the man you are courting has caused you to overlook that very obvious fact for a moment, but reality has dragged you back to its awful truth and slapped the cold, hard facts into your shaky little sweaty palms and said: Look, the man you think you love is not who you think he is. 

You stare at him, the question caught somewhere between your throat and your lungs. What is he, exactly? His face looks the same—still that sharp-boned, beautiful thing you adore so much—but now, under the dim light of his living room, there’s something wrong. Perhaps not wrong, exactly. Just...unfamiliar. His skin seems to shimmer faintly, and his eyes almost illuminate the dark around him, and his ears—his ears are just a touch too pointed when he turns his head.

“Kyryll,” you breathe, “what’s happening to you?”

He exhales, a sound that almost feels laced with dread. “Nothing is happening to me—I am exactly as I am intended to be. Some traits that humans would consider abnormal are…well, they are not so rare amongst non-humans.”

You furrow your brows. “You mean to tell me you’re the latter?”

What a silly question, your mind hisses, what else would those features imply?

He hesitates, eyes closing as though it hurts to confess. “You have heard before, perhaps, that Snezhnaya was once a realm of the fae,” he says softly. “A race that is no longer of any importance, but one that does exist. I am proof enough of that, simply by standing before you.”

“And when were you going to tell me that?” you ask, your voice trembling just slightly. You wonder what that sinking feeling in your chest is—fear, perhaps? Are you scared of him? Scared of what he is, or what he isn’t? Scared that he is something else entirely, something beyond you?

No, you think faintly. Human or not, Kyryll would never hurt you. He would never let harm come your way—certainly not from himself. The ache that blooms inside you is not fear at all, but something heavier, deeper, more hurtful: the knowledge that Kyryll does not trust you. That he cannot bring himself to believe you would see him for what he truly is and still love him—that your eyes would see the what of him before the who.

“My light, it was never my intention to deceive you,” he says, pleading now. “I simply wished for more time—to cherish you as you are before the truth might…alter things between us.”

“Alter things how, exactly?” you frown. “Alter things because I’d leave? You think I can’t be trusted—is that it?”

“No.” He smiles sadly—a fragile little smile that still does something painful to your heart, easing and tightening it all at once. “No, it was never that I doubted your trust,” he murmurs. “Only whether I deserved it, once my nature was known. For that, I must apologize. I should not have hidden it from you. You are far too precious a person to entangle yourself with someone like me.”

“Oh, be quiet, you fool,” you huff, stepping closer to him. You press your palm to his cheek, and he leans into the touch with a soft, startled breath. “Self-pity will not earn you any leniency. Do not lie to me again. Understand?”

“Fae cannot lie,” he smiles faintly, eyes fluttering shut as your thumb brushes his skin. “Should we attempt it, we sicken. Very gravely, in fact.”

“Ah,” you nod with mock solemnity, “so you’re simply skilled in manipulation. How comforting.”

He laughs, just barely—a sound that fades too quickly as he pulls back, though not far enough to escape your curiosity. Your hand drifts upward, fingers brushing the sharp point of his ear. He flinches.

“Now…is perhaps not the best moment to be touching—”

“You also have wings?” you interrupt in awe, gently maneuvering him to turn around. He stiffens as your finger traces delicately up his spine from the small of his back. “Can you fly?”

“No,” he says shakily, “they would not support my weight. They are not a particularly useful trait of the fae—merely an aesthetic one, if anything.”

“Very aesthetical indeed,” you giggle.

“That is not a real word,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. His breath hitches when your finger drifts to the place where the fragile wing meets his warm skin. His skin is never warm. Kyryll runs rather cold—you complain about it often when you curl against his side. (It never stops you from cuddling him, of course, but the complaints never cease, either.)

“Hm, still clinging to your extensive knowledge of words, are you?” You roll your eyes. 

You gently rub along that small network of veins where translucent skin fades into flesh, where the shimmer of his wings dissolves against the pale slope of his back. The base of each wing seems impossibly fragile—paper-thin, like spun glass, yet alive and keenly receptive to your touch. They rise from just below his shoulder blades, delicate membranes threaded with faint iridescence, catching the light in colors that shift like oil on water. You stare in awe at that narrow strip of skin between wing and back. It’s softer, almost silken, and the sensation is strange—cool, like morning dew, yet trembling with a pulse beneath your fingertips, as though burning from beneath.

The wings flutter instinctively the more your touch wanders, a tremor rippling through the transparent folds and making him flinch—a sharp breath pulled through his teeth.

“Does that hurt?” you ask, pausing in concern.

He shakes his head, though his voice is strained when he answers. “No. They are just…sensitive.”

“I see,” you breathe in fascination. 

They are sensitive—you can feel it under your fingertips. His skin there runs cold, but the pulse beneath it beats hot and fast, trembling through the thin lattice of veins. The wings twitch involuntarily, like they’re trying to fold in on themselves to escape your touch, or maybe reach for it—you cannot quite tell. When you trace your thumb along the joint where the wing anchors to his spine again, his breath catches once more, rougher this time. The friction of your touch draws a low sound from him, half-strained, half-pleasured. The wings shiver—and then so does he.

“Kyryll?” you ask softly.

He only lets out a sharp inhale in response.

“Are you…” You falter. How do you even phrase it? How do you ask your boyfriend—who has only just shared with you his origins as something not human—the burning question at the back of your mind? There is clearly something in his system, something woven into his bloodline, his very DNA, the framework of who he is, that makes him so…pent up. (That is the only phrase you can think of.) “Is…is there something happening with you? Biologically, at least?”

He goes still at your words. The question hangs between you with thick enough tension in the air that you feel like it physically separates you, and for a moment, he seems unable to breathe. When he finally does, it’s shallow—careful.

“I—” His voice breaks, then steadies, smooth and practiced as though he’s forcing it into place. “That is…a delicate subject.”

You take a small step back. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable. I just—”

“I know.” His hand reaches and grabs yours, thumb brushing softly over your knuckles before promptly letting go. His eyes flick to yours—bright, sharp, and mesmerizing in the low light. You wonder how you never caught on before that he could not be human. “I did not intend for you to see me in such a state. It is a rather shameful condition—one might say it is…seasonal, or perhaps instinctive. A remnant of older blood. It makes my body…less easily governed.”

He swallows hard, turning his face away. The fine tremor in his wings betrays the effort it takes to keep control.

You reach out before thinking, fingers hovering over his arm. “Hey,” you say quietly, “you don’t have to be ashamed. I’m not afraid of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His laugh is soft, almost bitter. “You should be. There are things in me, desires in me, that are not…proper. Not human. When such old instincts rise, I am ruled by them more than I care to admit.”

He finally meets your gaze again, and something raw flickers there—fear, want, and the painful effort of restraint. The air between you tightens. Something shifts. Something that pulls you towards him just as fiercely as he wants to push you away. You ache to close that gap he wants so badly to put between you—a naive and optimistic thought process, perhaps. Kyryll knows himself and his state of mind better than you do. 

He has lived through it. For hundreds of years, evidently, and you have only known him for so long. He is perhaps, wisely so, protecting you from a part of himself that requires protection against. But you don’t find his warnings—nor his pleas for that matter—to stay away from him until this passes worth listening to. You won’t. You can’t bring yourself to. 

He looks unwell—he looks pained and in suffering and alone in this small, little home of his where nothing is there to ease his troubles, no one is there to ease his burdens or his aches. You take one look at that soft, rosy flush on his cheeks, the dampness of his clammy skin, the somehow even darker circles beneath his honeyed eyes, and you cannot fight the instinct in your heart that longs to take care of him however he needs it. The instinct that just as easily governs over your body against your will as Kyryll’s governs over his. 

Love, perhaps, is what your heart would call it. Foolishness, on the other hand, is what your mind would say. 

“It hardly happens,” he whispers, keeping his face turned insistently away from you, “once every decade or so, there are urges…and they are not very pure in nature. I am ashamed to admit I am unable to keep from harboring improper thoughts about you, my dear. It would be in your best interest to leave before I am incapable of controlling myself any longer.”

“Forgive me for being so candid,” you say with a small grin, amusement threading through your voice, “but we’ve been intimate before, you silly thing. What exactly are you trying to protect me from—sex? Kyryll, we’ve done that plenty of—”

“No.” His voice cuts through yours, low and sharp, carrying a kind of desperation that stills you. “This is hardly comparable.” He turns toward you finally, and even though his expression is composed, his eyes are not. They are hungry and wild, and his pupils almost dilate at the sight of you. His wings twitch behind him, restless. “This is not a desire one can reason with,” he continues quietly. “It is old. It does not recognize affection or care—only need. And I would sooner burn myself hollow than make an object of you.”

For a moment, you weigh his words. You can see how much effort it costs him to hold himself still, to speak in measured tones instead of instinct. So much care and respect are woven into that tense, agonized distance he keeps between you both as he wills himself to stand still. And you decide that you want none of it.

You do not care about his self-imposed moral limits and boundaries. He needs you—and by the Gods, you are going to give him what he needs.

“Kyryll,” you say firmly, the earlier humor gone from your voice. “You could have told me sooner.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling shakily. “And ruin the illusion that I am civilized?”

You shake your head, stepping closer despite his warning. “You never needed illusions with me. I am the first person you should be able to turn to when you need something—when you need someone to take care of you.”

“You cannot take care of me in this form,” he clicks his teeth, patience slowly wearing thin. (He is certainly not in his right mind after all, you deduce—your Kyryll is never impatient with you. Not his usual self, at least.)

“I can,” you say stubbornly, “and I will because there is no way I am leaving you like this to suffer—so if you must use me for your own pleasure, then I think that is exactly what I will have you do because I want it of my own will. See? It is fine now, so come here and—”

“You are playing dangerous games,” his voice is deeper, lower, almost a throaty sound that vibrates in a way you’ve never heard from his usual rich, smooth, almost velvety voice. “Humans are not meant to withstand this level of…depravity that becomes my nature—”

“You are infuriatingly stubborn,” you roll your eyes. 

You step closer, moving to wrap your arms around his neck. He catches your wrists before you can press yourself closer against him. His grip is gentle, but his hand trembles as he holds yours. His pupils are blown wide, the faint iridescence of his eyes flickering like they are something alive, something of a soul of their own. “Do not tempt me,” he breathes. “You do not understand what you are inviting.”

“I think I do,” you say softly. “You’re suffering, and I won’t stand by and watch it.”

He shakes his head, his voice dropping to a low, strained murmur. “It is not the kind of suffering you can easily mend. The endurance of a fae and that of a human are…not measured in the same way.”

“I’ve never been afraid of a little imbalance,” you counter, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I like a good challenge.” For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. The air between you holds still—tense, waiting. 

And then he caves.

His hand rises to your jaw, tentative at first, as though he’s still convincing himself he shouldn’t. But the moment his skin meets yours, all restraint shatters. You’re pulled in for a kiss just as fervently as you lean in for one. Neither of you can say for certain who leans in first—who reaches for the other first. You don’t think you’d ever truly know. 

His breath his hot against your mouth, and it comes out in nothing but heavy, short puffs of air that he all but gasps for. For all his stamina as a fae that he claims to have, he seems almost out of breath from just a little kissing. Your hands wander along his back, gently rubbing against the delicate portion between skin and wings as he lets out a surprised groan of pleasure at the feeling. You giggle into his mouth as he flinches in shock from the touch.

“You weren’t lying,” you murmur into his lips, “they really are sensitive, aren't they?”

“Amused, are we?” he huffs into your mouth. 

“Maybe a little,” you admit cheekily. He only grunts in response—Kyryll in a rut is a Kyryll with very few words that he can articulate, you realize. 

You feel the bulge of his cock against your thigh as he flips you around to press you against the wall, caging you with his tall, strong body as his hands desperately cup your jaw and angle your face up, kissing you with more hunger than before. It’s hot, his erection—you can feel that sheer warmth of it through the fabric and layers of clothes, and it’s thick and twitching through his pants in a way you’ve never felt him before, as though he’s already responding to absolutely nothing from how starved he really is for anything. 

You move your thigh up, pressing it between his legs to slot perfectly against his crotch. He all but whimpers at the feeling—shuddering against you before his lips break away from yours and his face buries into your neck. 

“D-don’t stop,” he pleads, “more. I need…more.”

“I know,” you soothe, gently tugging the hair tie that keeps his long strands in that low bun until it frees his hair and lets it fall down his back. Your fingers stroke through them, delicately raking your nails along his scalp as you murmur, “I know, baby. You need more. Got it.”

He shivers at the pet name, and you smile fondly. You would have preferred to relieve him of such a clear ache with more gratifying methods, but Kyryll does not allow himself to detach from you long enough for you to even reach for the waistband of his pants and use your hand. Your thigh is as good as he allows you to pleasure him with the way he’s pressed so close to your personal space. You feel him grind against it with his own pace, meeting your movements halfway as he chases the friction against his hardened cock. 

When your fingers move back to his back, tracing the sensitive little networks of veins along the base of his wings, he groans into your neck, biting into your skin hard enough that it stings just a little. 

“Does it feel good when I touch here?” You press gently into the base of his wing for emphasis. 

He lets out a soft, breathless, almost whiny sound as he nods shakily. “Y-yes,” he swallows thickly, “very…very good.”

“How cute,” you giggle. “You are so cute.”

“M’close,” he gasps, “so…so, so close.”

“Already?” you blink in shock–you’ve really only hardly begun, “but we—”

You don’t even get to finish your thoughts before the sound of his voice, gravelly and thick with pleasure, cuts you off. 

“F-fuck, I…I’m s-sorry,” he slurs his words incoherently, “‘m…c-cumming—”

You feel the familiar rush of warmth as he spills into his pants. (Kyryll has only cum in his pants once before—one night after he had a glass of wine too many, and you’d dragged your aching core against his own throbbing sensation between his legs as you shifted on his lap between kisses. It was cute then—seeing the adorable pinkness on his cheeks as he’d stuttered an apology. You enjoyed the slightly damp feeling of his release against your leg.)

But this time…it’s a little different. He absolutely soils his own clothes as much as yours. You can tell that much just seconds into his orgasm—the sheer amount of his seed that seeps through the fabric of his pants and dampens yours has you shocked. It’s…a lot. More than normal. More than you thought possible. Clearly not a very human amount, considering he is…well, very much not human. But you try your best to keep the steady rhythm of your thigh grinding against his crotch since he has stopped moving himself in favor of stilling—his body is taut and stiff as he shudders through every wave of his high, gasping into your neck and letting out choked moans against your skin. 

“S-sorry,” he rasps, “I did not…I had not meant to tarnish your c-clothes with—ngh—” 

He cuts his own sentence off with a low grunt as another thick, warm rope of cum spills from the head of his swollen cock. You shake your head in response to his apology—he does not need to apologize, you tell him softly—before gently rubbing his back as he rides out the last final waves of his orgasm. (It’s a long wave of pleasure—you’ve witnessed Kyryll fall apart quite a few times before. You like to consider your intimate life a display of healthy passion. It’s never lasted like this before, though—you don’t think you would forget it if you’d witnessed that sort of…well, spectacle seems not the kindest word for it. But it’s certainly a sight, that much is undoubtedly true. You decide not to comment on it for the sake of his feelings, however—you do not wish to embarrass him any further.)

“It’s okay,” you smile into his temple as you kiss it, “I don’t mind. Clothes can be washed, you know, silly.”

He pants into your neck, catching his breath for a brief moment before he reluctantly peels himself away from you. His face is even more flushed—his skin is practically glowing, and his wings seem even brighter as they droop into his back almost self-consciously. He doesn’t dare meet your eyes, as if his moment of self-indulgence is too shameful a scene for him to make peace with. You can practically hear his thoughts without him saying them—humping against your leg like that is the least dignified thing a man could do to the woman he cares for. Utterly unrefined and uncouth, and lacking in respect. 

You sigh, reaching to cup his cheek. “Hey,” you whisper gently, “don’t worry too much. Do you feel better now?”

He looks at you miserably. It’s only then does your gaze wander a little lower…and you realize that he is still hard. Very, very, very hard—in fact, you don’t think it ever stopped despite the way he clearly came undone just a moment ago. 

“Oh,” you breathe.

“…As you can see,” he says shakily, “this is not a problem that will resolve itself any time soon. Not even with your best efforts, I’m afraid.”

“So you need a few more rounds,” you shrug. He looks utterly horrified by your phrasing, which only makes you grin a little before you reach out to poke the tip of his nose affectionately. “I think I can handle that, baby—”

“No.” His voice sharpens, though there’s still that tremor of restraint beneath it. “You have already done far more than I deserve, my light. I will tend to the rest on my own. You should go—for your own sake, if not for mine. Though it pains me to watch you leave, it is the wisest course until I have recovered from this…condition of mine.”

“I’m not leaving,” you frown, your tone firm and unyielding.

He exhales, long and weary. “You are impossibly stubborn. Funny that you would have accused me of being just that, not too long ago.”

“I’m not!” you protest. “Look at you—you look like you’re in pain.”

“If you would kindly refrain from voicing such mortifying observations aloud,” he says with a tired sigh, “it would preserve what fragile shred of dignity I still possess, my dearest.”

You roll your eyes fondly. 

You and Kyryll are an oddly functioning couple. You only just started calling him by his first name a few weeks ago. Before that, he was simply Flins. Mister Flins, before that, when he was just a ratnik who had saved you from a creature of the wild hunt. 

Do be careful when you wander at night, Miss, he had said politely. 

And then he had been off on his way. You run into him time and time and time and time again after that. It’s an odd way the world works, you like to think—how you can meet someone so often after one encounter when just days before, you’d never been aware of their existence. How they can bleed into everything you know so suddenly, like they’d been there this entire time, even when you’d known nothing of them for so long. Your usual places, your usual routes and paths, your usual stops. All of them have been the same for long enough that you wonder if perhaps they have merged with your cells and become part of who you are. 

The one thing that was never there before was him. And then, as if the Gods had willed it, he was. Always, in every corner, it was Mister Flins. 

How funny of a way the world works that things are thrust into your small bubble against your will, invading the tiny space of what you know and becoming one with all the things you hold dear. 

Mister Flins at the market buying spices at the same time as you. Mister Flins walking down the same path as you are as he makes his way to his superior’s office. Mister Flins in the area to fix some broken part of his lamp. Mister Flins and a drink he asks to grab with you when you both happen to be free. Flins after that—he asks you kindly to drop the Mister. Flins and a nice dinner that he offers the bill for instantly. Flins at your place of work to escort you home in the evening—it’s dark out, you know, Miss. Flins in your kitchen as you make lunch while he’s in the area. Flins and that coat of his that he likes to drape over your couch when he’s here to stay for a while. Flins when you wake up in the morning, and he’s still there, tangled in the sheets with you. Flins who asks you to call him Kyryll, if you would accept—it’s only fair that two people who are courting use their proper names. 

How long of a way you have come—from calling him Mister and hoping if you might ever run into him again, to whispering Kyryll like it’s a prayer and letting yourself into his home as you please. How far of a way you still have to go—he is still too embarrassed to be open with the physical desire that consumes him so wholly despite being intimate with you so many times before. 

You wonder if a decade from now, Kyryll will warn you in advance that he will experience this same thing once more. If this time, instead of hiding from you, he might ask you to help him, take care of him. If he’ll trust you and put aside his composure and be fragile in your hands, so that you can carefully curl your hand and cup him in there, keeping him tucked into your hold, protected from the world. 

You sigh, shaking your head in fondness before you gently murmur, “If you would just shove aside your pride for a moment and understand that I do not find shame in your nature, then perhaps we might both have an enjoyable time. I don’t dislike being intimate with you, you know—it isn’t as though it’s a chore for me.”

He swallows, mulling over your words before his shoulders ease. A loose, breathless chuckle slips past his lips. “You are remarkably eager to bed me, my love.”

“Don’t be so smug,” you scoff, stepping toward him as your arms curl around his neck. 

He hums, burying his face into the juncture between your neck and shoulder and inhaling deeply, breathing in the scent of you. You can still feel the throbbing length tucked away in his tight pants—but you let him set his own pace for how he wants to do this. This is about him, you remind yourself, him and his…whatever this fever is called that has consumed him and turned him into a sexual-haze induced version of himself with mythical features you did not think people of this world could possess. 

You hesitate, voice gentle. “So…is this basically…like a rut or something?”

Kyryll stills, then exhales slowly against your skin. His laugh is quiet, resigned—the sound of a man who has given up on maintaining dignity. “If you insist on using such a barbaric term, then yes,” he murmurs, voice low and rueful. “It is something akin to that.”

“Ah,” you nod, trying not to grin. “Good to know.”

He lifts his head, eyes narrowing in faint amusement. “I can feel you laughing at me.”

“I would never,” you lie, smiling sweetly. Silence lingers for a beat before your curiosity wins out. “But wait—how come I never see your features like this? The ears, the wings…” your gaze drifts downward and back up again, “I’ve seen you naked plenty before, and those wings definitely weren’t there then.”

A soft sigh escapes him as he closes his eyes, the faintest trace of embarrassment lacing his tone. “I can usually hide them,” he admits quietly. “Most of my kind evolved to conceal the traits that set us apart. The wings, the ears—I have learned to keep them hidden away to pass unnoticed among humans.” His wings twitch faintly behind him, betraying his irritation. “But in this state…” his voice roughens slightly, “I cannot maintain that restraint. They emerge on their own.”

You hum thoughtfully. “So your wings come out when you’re horny.”

He groans, shoulders slumping. “You do have an unmatched talent for vulgar phrasing, my light.”

“I like to think it’s one of my more endearing qualities,” you grin, brushing a fingertip along the curve of his ear until he shivers. “Don’t you?”

He gives you a look—half exasperation, half resigned fondness. “Endearing is one word for it,” he murmurs dryly. “There are others I might choose.”

“Charming? Irresistible? The light of your lonely, dark little life?” you suggest, all innocent eyes.

“Insufferable,” he says immediately.

You press a hand to your chest in mock offense. “You wound me. Truly, so mean.”

“You’ll recover.” His lips twitch, betraying amusement. “You always do.”

You grin wider, leaning closer so your noses almost brush. “Only because I am so fond of you. The things I endure in order to love you are what some might consider horrors, you know.”

“I’ve watched you survive far worse than my teasing,” he replies, arching a brow. You hum thoughtfully. 

“True,” you whisper as you bite back a grin, “so surely, I can handle you when you are not entirely yourself.”

He exhales, a sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a laugh—soft, endeared. “Incorrigible,” he murmurs, though the word loses its bite when you rise on your toes and press your lips to his.

The kiss starts tentative, almost cautious. You test the waters, and he trembles faintly against you, as though afraid he might hurt you just by touching. But when you tilt your head and draw him closer by the back of his neck, that restraint begins to crack. His hands find your waist, firm yet so achingly soft the way that Kyryll always is, and he kisses you again—deeper this time. Harder. Like he means it. The kind of kiss that steals the breath right out of your lungs as he inhales it for himself.

You feel his heartbeat where your palms rest against his bare chest, and the faint shiver of his wings brushing against your hands as they travel from his sternum to his back. When you part for air, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath uneven, the tips of his pointy, adorable little ears flushed a faint shade of rose.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, his voice hoarse with longing.

“Positive,” you breathe, brushing your thumb over his lower lip. He presses a kiss to the pad of your finger before nodding. 

“You’ll try to stop me if it’s too much? Perhaps we should keep something heavy nearby so you may hit me if I do not listen to reason—I will certainly survive the blow and—”

“I am not hitting your head, Kyryll,” you gape, “and I’m not backing out, either. Now fuck me—I want you.”

“Must you say it just like that?” he asks tiredly. 

You giggle, nodding as you murmur, “How else will I prove my enthusiasm to feel you?”

That seems to undo him completely. He looks at you for a moment—good and long and hard before he kisses you again. This time, it’s with the kind of fervor that feels almost desperate now, stumbling a little as you both move in a tangle of limbs through the quiet rooms of his home. His hand stays at the small of your back, guiding you blindly toward the bedroom, though his mouth never leaves yours for long.

The journey there is clumsy and impatient—you nearly trip over a low stool in your rush, and he catches you with a low laugh that melts against your lips. His wings flutter, brushing against furniture, fragile things trembling with the same tension that threads through his entire body. He moans into your mouth every few moments, unable to keep his usual composure and bite back the sounds. You like this version of Kyryll—the version that makes his pleasure a loudly known fact rather than a politely kept secret. 

By the time your knees hit the edge of his bed, he’s panting harshly, worked back up to impatience for release as his body burns with tension.

“This is your last chance to leave while you easily can, you know,” he says lowly—his voice thick, hoarse, and edged with something that no longer sounds entirely human. Each word rasps as though dragged through gravel, deeper and rougher than before, echoing faintly in his chest before reaching you. The sound sends a shiver down your spine—not from fear, but from the strange, thrilling feeling of want piercing through your spine. 

You meet his gaze steadily. “I’m not backing out,” you say, your voice so firm and sure.

He closes his eyes, jaw tightening as though your words physically pull at the fraying thread of his control. “You do not understand what you invite, my light.”

“I don’t want to understand,” you whisper, reaching for him, “I just want you.”

His breath stutters at the touch. For a moment, he seems frozen, torn between his care for you and his instinct of desire. Then—as if his biology finally wins over—whatever fragile barrier he’s built around himself shatters. The sound that escapes him is low, almost feral, but still unmistakably him. 

“I told you,” he says gruffly, “I will not be guided by my affections. Yet you insist so firmly to see a version of me that only fucks you with instinct alone—is that what you truly want? A man as depraved and senseless as this? What little regard for your fragile, human body,” he chuckles. 

His mouth claims yours before you can reply—hard and bruising and all teeth, filled with a relentless urgency. You gasp, arching into his touch as his large, impatient hands tug you closer by your clothes. (So this is what he meant, you think—Kyryll is utterly lacking in his typical gentleness. No—in fact, his gentleness is completely gone.)

Your clothes are torn off in a swift motion. He does not bother disrobing you, does not bother taking his time to admire you, or tease you, or simply just bask in the moment of being so intimately close to you. Instead, he grabs the fabric with a rough hand, pulls with more force than you’ve ever seen from him, and tears the fabric without remorse. You gasp at the sight of it being completely irreparable. 

“Kyryll!” you hiss, “soiling clothes is one thing, but destroying them is an entirely separate—”

“Enough,” he cuts in, voice low and edged. “They were in my way. I will not waste time with trivial barriers.”

You shiver at the sound of such a rough tone in his voice. Long gone is the delicate, well-mannered, and well-spoken man you know—long gone is his patience and sweetness and lingering precision in everything he does. 

His hands squeeze at your hips in appreciation as he marvels at the sight of your curves and bare skin. “Mmh, and to think I was going to deny myself such a splendid gift—where such patience had graced me, even I myself cannot tell. No matter—I will make the most of such a wonderful blessing.” 

You’re dripping—his words alone, his sheer desire to use you alone, have made the ache between your legs worsen, and the pool of slick collecting there does the same. It coats your inner thighs, and when he roughly spreads your legs apart, humming at the sigh of your bare cunt, you whimper. 

“What a sight,” he groans, “I cannot wait until I am buried in the warmth of such a beautiful, perfect cunt.”

He is much less hesitant to use filthier words, too, you realize. And less focused on you and your pleasure as his fingers sink past the velvety walls of your pussy, curling deep into that spongy, sensitive spot that makes you mewl. Nothing about this is gentle. Nothing about it is thoughtful and giving and filled with adoration like Kyryll always is when he beds you. Nothing about it puts your pleasure above all else and does it for the sole purpose of making you feel good and feel his devotion. 

No. Instead, Kyryll fucks his fingers into you because he needs you prepped and ready to take his cock. He also wants to feel the warmth of your walls flutter around his fingers because his mind is in a filthy haze. You can tell because the way he groans as his fingers pump into you, scissoring and stretching you open, has nothing to do with the way you gasp and twitch from pleasure, but everything to do with the wet, squelching sound he hears and that shiny, messy essence that he sees coating his fingers. 

“So warm,” he moans, “how long before I can sink the entirety of my cock into such a perfectly awaiting pussy, I wonder.”

“K-Kyryll, please—”

“Say that again,” he demands, “say my name like that again. Say it.”

“Kyryll,” you sob brokenly. His fingertips are so cruel, slamming and curling into that sensitive spot so rough and fast, so impatient to get you gushing around him so that you are ready to take his cock with ease. “M’go-gonna…gonna cum—fuck!”

“There it is, my dove,” he smiles, pleased. “I knew you would do well—after all, you always give me just what I want, don’t you? It’s what you know best, isn’t it? Such a good, obedient human.” 

Your orgasm doesn’t last long—it’s not like the usual sort of high Kyryll coaxes out of you. It’s not soft and prolonged and doesn’t make you slip into a hazy, blissful state that makes you feel like you’re floating. Instead, it all but makes you black out, a wave of pleasure that absolutely wrecks you and shocks your body right to its core. It’s impatient and fast, and when you come down from the split second of pure white-hot pleasure, he is already there, studying your fluttering walls and humming in approval. 

“I think you are sufficiently ready, don’t you think, my dear?” he all but growls. 

You watch deliriously as he unzips his pants, quickly shrugging them and his boxers off in a swift movement and freeing his cock—and oh. You have seen his cock. You have taken his cock down your throat and deep in your walls, and you’ve felt the weight of it in your hand. You are not a stranger to the sight of Kyryll’s cock, but you are a stranger to his version of it—the version of it that has thicker veins that are practically glowing along the side of his length. The version of it that has messy, runny, iridescent pre cum leaking from the tip and coating his pink, flushed cockhead. The version of it that looks even bigger and thicker, and longer than you remember it. 

You gasp at the sheer sight of it, instinctively pressing your thighs together in…in what? You do not even know. In fear? In excitement? In need of relief at the sheer excitement it sends through your aching core, or in need of a break before you’ve even begun from the sheer size of it that will surely break you. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper, “oh my god, it…it’s not going to fit,”  you shake your head. “K-Kyryll, you’ll…you’ll break me.”

“Will I?” he chuckles, slightly mocking as he leans down and presses a flurry of kisses along your jaw, sucking and biting at your skin before he makes his way to your neck and inhales the scent of you once more. It occurs to you then that perhaps the scent of you has only been driving him more mad this whole time—that with the way he’s taken every opportunity to sniff at your skin, he must be absolutely overwhelmed by the scent of you. “I specifically remember you saying you would not mind doing this with me and that it was not a chore. Why the sudden change of heart?”

“L-look at the…the size of…of it!” you stutter, “that is not what it usually is!”

“We will easily make it fit, my dove,” he hums, “not to worry. There is no doubt that this pretty cunt will open up nice and slowly for me—after all, she is a good, good girl, isn’t she?”

He traces a thumb over your clit as he says that—and when you whine, jolting from the touch, he chuckles in a sick, almost twisted form of amusement. Without warning, he grabs a leg, hooking it over his shoulder as his hand squeezes the meat of your thigh and groans. 

“You were made for my taking,” he says, staring at your body as though he’s in a heavy trance. His eyes are wide and dilated, unfocused and almost wild as he rakes them over every section of bare skin he can. “I am going to take great pleasure in feeling the tight warmth of you wrapped around me—what a wonderful fate life has granted me, indeed.”

With that, he leans down to hover over you, and the knee tossed over his shoulder bends and practically meets your chest as he closes the gap and kisses you roughly. The thick, blunt head of his cock meets the entrance of your cunt, pushing past the folds slowly, carefully for a moment that you almost think that this is your Kyryll—the Kyryll that you know and love. 

But then, with a rough snap of his hips, he’s pressed a good amount of his length into you, stretching you with a burning girth that makes you cry out in a sharp mewl. “T-too much, baby,” you sob, “w-wait—”

“You can take it, my dear,” he insists, kissing away the tears with chapped, warm lips that feel nothing like the usual soft and cool ones you’re used to. You hardly recognize the man who is taking you, and yet…and yet, you cannot help but fall in love even deeper with him in this state. Every fiber of your existence should scream to run, but instead, they long to be intertwined with him. Threaded into the very fibers of his own existence, living tangled and one with him. 

He’s right. You can take him—and you do. He snaps his hips one more time and buries the rest of himself into you, completely down to the hilt and completely filling you up until you feel almost certain that you can feel him in your throat and lungs. 

“S-so big,” you gasp, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him as your walls flutter around the intrusion of his thick, swollen cock. He groans, wings fluttering behind him impatiently as he waits for you to give the signal that you’re ready for him to move—he still has enough sense in his system for that much kindness. “S-so full, baby—m’so full.”

“Yes,” he says hoarsely, “what a sweet, precious girl, you are—taking me so well. Such a darling light I have that takes me so well and doesn’t complain. I simply adore you, my dove.”

You mewl at the praise, clawing at his back with your nails as you pull him closer—and impatiently, with a jolt of your hips, you plead, “M-move! Move, please…need to feel you so bad.”

Your hands rub along his back—and without the same careful, gentle precision as before, you rub at the base of his wings, too. Friction at the delicate, sensitive, almost painful nerve-endings at his wings that respond to your touch by twitching harshly. He lets out a gasp, jolting with a low, drawn-out moan that is obscenely loud. Obscene. Kyryll is never much of an obscene sight even in the throes of pleasure, but you suppose such a frenzied, desperate state of mind would make him prioritize his composure last. 

“F-fuck—I told you, those are sensitive,” he hisses, “you…you cannot simply just touch and feel them as you please unless you want to—”

You lean up and bite at his earlobe, effectively cutting him off as his breath gets caught in his throat. You hear the hitch before you whisper into the shell of his pointed ear, “Kyryll, just fuck me already. What in the Gods' names are you waiting for?”

That makes something in him snap. Something carnal and hungry and desperate and…so far gone in his desires, it almost feels animalistic. His hips snap, harsh and fast, and nudge his cock deeper and deeper past your folds, pressing effortlessly against that sensitive, delicate spot in the back of your walls. Your Kyryll usually knows where that spot is; he usually aims his thrusts to kiss that spot with the blunt head of his cock purposely. 

This Kyryll doesn’t try. He doesn’t even think to find your pleasure points, drilling his aching length and chasing the warm friction of the tight walls that surround him without a thought. It just so happens that naturally so, with the sheer size and girth of him, with the perfect curve of cock, he manages to find that spot anyway. 

“Fuck,” he groans, “ngh—you are so…so soft. So exquisite and warm and so fucking tight.”

Your legs wrap around his hips, bracing yourself for every forceful, heavy snap of his hips. It’s fast and rough and impatient. It’s everything your Kyryll is not. It’s hungry and mad and vulgar. There’s a filthy squelching sound that mixes in with both of your pleasured sounds—a wet, filthy one that comes from skin slapping on skin and the way his cock slips in and out of your dripping cunt. 

“I’ll fill you up,” he says lowly, “there is a perfect little womb right here,” his large hand presses against your belly, applying light pressure against it as he thrusts into you, making you wail. “And I intend to make good use of it. I will fill this womb up with my seed over and over again—until it takes. However many times I must, I will. Until you are swollen with a child that will have both the bloodline of a fae and a delicate little human.”

“P-please—”

“Is that what you want?” He coos, “to have a child you can bear with half of me and you? Perhaps my eyes? Your smile? Is that what my darling little human wants?”

“Y-yes,” you sob, “yes, yes—please!”

“Then far be it from me to deny such a precious request,” he hums. 

You moan into his mouth as he kisses you roughly. A messy dance of tongue and teeth and hot breath that you exchange between heavy panting. One hand tangles in his hair and tugs, and the other alternates between scratching into his back and rubbing over those delicate nerves at the base of his wings. You feel him jolt every time you trace them—feel him let out a tiny whimper into your mouth when your thumb catches over a particularly delicate membrane that makes his whole body shudder. 

“Oh,” he groans roughly, “I’m…I’m c-close—so…so tight. It’s never…it’s never felt like this before.”

For a fleeting moment, you wonder what he means by that—he’s fucked you plenty of times before. Plenty of times, he’s felt the slick tightness of your cunt and the warm walls that wrap around him invitingly. Then…then it occurs to you that perhaps…perhaps this is the first time Kyryll has ever fucked somebody at all during a rut. Perhaps he has never had the company of another while he locks himself away in his home. 

Perhaps, all these years, he’s had nothing but the frustrating company of his own hand against his cock, a limited and lonely form of relief for that awful, throbbing ache between his legs. You imagine it—the sight of him sprawled on his bed, bare and sweaty and painfully erect. The sight of his fist stroking his cock and squeezing at the base while he bites the palm of his hand and chokes on sounds he tries to suppress. The sight of him spilling into his hand and feeling the tremors of his pleasure all alone with no one to whisper sweet nothings to him as he comes down from the high. 

What a lonely, awful way it must have been to ease his aches. What a lonely, awful fate he was so willingly to resign himself to again before you had wormed your way into his home and demanded an explanation from him. A part of you knows he had done it mainly out of fear—fear of hurting you and losing control. Fear of slipping too far in his desires and taking it further than he would ever dream of, and causing you harm. 

But another part of you wonders if Kyryll is just too used to being alone. If his mind and body are accustomed to being alone during something like this, that even when his body craves the heat and closeness of someone else, even when his mind has envisioned you in less than proper ways, like he’s said himself, he is too ingrained in the habit of being alone. Being far, far away from others and handling things alone. Being far, far away from you when he thinks himself to be a burden who does not deserve your closeness or your care or your intimacy. 

And you don’t like it. You don’t want his mind to think that way on default and put space between you when all you want is to be nestled into his skin and make home in his ribcage. You’re safest there—he would protect you with his bones and shatter them first before anything would harm you. You know that. 

And you want to take care of him. See the less than human parts and make them feel welcome in this big, large world where there is room for both of you to exist with your differences. 

“Have you ever fucked someone like this, Kyryll?” You whisper, “When your body is flushed and warm like this? Has anyone touched these cute little wings of yours as you fucked your load into them? Held you as you come undone? That’s what you deserve, don’t you think?”

Filthy. That’s how you make him feel. That’s how he makes you feel, too. Even when you are being sweet, you are both downright, purely filthy. 

“No,” he rasps, “fuck—no, I haven’t. I’ve never…n-never had someone before you for…for this.”

“So I’m your first proper rut, is that it?” You manage to giggle even through his ruthless, heavy thrusts. Even as he bullies his cock into your folds as deep as it’ll go, you find a way to tease and mock him. 

(And he likes it. There is, undeniably, a part of him that excites when you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t feel him twitch inside of your cunt like that.)

“Yes,” he groans loudly, dizzy with pleasure as you squeeze around him, “yes…my first…first proper one.”

His hips stutter for a moment as he says the words—like he’s mulling them over and pondering on the implications of them before suddenly, your other leg is thrown over his shoulder and you cannot help but squeal in shock from the force of his body maneuvering yours. He folds you in half, and your knees are almost pressed to your chest. 

He rolls his hips in quick, impatient thrusts—sloppy in rhythm and no longer as deliberate as they once were in pace. He’s close. This Kyryll is so, so different from your Kyryll, but he’s still the same. You recognize the patterns as they come. That slack jaw and those eyes that flutter shut and roll to the back of his head. The deep, heavy breaths and the low, raspy grunts. The familiar way his pace becomes messy and less rhythmic as he tries to grind into you and chase the friction. And finally, the small, little twitch his cock does before he spills into you. It’s warm—so fucking warm and thick, and it fills you up from just a few ropes. 

“M’c-cumming,” he says hoarsely, so fragile and broken as pleasure bleeds through his veins and shoots along his nerves. “So…so good, love—you always feel so good.”

Just like the first time he came in his pants right against your legs, he spills more seed than you ever imagined possible. It paints your walls white, and he does a careful job of fucking the load into you as it spills, never stilling for a second. You can feel it leaking from your folds—there’s a mess of his cum and your slick leaking past your folds and coating your inner thighs, dripping along your skin. 

He watches, mesmerized. 

And when a particularly sharp thrust lands, you follow him as you fall off the edge and go hurtling into your own pleasure. It’s dizzying. He’s never stretched you like this—you’ve never felt veins this thick rub against your walls and drag along with such sickening friction. When you cum, you cum hard—harder than you ever have on his cock. You squeeze around him, milking him of the last of his thick ropes of cum and making sure he gives you everything he can. 

“Kyryll,” you gasp—you chant it a few more times as you ride out the final waves of your high, unable to form anything else but the thought of his name. “Oh,” you breathe, “fuck.”

He slumps over you as he finishes, catching his breath in the crook of your neck. His wings tremble faintly before folding closed, and for a long moment, the only sound is his heavy breathing and the faint hum of his heartbeat against your chest.

When he finally speaks, his voice is still rough, still deep and throaty. “I did warn you,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “I told you I lose myself in this state. You insisted on testing me.”

You hum, utterly unbothered, fingers lazily combing through his damp hair. “Lose yourself? That was you losing control? I must say, I expected something a little more…dramatic.”

He lifts his head, giving you a look equal parts disbelief and exhaustion. “You have the audacity to critique my performance?”

“I’m just saying,” you tease, grinning, “for all that talk about feral instincts and uncontrollable urges, you were still very polite about it. You even romantically asked to start a family with me.”

A huff of laughter escapes him despite himself. “You mock me even now?”

“Only because it’s easy,” you grin, kissing his cheek. “All that talk, and you’re already out of breath.”

A low, breathless hum escapes him. “No need to worry,” he murmurs, voice rougher than usual—and you feel the familiar twitch of his cock. Still hard and still swollen inside you. “We still have a long way to go before my desires are satisfied. I hope you’re prepared.”

You tilt your head back to meet his gaze, eyes widening a fraction. “Oh…how long?”

Kyryll smirks—that infuriating, elegant smirk that makes you weak-kneed. “Well,” he begins, voice dipping, “I did say that fae have a lot of stamina.”

“Well…” you murmur, looking at him with defiant eyes. “I still think I can handle that.”

He groans, teeth grazing the shell of your ear, “We shall see,” he rasps, “because I am not finished with you yet.”

“And then I- your highness, are you listening?”

That familiar, grating voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you’re gasping in embarrassment as you turn back to the prattling man in front of you. 

“My apologies, Lord Naoya.” you smile tightly, desperate to finish up yet another conversation about his latest cavalry expeditions. Nodding dismissively, “Just tired, please continue with your ah- wonderful tales.”

But of course, when he starts right back from the very beginning to “cover the key points you missed”, your stomach turns when you realize that you won’t be escaping any time soon. Great. Wonderful. Perfect.

God, future suitors your ass. You’d been taught that there’s no such company as “bad company” when you’re an heir to a kingdom, but this has been the fourth royal ball this month - and the biggest one yet. The fourth night you had to listen to another uptight lord show off his sparse battle medals, or another elder snide about how you’d be useless against the dangers of vampires.

You knew it was likely some coping mechanism with the grim deaths this week, but surely the nobles were tired of all this silly dancing? You sure were. 

Gauzy dress just a bit too tight, sighs just a bit too loud than was permitted for the princess, you let your gaze wander across the brilliant ballroom. Those intricate gowns, the huge reflective wall, those little pastries you really wish you could walk away from this conversation and-

Blue. 

Crystal blue.

“Wait! Did you see-” you startle, and it disappears as fast as it appeared. Your heavy skirts sway as you whirl around to uselessly track that odd burst of color, “Did you see that?”

“I know!” Naoya gasps, making you turn your head in excitement. “The light reflects off my medal so gorgeously! Oh, and this one-”

Dammit. 

All through your life, it was this same color that’d been flitting occasionally through your vision, now haunting you almost every day.

You didn’t know where to look to find that familiar blue again - and you didn’t want to stand here waiting to find out. At the very least, your ears have definitely been assaulted with enough talk about horses and how “absolutely enormous” Lord Naoya’s weaponry at the Zenin Estate was.

Compensating, you muse.

The thought helps you plaster on a grin to your face, humming in a saccharine-sweet tone, “It pains me to cut through, my lord.” It really didn’t. “And I’d love to chat more later, but I think I hear my lady-in-waiting calling for me.”

He sputters, breathing out a few profanities under his breath that you catch. An arm raising as if to keep you in place, “Now, wait a minute-”

You’re angling your body expertly to make your dash. Batting your lashes deceivingly innocently, “Oh? What was that?” you cup your ear. “I hear her again- I really do apologize, but feel free to recount your valiant um- fairy tales in a letter.”

“But your father-”

Not waiting to hear the rest of his response, you barely even bother with a polite curtsy before determinedly weaving your way through the stuffy ballroom. Nodding by the nobles greeting you, waving past the throng of young lords that wanted to reel you into more conversation. Your satiny feet taking you anywhere but here - anywhere but where you could feel the still, heavy gaze of something burning into your back as you escaped. 

You just prayed that it was only a miffed Naoya and nothing else.

It was around this time that the orchestra struck up another upbeat waltz, and with most people pairing off on the dance floor, barely anyone noticed you tip-toeing out of the ballroom. 

“God-” you’re letting out a sigh of relief when you reach the long hallway, rubbing at your throbbing temples. “The next ball they host, m’gonna conveniently disappear, I swear.”

You didn’t care enough for what matchmaking would happen in the future anyway, no matter what the elders may tell you. 

Your ballgown swishes with every urgent step through the quiet, dimly-lit corridors. Maybe a bit too quiet. 

Strange. You knew that not many nobles would be wandering around the palace during a ball but, surely you can’t be the only one here? Where were the guards?

Just then, a soft winter breeze puffs against your left ear - and you inhale sharply. “Wha- hello?” you shudder, gaze darting around. “Anyone there?” But when only silence greets you, you’re struck with the sudden thought that the windows along the hallway were closed. 

Where did the wind come from?

The realization has you taut with goosebumps pricking at your skin, your pace increasing ever-so-slightly. Gulping, you round the corner quickly, making a beeline for the closest haven you could find - the library.

Ducking past the towering stone archway, you hastily slam the door closed. It takes you a few seconds to get used to the darkness inside. With silvery moonlight ribbons filtering in through the curtained windows, you could just barely make out the rows upon rows of books you’d pestered your father into lining. Surrounded by heavyset tables, and your favorite, cushioned armchair. Luxurious, yet completely dwarfed when seating the lone silhouette-

“If this is an attack, then I surely don’t mind.”

“Fuck-” you scream, reflexively grabbing the nearest book spine you could reach to throw in the direction of the shadow. “Show yourself.”

Somehow, it’s as if the book bounces off an invisible forcefield, plopping down unceremoniously onto the velvety carpet right in front of the tall figure. 

“And here I thought princesses usually curtseyed.” that deep, honeyed voice cuts right through your heavy breathing. He makes a move to get up - languid, and torturous, as if he enjoyed your agonizing suspense. “Well, maybe I do prefer being pelted by a- hey, that doesn’t mean pick up another book!”

In a split-second, you were brandishing a weighty encyclopedia this time - holding it firmly behind your head in a ready stance to throw once again. 

“Show yourself.”

The man sighs, stepping into a channel of low light. It illuminated his stature - taller than you’d thought, towering well above most of the generals in the royal court. Muscled, yet lean - powerful, the thought strikes you. Magnetizing. 

Someone from outside the kingdom, you observe, otherwise you’d have remembered that cloudy white hair, strands falling over a strange, black blindfold stretched across the upper half of his face. Leaving you only a set of high cheekbones, and a pert, pretty mouth to admire.

One that curls into such a mischievous smirk of neat pearly whites, and a tiny dimple digging into his cheek. “Now, I’ve never had anyone this eager to see me.” He drops into a courteous bow at the waist, expensive blue fabrics rippling. “From the North kingdom, Satoru, at your service, princess.”

Your hand falters - partially because of the heavy weight, partially because you recognised that gold “G” insignia in the middle of this stranger- Satoru’s uniform. The Gojo family. 

That mysterious, estranged kingdom from the Northern part of the country that hadn’t been seen since you were young. You’d heard stories of them - everyone in this vast country had, it was impossible not to. Of their cruel winters and even crueler king, how blood stained every room in his palace. It was rumored he was a monster, and yet, no one ever saw his face - if they did, they never lived to tell the tale. 

You knew your father had invited the king to every single ball out of diplomatic obligation, but he’d never attended. Never even bothered to respond. 

So who was this?

“No one. Just a lowly attendant accompanying my king, your highness.” you’re jolting when he purrs, a brow quirking at just how he knew what you were thinking. “The question ah- showed on your face, my apologies.”

Finding your voice, “Um, I apologize, too, Satoru-” You note the lack of a last name, “-for the book. I can’t imagine being hit with Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet was a very warm welcome.” And like a little truce, you’re placing down the encyclopedia in your hand. Flashing him your most practiced smile, “I bet you’re hiding out here for the same reasons as me, then.”

That draws out a pretty laugh from him, bubbly and boyish. “Mhm, the ladies just refuse to leave you alone, too?”

“Well, more like the lords there.”

He hums, something that sends a chill down your spine. Words just a little strained, “Not much for bragging about horses?” 

And suddenly, you get the urge to snark back, huffing in a way you know your preparational teacher would faint at. “Absolutely not. I’d rather face a vampire than listen to Naoya and the “absolutely enormous” weaponry he uses to-”

“-compensate!”

“-compensate.” the two of you finish at the same time. “I like this place a lot better, it’s quiet- though…” your voice trails off in wonder. “It’s strange, guests aren’t supposed to be allowed in the library unsupervised.” His jaw clenches when your eyes sweep him, “We are supposed to have a few guards here but I don’t know where-”

All of a sudden, it’s like you’re being splashed with cold water. And your words are dying on your tongue when the room drops a few degrees in temperature. 

Satoru is unnervingly still, yet he catches onto your slight shiver. “This damned wind, am I right?” And he’s gesturing at the windows with his head. The closed windows. Words tumbling quickly from those pink lips now, “Anyways- why don’t you sit down-” He prowls towards you, slow, confident. Large hands rest at your arms, they’re pale, surprisingly cold - guiding you easily to sit on the unoccupied armchair. “-since m’being nice enough to let you hide out here.”

His words drip with tease, and you still couldn’t see his eyes, but you imagined they’d be twinkling. No one ever dared to speak to you this way - it was always either thinly-veiled condescension or fear towards royalty. 

Surprisingly, you didn’t mind. 

You roll your eyes, trying to hold back your smile. “Yeah? Well what do I owe you in return for that, Satoru?”

His lips part, as if not expecting this response. Before letting out another sharp cackle at your expense, “Well, why don’t you-” You can’t tear your eyes away from his magnetic figure when Satoru begins unbuttoning his flowing coat to reveal a snow-white shirt underneath. Wrapping it snug around your shoulders in one, fluid motion, a hand of his tilts your head towards him. “-give me your soul?”

The Gojo emblem burns into your back, and Satoru’s deep, almost raspy tone rings in your ears. It sounded like a joke - but looking into his ethereal features, there was no trace of a grin on what you could see of it. And once again, you’re struck by the pure power radiating off of him. 

You hoped it was a joke.

“S-soul’s not for sale.” you manage to choke out, trying to make it look like you weren’t breathing in his metallic, peppermint scent. Heady. Pulling the soft fabric tighter around your cold body, “Steep price for a hideout, don’t you think?”

“S’a discount for you, flower.” his chilling breath fans your face. Letting out hushed, “Heh, you should see the prices I charge others.”

You’re reeling, face burning, “Flower?”

“Because you’re shaking like one, see?” The pads of his fingers move from under your chin to trace up, up, up the goosebumps on your exposed arms. Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Hypnotic. 

And his steps are soundless as he walks over behind you, the moonlight giving him an angelic halo. Haunting, almost. “And you’re just as gorgeous, like a wild rose. Way too gorgeous for the fuckin’ bastards out there, might I add, princess.”

The nerve!

Heart pounding, you turn around to- call him out for his disrespect? Snap back? Accept the compliment?

You don’t know - and you don’t get to find out, either. Because before your eyes can search for Satoru’s mysterious figure, the door to the library is slamming open with a deafening bang!

“Ah! There you are!” your lady-in-waiting’s relieved voice floods your ears. And she’s barging in with no comment about your sudden stiffness, or that foreign coat around your shoulders. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, your highness. His majesty is just about to make his speech of the night and needs you there.”

Shit, out of all the scandals. 

“I- I can explain.” You’re desperately trying to catch Satoru’s eye to make up an excuse for why you’re alone with a strange man away from the ball, shooting from your seat to look around the library. “We’re just-”

The suddenly empty library. 

“Yes yes, I understand that the balls aren’t exactly your favorite pastime.” The oblivious girl is pushing you towards the door, brown eyes narrowed. “But we’ve got to get going now.”

Despite her wrangling you outside, you manage to sneak a few glances backwards, straining to see if he was hiding in the shadows. Only to be met with a now-rumpled armchair and the still, dark bookshelves. As bare as if Satoru never existed - the only proof of his existence being a sad copy of Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet lying on the ground. 

And yet, you can’t help but feel a pair of eyes on you. 

You feel it all through the short walk back to the ballroom, Nobara’s excited chatter about how finely your all-new coat was made filtering through one ear and out the next. Even when you reach the edge of the dance floor, even when you feel every single other eye in the room on you - you feel it. 

“Um, Nobara.” you whisper, discreetly shuffling the coat off your shoulders. “Please take this to my chambers for me.”

The younger girl is positively bursting at the seams, murmuring conspiratorially to you, “So is this where you were? With who- The “G” what does that-”

“Ah! My daughter!” Saved by your father’s booming voice - though, you wouldn’t consider it too much of a salvation when you’re immediately being whisked away to the high platform your father’s throne was seated on. His arms spread wide to greet you in a hug despite stiff etiquette. 

“You’re late.” he whispers in your ear.

It’s all you can do to manage out a quiet, “S-Sorry.”

Without another word, he’s addressing the congregation in the middle of the dance ballroom again. More ruler than father at this very moment. “My people, we are gathered here today to dance, to sing, to forget about the horrors happening in our beloved nation.” To large murmurs of agreement he continues, “And despite it all, it’s a reality we must all live with. Me, especially, as your king, have a duty to fulfill.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you wonder where this is all going - your father never brought up vampires during a time like this. Never. 

Clearing his throat, “And as we all know, I’m not getting any younger here, unfortunately. Which is why-” He claps his hands once, and three figures - one of which being Naoya, amongst two other nobles you briefly recognized - step forward from the crowd. “Ah- there should be one more- Anyway, after thorough consideration with the table of elders, we have decided to go forward with the betrothal process for my dear daughter here. With the joining of hands will not only be the joining of kingdoms - but the joining of arms, and our people shall prevail as one over the vampires.”

You think you might stop breathing, eyes burning and trained firmly on the ground. This had been a topic of conversation - well, more the elders conversing while you skipped out on every meeting once this discussion was brought up. 

You knew this would happen. You knew. But now? At this very moment? All you can do is stand there and listen while he rattles off. 

“I know four of the- erm, three of the most eligible young suitors of the land will do their utmost to vie for her heart - and her hand. No easy task I tell you.” Your fists clench, head swimming. “And in a week’s time, we will hold the grand ball to announce my successor.”

Shit - a week. A week.

Somewhere in your line of vision you see - you feel that spark of blue. And you’re raising your head to cheers echoing from all around the room, and still no sign of where those eyes are. 

“The next time we meet, will be with the future king and queen!”

Fuck. 

---

That night was spent with a few too many tears, and a consoling Nobara at your side all until daybreak. And if you held onto that comforting, peppermint-scented coat through it all, well, you were only glad that you seemed too pitiful for her to question it. 

Feeling much more composed and only slightly less bitter about the prospect of being married off to a stuck-up noble you didn’t know, you made your way to breakfast the next morning. An affair usually spent with your father, or in the palace gardens - but this time, surrounded by four suitors under the guise of getting to know you. Sizing each other up, maybe. 

“Ah, your highness, good morning!” you sweetly reciprocate the greetings once you’re escorted into the dining room, taking your seat at the very end of the long, mahogany table. 

Sighing you take in the scene - on your left was Lord Naoya from last night, the same sharp grins and shifty eyes as you remembered. Seated beside him was the young duke of the Kashimo clan - hair striking, his battle staff laid out next to him on the table. Intimidating. 

But nothing in comparison to the hulking man on your right, it seemed as if his uniform was on the verge of bursting. Face sullen, letting his pink locks fall into place - Sukuna, you think you remember. 

“Your highness.” Ichiji bows, taking his place supervising the breakfast. “I am afraid our guests from the Northern kingdom will not be able to attend this breakfast today. He sends his deepest apologies. B-but-” His face-paled, looking scarred for life. “-he did have his um- attendant send this note-”

You’re gratefully taking the creamy scrap of paper before the words have even left Ichiji’s mouth, flipping it over to reveal slanted, beautiful calligraphy - Apologies for the sudden departure last night, flower. And I hope you forgive my king for not being here to deter the talk of horses - duty holds both man and beast from freedom. Worry not, we will be seeing your sweet smile again soon. But, for now, give those three bastards a rude gesture from me.

You giggle, tucking away the note. A tiny pang of disappointment hitting you out of nowhere at the lack of that gold “G” emblem anywhere along the table - and more importantly, the white-haired enigma that would follow.

All three men were glowering, yet begrudgingly plowing on with their conversation from before as you settled. Not having the energy to contribute, you listened in. 

“-this would never have happened in my estate.”

“Oh buzz off-” Kashimo interrupts Naoya, before throwing a guilty look your way at his crass words. As if you didn’t say worse. “Apologies, your highness. As I was saying-” he turns back to the man. “Don’t think we haven’t heard of those vampire killings in your court that you tried to cover up, your defense isn’t as impenetrable as you want it to seem, Naoya.”

That causes you to raise your brow - and evidently, Sukuna’s as well. “That so? Little fraud, aren’t ya, Zenin?”

The shorter man sputters indignantly, “You- you little- you call me a fraud and yet you’re the only one who didn’t bother to help investigate last night? Got something to hide, oh king-of-curses?”

“Tch, shut up.” That little nickname ticked something off in Sukuna, and his grip on his delicate fork tightens. Smirk intentionally bared to piss off, “It’s just because when the princess marries me, she won’t have to worry about vampires attacking guards in the middle of a ball.”

Wait, what?

“Yeah right, you and what army because I have an absolutely enormous-”

“What do you mean?” Your smooth voice cuts through their bickering, and all three men freeze, gazes snapping to you as if they’d already forgotten you were there. “I didn’t hear about any killings last night.”

If you thought they were tense before then you weren’t prepared for right now - shoulders raising in surrender, for all their blabbering, not a word was uttered after your accusatory question. After a few beats of silence, you scoff in frustration, turning towards your escort, squirming and avoiding your pointed stare at the very corner of the room. 

“Ichiji.” The man looked like he could positively give anything to blend into the meticulously hand-painted flowers on the wall. “Ichiji, tell me what happened.” 

“P-princess!” he yelps, adjusting his glasses. “I- I’m afraid the king said- please I can’t-”

“Ichiji…”

“P-please don’t banish me-”

You’re on your feet now, cornering the poor man. Mentally, you make a note to give him a raise. Eyes narrowing, “I won’t banish you, but as the future queen I have a right to know, don’t I?”

“...”

“...please?”

And the remaining men had been watching with morbid fascination as you worked your magic. They were already aware that the frail attendant was the weakest link out of them all, but what they certainly did not expect was exactly how weak. 

It only took a single bat of your lashes before his pale cheeks colored an almost-concerning pink. Eyes scrunching shut in embarrassment, as the words spilled from his lips. Neverending and slurring with haste as he speaks in one breath, “Th-three of the guards stationed near the outer corridor and library wing were found killed by a vampire last night before you retired for the night, your highness. Their b-bodies were disposed of, and this in combination with all the recent killings was why the king hurried the announcement for your engagement. B-but, his majesty decreed that this never be relayed to you in order to keep you in high spirits after the betrothal eep-!”

“Is- is that so?” you breathe, eyes wide. Taking one last look at the four speechless men, before walking out of the tall doorway. “I seem to have lost my appetite, I will be heading for my chambers now. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay, my lords.”

Shit shit shit - how did you not notice? 

Maybe you walked right past the killer last night and didn’t even realize - who knows what could’ve been hiding in the shadows. How did you not realize? How did you not see?

Just then, a thought strikes you - did Satoru see?

---

It’s one of the whirlwind of questions ringing around in your mind even by the time you hear a steady knock on your door. Jolting you upright from where you splayed out on your plush, silken bed, rows upon rows of books on vampires haphazardly surrounding you.

Peering out of your large window, you notice the hues of pink and red painting the sky, a big red sun just dipping below the horizon - shit, when did you even fall asleep? 

“Come in.” you answer, voice scratchy. Rubbing away the sleep in your eyes, you could barely make out the hazy outline of Ichiji standing in your doorway. 

“Ah- your highness, I apologize for waking you up.” he bows. “But master Kashimo will be headed out for a late-night hunt at this very moment, and requested your presence shall you wish it. He noticed that you seemed upset at breakfast, and wanted to make it up to you.”

You take a moment to mull over the question - it certainly was rude for you to just ignore your guests all day. And considering you might just be marrying one of them, it wouldn’t kill anyone to actually get to know them.

“Alright.” you reply, voice even. And your answer seems to surprise the other man, “Tell Tsukumo to get my gear ready, I will be down as soon as I change.”

“Y-yes, princess! I will call for Nobara to help you get dressed.”

As the door shut once more behind him, you threw off your heavy blanket- and your coat? Satoru’s coat, which had evidently been draped around your upper half. Heart stuttering, you didn’t remember putting that on before…

Hm, you had to thank Nobara for that later.

---

Hunting with Kashimo was, unexpectedly, dull. 

“So…” you drag your words, trying to fill the tense silence. “What is it that we’re actually hunting for-”

“Shhh-” you hear for about the third time this past hour. A brow of yours quirking at the way it seemed like the two of you had been wandering the woods belonging to your kingdom’s estate for hours, and you still didn’t know what it was you were supposed to be looking for. 

Alright, perhaps hunting wasn’t the best opportunity to get to know your potential future husband. 

“My lord…” you call out warily, already aware of the duke’s affinity for hunting. “Maybe we should rest for a bit, after all, the stars are out already and the moon is so bright.”

He barely even turns to look back at you, “No time. The woods belonging to your kingdom have some of the rarest species of cursed animals in this country. I must make the most of this week in that case, your highness.”

You brighten at the closest shred of conversation in so long. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard! I also hear they-”

“Shh!”

So close. 

Letting out a resigned sigh, your eyes glaze over as you watch Kashimo trace his thick fingers over animal tracks on the dirt. Suddenly, gesturing for you to follow him as he sped off in another direction. 

It doesn’t take too long for him to stray out of sight. Meanwhile, your legs lag behind in protest - and pettiness, you realize. Grumbling to yourself about how you’d rather have watched paint dry as you’re sure the elders often did. Well, you look at the now-barren pathway, at least now you didn’t have to worry about someone shushing you all the ti-

“AHH!”

And then, all of a sudden - it felt like you were the hunted. 

It’s like every bit of blood drains from your body at the blood-curdling scream. Grip tightening on your bow, you’re jolting at the direction it came from - where did Kashimo disappear off to again? 

Yet, for how much you knew your kingdom like the back of your hand, it’s so dark. The moon barely peeking through gloomy gray wisps of clouds that you don’t know where exactly you’re running to - just that something was tugging. Reeling you in. No destination in sight until you’re crashing face-first into- a wall?

“Hey, flower, where are ya running off to this late?”

Your hairs raise, something visceral in your body jolting. 

Satoru - blindfold and all.  

“Wh- Satoru thank God you’re here.” you gasp, looking nervously over his broad shoulders. “I heard a scream, and I’m worried about Kashimo because he went somewhere over there and-” You’re pointing aimlessly in his direction, before clasping a hand around Satoru’s defined bicep. Tugging, “You have to help me, that idiot even insisted on no guards because of disturbing the wildlife and I’m so worried and-”

Before you can react, big strong arms are enveloping you. And you’re suddenly hit with the smell of peppermint and Satoru - something so sickly sweet tinging the air, it makes you droop limply into his firm hold. Your skin burns when he breathes in, deep. 

“Shhh shhh, I know I know, princess.” he hums, pulling you deeper against his chest. Until you could feel every dip and curve of his pectorals. “You must’ve been scared, right?” At your hesitant nod, “You did good. You did perfect- in fact. Especially putting up with that pretentious bastard.”

The shocked laugh that drags from your throat has Satoru sighing contentedly, an almost-pained grunt leaving him as he pulls away ever-so-slightly. You felt much the same. 

“S’alright, I’m pretty sure it was some animal.” he soothes. He clasps your hands with his, running a damp thumb over your knuckles. “I saw him trudging about disturbing more wildlife over there.”

You breath catches in your chest at just how close Satoru was now, his breath mingling with yours. Pretty plump lips so close - too close. Yet you’re leaning in closer, like you’re drawn by a thread. “Are you sure? Maybe we should-” You gasp, eyes widening when you look down at where your hands were intertwined - red. Or, what you assumed to be red, a saturated, patchy stain on your hands where Satoru’s met yours. He stiffens when he follows your gaze, trying to pull away, but you only hold your grip harder. “Satoru, are you bleeding? Or is this-”

“Not mine.” his voice is hard - and for a second you have to wonder whether this is really the same Satoru. And you swear there’s a little tremor in his words as he explains, “You see, I went out on a little hunt myself, flower.”

Even if Satoru didn’t have his blindfold on, you’re sure his face would’ve been unreadable. That almost-familiar grin of his is strained. Too strained. Yet, his movements are unwavering as he tries to wipe away the blood. “Must’ve forgotten to wipe down, I apologize for sullying your hands, princess.”

“Let me-” you mutter, taking a hold of the coat around your shoulders to wipe away the blood. Uncaring for what you were dirtying at the moment. “I swear you need to take better care of yourself, Satoru. Seriously.” 

And you didn’t see them - but somehow you could just feel the amusement dancing in Satoru’s eyes. Raising your confused gaze up to meet his, “What?”

He only flashes you a knowing grin, “S’jus’, you’re wearing my coat, your highness.”

Your movements pause, mouth gaping open while you try to pathetically spout out an excuse. “I- I didn’t mean to get this coat dirty, oh my god. I didn’t think-”

“S’alright.” he inches in even closer. A smirk grazing those sinful lips of his, “I actually prefer it like that, you look like mine.” Taking a deep breath, “You smell like mine.” 

And before you can ask about his cryptic message, he’s placing a hand at the back of your waist. A very improper hand that would definitely make the elders gasp in scandal. “We should head back to the palace, it’s getting late. I will escort you, m’sure that born hunter of yours is already halfway back too.”

“Carry me.” you blurt out, your body aching to feel more of him. And before you can retract your words - probably sputter a few apologies, you’re being cradled by a smug Satoru. One hand under your knees, the other supporting you like you’re weightless. 

“Heh, a princess carry for a princess.”

“Oh, shut up.” you grumble with embarrassment when he walks forward slowly, your legs swaying in midair. “Want my soul for this as well?”

And you can feel Satoru’s muscles ripple, you can feel the way his breath hitches in his chest ever-so-slightly. Rumbling as he drawls, “More than you’d know.”

“S’that a discount, too? You still didn’t tell me what you charge others.” you quip, remembering the conversation from the night before. 

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough, your highness.”

You’re quirking a brow, something hot churning at the pit of your stomach at that ragged tone to his words. “I’m onto you, y’know.” You stare up at his clenched jaw, highlighted in the dim moonlight. His long, pale neck, the crevices of his blindfold. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like if you could peek under. “Onto you and your absurdly high prices, Satoru.”

He breathes out a shuddering, overly-dramatic shudder. “Mhm, flower, I should be worried.” Before looking up at the sky - and you wondered just how well he could see through his blindfold. “The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

That night, you dreamt of long-winded star-gazing and blue, blue eyes. 

---

“What do you mean Lord Kashimo has left for his kingdom?” you hiss, feeling a faint stab of offense. Seriously, were you that awful at hunting? “He didn’t make any indication of it last night.”

And if your careless words made Nobara beam with slight embarrassment, you didn’t take note of it - too caught up in what you’d just heard. Enough so that it takes her next words to bring you out of your stupor, “Exactly what I said, your highness. The lordship and his court have all vacated their wing, leaving behind only a letter of forgiveness for ending the festivities early.”

“Still.” you murmur petulantly. Setting aside another one of your books on Vampire: Mates, Murder, and More. “It’s strange, I thought he was here for the hunting sprees, if not for me.” Your tiara weighs heavy on your head as you turn to your young lady-in-waiting. “I would like for Ichiji to catch up to Kashimo’s traveling party, make sure they’re safe, and send them my well wishes.”

Ha! Take that elders - you’d show them you’re fully capable of holding diplomatic relations as a ruler. 

“As you wish, princess. Additionally, this-” She’s holding out a small pouch of blue fabric that you’d never seen before. “-was found by your bedside when cleaning and I wished to give it back safely.” Before her polite smile drops into a much more devious smirk, “A gift from one of the suitors, perhaps~?”

You gesture for her to hand it over, the silk casing soft under your touch. Detailed. One-of-a-kind, from what your tedious lessons in the history of fabrics had taught you. You didn’t recognize the patterns sewn onto it as something typical for your kingdom - or any other you’d learned about, really.

“M’not sure.” you whisper. Opening the little purse to reveal a flash of gold - a necklace. Thin and intricate, holding a sapphire pendant in the shape of an eye. 

Blue.

A blue you knew too well - the same one that peeked out from every dark corner, that you saw before you slept at night. The one that’s been by your side for years.

Constant. Now coming to haunt you. 

Chills run down your spine, and your fingers tremble at how life-like it looked. Burning into your very soul. 

“Would you like for me to help you put it on?” Nobara asks, mistaking your shock for difficulty. And yet, you don’t correct her - body moving before your mind to simply nod. 

There was only one clasp on the chain - leaving you to worry about the fit. But when it was hooked around your neck, you found that it fit you so perfectly. Like it was tailored to you - and only you. Why was it so perfect?

Why did it capture the exact color you’d been chasing after your whole life - since before you’d even formed memories? Since you were nothing but a surly, teary-eyed little girl that was crying about the dark, babbling about that “blue flash” that no one else ever seemed to see.

“If that will be all, your highness. I will take my leave.” With a nod and a low bow, you’re left all by yourself in your sprawling chambers. Wondering, somewhat in amusement, whether you’d be let off this marriage pact if all the other suitors suddenly left as well. Hell, maybe you could marry whoever got you this necklace since they apparently know you so well. 

And you swear - maybe it was the fatigue from trekking last night, maybe it was the stress from the past month - but you swear the wind picks up in its chilly bite. Howling just low enough that it sounds like a deep, taunting cackle. 

The necklace doesn’t leave its palace around your neck for the next few days. You still didn’t know who’d gifted it to you - right inside your chambers for god’s sake - and if either of the two suitors remaining knew, they didn’t make any indication of it either. 

Three, technically, but it seemed that the more the days passed, the less you saw of the mysterious king of the Northern kingdom. 

While Sukuna and Naoya had taken it upon themselves to woo you by joining you in your daily activities, he hadn’t even shown his face to you yet. You were sure your father would’ve had him humiliated and thrown out of the palace already if he wasn’t afraid for his life. 

But you didn’t mind, because you saw enough of Satoru to make up for King Gojo and Kashimo. The man seemed well and fully intent to stick by your side, talking yourselves well into the night. 

It was on a night like this - sprawled out along the plush armchairs in the very library you’d met, only a few days after Kashimo’s departure - you asked, “Satoru, what color are your eyes?”

That makes him pause in the middle of his extremely animated story about how he’d caught Earl Yaga in the middle of an artistic dance routine. The baritone of his voice cracking so uncharacteristically as he responds with, “Wh-why do you ask, princess?”

“Because.” you roll your eyes. “In four days m’gonna be marrying, and it might just be your king. Yet, I don’t even know his attendant’s eye color - what type of good queen would I be then?”

You knew it was a flimsy excuse, truthfully you just wanted to see Satoru. All of Satoru.

“Not many have wanted to look into my eyes” 

You tilt your head, “How come?”

“Well, I can assure you that they aren’t half as alluring as yours.” Satoru pushes back your tiara ever-so-slightly to reveal your face to him better, fingers dancing down to fiddle with your pendant. “You’re a strange one, aren’t ya, flower?” he chuckles, face inching closer to yours - and for a moment, you think he might do something else. “Tell me, how are the wedding preparations going?”

Ah, right - the wedding preparations. Your wedding preparations, to someone else. 

Did you want him to do something else?

“W-well-” you pull back from his hypnotic presence. Heart lurching, necklace burning cold into your skin. “Sukuna keeps trying to teach me his very particular diet, I swear I’ve spent much more time with Uraume learning it than with him- they’re a sweetheart though, I can’t complain.” Eyes trying to avoid the intensity of his gaze, “Oh- and Naoya still talks about his weaponry, however, I think his Zenin elders had a word with him because he asked to meet me in the gardens tomorrow evening to actually get to know me for once.”

You brave to take a look at Satoru at the end of his spiel - only to be met with a face you never thought you’d see. His mouth a tight gash, jaw ticking, and you could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

Terrifying. Magnetic. 

Powerful. 

The library was always cold - but you fail to suppress a shiver at the sudden grip in the air. “S-Satoru?”

And suddenly, at the mere sound of your voice, everything clicks back to normalcy. You’re staring that familiar grin painted onto his face again, musing slyly, “How much d’you wanna bet he’ll ask about your weaponry instead?”

“Oh, shut up.”

It’s only much, much later at night when you’re forced to retire early - Satoru slipping past the library earlier than usual with groans of his “attendant duties” that you realize - he didn’t answer your question. 

---

“P-princess, will you be alright going alone? I don’t think-”

“It’ll be alright, Ichiji, I’m just meeting Lord Naoya.” you wave off the stammering man. Tugging your velvety coat snugly around your body, “Honestly, you act like I haven’t been out in the gardens alone before.”

And it was true, since returning from his little meeting with the Kashimo court, your jumpy attendant seemed even more so - and you didn’t even know that was even impossible. Always peeking cautiously behind corners of the winding hallways, always hovering close by you even when his duty didn’t require it. 

He’d told you - in that quiet, shaky voice of his - that Kashimo was well, and headed straight for his kingdom to fulfill emergency duties. To which you’d accepted - you understood the gravity of responsibility, after all. 

“But- but, your highness!” he gasps, pulling you out of your little reverie. “I don’t think- with the way he-”

A spine-chilling breeze rustles the nearby tree, sending shivers down your spine. Howling in your ears. You squint your eyes against the cold, “Sorry, what was that, Ichiji?”

But the man in front doesn’t speak - fuck, you didn’t even know if he was breathing. Face a sickly pallor, mouth gaping open and shut like he wanted to say something - he needed to say something. Yet, he wasn’t even looking at you, wide eyes locked on something over your shoulder. 

“Are you-” Your body holds you back, feeling two burning eyes on you - and you have to force yourself to look over your shoulder. Only to see- nothing? “-are you alright?”

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, you’re turning back to face your attendant - only to see him sprinting back down the entrance as fast as his knobbly legs could carry him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” you call, hoping it echoed far enough to be heard.

Strange. 

It’s all you can think about for the next half an hour you’re seated on that dainty, painted bench in the middle of the palace gardens, waiting for your potential future husband. And for the next hour. And the next. 

It’s by the time the sun has fully set, when twinkling stars are dotting the night sky that you settle with the conclusion that yes, it seems that Naoya has already made his decision about the marriage. And no it doesn’t end with a wedding. 

“Dammit.” you spit, running a hand through the hair you had Nobara fuss about with. “S’not like I wanted to marry you anyway, bastard.”

And you didn’t - you really didn’t. Whenever you dared to imagine walking down that decorated aisle, Naoya was the last person you saw.

But seated alone and abandoned, trying to cover yourself from the biting chill of the night, you never felt more like an unworthy heir. Fuck, if no one wanted to marry you how would you even dare to think of taking over the throne?

Maybe you should just-

“We have got to stop meeting like this, flower. S’like you’re haunting me.”

“Satoru!” you gasp, throwing yourself into his embrace. You’re reaching up to loop two arms around his neck, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. That asshole had the audacity to stand me up.” Pulling back so your face ghosts his, “I got all dolled up just for him to leave me like this. As if I wanted to be with him, I was just trying to be a good- a good h-host and-” 

Suddenly, you’re struck with the realization of how close you two actually are. You could count every crease on his blindfold, pinpoint exactly where every dimple at the corner of his grin was. 

Your hands slide their way down to his sculpted chest, pushing slightly. “-I apologize, this was forward of me.”

But his arms only tighten around your waist - when did they even get there? Large and steady, pulling you back to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, your racing pulse. “Stay.” he groans, and he sounds slightly out-of-breath, heavy exhales tickling your ear.

“We can’t be caught like this, Satoru.” you breathe, but that familiar little tug has you shuffling closer. Breathing in that familiar metallic sweet scent you’ve grown to love, “I- I’m getting-” Bile creeps up at the back of your throat, and you laugh bitterly. “I think I’m getting married in three days, y’know? To Lord Sukuna, I assume, since two of my suitors ah- ran away and the other refuses to even see my face.”

His thick fingers dig deeper into the extravagant corset at your waist, “I know. Fuck- don’t I know.”

It’s a steady beat of silence, so still. So tense you could hear every stuttering heartbeat of yours, and strangely enough, you had the nagging feeling that he could, too. 

“You could just marry me.” Satoru’s abrupt confession breaks the silence, and you find yourself sinking deeper into his soft coat. Wrapping yourself up in his heady presence. “Be my queen. You wouldn’t have to worry about duties or elders or- or vampires.”

And the night was still. So still. 

Despite the way your heart races, eyes blinking up in disbelief, you find it in yourself to deadpan, “F-funny. Do I have to give you my soul for that as well?” Oh, some stupid little part of you think you might just have.

And you’d expected Satoru to crack a laugh, to give you a teasing smile while he carried on that little inside joke between the two of you. You’d expected him to no sooner shove you off and talk about it being late. Hell, a part of you even expected this to be some elaborate set-up from the elders to get you caught in such a compromising position with the no-longer stranger from the Northern kingdom. 

But, no. It’s anything but that - everything but that. 

Because the taller man only rasps, nose-to-nose now, “No.” Sounding like his sanity was slipping away from him with every breath, fingers making their dance down to twirl your sapphire pendant between them. “I’d give you mine.”

You can feel his breath fanning your cheeks, head dipping slowly - so torturously slowly. As if he was giving you ample opportunity to run away if you wanted to. But you don’t think you could move for the life of you. 

Instead, you’re dipping closer, gliding the tip of your thumb over his defined cheekbone. Mere millimeters away - just one push. Another hand of yours steadies at the back of his neck, feeling those snowing locks under your fingers. 

One. 

Your thumb dips just under the seam of his blindfold - unwillingly. 

“Your highness.” Satoru’s voice is cold, his fingers lacing with your own even colder. Something eerie. And even with the delicate touch you could feel the power thrumming through Satoru’s body. “This is for you.”

You can only stand there in shocked silence as the moment shatters, and he produces a wild rose as if out of thin air. “Consider it from King Gojo.” Touch searing against yours when he hands it to you, you feel drunk off of him “Perhaps the night is late now.”

Right. The king. 

When you’re walking back in the directions of the palace’s warm lights, you don’t think you’ve ever felt safer. Strangely enough. 

“Satoru.”

“Yes?”

“I’m onto you.”

“You’re onto me.” he’s tucking the bloom over your ear. Before stepping back into the inky pool of shadows beside the entrance you came from. “Sweet dreams, flower.”

That night, when you tuck yourself into bed, you swear you hear a faint whisper of those same three words lulling you to sleep. Over and over. 

Sweet.

Dreams.

Flower. 

---

Floral preservation was one of the lessons you’d been forced to attend growing up in the palace, but even you didn’t know how that wild rose Satoru gifted you hadn’t wilted yet. 

It remained as fresh and prim as the night it was picked, bluish pink petals never fading. You didn’t keep it safely in a bowl of water amongst the other plants and flowers in your bedroom. Somehow, never out of place, always tucked safely behind your ear in the days that followed. Perhaps it was improper to keep it on you even when you were being fitted into an engagement gown to be promised off to another man. But Satoru didn’t complain, and you didn’t either. 

With Kashimo departing for his kingdom early, and Naoya apparently following in his footsteps due to “irrevocable differences”, it was now almost confirmed that the future king was to be Lord Sukuna. Not like King Gojo had made any effort to reach out - and Satoru hadn’t mentioned it either. 

Satoru. 

Things were…the same after that night, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

It must be done, you sigh, wincing at the pinch of the flowing white dress being suited onto you by the bustling tailor. At least it could be worse, even if you’d rather…

“Honestly, young people these days.” Yaga speaks up from where he was fussing with the silken hem of your gown for tomorrow. “I heard of that Naoya brat leaving out of nowhere, princess. My condolences.” 

“Ah-” you startle, not expecting to be addressed. “It’s not your fault, we likely didn’t mesh all that well. I just wish he left a note- Honestly, I’m lucky to even have a suitor left after these six days.”

Another grimace leaves you when you feel another tweak of pins pricking at your skin. The other man hums lowly, “Don’t say that, anyone would be lucky to have you. Anyway-” He gets up from his position kneeling, towering over you to admire his own work. “How do you like it, your highness?”

You let out a gasp when you face the floor-length mirror, “Oh my god, it’s perfect.” The dress was regal, decadent. With flowing tresses resembling a petals, and gilded gold and blue weaved into the fabric. 

Blue. 

“I fashioned it after that necklace and flower of yours.” You unwittingly reach for that familiar pendant, “I ah- forgive the assumption, but I assumed you would be wearing them both at the betrothal ceremony tomorrow, princess?”

Taking another long look in the mirror, you nod, “Yeah. I will.”

---

“I knew it.” he laughs shrilly. “I fuckin’ knew there was something wrong with you. As soon as I saw you butterin’ the princess up in the library, I knew you were a fuckin’ freak.”

The other man only responds with ominous silence, letting labored breathing cut through the bone-chilling air. Clearly unsatisfied, “What? Not gonna talk now? Aren’t ya just in it for the crown like me? Have the bitch, just give me the crown.” Goading now, “I bet you’re not even an attendant are ya- I know what you are-”

His words are cut off with another choked-up gasp, followed shortly by a strained growl. “I know- what you are-”

Red stains the marble floor - a problem for later. 

“I know, King Gojo.” And it’s the last thing he sees. “And you’ll reap what you sow, she’ll never love you.”

Blue. 

“You’ve haunted me too long, flower.”

“Satoru–!” you scream, throwing your soft bed sheets off your body. 

It was burning - you were burning, gasping for the cold lungfuls of air that filled your empty bedroom. Mind bleary, distantly, you register that it’s around daybreak - tiny fingers of golden sunlight just barely dipping through your window - your open window. 

Hastily, you’re tumbling out of bed to slam it shut. Heart still pounding when you take in the mess of flower petals from those congratulatory bouquets you’d gotten. Ruined. Only the stems left in the vases after that sudden, chilling wind. 

“What-” Your eyes dart around to look over your dresser, where you always kept Satoru’s wild rose. And a shiver creeps down your spine when you realize it lay snug tucked behind your ear, safe and sound. Exactly where you didn’t keep it. “-happened?”

You couldn’t settle back into bed after that - couldn’t even think about it. So you find yourself reaching for your wardrobe of dresses, running your fingers along the intricate gown made for your engagement ball tonight. Your engagement to Sukuna. 

If this was the nightmare, and tonight was to be the dream - why did your stomach turn so?

---

It was difficult convincing Nobara to let you keep the wild rose on after getting ready. 

“But that’s so last season.” she bemoans. “No offense, your highness, but even old lady Ogami wouldn’t be caught dead wearing flowers in her hair these days.”

You’re giving her your best puppy dog eyes, “Please, Nobara?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you raid my exclusive wardrobe the next time you want to play dress-up?”

“...”

Which was how you found yourself shoved into a dress that was way too gorgeously palatial, barely even having the time to admire the lush gold and blue decorations around the sparkling ballroom before you were being ushered next to your father on his throne. 

You fiddle with your ringed fingers, feeling more and more like a lamb sent to slaughter - a very opulent slaughter - with each step. 

“I am so proud of you for this week, and you look absolutely divine, my love.” your father whispers into your ear once you’re up on the crushed velvet platform. “I hear from Ichiji that you know, I apologize we couldn’t go through with this marriage under better circumstances.”

You shake your head, giving him a calm smile - you’d already forgiven him, sometimes there was duty far greater than any man. 

“My people, as promised, we are gathered once more to celebrate the joining of two hands - and two kingdoms.” The king projects his voice out to the eager crowd, “Together, these two young loves will face their duty. They will face the dangers. They will face our future.”

The thought had you clenching your fist into the soft fabric of your gown, looking down at your feet in a bow. 

“As I did with my father before me - God rest his soul - the future king and queen will oversee their responsibilities to protect our people from those treacherous vampires. The elders-” he stops short, eyes widening at the empty seats on the balcony - where the table of elders always sat. Abandoned. Chilling. “...have decreed, in accordance with our princess, to introduce my daughter to you all as our future queen-”

Your father gestures a hand your way, and you step forwards to cheers, still not daring to look up. And all you could see were two, gold-toed boots stepping into your field of vision.

“-and our future king!”

“Look up, flower, this is the best part.”

Gasping, you raise your head - Satoru.

“Y-you?” 

He smiles that pearly smile at you, one that makes your knees weaken, “Me.” Before leaning down conspiratorially,  “Better get moving now, the king just declared that the big bad Northern king and the precious princess will have their first dance as a couple.”

It felt like you were moving through a dream as you slip your hand into his, flinching at the feeling of his cold lips meeting the back of your hand.

The crowd of whispering nobles part to make a path for the two of you, and Satoru is so gentle when he leads you into the middle of the dance floor. Weightless on his feet, swiftly placing a burning hand on your waist - just below where the elders would consider proper. 

The other intertwining with yours, you barely even register the slow, romantic tune playing from the orchestra. 

“I bet you have questions.” he whispers, breath fanning your cheeks. 

You take in his tall figure, the rows of medals, gleaming only half as bright as the smile that makes its way onto your face. Hissing, “That doesn’t cover the half of it, King Gojo.”

“I-I apologize. I can’t apologize enough but-”

“Though, I did have a nagging feeling about the fifth time you talked yourself up.” you smirk.

Satoru throws his head back in a loud cackle, echoing through the hushed crowds - no doubt gossiping about this being the Northern king, that fearful beast that ruled over the Gojo family. “I know.” His hand comes up momentarily to brush over your sapphire necklace, “And I’ll spend our entire lives making it up to you, flower.”

Goosebumps dance down your arm, your spine, right down to where Satoru held a firm grip on your hip. You two waltz around the edge of the dance floor, perfectly in time. Through the crowd of grumbling lords, the orchestra, past the table of foods.

“And exactly how long would the rest of our lives be, Satoru?”

Slowing right in front of that huge, reflective wall. 

You couldn’t see his eyes, but his biting gaze was all you could feel. 

Lingering on the blue pendant nestled at your chest, the everlasting wild rose tucked behind your ear, the mirror to your right - where the twin image of you shone. Powerful, gorgeous, everything that a monster like him could never have because he wasn’t standing there right next to you. His kind never could. 

In the back of your mind, you registered collective gasps sounding all around you - the rest of the ball attendees that’d also taken note of the lack of Satoru’s reflection. But your eyes stay locked on him. 

A thumb hooks under his blindfold, and he grimaces. “You really were onto me, huh, flower?”

Tugging. 

Your fingers tighten around his, unable to let the most fearsome of creatures escape from your grasp. “You must’ve been onto me, too, Satoru.”

Pulling. 

All you see is a flash of a regal nose bridge, and the flutter of thick white lashes - before every single chandelier in the ballroom snuffs out at once. Cloaking the room in unnatural darkness, it sends every single knight and noble into a frenzy. 

And then, he opens his eyes. 

“IT’S HIM-”

“A body! A BODY FOUND IN THE ROYAL GUEST SUITE–

“VAMPIRE! STAY BACK-“

Oh, it’s blue. 

That crystal blue. 

And then it’s black.

---

SLAM!

“If you must kill me.” Satoru’s voice sounds from somewhere above you. You blink away the darkness, feeling your bleary gaze try and adjust to that unfamiliar high ceiling, the outlines of hauntingly beautiful paintings on it. His ragged breaths cut through your thoughts once more, hastily folding your hand to grip your pendant. “If you must kill me, then I prefer you do it with your own hands, princess.”

You can’t tell whose hand is trembling more - yours or his. Distantly, you realize you’re being pushed up against a luxuriously padded wall, one you’d never seen before in your life. 

Where were you?

“The Gojo palace- Please-” he reads your mind, voice breaking at the end of his plea. Gasping - and you can discern two elongated teeth at his canines. Fangs, you realize with a shiver. “You may leave if you want to, you may kill me for what I’ve done. My life is in your hands.”

“Satoru.” you soothe in a hushed voice, despite the way your head was reeling. The Gojo palace? “I won’t kill you.”

“But-”

“Satoru, what does this necklace mean?” You beg, and at this point, you’re not surprised that the necklace is from him - because it was an exact replica of the two burning eyes staring back at you. The only source of light right now, glowing a blue you’d finally found after a lifetime. “Why did you-” you gulp, heart lurching. “Why did you hand me your…life?”

Soft lips play right over your rapid pulse, murmuring into your skin, “S’my soul.” A long, pale index of his plays with the pendant. “The only part of my soul that’s living, gilded into a necklace to be kept in the safest place I know. You.”

“But-” you cry out, trying to get another look at his eyes - but your fiancé only kisses deeper at your neck. Nibbling at the thundering beat just below. “But why did you give it to me?”

“Who else would I give it to, if not for my mate?”

Mates - there were a thousand and one books and official documents detailing everything from a vampire’s killing pattern to the aphrodisiac toxins found in their blood. But the research on a vampire’s mate was far and few between.

Perhaps owing to the lack of willing mates that can come out without persecution, or perhaps due to the vampires’ intense rumored mating rituals. But it didn’t go without its own gossip, you were no stranger to the ladies of the court tittering about how morbidly “romantic” it was that mates were akin to soulmates - how it was an invisible string connecting two people to share a life, a soul. 

A vampire’s one and only mate.

Satoru was pinning you harder to the wall now, his pink tongue darting out to lick over your pulse. The fingers holding onto the necklace were now tilting your chin up at him, “Speak to me, flower.”

“I’m your mate?” you whimper, your lips ghosting over his. Already knowing the answer, but fuck you needed to hear it from him. “What does that mean exactly?”

He lets out a pained grunt, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “It means you’re the other half of my soul. My only one, I was born for you.” Pressing a chaste peck on there - and you swear you could feel the nip of two sharp canines against your skin. “The one I’ll fight heaven and hell for, until the very last beat of my cold, dead heart.” Your fingers curl at his shoulders when his mouth moves to the shell of your ear. “The one I’ll kill for, take out every measly scum that thinks they can get with my mate.”

He huffs out a burst of cold laughter when your breath hitches, probably reading over the thoughts running through your mind - Satoru killed them. The guards, Kashimo, Naoya- fuck, maybe even Sukuna. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. 

You shiver, “A-and all the wind? The whispers? I thought it was just you these past week b-but- All my life, that was you?”

You know. You knew. 

Another kiss - this time to the corner of your eye, and Satoru licks a long, content stripe up the big fat tears unwillingly welling up behind your eyes. He groans at the salty taste of you, taking in a long, drawn-out breath. “Yes.”

All it takes is that single word for your entire body to collapse, thankfully onto an awaiting Satoru. He holds your entire body weight with one hand around your waist, the other coming up to swipe his thumb under those tears rolling down your cheeks now. 

He kisses your cheek, “All your life.” The corner of your lips, “And all of mine.” 

Run away run away run away run away-

But you can’t - you don’t want to.

Your lips wobble when he nuzzles down your face, leaving a trail of hot kisses with his cold, cold mouth. “As soon as I learned to use my powers - was just a brat you see - I just had to see my mate. To smell her scent.” He’s inhaling deeply again, hands groping over your engagement gown. “Lo and behold, there was you. A cute lil’ princess around my age, tuckered out and fast asleep.” Lingering at your jaw, the hand tight around your waist pulls you painfully closer. Satoru’s knee wedging itself between your trembling thighs, “Imagine my surprise when she took one look at me and cried. Scared me enough to teleport outta there as soon as you opened that smart mouth, flower.”

And the thought of Satoru - tiny and determined - teleporting halfway across the land only to be yelled at by you has you huffing out a shock of laughter.

“So when I heard through the grapevine about your potential engagement, fuck- I couldn’t have ran out of this palace faster. Was so excited I fuckin’ forgot to teleport, too. Even if you were afraid of the ‘cruel Northern king.’” 

Fuck - that’s right. He must’ve heard your thoughts that time you met him in the library. 

Satoru’s tone drops to a low simper, so close now that you could feel every slight curve of his grin. Every twitch of his fingers sweeping up and down your exposed skin, feeling the delicious thrum of your veins. He could bite you right now - easily.  “And luckily, as I grew up, so did my ability to blend in with the darkness.” Eyes boring into yours, something so vulnerable in them now. “But you found me, you always did.”

“Satoru.” you angle your head upwards. “Kiss me.”

And how could he ever deny you?

You wince at the slight pinch of Satoru’s teeth - his fangs - as he crashes his lips into yours in a greedy kiss. Sliding his tongue over to taste those candied lips he’s been dreaming of for years. 

“Fuck-” he breathes out through his nose, jaw sagging open further to kiss you deeper. “Fuck, princess.”

Strong arms pin you harder against the wall, and you’re blindly reaching out to reciprocate even a fraction of Satoru’s neediness. Just dragging your hips up and down his muscled thighs. Sinful. 

Shit, it was so endearing to him seeing you struggle to touch him this way. And with a flick of a wrist, the candle chandeliers hung high above your heads are lighting up at once. “S’that better, flower?”

It takes every bit of will in you to manage to pull away, yet the thought of seeing Satoru - of really seeing Satoru is what spurs you to break the kiss. Delicate strings of saturated spit snapping in the non-existent air between you two, you take a long look at your new husband.

Fuck, he was so pretty.

You always knew he was. 

But even with his face tilted downwards, within the soft light tinting those snowy strands a sunset yellow - you could make out the pretty pink flush all the way from his glossy, ravaged lips, up, up, up to his delicate cheeks - he looked like the last thing from a monster. 

“No you’re pretty.” he hums, and you’re still not used to him reading your mind. Head nodding downwards, “Just look, grinding on my thigh like such a slut.”

What met you was a dark pool of slick saturating his trousers,  just peeking out over the hem of your dress. It makes you give another lingering, experimental grind.

“Satoru—” you’re letting out a honeyed drag of his name, reveling in the way it makes him swallow heavily. “You can hear my thoughts, right?” Look at me. 

Slowly - but surely - familiar blue meets yours. Half-lidded, pupils blown, and if you didn’t know any better you’d have said there were tiny sparks of lightning at the corners of his long white lashes.

You’ve been haunting me my whole life, Toru.

And it was an accident - it really was, your freshly kissed brain too hazy to slur out Satoru’s full name. But the impromptu little nickname has him dragging forwards like he was magnetized. 

A low growl escaping when he’s kissing you again. And again. And again and again and-

“Say it-” Two hands are tugging at those tedious ribbons tying your decadent gown together. Pulling. “Say it again f’me.” Ripping. 

The more his lips are assaulting yours, the more the dress slips further and further down your shoulders. Tattered. The soft satin leaving goosebumps down your spine as it reveals your neckline - all that skin for him to ruin. To mark. 

“Oh-” you’re squealing when one of Satoru’s fangs prick a bit too hard at your lip. Feeling a hot flow of crimson bleed out, the feeling has you so weak. So drunk. “Quite eager, aren’t ya?”

“You have no idea.” he groans again. Soft tongue moving from swirling around your own to lazily pool your blood on it. And you can’t imagine what about the metallic taste would be so euphoric, but he’s letting out his loudest drag of your name yet. Eyes rolling to the back of his head like he’s just tasted a personal slice of heaven. “Fuck- fuck you have no idea.”

You moan into the kiss when he bites down again on your already-bruised lower lip, “I’ve always wanted to do this-” Slow, slow hands kneading up your waist, at a dizzying tempo matching his mouth down your jaw, your neck. Hips bucking, you feel the outline of something so hard between his legs. “-to kiss you. To-” Tethering on the sensitive area of your pulse, “-bite.”

In a split-second, you’re sinking down into plush silk sheets, swallowing you whole in a king-sized bed you didn’t even realize was in the room before. 

“S-Satoru, did you teleport us again?” you gasp, eyes adjusting to the intricate paintings on the ceiling that you hadn’t gotten to admire before. Of white-haired youths and roses, of cold, dark palaces and- and you. 

You - when you were younger, sleeping peacefully while a little boy watches intrigued from the corner. You - passed out in the library after a long night of reading, two pale hands wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. You - your brows furrowed, head cocked while you pushed past nobles to search for that flash of his blue. You, you, you.

You. 

“I can hear the gears in that pretty head turning.” Satoru grins, still kissing you in a languid graze of lips. “And as much as I love it when you hah- admire my lonely paintings, I’d rather you pay attention to-” A low groan curdles at the back of his throat when he’s grinding his massive clothed erection against the syrupy spot at your core. “-me.”

There’s a dark little huff of laughter and with one last bite at the side of your neck, Satoru’s unapologetically tearing right through the middle of your gown. 

And you know it’s made with the finest fabrics the country has to offer, you know that no normal man should be able to even rip a tiny shred through your dress - but Satoru is no ordinary man.

Your spike of disappointment is quickly overshadowed by cold breath hovering over your exposed tits. “Oh, so perfect f’me.” he’s groaning, deep and primal. Biting down on your hardened nipple, “Ya think those uptight elders your court has- ah, had would appreciate me desecrating their precious princess before marriage?”

Through gasps, you peek down at his wicked tongue, swirling around the sensitive spots of your areola. “Who- who gives a shit.”

“So feisty.” The peaks of your tits are left coated in him as Satoru pulls away. “So addictive.” Pinching your soft flesh between his teeth - just hard enough that you worry he’s out to draw blood again. “So- so-” 

Words are failing Satoru’s sharp mouth as he kisses his way down your body. The valley of your chest, your stomach, your hips.

Down, down, down-

“Fuck, Satoru-” you’re hissing when he easily pulls the pathetic remains of your dress off and onto the floor. The rest of your inner skirts easily following afterwards. “Are you gonna…”

“M’afraid not.” he licks sloppy circles at the skin of your thighs. Tasting, nipping, leaving little marks with his fangs for later. Sloppily soothing his tongue over the tiny droplets of blood beading from the bites, he murmurs stubbornly, “Not until you address me correctly.”

Hesitantly, you reach out a limp hand to thread through his dampening white tresses. Tugging softly to lock those devouring blue eyes with yours, “Please, Toru?”

You get absolutely no warning when he kisses right through that flimsy excuse of your drenched panties to slide his tongue up and down your sopping wet slit. Up and down up and down up and-

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you moan when he’s just dipping the very tip barely past your puffy folds. The fabric of your underwear still sticking to you, “Stop being such a tease, goddammit ngh-”

“Why?” Of course, he toys with your patience even now, addicted to those needy whines falling from your lips. “I jus’ wanna play with my princess’s pretty pussy. What am I getting out of it?” 

You smirk, not even having to move your pretty mouth to know you had him in the palm of your hand already. I’d be your mate for life. 

It’s all you can do to watch with satisfaction as the great Gojo Satoru gasps - gasps. Slick-glossed lips falling into a soft oh! Hazy eyes widening almost-comically, and at full heady attention while he takes a few seconds to mull over your words. 

RIP!

In an instant, your soaked underwear is ripped clean off to bare your dripping cunt for him, wrapped tightly around Satoru’s fingers and disappearing down below to where your imagination couldn’t handle. 

“Oh, such a pretty pussy.” he coos, thumbing apart your puffy folds to admire your lewdly winking cunt. Glistening and so so needy, you jolt when he bullies two long fingers past your sloppy entrance. With your greedy hole swallowing every slender inch of Satoru’s fingers easily, “So needy too. This all f’me?”

As if to prove his point, his pink lips wrap around your throbbing clit, grinding his tongue over the ravaged tip. The harsh texture of his tastebuds rolling over every inch of you he could reach.

“Y-yes-” you squeal, hips bucking down mindlessly to try and match his relentless tempo. “S’only for you.”

“Tha’s what I love to hear-” Satoru’s cheeks hollow when he sucks on your sensitive little nub - hard. “Sweeter than I even imagined, shit-”

Every pump of his merciless fingers in and out of your cunt drags along your gummy walls. Deftly curling to prey at those hidden sweet spots of yours he just knew would wrench out such throaty moans from you - and fuck, Satoru thinks- no, he knows that the sound is is favorite song. 

“You’re makin’ me- hah making me fall in love all over again.” he gruffs out into your cunt. The pads of his fingers pressing into the cushiony ends of your pussy. “Because look how messy you are- how loud.”

You didn’t know if he had mind-control powers on top of mind-reading, because it’s as if you’re on auto-pilot when your lolling head is whirling down to look at the absolute sin made of you below. Satoru - running his mouth a mile a minute to send white-hot vibrations along your clit. His milky fingers buried knuckle-deep to stretch out your poor cunt. Your sweet sweet juices drooling all over them in such an obscene sheen down his palm, his wrist. 

He whines, “Makin’ me wanna-” You jolt when he’s biting down so dangerously around your clit. “Wanna-”

Satoru doesn’t end up finishing his sentence - and he doesn’t have to. 

Because he’s pausing his make-out with your clit to spit once. Twice. A thick thumb swiping at the intentional splatter of saliva marking your skin, before surging forwards even deeper - you didn’t even think that was possible. But Satoru has the tip of his nose rubbing methodical circles against your clit, jaw grinding at the base of your pussy, tongue flattening out your pussy lips.

Messy. Harsh. 

“Oh- oh my god, Toru-” you’re keening at the feeling of his wet muscle trying to squeeze in past the fingers still continuing their assault on your entrance. “It- it won’t fit–”

“Shhh shhh, s’okay, princess.” he hushes, letting another round glob of spit wet your clingy pussy. “You can take it. You will - otherwise how are you gonna take your husband, hm?”

That little comment has connotations that make your plushy walls clamp down vice-like around his fingers - his tongue. And you’re angling your head just right, blinking away the lustful haze in your eyes to spy down at the rapid, jerky movements of his other hand. Devouring gaze dropping down to-

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

It was difficult to even look at the sight below - your panties, soaked and completely see-through with slick and precum, wrapped prettily around what you could make out to be Satoru’s aching cock. Standing proud, twitching wildly with every drag of his fist up and down his glistening length. 

“Fuck-” he groans, taking the opportunity to devilishly slip his tongue past your feeble entrance. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- y’like this, huh?” Drawled out little praises now muffled as he fucks you on his tongue the way he wished he could with his cock. In and out in and out in and out. Pulling back to eye your gaping hole, “I can feel y’getting wetter for me is it because-” Before surging back forwards, as if he’s addicted. “Because-” Again.“Fuck don’t clench around me that way. Was hard enough trying not to fuck you stupid right there in the middle of the ballroom.” 

You whine, tears flowing down freely at the sheer pleasure at this point. “Y-you-” you gasp, your five fingers splaying out over Satoru’s head. Pushing even harsher, “You hngh- talk too much- m’so close-”

Partially because you really needed those pretty lips back at your heated core, partially because every word tumbling from his mouth had you throbbing embarrassingly, your slick spreading a glossy sheen on the sheets underneath you. 

“Oh yeah? Heh, anything for you, flower.” Satoru grins such a sly, sultry grin and you feel it against one set of your swollen lips. “Absolutely anything.”

In and out in and out. He has his brows furrowed now, concentrated on having every flick and divot of movement pushing you closer and closer towards the edge. Faster. Sloppier. You have half the mind to wonder whether it didn’t hurt - whether Satoru’s tongue wasn’t cramping up from how fast he was going, whether his fingers weren’t tired already.

Out of the corner of your spotty vision, you can see those stuttering squeezes of Satoru’s hand speed up. Trying desperately to match each bullying push of his tongue and his fingers into your overstuffed pussy. 

The thought makes you whine, “Oh my god- Toru, m’gonna cum.” And shit, at this point it’s too much. You couldn’t think - you couldn’t even breathe. “M’so close please.” Barely able to even register anything but Satoru Satoru Satoru-

It’s why you don’t even realize at first when you’re finally cumming - Satoru does, though. He feels it in the way your heavenly walls are closing down on his fingers, clenching around him so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your orgasm. Waves of electric pleasure crashing into you and you think you’re drowning.

“Tha’s it.” he rasps. “Cum f’me like that, tha’s it- thaaat’s it, such a good lil’ wife- a perfect mate.” 

The fingers stuffed deep inside your pussy are being pulled out in a flash - not letting you waste a moment of your heady high before he’s toying ravenously with your swollen clit. Pinching, and rolling between two soft fingers. 

“O-oh fuck, m’-cumming? M’cumming m’cumming-” you moan deliriously, mind just now catching up. Your hips drag your sloppy pussy all over Satoru’s pretty face. Just drenching his noble features with your gushing mess. “Feels too ah- good, Toru.”

And he takes it like it’s everything he needs - everything he’s ever wanted. 

Jaw falling slack to let your juices slide down his throat, tongue lolling out flick your spasming cunt through your high. Unstopping. Unwavering. 

Even when your vision stops tingeing with black at the edges, even when you think you’re sane enough to form a coherent thought. Even when your climax is bating enough that every flick of Satoru’s tongue only sends almost painful thrums of pleasure down your spine.

“W-wait m’done-” you sob, tasting the salty stream of tears splashing down your face now. “S’too sensitive- ngh-”

When he doesn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon, you try again - this time thinking the embarrassing thought out loud. I…I really want you inside me now, Toru. Please?

And he pauses - jolting, as if some dark, primal part of him had just been called back to life. Tongue still hot on your cunt, fist still greedy around his rock-hard shaft. 

“F-fuck you’re gonna be the death of me, flower.”

And before, you couldn’t get enough of those striking blue eyes, but now you couldn’t escape them.

With inhuman speed, he’s shuffling up the soaked sheets. “An absolute fuckin-” Slick-glossed lips meet yours, smearing along the combination of juices till the lower half of your face was as dripping wet as Satoru’s. “-minx, y’know that?”

“Wh-what can I say?” you tilt your head with a smirk, lips a bit too loose than you’d like - but it didn’t matter anyway, he was in your thoughts. Your mind. “I’m your mate, after all.”

He falls back onto his knees at that sinful little sentence of yours, throwing his head back in a guttural groan. “Fuck- you’re mine alright. See what you hah- do to me? See how this is all your fault?” 

If Satoru expected an answer, then he doesn’t receive it. Because every snippy little retort on the tip of your tongue melts when you get a long, hard look at the angry shaft in his hand. So red and angry. Thick enough that you felt your cunt quiver already.

Delicate with prominent veins that glistened and throbbed down his long, long length with each slew of his vigorous fist. And his tip- fuck, blushed your favorite shade of weepy pink, slobbering a sheen of precum all down his wrist, his tufts of cloudy white. 

And you realize with a jolt that he still had your panties wrapped around him - looking so tiny around Satoru’s massive cock. 

Wordlessly, your hand replaces his.

“W-woah- fuck-” His toned waist flexes with the effort to fuck up into the soft cushion of your palm. “How the- ngh how the fuck does your fuckin’ hand feel this good?”

“You’re so big- fuck, don’t know how I’d- Wait you never imagined this?” you bat your eyes up with faux innocence. A thumb gliding over that deep divot on the very tip of his fat head. “Because I sure have, Toru.” 

Satoru’s heavy balls smack against your arm when he shuffles down his pants even further, now fully letting you go ahead with your agonizing torture. “Shit-” he yelps, eyes screwing shut at the image. “Don’t- don’t say that, holy shit.”

You toy with your scrap of panties, massaging every ridge and curve with it. Just dragging your hand up and down. “Would you rather I think it instead?”

Within milliseconds, two sharp fangs are poised right above your rapid pulse, a hand around your throat. “No- no no no no-” Satoru gasps, sounding like he was at the end of his rope. And it takes him a few blinks to realize his position, immediately moving his lips up to nip at your jaw. “Fuckin’ no.” Hard enough that another red pearl of blood drips out, instantly being sucked up greedily by your fiancé. “Gonna make me lose it before I-I ngh-”

With a pained growl, he suddenly has you sitting so prettily on his muscular lap. Your legs splayed out like such a slut, needy cunt slobbering all over where you were sat right on his demanding erection. 

By the time you’re realizing your helpless position, it’s too late - and Satoru’s already shrugging off the rest of his pants. Buttons hitting the floor when he just tears his flowing dress shirt off. 

“Sh-show off.” you breathe, hands mapping out every dip and curve of the plane of defined muscles displayed before you. So mouthwatering. 

“Can tell that you- ngh think m’mouthwatering, flower.” he grins. One hand kneading and groping the flesh of your ass to steady your drooling cunt to kiss at his thick tip. The other keeping one of your palms stuck to his washboard abs, up, up, up to press at his sculpted left pec. “N’ I know m’heart’s not beating, but I’m much the same. Very- much the- same.”

And Satoru’s spent years waiting, yearning - so he doesn’t waste even a second more when stuffing his cock inside your snug cunt. 

“O-oh. Satoru- Satoru please oh-”

The stretch - fuck, the stretch. The stretch is so much that it feels like you’re being split apart. Just the bare tip of his fat cock being bullied in short, determined half-thrusts. 

And it takes only one, lucky collision into the bullseye of your g-spot and you’re already falling apart. 

“Wait- wait wait wait m’gonna-” you gasp, your nails running down his broad, milky back in jagged red lines when you’re cumming once more. Toes curling, hips convulsing wildly on top of a smug Satoru. “Oh my god, ngh- what’ve you done to me, Toru?”

“Now, let me ngh- let me tell you a little secret, hah- princess.” His hand comes up to cup your jaw, gifting a sweet kiss on your swollen lips. “The best thing about mates?” Sharp fangs catch onto your delicate skin, “They feel sex on a whole other level.”

And then he’s bringing down both hands to spread apart the globes of your ass. Your puffy folds are stretched to their limits when he thrusts up once. Muscled thighs flexing underneath yours. Harsh. 

Ignoring your pleading keens and the slight resistance at the intrusion of his intimidating size, “Hold on, princess- hold- fuuuuck.” Lips latch onto yours, drinking up every heady whine when your poor cunt is being fed every inch by fucking inch. “You’re taking me so well.”

And that you were - your pussy lips bulging and struggling to accommodate Satoru’s monstrous size, but still taking him in so greedily. 

“There we go.” he grunts out, punctuated with heavy rams of hips. Up, up, up until you could feel Satoru’s sobbing tip graze against your cervix - your lungs. “Theeere we fuckin’-” Pushing and pushing until there was no more, until your neglected clit was scratching against his snowy pubic hair. Ass coming to rest at his twitching balls. “-go.”

“You’re in so deep-” you’re blabbering, cockdrunk already. The last few dredges of your high still not wearing off, it takes you a few seconds of Satoru still trying to squeeze his cock even deeper to manage to raise a hand about midway up your stomach. Feeling for that vertical bulge that was him, “-can feel you right here.”

“Oh yeah?”

And like he was testing your theory, Satoru fucks up into your gummy hole in another bullying slam. Watching in wonder at the way that little divot in your stomach crashes around the same spongy cervix he was. 

“Fuck- you’re right.” he hisses. Addicted now. Immediately rocking into you with reeling, long rolls of his hips. “You’re so- fuckin’ right.”

You can’t find the energy in yourself to even yelp in surprise when Satoru immediately changes your positions so that you’re now laying fucked-out on the mattress. His domineering hips pinning you down to use you like some little cocksleeve. 

“God-” he pants into your open mouth, tongue swirling with your weighty one. “God- fuck fuck fuck if heaven is real then this is it.” Each little profanity is decorated with a smoldering crash of his tip into your sweet spot. “You’re the heaven I don’t ngh- deserve, flower.”

That neat bitemark on your thigh is being jostled with the amount of ragged movement, and you wince with pain when it starts flowing again. 

“Oh- oh.” 

Satoru’s like a predator that has cornered his prey, and is spending hours tediously unraveling every single bit of you. 

Sliding two smooth palms underneath your legs, they’re urgently thrown over his large shoulders to fold you down, down, down into the meanest mating press you think you could handle - handle without fucking breaking, that is. 

“So good t’me.” he breathes, long tongue easily licking up that sweet nectar of your blood. “Y’know your cute lil’ brain s’too scrambled to even read right now.”

“H-how can I think when you’re ah! Like- like this, Toru?”

The sudden change in angle makes you scream. It makes you clamor for the headboard, the sheets, your husband when that obscenely perfect upwards curve of his dick is massaging every nook and cranny of your cunt. 

“Yeah? Feels good? Now now- don’t run- away” he’s dragging you down those drenched sheets by the legs like some ragdoll, stuffing you more and more with his painful cock. Fucking you so relentless, like he was trying to worship every little hidden sweet spot inside your dripping cunt. “Say it- no no no, not in your head. Say it.”

And you do - a little over fifteen times when his thick hilt pecks your pussy lips over and over with each thrust when Satoru bottoms out, hitting all the way into the back of your cunt - your cervix, your g-spot - like he couldn’t decide which one to bruise more. 

“S’too good-” you’re gasping. Your overstimulated pussy being molded like clay to the girthy shaft kissing down your cunt. Stretching out your elastic walls until you could almost feel them take shape to his swollen cock. Feel every sensitive spot inside you being overstimulated at once with every burning massage against them. “You’re fuckin’ me way too- too good- ngh- can’t even think.”

But that wasn’t enough for him.

Dipping a thumb down to circle around your clit, white-hot pleasure shoots up your spine when he lets out a deep rumble, “Think I fell in love with you when I- fuck, right then and there when I first- hah saw you all those years back.” speeding up with the sloppy staccato of his rude cock. Satoru’s words slurring now, messed up and half-prepared like the accelerating half-thrusts being bestowed upon your ravaged cunt. Like he couldn’t bear to pull out completely. “The first time you saw me, you were so afraid. Look at you- fuck, jus’ look at you now, princess.”

Each word is like a brand onto your sticky skin, accompanied by harsh smacks of Satoru’s balls against your ass, his sharp hip bones digging into your thighs. Him.

“Toru–” is all you can manage to whine out, a limp hand pulling his face closer to yours. You’re jumping with each swipe at your poor clit. “Toru m’here.”

“And- and yet-” he’s still blabbering, still pussydrunk while he fucks you so menacingly. Fingers sopping wet with their assault on your sensitive nub, “And yet I just- fuck-” He cuts himself off to give your messy hole another thick stream of spit. Coating his long, raw shaft - rubbed red with the way your gripping walls were massaging him so right - making it easier to slide in and out. “And yet, I just had to see you, to see the gorgeous mate I don’t deserve. I couldn’t live without you.”

A single overstimulated tear glistens a track down Satoru’s pretty face - one you kiss away as quickly as it appeared. Nudging open those teary, blue gaze to bore down on you. 

Oh, he looked an absolute wreck - white hair mussed up, stray strands sticking to his forehead. Glossy lips parted, drool pooling at the corner, broken grunts leaving him with each smash of his tip back into your cunt. So blissed out. 

Jolting at your eyes on him, Satoru feels his balls tighten so painfully. Abs burning when his pace stutters with need. 

“You’re haunting me, just as much as I was haunting you, Toru.”

The candles go out. Instantly. 

And shit you’re feeling it first when when hé’s cumming and cumming so hard that it almost hurts. Flashes of white startling behind his closed, glassy eyes. “Shit- shit shit shit shit-” Hairs on your body raising as Satoru’s fingers draw circles on your clit so aggressively. Dragging out your high. Forcing it. “Take it- take it all, my flower. Let me paint this pretty pussy all white.” Violent, almost.

So, really, it makes sense that your third orgasm of the night was the same. 

Just shivering, sinful tingles running from your overstimulated mind right down to where Satoru was stuffing thick white ropes of potent seed deeper and deeper down your tight channel. 

Overspilling with each calculated ram, his cum is oozing out of the corners of your puffy lips with each furious clench of his balls. Too much. 

And it’s all you can do to sit there and take it, feeling the sloppy dredges of cum make a mess slobbering down your thighs and his. Starting up blearily at the blurry paintings on the ceilings. The paintings of you - of a still Satoru that looked down at you with only half as much intensity and pure swirling emotion as he was right now.

Something that couldn’t be painted - but would make such a pretty picture, when his fangs bite into that racing junction at your neck.

You scream a soundless scream of his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head as something warm fills your entire body. 

Leaving your words unheard, your ravaged hole loose to let out slobbering squelches of Satoru’s cum. Blood racing and flowing right into Satoru’s greedy mouth. 

“Princess-” he gulps. Tongue licking up every crimson bead his crazed eyes could spot, body aching when he dares pull away from that heavenly taste. More. “Princess princess princess- you- hngh you’re mine. All mine now.”

And he’s letting out more thick globs of cum straight into your waiting cunt. Body bowing even harder to let it seep into your elastic walls, your womb. So much more than you can take and he just keeps giving. 

It seems like forever when Satoru finally pulls away - and within the glowing blue of his eyes, you can see the red staining his lips, dripping down those fangs, his chin. Staining the silk sheets below - staining you with so much more. 

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching up to catch his lips in a bloodied kiss. Your own elongated canines catching amateurishly on his lips. 

Satoru hisses - but he likes it. And you can tell. 

You can read every single hypnotizing thought whirling behind those crystal blue eyes - how he wants to ravish you again, how he wants to worship you. To make you his all over, to have you make him yours. The thought makes you smile as you whisper, “I’m onto you, Toru.”

“You’re onto me, flower.” Catching your lips in a sweet, sweet red kiss. “Forever.”

A/N. This was SOOO fun to write omg y’all have no idea. If you made it this far then you get a sloppy smooch from me mwahhhh.

satoru hunched at the edge of the room, trying to fold six-foot-something of himself into invisibility. his long frame bent awkwardly, one hand wrapped around a glass of something he wasn’t drinking, the other shoved deep into his pocket. he stared into the alcohol like it was the most complex equation he’d ever seen, as if enough focus could rewrite reality and teleport him back home.

he could already imagine the voices of his colleagues.

professor gojo? out? on a friday night? in public? with other human beings?

they’d laugh until they choked.

and honestly, he couldn’t even fault them. his idea of “wild” was alphabetizing his bookcase differently. sweater vests weren’t ironic—they were his uniform. his hair was a perpetual disaster. his glasses had never once been clean.

yet somehow, impossibly, people wanted him. women. men. hell, even the terrifying librarian with the sharp nails had once slipped her number into his pocket and scratched his palm on purpose.

but none of it mattered. because his cock wanted no one.

months of failure—years, if he stopped lying to himself. soft, useless, unresponsive. like a bored student passed out in the back of a lecture hall. hands, mouths, bodies, toys, pills, even guided breathing exercises he found on youtube. nothing worked. he’d tried so hard.

a doctor had once patted his knee, offered him a kind smile, and said it was probably psychological. probably. as if that helped.

so here he was. in hell. in a nightclub. chasing some faint ghost of arousal he barely remembered, desperate enough to gamble on noise and neon fixing something pills couldn’t.

he swirled the liquid in his glass, watching the ice clink against the sides. his palms were sweating, napkin damp and tearing in his grip. the sticky spill on his vest itched. everyone else here looked poured into leather and lace, bodies slick with heat, moving like choreography. he looked like somebody’s lost chaperone.

he was going to leave. he could already hear the excuses forming. you tried. you showed up. that counts. go home, put on jeopardy reruns, pretend this never happened.

and then—

his eyes caught on the bar.

his chest locked tight.

because there, bathed in neon haze, was you.

his student.

quiet. diligent. always front row. notebooks filled with neat handwriting, margins full of smart little questions that made his chest ache with pride. the kind of student who turned assignments in early. who lingered after class to double-check things with a polite smile.

and now—

now you were lit up in violent flashes of pink and blue. straps biting into your thighs, a glittering body chain sparking under the strobe. lipstick dark and wet, dangerous. you moved behind the bar with practiced ease, bottles flashing in your hands, wrists flexing with the same precision you used to balance equations.

someone—holy fuck—slipped a bill into your thigh strap. and you only smirked. unbothered.

satoru’s breath hitched.

this wasn’t real. it couldn’t be real. you weren’t supposed to look like this. you weren’t supposed to look like you’d stepped out of his most private, most shameful late-night fantasies—except sharper, alive, intentional.

and then it happened.

a twitch. a stirring. a pulse low in his gut.

satoru almost dropped his glass.

because his cock—his stubborn, traitorous, useless cock—was waking up. not halfheartedly. not maybe-if-you-squint. no, it was real hard. straining against his slacks, throbbing like it had been shocked back from the dead.

his face burned. no. no no no. this was unethical. wrong. god, illegal. he should turn around and leave, sprint home, bury himself under blankets until the shame killed him.

but his feet betrayed him.

like gravity had shifted, like he’d been caught in some perverse orbit, he drifted toward the bar, clutching his glass like a talisman.

“oh—uh, h-hi,” he croaked, throat bone-dry, voice cracking.

your smile was small at first, the kind bartenders give when they’re humoring some sad man too out of place for the room. but then it curved, sharpened, and oh god, it was aimed right at him.

satoru’s stomach dropped like an elevator.

“professor?” you said, like you couldn’t quite believe it. your voice cut through the bass, familiar in a way that made his ears burn. “what are you doing here?”

his mouth opened. nothing came out. he tried again, fumbling like a freshman caught cheating. “i—uh—research?”

oh god.

research?!

he wanted to bite his own tongue off.

you arched a brow, wiping the bar with a rag, unimpressed. “research. in a club?”

“anthropology,” he blurted, then immediately winced. “sociology. human… behavior.”

you snorted, and the sound went straight to his cock. fuck. since when did laughter make him hard?

“you’re terrible at lying,” you said, leaning on the counter. your body chain dipped, catching the light, and he swore he almost passed out. “so. try again, professor. why are you here?”

his glasses slipped down his nose. he pushed them up with a shaky hand, fingers clammy against the frames. “i… i don’t know.”

and it was true. he didn’t know. he’d come chasing some hopeless spark, some phantom memory of desire. but now, faced with you—his quietest student dressed like a nightmare dressed like a dream—he had no words, no excuse, nothing.

you tilted your head, studying him the way you did in class when he went off on tangents about wave-particle duality. except now your eyes were darker, sharper, and satoru felt pinned like a bug.

“hm,” you said, and that little sound nearly undid him.

he scrambled for composure. “shouldn’t you, uh… be studying? not, um…” his hand flailed vaguely at your outfit, at the neon, at the woman trying to squeeze past with three shots in each hand. “…this?”

you laughed again. “oh, professor. i can multitask.”

his cock twitched. hard. jesus christ.

you slid a glass toward him. whiskey, neat. the kind of drink that burned going down, exactly what he deserved.

“here,” you said, lips quirking. “on the house. unless you want me to put it on your… tuition.”

satoru choked. literally choked. coughs tore out of him while his face went scarlet. you watched with undisguised amusement, not moving to help.

“you’re enjoying this,” he accused weakly, wiping at his mouth with a napkin that dissolved instantly in condensation.

“maybe.” your smirk widened. “you look cute when you’re flustered.”

his brain short-circuited. cute. you called him cute. his cock pressed insistently against his slacks, proof of his betrayal.

“i—i’m not—” he stammered, but you cut him off with a lazy wave.

“don’t bother. you’re blushing so hard i can see it even under these lights.”

he dropped his gaze to the drink. amber liquid swirled, reflecting neon. he wished he could sink into it and drown.

“so,” you said casually, like you weren’t dismantling his entire sense of self, “what’s a professor doing all alone at a club, looking like someone’s lost dad?”

“that’s—harsh,” he muttered.

“accurate,” you shot back, grin quick and sharp.

he couldn’t look at you. couldn’t look at your mouth, your chain, the way you leaned just far enough forward that every inch of skin caught the light. his throat worked uselessly.

“i shouldn’t be here,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

“and yet.” your voice was smooth, merciless. “here you are.”

satoru downed the whiskey in one gulp. it scorched his throat, burned all the way down, but it didn’t steady his hands. didn’t stop the ache building in his cock, thick and heavy, a sensation he hadn’t felt in too long.

“i should leave,” he tried again, pushing his glasses up.

“you won’t.”

he blinked. “i—what?”

“you won’t,” you repeated, smirk back in place. “because you’re curious.” you leaned closer, so close he could smell your perfume, heady and dangerous. “aren’t you?”

satoru told himself he could leave at any moment.

he’d finish the whiskey, set the glass down, mutter some excuse about “an early lecture tomorrow,” and walk out. back to his apartment. back to his alphabetized bookshelves and his disappointing bed.

but he didn’t move.

the bass thrummed through the soles of his shoes, through his bones, like it was mocking the rhythm of his pulse. sweat prickled down his back beneath his sweater vest. every time he risked a glance at you, he swore the room shifted, tilting on some new axis, as if you were its center.

and you weren’t even doing anything. just working. mixing drinks with methodical precision, slipping straws between lacquered lips to taste-test before sliding them across to strangers. laughing at some offhand joke from another bartender. leaning forward just enough that the chain across your chest glittered and dipped, pulling his gaze like a lodestone.

it was unbearable. he wasn’t built for this.

your laugh was too loud in his head. his name sounded different on your tongue—professor—but stretched into something teasing, indulgent, like you were tasting it. he kept replaying it, again and again, like an idiot listening to a broken record.

he thought of the classroom. you, hunched over neat notes. the quiet hum you made when something clicked in your head. the way your eyes brightened when he explained concepts no one else bothered to ask about. safe. simple. untouchable.

and now—this.

what was worse? that you looked like sin personified, or that his body responded to you instantly, violently, in a way it hadn’t responded to anyone in months.

his cock pressed hard against the zipper of his slacks, an ache he’d half-convinced himself he’d never feel again. humiliating. exhilarating. he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

he barely realized you were speaking until your words cut clean through his haze.

“so what’s the real reason you’re here, professor?”

his heart jolted.

“i—i told you—”

“research?” your smirk slanted, ruthless. “you’ve been staring at me like i’m the experiment.”

he flinched. too obvious. he was too obvious.

“i wasn’t—”

“you were.” your voice was low, amused. “so what’s the hypothesis? what are you testing?”

he wanted to melt into the bar. vanish between the floorboards. die instantly, do not collect two hundred dollars.

“i shouldn’t—” he started, but his throat closed. he swallowed, the burn of whiskey still sharp. “…be here.”

“and yet.” your gaze held his. “here you are.”

he hated how your words stuck. how they rang truer than anything he could summon.

you slid closer along the bar, slow, deliberate, until he could smell you. not perfume, not entirely—something warmer, like sweat, leather, faint sugar from spilled drinks. dizzying. he was suddenly hyperaware of the glasses sliding down his nose, the sweat on his palms, the way his knees pressed awkwardly together like a teenager.

“want me to guess?” you asked.

he couldn’t speak. he nodded.

you leaned in, lips nearly brushing the rim of his ear, and his entire body went rigid.

“you came here because you’re desperate.”

his cock throbbed. shame twisted in his chest, but his body betrayed him.

“no—i’m not—”

“you are.” you didn’t even let him finish. “you’ve got this reputation, right? handsome professor, women fawning over you, colleagues jealous. but you look miserable.” a pause. a smirk in your tone. “like a man who can’t get it up.”

the air vanished from his lungs.

he stared at the counter, vision blurring. if there had been any mercy in the universe, the floor would have opened up beneath him.

“h-how—”

“i can tell,” you said easily, like you were pointing out the weather. “the way you’re sitting. the way you drink like it’ll save you. the way you’re staring at me like you don’t know whether to beg or bolt.”

a whimper caught in his throat. he clamped his lips shut, horrified.

your grin was sharp enough to wound.

“don’t worry, professor,” you murmured, leaning back, stretching like a cat. “i think it’s cute.”

cute. there it was again. his entire face was burning. his body was a live wire, buzzing, too much input all at once.

he tried to swallow words that didn’t form. tried to breathe. tried not to reach for himself under the bar like a pathetic man.

and then you tilted your head, watching him squirm, and said the words that broke him:

“want me to help you?”

his head snapped up. his throat bobbed, working uselessly around sounds.

“i—i can’t—this is wrong—”

“wrong?” you interrupted, lips quirking. “look around, professor.”

he did.

the club pulsed and writhed with bodies, couples grinding, strangers pressed against walls, mouths and hands everywhere. people moaning into each other’s necks, slipping fingers under clothes, lost in their own hunger. no one cared. no one noticed him.

except you.

you leaned closer, gaze bright in the dark. “so. what’s it gonna be? back to your little apartment, back to boring physics theories and untouched cock…” your hand brushed his knee under the bar, light as static. “or let me show you what it feels like to want again?”

satoru’s pulse roared in his ears.

his cock strained hard, insistent. his brain was sludge, torn between flight and surrender.

he should leave. he should.

instead, his lips parted, voice shaky, cracked, humiliating:

“…please.”

your smile was triumphant. the wicked, malicious kind.

“good boy.”

the words sank into him slow.

"good boy."

his chest seized. his cock twitched, painful against the zipper. no one had ever called him that in his thirty-nine years of life, not like this, not with a voice that dripped command and amusement and warmth all at once.

his glasses slid down his nose, blurred neon smears swimming in his vision, but he couldn’t lift a hand to fix them. he was frozen. small. wide-eyed.

you tilted your head, smile sharp. “come on, professor. up.”

he blinked. “w-what?”

“up.” your hand closed around his wrist, cool metal from your rings pressing against his skin, and before he could resist—before he could think—you were tugging him off the barstool.

his legs wobbled. he nearly tripped, muttering an apology even though you didn’t stumble. the crowd pressed in on every side, bodies slick and shameless, but all he could feel was your hand guiding him, sure and steady, threading through the chaos.

“w-wait,” he stammered, trying to plant his heels. “where—where are we—”

“somewhere better.”

he wanted to ask what that meant. he wanted to protest, to point out the ethical violations, the sheer impossibility of this. he wanted to run.

instead, his cock throbbed harder.

the crowd swallowed you both whole. neon washed over faces twisted in pleasure, mouths open, eyes closed. no one looked. no one cared. satoru’s chest heaved, panic and arousal choking him, and still you dragged him deeper, until you found an empty couch pushed up against the wall.

you shoved him down onto it with terrifying ease.

satoru sat stiff, knees locked together, sweater vest damp with sweat. his glasses fogged instantly.

“breathe,” you said, standing over him, hands sliding down your own body like you knew exactly how to keep his eyes glued. “you look like you’re gonna faint.”

he swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “i—I just—this is—”

“shh.” you climbed into his lap, straddling him like you’d done it a thousand times, like his body had always been your seat. the shift of your weight pressed him deeper into the cracked leather couch, and his breath left him in a strangled wheeze, the kind that clawed its way up from his chest without permission.

his cock lurched violently against the too-tight confines of his slacks, the swollen head straining against the damp fabric where precum had already bled through.

his hands flailed uselessly at his sides before gripping the cushions like a lifeline, knuckles bleaching white, fingers trembling. he was terrified to touch you, because what if he ruined it? what if he crossed a line? 

but he was equally terrified not to, because every inch of him screamed to hold you, to clutch at your hips, to pull you closer. caught between the two, he clung to the couch as though it might ground him while his entire world tilted off its axis.

“shit,” he whispered, voice cracking so badly it almost wasn’t a word. “this is—fuck, this is—”

your body chain caught the strobing light as you leaned in, the flash of silver burning his retinas before your lips brushed the shell of his ear. he flinched at the ghost of your breath, chest heaving like you’d branded him.

“relax, professor,” you murmured, voice low and cruelly soothing. “i’ll take care of you.”

his hips jerked helplessly before he could stop them, rutting up against you like he had no control left. the motion dragged a shocked gasp out of him, and heat rushed to his face so fast it burned.

“i’m sorry—I didn’t mean—fuck, i can’t—” the words tumbled out of him in a flood, every syllable stammered, desperate to cover his shame.

“stop apologizing,” you ordered, rolling your hips slow and deliberate against the thick ridge in his pants. the drag of your body over his cock stole the air straight from his lungs. a raw sound ripped free of his throat, high and broken, somewhere between a whimper and a groan.

“just feel.”

and he did. his whole body bowed under the order. every nerve lit up sharp and electric, too much at once, like his skin was too thin for what you were doing to him. his cock strained painfully, the pressure unbearable, every throb slicking his boxers wetter. he’d been empty for months—years, really—living in silence, shutting down, failing every time he tried. now it all came roaring back with a vengeance, violent in its intensity.

“f-fuck, wait, i—i think—” his head tipped back against the couch so hard the frame rattled, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose until the neon lights fractured through the skewed lenses. “i can’t, i can’t—”

you caught his chin, grip firm, forcing his gaze back up to you. the bass rattled his ribs, but your voice cut clean through it. your eyes burned, merciless, bright with the kind of authority that stripped him bare.

“you can,” you said. every word sharp as a blade. “and you will. i’m not stopping until you’re wrecked.”

something inside him cracked wide open at that—some fragile wall he’d been clutching tight for years.

a choked whimper tore up from his throat, humiliating in its pitch, loud enough that it vanished into the club’s bassline before anyone could catch it. his cock pulsed, aching, straining so hard against the soaked fabric he thought he might spill untouched, just from the relentless grind of your hips, the heat of your body, and the way you looked at him like he was already yours.

your head tilted, lashes heavy, hands resting deliberate on his chest, nails grazing the knit of his sweater vest like you were testing the weave. “so tense,” you murmured, and the way your breath ghosted across his face made his cock lurch violently against his thigh. “doesn’t anyone ever touch you?”

the question sliced him straight open.

his throat bobbed hard. “n-no. i mean— not like this—oh fuck—”

your grin was wicked, slow, sharpened with intent. and then you rolled your hips down, devastating friction sparking white behind his eyes, and he choked on a sound that didn’t belong to him, too high, too desperate, too filthy.

“please,” he gasped, already spiraling into humiliation, voice cracking. “i—I can’t, i’ll—”

“you’ll what?” your voice was silk, smooth and cruel, unhurried, like you had all the time in the world to watch him unravel.

his head dropped back against the couch, glasses sliding down his nose, hair sticking to his damp forehead. “i’ll c-cum—” the words broke as his body jolted, thighs trembling, because you ground down again, heat and pressure tearing through him like he was on fire.

your eyes glinted, unbothered, like this had always been inevitable. “then cum.”

two words. and he broke instantly.

his hips bucked helpless, desperate, and then he was spilling in his slacks with a raw, humiliating cry that punched out of his chest before he could choke it down. hot wetness flooded the fabric, cock twitching helplessly under you as you held him there, forcing him to rut into the mess while the club roared around you.

the sound that ripped out of him was loud, cracked, raw enough that a few heads actually turned—but no one cared, everyone too busy moaning, grinding, fucking against the walls. his face burned like it was on fire, shame and bliss strangling each other in his chest, and then he collapsed back against the couch, glasses crooked, chest heaving, sweat gluing his shirt to his skin.

“oh my god,” he stammered, voice breaking, hands trembling like they didn’t know where to go. “i—I’m sorry, i didn’t mean to, i couldn’t—”

“shhh.” your palm dragged deliberately across the wet patch spreading thick across his slacks. he jolted like you had electrocuted him. “wait—n-no, too much, i just—”

“you’re still hard,” you observed, voice calm, amused, a scientist noting a phenomenon.

his breath caught hard. because you were right—his cock was still rock-hard, twitching in the sticky mess, throbbing under your palm, desperate and disobedient. betrayal, unbearable shame, and molten pleasure all crashed through him until he couldn’t breathe.

“look at you,” you murmured, pressing firmer, stroking him through the soaked fabric. “your body doesn’t want to stop.”

he shook his head, thighs trembling, voice cracking. “i c-can’t—it’s too much, i can’t—”

“you can.”

his vision blurred, the world a haze of neon and bass and strangers fucking in every direction, but all of it faded into white noise compared to the heat of your hand on his ruined cock.

the sharp rasp of his zipper being pulled down cut through everything. his stomach dropped, a pit opening.

“n-no, wait—”

but you were already freeing him, dragging his cock out, and it sprang up against his stomach, fat and flushed dark, wet with his own cum. it slapped heavy against his shirt, drool-thick strings clinging to the fabric, veins pulsing down the obscene length.

his whine cracked in the back of his throat. “please, please, it’s too sensitive, i just—”

“exactly,” you purred, sweeping your thumb slow over the leaking head, and satoru almost screamed.

his hips jerked like he was trying to both push closer and pull away at the same time, and his mouth just poured nonsense, cracked babbles of: “i can’t—fuck, oh god—don’t, don’t, i’ll—please—”

you ignored him, stroking steady and merciless, fingers wrapping tight around the slick shaft, twisting just enough to make him writhe.

every stroke wrung another wrecked sound out of him—strangled moans, breathless apologies, gasps that made his face burn hotter than the neon.

“so sensitive,” you murmured, almost admiring, watching his cock pulse in your fist. “and you’re still leaking. fucking unbelievable.”

he tried, half-sobbing. “i—it’s embarrassing, i don’t—” but his protest cut off with a choked cry when your wrist twisted, dragging cum and slick in a perfect glide. “please, it’s too much—”

“you’re doing fine.”

and then, before his brain could catch up, you shifted off his lap, sliding down to your knees in front of him.

satoru’s stomach flipped so hard it felt like he might be sick. “w-wait, no, you don’t—don’t have to, you shouldn’t—”

but then your mouth closed over his cock and the world ripped out from under him.

a sharp, humiliating cry tore out of his throat, lost to the pounding bass, his glasses sliding down his nose as his whole body convulsed. “oh god, oh fuck, your—your mouth—too warm—too much—!”

heat seared through every nerve ending, your tongue flattening against the thick vein under his shaft, your lips stretching tight around his girth as you sank down. he tried to push at your shoulders, terrified, babbling broken apologies between sobs of pleasure—“i’m sorry, i can’t, i’ll cum, i can’t hold it, please, i’m gonna, please stop, i can’t—”

your nails dug into his thighs, pinning him to the couch. no escape.

he sobbed, full-bodied, chest heaving, his whole world reduced to the wet drag of your throat and the unbearable pull of being forced to endure it. every suction, every glide, every obscene slurp had him arching off the seat like you were shocking him straight through the spine.

“please—please—i’m gonna—”

and then you hummed around him, and the vibration detonated through his nerves.

he broke. his cock jerked helplessly down your throat, hot cum spilling in thick spurts, gagging him on his own cry. it ripped the breath from his lungs, left him shaking violently, glasses fogged uselessly, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. the kind of sob that clawed out of him wasn’t meant for anyone else’s ears, high and raw, the sound of a man unraveling past recognition.

when you finally pulled off, his cock was still hard, still twitching, still drooling cum down the swollen length like it didn’t know the meaning of release.

you looked up at him through lashes wet with club-light, lips shining with spit and cum, a lazy smirk curling. “two.”

the word made his stomach drop through the floor.

“oh god,” he whispered, voice shredded, chest heaving like he had been drowned and dragged up again. “i can’t—i can’t, no more, it’s too much, i’m sorry—”

“look at you.” your hand wrapped him again, stroking slow, ignoring how he flinched, how his hips bucked despite his desperate pleas. “still hard. your body doesn’t know how to quit.”

he whimpered, mortified, his hands fisting so tight into the couch cushions the fabric threatened to rip.

you grabbed his chin, forced him to meet your eyes through the blur of tears. “you made a mess,” you murmured, rolling your hips so his cock twitched weakly inside you. “now it’s your turn.”

he stared, breath caught. “m-my… my turn?”

“yeah.” your smirk cut him open. “don’t you think you should take care of me too?”

the words short-circuited him. he stared like you had just rewritten physics in front of him, babbling, “w-wait, i—I’ve never—”

“exactly.” you guided his trembling hand down between your thighs, dragged his fingers straight into the slick heat, obscene and dripping.

his pupils blew wide, throat locking, a sound like prayer clawing out of him. you were soaked. his knuckles shone, drenched instantly, and the poor man nearly fainted.

“oh my god,” he croaked, voice breaking. “you’re—you’re really—fuck, you’re so wet—”

“don’t just stare.” you ground against his hand, coating his fingers more. “touch me.”

he looked wrecked, like he might cry from the pressure, but he obeyed, shaking fingers brushing tentative over your folds, clumsy and too soft. the tiny contact made your hips twitch, and his gasp was wild, like he had discovered fire.

“s-sorry! i don’t—i don’t know what i’m doing, i’ll mess it up—”

“then learn.”

and it detonated in him.

his fingers hovered like they were trespassing, trembling against the soaked heat of your cunt as though one wrong move might make you vanish. every nerve in his body screamed that he shouldn’t, couldn’t, but you were dragging him closer, guiding his hand like it was yours to command.

he swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing, breath wrecked and shaky. “i—i’ll mess it up,” he whispered, and the way his voice cracked on the words only made your thighs twitch around his wrist.

“then mess it up,” you said. “just do it.”

the smallest whimper broke out of him, almost inaudible, before he slid one finger in, too careful, too shallow. it wasn’t even enough to stretch you properly, but the slick heat that swallowed him down nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs.

“fuck.. oh god, you’re—” he bit the words off, glasses sliding down his nose as his eyes glued to the sight of his knuckle vanishing inside you. “you’re so warm, i can feel.”

he pushed a little deeper, unsteady, like he was afraid you’d burn him. his fingertip brushed that tender spot inside, purely by accident, and the way your hips jolted made his cock jerk so violently he almost came again untouched.

“did i—did i hurt you?” he stammered, terrified, but the noise you made—a broken, needy sound—set his ears ringing.

you grabbed his wrist and pressed him deeper, until the base of his finger was buried inside you. he choked, a wrecked sound clawing out of him as your walls squeezed around him. “holy fuck. holy fuck. you’re… you’re gripping me so tight.”

his hand was shaking so badly it made the movement jerky, awkward. he tried curling his finger, the way he must have read somewhere online, but it was too stiff, too hesitant, more trial-and-error than skill. still, each clumsy drag scraped over that sensitive spot again, and your breath hitched.

he froze. “that—was that good? i—fuck, tell me it was good—”

your laugh came broken, sharp with arousal. “keep going.”

so he did. one finger turned into two, a shaky stretch that had his forehead beading with sweat, because the snug heat clamped down like it was refusing to let him go. he pushed them in with a choked groan, as though your cunt was swallowing him whole instead of just his fingers.

“oh my god—oh my god—you’re so wet, it’s dripping down my hand—” he babbled, staring wide-eyed as slick glistened across his knuckles. “fuck, you’re—your body’s sucking me in, it’s—”

he thrust clumsily, too fast, then slowed to almost nothing, lost in the rhythm, like his brain couldn’t decide between frantic and reverent. every twitch of your walls had him gasping like he was the one being fucked, his hips jerking helplessly in the air, cock smearing more cum across his ruined shirt.

and when he tried curling them again, clumsy and off-angle, he still managed to rub over that perfect spot enough to make you arch. the sight of your head falling back, lips parted, sent him spiraling.

“oh, fuck, you like that—you like my fingers—fuck, i can’t believe. i can’t believe it’s me doing this—” his voice was breaking into frantic little gasps, humiliation and awe knotted tight together. “you’re squeezing so tight, i can feel every—every flutter—fuck, i feel like i'm gonna die...”

he pumped harder, wrist slick, two fingers scissoring inside you with messy, desperate insistence. he didn’t have finesse, didn’t know how to pace himself—but he had raw need, and it showed in every frantic drag, every shuddering whimper spilling out of him as he watched you come apart.

his breath rasped in your ear, hot and frantic. “i—I don’t know if it’s right—oh god, you’re clenching so hard—I can’t tell—” his words broke into a whine when your nails dug into his shoulder.

“keep going,” you ordered.

he obeyed instantly, fumbling faster, the sloppy rhythm making obscene squelches that filled the neon-drenched air. your slick coated his knuckles, running down to his wrist, dripping onto his ruined slacks. every time he realized how wet you were, his head shook like he couldn’t believe it.

“god, it’s everywhere—you’re dripping on me—fuck, fuck, it’s so hot—” he was babbling again, voice pitched high, cock twitching helplessly against his stomach. “i don’t deserve this.”

he tried curling his fingers like before, but the angle was wrong, too shallow. he groaned in frustration, muttering, “shit, no, wait, let me—” and pulled them almost all the way out before shoving them back in, too hard, making you jolt.

your gasp made him panic. “d-did I hurt you? oh god, I hurt you, I’m sorry—”

“shut up and do it again,” you snapped, hips bucking down to meet his hand.

his eyes rolled back, a wrecked sound clawing out of him. “fuck, you’re unreal...”

he started thrusting harder, less finesse, more instinct. the blunt force of his fingers wasn’t precise, but it was relentless, pumping fast enough that your thighs quivered against his wrist. he stared down, fascinated and horrified, at the way your slick gushed around him, his hand disappearing into the mess of your cunt.

“oh god, you’re soaking me—fuck, I can hear it, it’s so loud.”

the wet squelches spurred him on, and even when his pace faltered, his desperation filled the gaps. his palm slapped clumsily against your clit once, making you jolt with a sharp cry, and the sound broke him.

“there? was that—oh fuck, I did something right, didn’t I?”

he pressed again, rubbing his palm awkwardly over your clit while still driving his fingers inside. the angle was messy, his hand shaking too much, but the added friction made your hips grind against him without thinking.

your body betrayed you first, tightening hard around his fingers, the wet clutch of your cunt dragging him deeper. his eyes went wide, lips parting in shock. “you’re—oh my god, you’re close...”

his voice cracked into a whimper as he worked you harder, clumsy but relentless, pumping fast enough that your slick sprayed his wrist, coating his hand in shine. your nails raked down his back, and he sobbed, hips bucking into the air like he could fuck the phantom of your pleasure.

“please—please cum, I need it—oh god, g-give it to me...”

and when it finally hit, when your cunt fluttered and clamped tight around his fingers, he nearly screamed with you. your orgasm tore through you, soaking his hand, milking his clumsy thrusts as your back arched. the wet sounds doubled, tripled, until it was all you could hear under the bass.

“ohhh fuck—you’re cumming on me—on my fingers—holy shit, I’m making you—” his words spiraled into hysterics, forehead pressing to your chest as he panted. “you’re squeezing me so tight—I can feel everything... you’re so beautiful like this.”

your thighs trembled, cunt pulsing around the fingers still stuffed inside, and he looked ruined, wrecked, trembling like he was the one undone. cum smeared his shirt from his earlier release, but his cock still twitched angrily against his stomach, fat and flushed and desperate.

and still, his hand didn’t stop moving, fingers writhing inside you, like he was terrified to let you go.

“you’re still squeezing me,” he whispered, voice cracking. “it feels so good, I can’t… I don’t know how to stop.”

your body twitched under him, nerves raw, clit throbbing with every accidental brush of his palm. overstimulation began to crawl up your spine, that unbearable mix of ache and need that had your thighs clamping tight around his wrist. you tried to twist away, but he followed, his mouth hanging open, eyes glazed as he watched his fingers vanish into your dripping heat again and again.

“you’re dripping all over me,” he babbled, almost hysterical, his cheeks flushed scarlet. “it’s everywhere… you can cum again, right? you can, I know you can. your body feels like it wants to.”

the sloppy pressure of his palm ground over your clit again, and your back arched helplessly. a broken sound tore out of you, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

“yes, yes, there, that’s it,” he gasped, tears beading the corners of his eyes. “you feel so good on my fingers, I’ll do anything, just cum for me again, please.”

your walls clenched down brutally, and the orgasm ripped through you a second time, shorter, sharper, leaving your thighs shaking against his shoulders. you could hear the slick gush around his fingers, feel the mess smeared down his wrist.

satoru almost sobbed. “you really did… you came again on me. I can feel you everywhere. you’re perfect.”

he finally slowed, dragging his fingers out and staring in awe at how drenched they were, cum and slick coating him up to the knuckles. his cock twitched violently against his ruined shirt, leaking like he hadn’t already spilled earlier.

he looked up at you then, wrecked and trembling, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. his glasses were sliding down his nose, crooked, making him look even more like the flustered professor you knew.

“I… I want more,” he admitted, voice low and raw. “I want to be inside. please. I need it.”

the confession hit like a blow, his tone frantic but sincere, eyes wide with a kind of fear that came from desperation rather than doubt. he looked at you like you were his last chance at salvation.

“you want to fuck me here? in the club?” you teased, dragging your slick fingers down his chest.

his head bobbed in a shaky nod. “yes. I don’t care if they watch. I don’t care about anything. I need you. I’ve never—” his throat caught, and he forced the words out, trembling. “I’ve never wanted anything this much in my life.”

his cock pressed heavy and flushed against your stomach, twitching, leaking, obscenely hard in spite of everything. he wrapped a hand around the base like he was trying to steady it, but it only made it look bigger, angrier, every vein standing out against the flushed skin.

he met your eyes, broken and pleading. “tell me how. tell me what to do. I’ll try, I promise.”

satoru lined himself up with both hands, knuckles white, the fat weight of his cock slapping heavy against your stomach as he tried to steady it. his glasses had slid so far down his nose they were practically useless, but he didn’t dare push them back up—he needed both palms just to keep himself in place.

“god, it’s—fuck—it’s huge, it won’t…” his voice cracked, shaking apart as the flushed head dragged through your slick folds. every pass caught on your entrance, smearing cum and spit everywhere, and his hips jerked like a nervous tic. “I can feel the heat, I can feel you pulling me in already—I’m not gonna last if I even—if I just—”

you reached down and wrapped your hand around him, guiding the tip exactly where you wanted it. his whole body jolted like you’d stuck a live wire to his skin.

“wait—no, don’t, don’t guide me, I’ll lose it if you—ahh—” the words dissolved into a sharp, humiliating cry as you pushed him forward, the swollen head breaching your cunt with a brutal stretch.

his glasses fogged instantly, his jaw dropping open. “oh, fffuck, I’m in—I’m really—oh god, you’re strangling me, I can’t, it’s too tight—”

the stretch bordered on unbearable, your walls aching around him as he struggled to sink deeper. his chest heaved, every muscle straining, like he was trying to hold himself back but couldn’t.

“you’re so hot—so hot and wet—oh fuck, it hurts, but it’s good, it’s so good—I don’t deserve this, professors don’t—don’t belong inside—students—oh god—”

you dug your nails into his ass and dragged him down. he sobbed out loud, high-pitched and broken, as inch after inch forced its way inside, until his hips finally slammed flush with yours.

your stomach bulged with the shape of him, the obscene outline of his cock stretching you open, pulsing, twitching.

satoru collapsed against you, forehead pressed to your shoulder, shaking all over. “I—I can’t breathe. you’re so full, you’re choking me—I mean, you’re choking my cock—your walls are squeezing like you’ll never let go. I’m gonna cum, I’ll cum just from this, I swear—”

he pulled out clumsily, only a few inches, then drove back in with no rhythm. the couch squeaked, your ass slapping wetly against his thighs.

“sorry—sorry, I can’t slow down—I’m trying, I swear, but it feels too good, too good, I’ll die if I stop—”

his thrusts were messy, frantic, slamming deep one moment and grinding crooked the next. every push punched air from your lungs, every drag scraped your clit against his pelvis in ragged bursts of friction.

his face above you was wrecked, flushed crimson, mouth hanging open, glasses sliding halfway down his nose. “you’re—so beautiful—so filthy—under me—oh god, don’t kick me out, please don’t—I’ll do anything—”

then his cockhead clipped something inside you, that raw spot that made your hips jolt. his breath caught like he’d heard the sound of a miracle.

“there—oh fuck, I hit it, didn’t I?—that little jump, that was it—I’ll do it again, I’ll keep hitting it, I’ll make you cum, I’ll make sure—”

he hammered in with wild urgency, aiming clumsy but determined. the couch banged against the floor, his heavy balls smacking wet against your ass, every sound swallowed by the roar of the club around you.

“you’re gripping me so hard—I can’t think—I’m gonna cum, I’m already there, I can’t stop it, I can’t—oh god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

your cunt swallowed him greedily, obscene squelches rising up each time his hips slammed flush against yours. every thrust ground the fat head of his cock against your cervix, a bruising battering that made your toes curl and your belly clench, and satoru couldn’t stop babbling through it.

“oh fuck, it’s so deep—you’re letting me fuck your womb, I can feel the way you’re choking me from the inside out—I shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t let me...”

you dug your nails into his back, dragging red streaks down his pale skin, and the sound that ripped out of him was high and shattered. when his head dropped against your neck, you caught him by the chin, forcing his tear-streaked face up toward you.

“look at me,” you ordered, tightening your thighs around his waist until he shuddered. “look at how pathetic you are.”

his eyes were wet, lashes clumped, glasses hanging useless on the edge of his nose. he tried to nod, but your hand suddenly wrapped around his throat, squeezing just enough to cut his breath.

he choked, a ragged, broken sob spilling out of his chest, hips bucking violently forward as if the denial of air short-circuited every nerve in him.

“you like that?” you hissed, your grip firm on his throat as your other hand fisted in his hair, holding him still. “you like being choked while you fuck me?”

his answer was a garbled, desperate moan, body trembling, cock twitching inside you as if it wanted to cum from the grip alone. tears spilled hot down his cheeks, streaking his flushed skin, and you licked the salt off his jaw before slapping his face lightly, just enough to make him whine.

“fuck, you’re gonna make me cum again,” you hissed, nails biting into his scalp, dragging him down into a bruising kiss. your cunt squeezed him tighter, wringing him, dragging him to the edge with you.

he whimpered against your lips, babbling, “please  cum with me—need you to cum, need to feel it...”

your body arched, shuddering, as you broke on him, the world collapsing into white heat, your cunt clamping down hard enough to make his cock jerk violently inside you. the wet spasm milked him, and he screamed into your mouth, a guttural, broken sound, cock spilling hot, thick cum straight into your womb.

it was endless—pulse after pulse flooding you, until it leaked out around the thick shaft still stuffing you full. your stomach bulged under the sheer stretch of him, throbbing with every twitch, every shudder.

and then, finally, his body faltered. his thrusts lost rhythm, stuttering weakly before slowing to nothing. his cock softened inside you, still dripping, still plugged deep in your cunt even as his chest collapsed against yours.

the overstimulation left him raw, twitching, tears drying sticky on his cheeks. his hands clutched at you like he was drowning, sobbing quietly against your collarbone.

when you finally lifted your hips and slid off him, his cock slipped free with a wet, humiliating squelch, soft but still leaking thick ropes of cum that spilled down his thighs and yours, soaking the couch beneath you.

he whimpered at the loss of your heat, face burning, unable to meet your eyes.

and you just sat back, catching your breath, watching his ruined cock twitch feebly against his stomach, cum still drooling from the slit.

“look at you,” you said, voice low and sharp. “you did cum with me. barely.”

satoru sobbed once, a raw, involuntary sound that seemed to tear itself straight out of his chest. he looked wrecked, utterly destroyed, glasses crooked and fogged, sweat dampening the pale hair that clung to his forehead. cum still streaked across his lap, staining the fabric of his slacks, sticking to his ruined shirt, obscene evidence of what he’d been reduced to. professor, mentor, supposed genius—nothing but a trembling mess sprawled out under your control.

his mouth moved before his mind caught up, words spilling unfiltered, sharp with shame. “fuck, I… I ruined you. ruined everything. I couldn’t even—couldn’t even finish right.” his throat worked hard around the confession, bobbing visibly, his eyes glossing with frustrated tears as they darted away from yours. “what kind of man does that?”

you didn’t let him spiral. your hand rose, steady and deliberate, cupping his jaw, dragging his flushed face back toward you until there was nowhere else for him to look. the heat of his skin pulsed under your palm, damp with sweat and spit, his cheek slick from where tears had already carved tracks.

around you the club was chaos—moans tearing through the air, wet slaps of bodies colliding, a burst of laughter that faded into the heavy pulse of bass. the sounds were relentless, every one a reminder of the filth you were drowning in, but it all blurred into meaningless noise compared to the fragile way he breathed in your hand.

“you didn’t ruin me,” you said, voice calm, cutting straight through his panic. your thumb dragged slow across his cheekbone, catching on the salt-slick there. “you made me cum. twice. you fucked me until your body gave out. that’s more than most men manage on their best night.”

his lips parted like he meant to protest, to deny, but nothing came out. only the faintest stammer of breath, a tremor of disbelief. below, his cock twitched feebly against his thigh, pitiful in its soft state, but still dribbling a last thread of cum onto his lap like it hadn’t learned the word surrender.

“look at me, professor.”

your command sliced through him, sharper than the bass, sharper than his own shame, and his head snapped up without thought. his eyes met yours—wet, wide, drowning in their own storm.

“you did fine,” you murmured, low and steady, letting the words settle into him like weight on his chest. “better than fine. you gave me everything you had.”

the praise landed like a strike. he broke under it in a way he hadn’t under overstimulation or pressure or even your hand at his throat. his shoulders shuddered hard, tremors rippling down his long frame, his lips pressing tight like he was holding something back. for a moment you thought he might collapse fully, burst into sobs right there in your hands.

instead, with a clumsy desperation, he reached for you. his big, shaking hand grabbed yours and dragged it to his chest, pressing it flat over the rapid, chaotic beat of his heart. it stuttered and jumped against your palm, frantic, like it was trying to leap free from his ribs.

“i—thank you,” he whispered, voice shredded, trembling so badly it was almost inaudible under the music.

“thank you for… for letting me—” his words cracked, splintered. he couldn’t force the last part out, couldn’t say the word fuck, not when his voice was already breaking like prayer, like confession.

behind you, a girl moaned loud against the wall, the guttural sound drowned in the brutal rhythm of her partner’s hips slamming into her. another man stumbled past, cock already out, jerking frantically into his fist as though the world outside this neon blur didn’t exist.

satoru’s hands shook as he reached for you, as if instinct alone was dragging him forward. his palm brushed your thigh, slick and trembling, trying to swipe away the mess he’d left. but his fingers only smeared it further, dragging cum across your skin in wet streaks.

“i should—” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “i should clean you up. i can’t just leave you like this. i—fuck, i made such a mess.”

you caught his wrist before he could fumble further, his knuckles shining with your slick. his pale lashes fluttered, frantic, like he expected you to scold him.

“relax,” you said, tone steady. “this isn’t your problem.”

his lips parted. “it is—”

“no, satoru.” you pressed, and the firmness in your voice made him flinch. “i work here. this is my job. the mess, the neon, the moans, the way people look at me—this is all mine. not yours to fix.”

his throat bobbed hard, adam’s apple jerking as he looked at you like the ground had just opened under his feet. he wanted to argue—god, every nerve in him screamed to argue—but nothing came out.

instead, he pulled back his hand slowly, staring at the shine of cum and spit coating his skin, at the sticky threads clinging between his fingers. his cock gave a feeble twitch, soft but still too heavy against his thigh, betraying him even in shame.

you leaned in, brushing his glasses back onto his face, straightening them where they’d slid crooked. “go home, professor. get some rest.”

something in the way you said it—gentle, final—cut straight through him.

he nodded, small, shaky. “right. yes. of course.”

he tried to stand, but his knees nearly buckled under his own weight, and he had to grab the couch to steady himself. his sweater vest clung damp to his chest, stained with sweat and cum.

he fumbled with his slacks, hands clumsy and shaking as he tried to shove his cock back inside. the length was soft now, heavy and sticky against his palm, smeared with spit and dripping the last of his release down his wrist. every brush of fabric dragged a shiver out of him, too sensitive, too raw, until he hissed through his teeth. 

he finally managed to tuck himself away, the wet patch blooming darker over his crotch, his obscene girth still bulging obvious through the ruined fabric. shame burned through him—anyone who looked would know exactly what had happened.

satoru glanced at you once more, words forming and dying on his tongue. he wanted to tell you how beautiful you’d looked, how you’d ruined him in ways he didn’t know he could be ruined, how every moan you’d wrung out of him would haunt him for the rest of his life.

but he only managed a strangled, “i'll see you at school,” before he turned away.

the bass swallowed him as he slipped toward the exit, shoulders hunched, shame and guilt and unspent desire burning a hole in his chest.

behind him, you stayed perched on the ruined couch, legs still sticky with his cum, eyes glinting in the neon haze.

satoru didn't look back.

He was quick to chase back your lips again with his own, causing you to giggle as you press a finger against them. “I thought you were tired…” you teased. He simply gazed at you before drawing you back in for another needy kiss. I suppose that was his way of answering you.

Your hands seem to develop a will of their own as they explore down from his chest, eliciting a hitch in his breath and a slight furrow of his brows. His grip on your hip only tightened as your wandering hands continue to move lower along his body, following the water's gentle ripples. He knew what you were planning and by no means did he want you to stop.

This time, he was the one to break the kiss, responding to your previous question, “I am…but having a beautiful wife to come home to changes things.” You respond with a smile at his words before your hand glides over the tip of his cock, causing a soft moan to leave him, the wetness of the head concealed by the surrounding water.

Your voice turned low as you whispered in his ear, “You should just relax and let me take care of you…” And who was he to argue with that?

Your fingers then begin to gently trace up and down his length, harmonizing with the swirling water, causing him to shiver slightly. He releases a breathy laugh, his neck tilting back slightly at your touch. “It’s kinda hard to…especially when you tease it like that, you know?…” you hum softly, leaning in to place a kiss at the corner of his lips while ensuring your fingers remain just barely on him.

"Sorry... thought I'd take it slow for you to get used to it..." you pause for a moment, and just as he was about to voice his frustration over the lack of movement, you firmly grasp his cock and twist around its length in a swift motion.

God, the little smirk that adorned your face as you watched his mouth fall agape, words leaving his mind with nothing but moans escaping. “Ah…b-baby, you—mh…” He could feel his face begin to heat up a sign of his growing blush and he swore he thought he was about to cum right then and there.

And then there was the way you spoke to him, the tone of your voice—fuck it did something to him especially when you asked, “This better for you, baby?”

He tried to answer you, he really did, but every time he attempted to speak, it turned into a whine or a broken stutter. He couldn't even meet your gaze, his head leaning further back against the bathroom wall tiles, leaving his neck exposed for you. "F-fuck... so f-fast..." was all he could manage, mixed with a few incoherent sentences that sounded like "thank you's."

Perhaps it was due to how exhausted he felt after today, or maybe it was the stress he had been under at work lately. It could also be because you were caring for him like this, but the moment you pressed your face against his neck, a loud whimper escaped his lips as he buried his head into your shoulder to muffle it a bit. “M’sorry— babe, I-Im gonna cum…G-God m’cummin!…” Suddenly, you felt the warm release of cum leaving his tip in the bathtub, along with the twitching of his cock in your hand.

You gradually slowed your movements, allowing him to regain his composure after his climax, before pulling back with a teasing smile, “That good?” You felt a surge of pride for making him cum with just a few flicks of your wrist and so quickly too.

He shot you a glare for a moment. God, he felt like a teenager. He had never cum this fast before, especially from a handjob! What was wrong with him? "I was... I was just pent up. That’s all..." the perfect excuse if you asked him, but you weren’t buying that.

"So if I were to touch you again..." you lightly brushed your finger over the tip once more, causing his breath to hitch “you sure you won’t cum?”

A soft, "Don’t," slips out from his lips, a warning sign for you to not start something you couldn’t finish.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction before retreating back to your corner of the bathtub. There’s a comforting silence from a minute before he speaks up, “…thank you for that.” He looks at you with genuine sincerity in his eyes, something you would only see during his most vulnerable moments. “I really…I really did need to destress…”

You smiled at his words before standing up to leave the bathtub, water rippling around you. "You know... you could always help me destress too...”

His eyes momentarily widen in response to your remark, a clear indication of surprise. Almost immediately, a familiar smirk begins to form on his lips, “God, you’re such a tease…”

He really was in love with you.

Honestly, Shoko might be one of the Queen’s most favored healers- but you really think she’s been neglecting the health of her eyes lately. Daring to elbow her in the side, “Don’t jest!”

She snickers, and you’re sure you detect the nearby daughter of a merchant family haughtily sniff your way—“I do no such thing.” Though, not for too long, fortunately for the two of your necks, because just then Duke Nanami’s stepping into clear view of the party - and you’d never glimpsed so many aristocratic mouths drop.

So many ladies (and some gentlemen) fluster, and so many older heads of families water at the mouth like they’d just spotted the most delectable prey. 

Understandable, however.

Because if Nanami was thoroughly agreeable to your eyes in the few peeks you’d stolen at him- then he was almost other-wordly now.

With the most charming, tidy golden hair pushed back, a few curls coiling at the nape of his high collar. A towering stature that made even the most accomplished generals hunch in on themselves, and you nearly audibly gulp at the broad flex of his arms within his navy jacket. Stern. Stoic. 

His molten, intense eyes peek over thin-rimmed glasses at the buzzing guests ahead, and you swear that they begin to stray somewhere near you—

“Heavens! Must I repeat myself, you common scullion?”

Ah, at the way Marquess Zenin Naoya was saddled right behind you and spitting hellfire, surely. 

You rush to bend into an apologetic bow, so low that the knobs of your spine start to ache- “Please forgive my impudence, My Lord-”

“Have you nothing between your ears but lint?” He’s growling, spindly hands tightening on his empty goblet of wine until you hear the silver material creak. And it’s hitting you right then n’ there that in your haste to ogle Duke Nanami, you must have failed to heed Naoya’s calls for more drink-

He turns his sharp profile to the side and spits on a patch of clean-cut grass, “A servant that knows not her place is no better than dirt. What do you gawk at like so?” 

“N-nothing, My Lord.”

And you can only watch, in slow-motion terror, as Naoya flicks his beady gaze behind you- and his sour face tenses at the vision of the tall newcomer that’d easily - and very obviously - ousted his mantle as the most eligible bachelor present. “That ol’ duke? Heh- dreaming that he’d bed a wench, did you?”

“Forgive me, sir, it was not my intent to give offence.” You’re breathing out, first clenching as you feel the withering looks that were starting to prop up around you two. Everybody loved a scandal. Trembling hands reaching out for his cup, “I-if you would allow me to just refill-”

“Don’t touch me!”

CLANG!

It happens all at once. 

The heavy goblet clatters to the floor, a warm chest nuzzles your back, and a strong hand was locked right around Naoya’s raised wrist. Right before he could strike. 

“It seems her highness’s liquor is exceptionally strong.” Nanami’s deep baritone sounds above your head and makes your skin bead with a blanket of goosebumps. 

And it’s slightly husky. So attractive. 

Especially when he’s tilting his head down so close, something primal in his eyes that made it feel like he was on the very verge of devouring you whole. Right there in the middle of the bustling garden party. Humming sternly, “Yuji, please escort our impaired marquess somewhere ah…quieter.”

“Y-yes, Nanamin- I mean, Your Grace!”

You’re watching, speechless, as a younger boy with the most vibrant head of pink locks runs up from behind and grabs onto both of Naoya’s shoulders to bodily steer him away from you.

He must have been stronger than he looked, clearly, because the proud heir was being lugged away like a sack of potatoes no matter how much he squirmed and fought - much to the amusement of the party-dwellers. And you.

But you’re quick to bite back your startled laughter once you’re realizing that Nanami Kento was still holding onto you. And not just stood behind- you must have stumbled amidst all the commotion because he had a large hand gripped onto your hip to steady you.

You were in his arms. 

Gasping, “O-oh.” You couldn’t have broken off faster from him, knees strangely weak as you’re forcing them into yet another curtsy, “I am so-”

“My deepest apologies, Honorable Miss.” The duke beats you to it, a strange smile playing along his stern lips as he bends into an even deeper bow. “I should have asked prior to touching a lady.”

“A-a lady!” You’re squawking, in what was most definitely an unladylike manner. Hands wringing to gesture him to straighten as much as you could without it being seen as defiance against one of the crème de la crème of nobility. “I assure you I am no such thing, Your Grace.”

Just then he kisses the back of your hand in greeting, “Please, call me ‘Nanami’- or ‘Kento’, should you wish, ma’am.”

“It- it is beneath you to be designated that by me-”

“I insist.”

And if everyone here was watching the upending chaos before, then they simply couldn’t remove their eyes by now. 

Whilst Nanami - still bowed - only tilted his head up with a smile, looking at you through his long, pale lashes.

You lift the humble fabrics of your working dress, a thick, dark-colored wool that marked you different from the tittering daughters of the upper-class. “B-but I am only in service to her highness.”

“Is that so?” And you’re breathing a sigh of relief as he stands back to his broad, proud figure- finally, he’s understood and would prance off as all young bachelors did to- “For I only gaze upon the most beautiful lady that has graced the floor this evening, and my blessed gaze.”

What?

“Have a charmed night-” Nanami has a dimple- he has a dimple that winks from the side of his grin as he turns and nods down with the velvety brim of his hat. “-My Lady.”

My Lady.

Utahime’s hands clap down on your rigid shoulders. “Sole heir to the Nanami fortune. Rich, handsome, aware when to cease talking.” Her low whistle rings in the air- tinged with such scandal, “Fiend seize it! I should hasten to practice your new title then, Duchess Nanami.”

“You have a lamentable deficiency in wit-”

Utahime, reputably sensible tutor to the offspring of the royal ladies-in-waiting, and known blockhead around your little trio. “And you have a lamentable deficiency in eyesight.” Sighing, “The look he bestowed upon you, my dear…”

“Or would it be ‘My Lordliness.’” Shoko croons in as well, sipping on a flute of bubbly champagne definitely not meant for her. “Oh-so-beautiful wife of Duke Nanami-”

“Attend to your duties!”

.

.

.

Dearest gentle reader,

It has come to my attention - and certainly to that of all the ladies who frequent the halls of Mayfair - something for which you should do well to brace your hearts. Whispers spread that the most eligible bachelor of the season, gentle Duke Nanami Kento, erupted quite the scandal during her majesty’s garden soirée by fixing his much sought-after attentions upon none other than a humble chambermaid. 

Yes, you read that correctly, dear reader. For someone reputed in the upper echelons of society for being as stoic as he is handsome, Duke Nanami shares his first spark of interest as he searches for a bride this season.

So heed this author’s advice; as the famed noble resides in the royal palace for the rest of his stay, keep an eye about. For you may just be lucky to be named Duchess of the House of Nanami.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown.

.

.

.

“This is preposterous!”

“It is absolute truth-”

“It is a sham is what it is.” You’re nearly crying out as you shove Lady Whistledown’s latest scandal sheet back into Shoko’s arms. “He- the duke never fixed his attentions on me.”

And your best friend didn’t spare you a word, only a long, narrowed stare of her intelligent eyes that made your stomach twist. 

Did Nanami fix his- no. While you and Shoko huddled into a hidden alcove within the sprawling walls of the palace to read the latest on-dit gossip, you smacked yourself back into reality. 

The nobility often did have nothing much to entertain themselves with outside of fanning scandal. He was powerful. He was attractive. And he has as many prospects as there were knights in this palace, surely!

Because - of course, for the universe did love to laugh at your expense - he’d taken residency in the palace until the season ended, as one of the Queen’s guests. 

Days later you could count every look, every smile, every bow- goodness, there was that one time that you’d been placing cutlery along the winding royal dinner table. Only for Nanami’s engulfing fingertips to brush against yours and make your skin scorch with his whisper, “Thank you, my lady.”

You’re almost befogged why that wasn’t splashed across Lady Whistledown’s writing- chambermaid loses her wits, hear ye!

“Wh-whichever way one looks at it.” You’re stammering out, realizing that you’d been quiet for much too long. “His grace is simply raising some kind of mischief.”

“Certainly.” She was not certain.

“Just you wait- by the end of this season, Duke Nanami will be married to a lady of high standing and I shall–”

“Be disengaged?” That wasn’t the monotone, sarcastic voice of your longest friend.

It was something masculine, something amused. And it was emanating right from the open space of the corridor reading up to the alcove. 

You don’t have to turn your head to realize who it is - Nanami Kento. 

Though, you do turn anyway. And you almost regret it when you’re stuck by the sheer intensity of his stare, of his face leaned down so close. So intimately that you can’t stop yourself from flitting a sharp glance down at his plush, curving pink lips. 

Perhaps Lady Whistledown wasn’t all that wrong - especially about him being handsome…

“Apologies for startling you, ma’am.” Nanami cuts your traitorous thoughts short by slowly tilting something flat and cream-colored in one hand. “Permit me to explain- will you hopefully be disengaged to attend the upcoming Royal Diamond Ball? Perhaps?”

You’re bowing, confused. “Y-yes, Your Grace. I shall be of service during her highness’s ball.”

It was only the most anticipated assembly this entire year, the annual gathering right in the Queen’s Great Hall to announce the diamond of the season. 

And in only a week, every single servant of the palace was to work themselves to the bone - welcoming, chaperoning, making note of the newly-made unions to titter over much later. 

“Ah, allow me to clarify.” Rubbing a free hand behind his neck, the famed Nanami Kento almost looks…sheepish. “What I meant was- might you be disengaged to…” Staring right at you, hypnotic. “-join me?”

“…What?”

“Of course, it would be no trouble at all if you can not spare a moment, I should be happy to merely converse with you.”

It slips out- “Th-that’s madness. All those ladies-in-waiting-”

Then he’s clasping your hands, he’s pressing the invitation in- but, more importantly, he’s holding you. “And yet, I would like nothing more than the pleasure of your company.” Close. Too close. His breath wafts your lips, “I hope this is not too forward of me. But should you let yourself, trust that I will take care of everything, My Lady.”

And just as soon as you think he’ll kiss you - how uncouth (though, you admittedly wouldn’t complain) - he bends at the waist to gently grasp your hand. 

“Everything.” Whispering a soft kiss into the back, Nanami lingers his lips - his gaze - for a long while. “I await eagerly for your word.”

He’s gone almost as softly, and sweetly, as he’d appeared.

Taking with him the scent of golden caramel, and the racing beat of your heart. You swear you’d have been stuck within the alcove staring behind his muscular back until nightfall had it not been for Shoko.

“So…” She plasters a wry smile once you’re turning her way, invitation trembling in your grip. And you’re noticing that upon its envelope dazzles swooping calligraphy of your name, almost certainly written by him. “Would you prefer ‘Your Gracefulness’ or ‘Duchess Nanami’?”

.

.

.

Dearest gentle reader,

The ton is abuzz as her majesty the Queen’s Royal Diamond Ball nears closer. And the sole heir to the house of Nanami is certainly no exception. 

This author hears directly from a reputable source within her highness’s Chamberlain Office that Duke Nanami Kento was uncharacteristically fastidious in securing himself an extra invitation. Most claim this as confirmation of his grace’s dedication to finding a bride, most also claim they’d seen the aforementioned, infamous chambermaid being handed it.

Take care of artifice; but such intrigue of a commoner attending the most prestigious ball of the year may be much more than my readers may be able to bear.

So, ladies, grab your finest gowns and shortest shawls to make haste for a chance to snag the eligible bachelor’s heart once and for all this season! And I shall, of course, be in attendance to report on all the scandals that unfold.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown.

.

.

.

“I look…”

“Enchanting.” Utahime nods. 

“I was thinking more toad-eaten.” You have to mentally remind yourself to close your maw and do your very best not to gape at the reflection in the decadent mirror displayed in front of you. 

Despite your words, even you couldn’t deny that the deep, sapphire-encrusted gown you were donning made you look every bit the noblewoman that you weren’t. Its Empire waist snugly crowning the flowing muslin, sleeves fashionably puffed, with tasteful gold jewelry that you wouldn’t have so much as dared to look at let alone be dolled-up into.

It was made for you.

Quite literally. Utahime had been the one to write your letter of acceptance to Duke Nanami (after shrieking herself hoarse in excitement first.) And through a week of hushed conversation with his grace, the ball evening had crept up closer and you had an army of modistes and maids knocking at your servants’ quarters.

Scrubbing you raw, painting your face, slipping you into a dress he’d ordered tailored to your exact measurements- how did he even know?

Shoko had to let you use her office, and she was deriving her payment back for it by beaming at the sight of you. “And I was thinking more Duchess of the house of Nanami-”

“Cease!”

“Ah, so you observe? You are noble in all but title already.”

Whilst Shoko and Utahime - the traitors - burst out into peels of laughter, you’re left fiddling with the silken coverings of your gloves. “You…you don’t suppose he’s making a mockery out of me, after all?”

That makes them quieten down, and Utahime hugs your shoulders in a way that thoroughly displeases the attendants and their ruffles. “You shine everyone else down, my dear. He should be lucky to have such a lovely date this evening.”

“Quite so.” Shoko nods, “And should he dare fool around, I have long sought a specimen upon whom to test my latest scalpel-”

“Shoko!”

“Do let me join.”

“U-um, ehem.” The tense, honestly frightened clearing of Itadori, his protégé’s, throat cuts your morbid conversation short. And as he looks at you, the poor boy blushes- whispering something shapes strangely like a little—“Divine.”

Before you know it, you’re being escorted down the high-ceiling corridor just as you’d always watched the sisters and wives of nobility being guided so. 

It’s a pathway more than familiar to you, yet seems so foreign once you approach the grand, imposing double doors opened to the ballroom. It was a magnificent thing; one of the Queen’s proudest possessions - with diamond chandeliers that dripped yellow light like a second sun, and a grand polished staircase kissing down from the doorway to a dance floor at the bottom.

Faint orchestra and chatter tainting the sparkling atmosphere, you breathe in nervously and even the flower-scented air seems too expensive for you.

Itadori hands the chief footman your invitation - something that makes the latter’s bushy eyebrows raise as he recognizes your name. And then the boy squeezes your hand before he leaves you off at the edge of the entrance, “His grace will be utterly bewitched, My Lady. He already is.”

Oh- what?

In the blink of an eye, he’s melted back into the crowd of other youngsters networking outside. And with nearly every guest already inside - you could only descend.

Down.

Down.

Down, the massive carpeted staircase- and it felt like every pair of eyes were on you. Most stopping mid-dance. Some whispering behind their fans. 

And one, Nanami Kento, staring at you breathless and awestruck where he’d been politely conversing with the Queen herself, and a gaggle of entranced admirers. But he only had eyes for you.

Almost frozen. Almost shocked-

Enough so that your satin-covered feet were just a few steps away from reaching down to the marble ballroom floor before you’re thinking of turning right back around and running-

“You.” A hand on your wrist, a soft pair of lips on the back of your hand. Nanami Kento had broken through just about every rule of aristocracy to storm through packs of nobles and catch your wrist before you escaped. 

And when he kisses you, it felt like he was finally breathing for the first time after years. “I had- I had not dared to hope that you would truly appear.” Staring at you through thick, golden lashes as he bends deeper into a bow. “You have honored me with the presence of the most beautiful lady to ever grace these floors.”

Languidly, you’re twisting your body back to face him - to face the crowd - and the way that the distracted orchestra has to begin their slow quadrille from the top, several teary debutantes looking between you and Nanami before shoving their faces into their fans, and even Lord Naoya was casting great attention.

Muttering.

‘Might I inquire as to that lady? Does she have prospects-’

‘Do tell- is it true what Lady Whistledown’s paper said- Bollocks! I wanted to bed Duke Nanami.’

‘My, the chambermaid? The scandal! Oh, but they are a most remarkably striking pair…’

You’re gasping when you catch a glimpse of her highness shifting on her throne to peer over curiously. Nanami had authority- but this?

Gulping, “Is this…is this folly really alright?”

“Oh, My Lady.” He fixes you with a lingering look, “For you, nothing would be folly. May I have this dance?” 

.

.

.

“M-mmm, Your Grace-”

“What did I tell you, My Lady?” Nanami’s hot, simmering pant tingles your lips as he’s lavishing you with the swirling edge of his tongue. “Call me Kento.”

And you didn’t have any reason not to.

Well, first of all you two were far, far from any of the prying eyes of the ball by now - tucked away inside the empty, luxurious royal office allocated to him by the Queen. And then he had you pushed against the corner of the wide mahogany table in the middle- hands fisted into your gown, mouth searing against yours. 

Nanami flicks the slimy edge of his tastebuds between your spit-glossed maw and groans once you’re eagerly sucking. Gasping. Heaving. “O-open your mouth.”

You’d just made the stern, stoic Duke Nanami stutter. And the thought itself is enough for you to knit your brows together and unhinge your jaw even further, “Like this?”

“Wider.”

“Mmm- like-” A glittery ribbon of saliva slicks down the corner of your lips the moment he’s parting his plump, puckered mouth and kissing you in a way you’d never even heard of. “-this?”

So primal. So heated. He’s huffing out a clouded breath through his flared nostrils, and you’re all but melting with each sleazy scour of his tongue. 

“Yeah, wider. Lest I be thought ungentlemanly-” With a thumb latching onto the point of your chin, he has one hand angling your face, and the other curving ‘round your waist to support your weakening knees easily. “Suck on my tongue, ma’am.”

Kissing you and kissing you like he’s parched and every drop of sweet, syrupy water was just drooling from your mouth.

Your whirling head barely even realizes when Nanami has you softly falling back onto the frigid surface of the table. Splayed out completely. His beefy forearm eases the impact, mouth decorating with a few strings of spittle when he’s pulling back with a dampened pwah!

Lungs still clouding out in scorching breezes, “If you would allow it, My Lady.” And you’re whimpering when the doughy mountain of his palm comes rovering down your front. Not resting for a split-second until it was right between your poor legs- “I confess, not a morsel crossed my lips throughout the ball- and I find myself quite famished.”

You’re gasping, trying to close your legs- but it’s like his palm was glued to your drivelling core. Hungry. Desperate. “B-but it is beneath your touch to do such a thing-”

“You’re never beneath my touch.” You swear you catch him look down at your clothed cunt and gulp. Fawny irises dark and dilated, “Never.”

And almost as if he’s proving his point, his free, left hand clasps around your own and flies down gingerly to the absolutely massive bulging tenting Nanami’s trousers.

Oh.

He groans.

Oh.

And he’s looking at you through narrowed, predatory eyes- words so gentle even though the way the thick cylindrical curve of his erection was anything but. “See how you make me?” And with a teary nod, your hips find themselves bucking- “Witness how you- ah.”

Rutting. 

So carnally, with your gown and chemise falling back, it makes Nanami snap his half-lidded eyes down at you like he’d just stumbled upon a five-course meal. A predator blood-thirsty for prey.

Drooling in a thin, slow trail, he hastily wipes it away like a gentleman. He wasn’t just famished - he was starved. 

And by the way his touch shakes ever-so-slightly on your body, it’s a damn miracle that he hasn’t just lost it right now. “We wouldn’t want to waste your talents on just my hand, ma’am.”

Before you can even begin to wonder what his cryptic words meant, Nanami’s making use of the years of his noble training in combat.

Flipping your two positions, laying himself out on the far table, clinging onto your squirming waist to seat you right above his heavily respiring mouth. With your chemise tugged off with one hand, he’s stealing a good look at your naked, geysering pussy and moaning–

“I-I really am quite famished.”

And his voice breaks.

Making you jerk your hips in a slight gyration- unsure where to rest. “Wh-what are you going to- oh.” Whimpering, once he’s planting a firm kiss near the inner parts of your thighs where slick travelled like an adhesive sheen. Only pushing your gown to bunch upwards, “Please!”

“I shall be having my dinner, My Lady.” Lurching you ever-closer, he had your knees straddling each side of his face and it still wasn’t close enough. “Bon appétit.”

All five of his coarse fingerpads digging into the cheeks of your ass, he flicks his wrist and drags you straight into the gaping cavern of his maw. His glistening tongue was propped out just right to spank the surface of your pussylips on his tastebuds. 

“A-ah.” Thighs trembling, it feels so strangely and erotically wet with him salivating all over. 

He feels a slippery splosh of your juices leak from your slit and straight into his gullet, the creamy taste flooding up his tongue. “O-ohhh–” Savoring. “Has anyone ever made you feel like hah- this?”

“N-not at all, Your Gr-”

“Kento.”

“K-Kento–!” It’s all that you can squeal when the flexible tendril of his muscle crowns your hole and you’re seeing stars. His tongue is just so long n’ girthy that it makes your poor, filthy entrance clench when he’s slipping just an inch inside. “Fuck- n-ngh- fuck–!”

“Charmed you’re enjoying, ma’am.” And he sounds so genuinely elated - breathy, shaken - at the pretty moans falling from your mouth like music. 

Though, it’s not enough.

It might never be enough, so the duke can only prop up slightly on one of his strong elbows just to angle his mouth into the perfect French kiss with your cunt. Slapping his tongue right over the puffy folds of your pussy, he’s licking and licking each stray bead of slick bubbling out of you until you’re all tender and glossy.

Only then is he wafting his right thumb vertically down your cute slit, “Though, not to overwork my dear lady- but might you mind lending me a…hand?”

You’re snapping your head down so fast that your chin knocks against your heaving chest, “Wh-what do you need, Your- ah, Kento?”

“Oh, nothing much, my darling. Just…” Tilting his head, Nanami’s rendering you stupidly dizzy each time he twists the callused knob of his thumb in and out of your folds. “Spit in my mouth.”

“Wh-would that be appropriate?” He was filthy.

Feral. “I would love nothing more.”

And he meant it- he truly, completely, and utterly meant it. You’re watching his prominent Adam’s apple bob greedily once the bead of pearly saliva bubbles between your lips and dead-on into his mouth. Only swirlin’ inside for a mere second before spitting right back into your polished cunt. Hard. 

Letting the fat wad slip between your lips, and Nanami doesn’t waste a single second before pushing his rugged middle finger inside your hole. 

“There we go.” Gazing in pure lecherous wonderment at the way your needy ring of muscle was swallowing him up, every single solid inch right down to his mountainous knuckle. What a tight fit. “There- there, atta girl.”

“It just feels so- ngh- so-” You don’t even know how to control yourself, hips jerking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until the globes of your ass strike his chin and make you keen. “Ah!”

“Eeeeeasy does it, ma’am.” 

And he’s still grunting your name out with that title- even as he’s pryin’ apart your bloated lips and sticking in yet another digit. The fat ends of his index swiping across, engraving his family signet ring against your very walls-

“This is only a prelude, darling.” You’re flinching at the chilling scrape of the band on his second finger, and he grins. Glueing that very grin against your throbbing clit, he spits again- “Only just getting started.”

“Fuck- fuck!” Going against every policy you’d learned in polite society, you’re throwing your hips back and gyrating out looong sloppy drags of your cunt. 

Straight from the treacly base of your pussy to where Nanami was nuzzling your sensitive clit with his nose. Again. And again and again- the duke’s kiss-bitten lips were burning and he’s still craning his neck for more. Panting, “Make a mess of me, My Lady. S’what I’m hah- here for.”

“N-ngh, it feels so gooood, Kento.”

And you don’t even have any inhibitions about that little slip-up of titles anymore, back arching into a perfect curvy ‘S’ shape at the way he’s salivating all over your pussy.

Rovering the ridged edges of his tongue in a cutesy lil’ heart over your clit, pressing down just enough pressure on it like a button. And it’s exactly what he needs to make you gasp, your hole winking- so that he can easily slide-slide-sliiide a third finger in with a resonating squelch!

“So wet. So divine.” He’s groaning at the sight of you suckling in on him and all his inches. Fitted in so deeply that your orifice is struggling to even squeeze, thighs clamping over his sweaty temples. Feeling inside you. Searching. “I must ask that you ruin me, darlin’. Ride me faster.”

Thighs aching, breaths shortening. His metal glasses thump the scorching front of your cunt and you whine. 

“Faster.”

“P-pleeease!”

It’s like he’s ravaging your pussy with his thrusts, blond brows furrowing in so tight as he’s leaning in even closer. Tuggin’ apart your folds, he’s discovering every sleek, leaking inch of your cunt like he didn’t have enough time. Never would.

And it’s with only spank after spank of his metallic ring that he’s somehow skidding it right down your saccharine walls and directly into your g-spot. “H-here.”

“There.” Even with the kaleidoscope of tears dazzling your vision, you can make out the completely pussydrunken grin that smears across his face. 

Rutting up against the swollen slope of your pussy, he laps up every sodden ounce of slick that escapes you once he hits his slimy target. “With greater fervour now, My Lady.” Your throat clogs up every time he reels his fingerpads down to the curvaceous edges and slams back in. “Harder-”

You grip onto the straight ends of his deltoids, flexing with muscular strength. “I-I’m not sure if that is possible-”

“Do not be gentle with me.” And it almost sounds like a command. Though he’s acting upon it like it’s a complete beg- swerving his palm to sticky clammily onto your left ass cheek and pushing you. “Let yourself hah- go. Give me all of you, I beg.”

You had the most powerful, stoic duke of all the season begging. 

And he needed it- he was toying with the lacy circle of your garter and snapping it down onto your flesh with a flick of his fingers. 

Only to make you wetter.

So wet with sappy, meady slick that he’s gulping down like his favorite liquor- splashing down between his lips and making him more n’ more inebriated by the second. 

Glasses still on. Pumping his hips up into the empty air, all he could do was fuck his fingers into your hotly-glossed walls and pretend he’s doing it all with his aching cock. “Do you think you can handle a fourth, darling?”

Gasping, “P-perhaps-”

“Then…brace yourself…”

You couldn’t brace yourself. You couldn’t even intake a steady breath even if you tried. 

Because while you’re perching your dripping pussy near the line of his straight nosebridge, Nanami’s slipping in the coiled edge of his lengthy tongue. Not his fingers. His tongue. 

In addition to all he was rummaging your melty insides with, he swabs over the texture of his tastebuds down where you were the most delicate and strokes his tongue inside—

“Sh-shit- shit shit shit-” Your mouth juts out into such an adorable pout that makes the man beneath you thrusts his rugged hips upwards. “I-I think I’m…close, Kento.”

“S’that so? Gonna cum?”

So difficult to even breathe when he’s strobing his fingertips down your bulging g-spot, already battered and bruised with the slamming impacts. With the way he swats the side of your thighs stinging with your garter, “Mhm—hck!”

Probin’ every velvety nook and cranny with his touch, Nanami can’t have you on his weeping cock so he’s twisting all his three- now four fingers, and his tongue inside until his wrist aches. His jaw strained. Tastebuds raw, just as much as your pussy was.

“The orchestra is playing, you can be as loud as your heart desires. Say the words, ma’am- I beg of you to please just hah! say the words.”

It makes your vulnerable lips tremble just to formulate the next few scandalous words, never before having been so fucked-out. “Y-yes. Yes, please. Gonna…cum.”

And you swear that the ever-sensible Nanami Kento is gurgling out a wet giggle right between the space of your puffy pussylips, sending white-hot shockwaves down your bowed spine. “I would be-” He wetly gasps out, before slapping his handsome features right back down. 

Addicted. He can’t even move. 

“I would- hah- I would be quite-” And his spectacles dig in deep until the metal surface sizzles against your core, pushing and pushing himself back. His tongue’s going wild, stirring around with the wettest slurps. “I would be quite offended if you didn’t, my love.”

He doesn’t just mutter the words - he’s biting them right ‘round the perky knob of your clit. Teething his glinting canines just hard enough while he’s slipping his tongue back out - right on time, right at the very second to tastefully receive the way you throw your head back and squirt.

Hot. Hard.

It feels like your entire body’s caught on fire and no matter how much you’re slobbering your hips to the front n’ back, it only makes the sensation worse. 

Your eyes water, mouth hanging open stupidly. “Yes- yes yes yes yes- I’m cumming-” Thighs trembling down upon either side of his eardrums at the friction- tight, and he doesn’t even care. “I-I’m cumming.”

“Squirting, My Lady.” Nanami corrects you, gently. Though, it’s a fucking miracle he even had the patience to considering that he’s gasping and panting for air but only pushin’ himself closer to the oodles of cute slick seeping out from you. 

He doesn’t even care. 

Doesn’t even need air- not when he can perk his head just right and push against your thighs. Wide maw unfastened gluttonously ajar to let the thick trickles of sap drip into his mouth after each zap! of bliss. Drowning him. 

Mouth sagging further open, lungs screaming at him. So many bucketloads of syrupy sweet sap that sprays his features until they’re all glittery. “Squirt- oh. You’re- ngh-”

And something’s breaking at the back of his throat when he’s roaming his dexterous, looong tongue between the plumpness of your pussylips, and you’re taking him in so easily.

Overstimulated till you can let off only whines n’ sobs when he’s lazily dabbing his way inside your quivering hole. 

“I’m so ruined, Kento.” Riding and riding. He wanted you to use him and you were- “It feels s-so strange.” The peak of your high was one big wave, and it tingles underneath your skin and makes your eyes roll. 

Never - even during all those long, lonely nights with your hand slipped underneath the covers - did it ever feel like this. Never were you leaking your essence this much, with your sappy juices falling all down the sides of his rosy red lips. “Never f-felt this ngh- way before, Ken.”

And that makes him groan.

Slowly, gingerly - almost like it hurt for him to detach his hungry lips with yours, he’s pulling you off with one hand stuck to your hips. Surging backwards with- no, he can’t surge backwards.

The duke’s planting one more firm kiss onto your cunt, open-mouthed. And then jerking back- and forth. Another kiss. Another repeat until about five times later and he’s finally ready to say goodbye to your sweet, overspilling pussy. 

But he’s not done with his little show- oh, the moment you’re finally spying a good, long look at him, you think you might cum again from just that.

Because Nanami Kento was ruined - blond hair astray, spectacles drooping down his nose, your pussy juices worn all over from the apples of his blushin’ cheeks down to his jawline like a lewd medal.

Waterfalling between the curves of his pectorals, gleaming wherever his pale skin was flushed. He looked as if there was a part of him that was feverish - barely even registering what he’s doing once he’s tugging off his slick-glazed glasses and sucking those pearly beads off of the frame.

Licking his completely wet glasses clean, Nanami tilts his head with a grin like he’s never been more accomplished. “I only live to please you, ma’am.”

“But that’s not fair.” You huff out a stubborn breath, shuffling down his tall body to try and cup the bulging outline between his legs that almost looked painful. “I, too, wish to-”

“Tonight is not the night, I’m hah- afraid.” He’s cleanly cutting off both your plea and your palm. Instead bringing up your shaky hand to kiss the inside of your wrist. Gloves off, his eyes primal and dead set on you. “I could never ask you to get on your knees. Tonight, I only ask that you let me drive you wild, darling. Let me devour you whole.”

And he meant it.

Oh, within sultry seconds Nanami was moving himself off of the tabletop and standing adjacent. Tall. Strong. Not letting you lift a single finger before he loops two hands underneath your thighs and draaaags you to the very edge.

Moistened thighs pasting to his obliques, “Pray, allow me to see to it. To everything.”

And you just wanted to rip the gossamer fabric of your dress off, but Nanami was oh-so-delicate with his hands all over you. Even though he’s fitting himself animalistically between your lewd legs and rutting-

“Why-” His breath catches once your petticoat and stocking are peeled off, both thumbs spreading your swollen pussylips like a lotus. Completely exposed now. “-hello, my love.”

Your mouth parts when you’re realizing that he’s not just talking to you- he’s talking to your cunt. Maw stretched into a smile so utterly lovin’, Nanami keeps that same dopey grin on as he’s leering his face down to spit. 

Again.

“Please, Kento.” You’re bucking your hips up impatiently, still shaky with the aftershocks of your high but you wanted more more more. Needed it. “P-put it in.”

He groans- oh, was it him that taught your sweet mouth to say those words. Corrupting you with every second he’s drawing soppy circles on your wet outer pussy, the duke can only tear down his dress coat and his trousers. Careful with yours but he was ripping his own clothes off. “As you wish, my darling.”

It’s just then that he’s finishing tugging down his sensually tight breeches—and you’re drinking in all of him. And fuck- was it a sight only for your most light-skirted dreams.

Because Nanami Kento was naturally chiseled, to the point where you could count each of his eight washboard abs. Every dip and muscular curve of his hardened front just tensed when the cool air hit him, leading a path of gold along his middle. 

A light happy trail down, down, down to where his red n’ aching cock sat heavily, so hard that his bulging tip looked just about ready to burst. Eight maybe even nine inches long, and so girthy that it made your mouth drop as if you wanted him fitted inside already. 

 You’re watching as his pre-glazed tip only coats an even more glistening layer of sap at your sinful attention. Trickling all the way down to his tightening balls, “You’re staring—”

“C-can you blame me?”

“I suppose not.” And the warmth of his towering proximity hits your body like a furnace, making you squirm restlessly when Nanami’s leaning over the edge of the table to tap-tap-tap his thick cockhead down between your legs. Rock-hard. “Brace yourself, ma’am, mhm?”

Then he’s splitting you apart-

And then he’s arching his sculpted shoulders to cage you underneath him and swearing–“Fuck.”

The first time ever that you’re hearing him spew profanities, just barely slipping the pointed globe of his shaft past the texture of your tight, hot cunt was ruining him. 

“I-I apologize, My Lady.” It was making him gasp, “I apologize, how uncouth of my character. I didn’t mean to-” It was making him urgently snap his head down in panic and watch with primal awe as he ruts- deeper. “F-fuck!”

“Oh my god-” You’re throwing your head back at the pressure, only to be grappled back in by Nanami just so that he can sliiide his lips across yours. Open-mouthed. “H-how are you going in so deep-”

“I cannot help myself.” Grunting, Nanami doesn’t even feel the stinging pain when he’s slamming his capped knee down on the plane of the desk. Angling his slender hips to shove the slimy crown of his tip into your gooey entrance, “It’s simply- it’s just-”

And Nanami Kento, so articulate and calm, doesn’t have the damn words anymore.

Stuttering, falling over his panic to thrust in and in between your trembling legs. He feels the cute rimming circle of your cunt tighten ‘round his fattened girth, and snaps his head down in panic. Spitting. “I-I must have it fit inside, darling. Please, allow me just the tip, at least.”

“Will- ngh! will it even-”

“Of course.” And he’ll apologize for interrupting your sentence later - much, much later. 

But for right now, the only thing that sparks in his fuzzy mind was to raise his toned left forearm up to your drivelling maw. Where you start gnawing wetly down on his skin, he spits- 

“Bite down. Harder.” Hips sloppy, knee hiking up even further to maze his flared cock inside. You feel your elastic hole stretch a wider diameter as he’s slipping yet another solid inch in. “Come now, harder. You can ngh- take it.”

“It’s going in.” And you don’t know whether you wanted to slam your hips forwards or jerk vulnerably at the sheer weight of his body leaning down. 

He breathes, “Yes- yes.” The breeze of his pants fanning your face, making your entire body erupt in flames by the time he’s squeezing past the tender slit carved onto his shaft. Cementing the bulging edge of his cocktip to the roof of your pussy with a raw sluuurp. “I have you. shall not let you fall- bite.”

And it’s all that you can do.

Because Nanami’s fucking you into office table like he wanted you to splinter straight through. 

The half-lidded peripherals of his eyes latching onto where you were speared open like he was watching his personal show, “I hope you know…I’m no- hah- easily satiated man, my love.”

“Wh-what do you- fuck!”

Just on cue, he’s slamming the lines of his hardened hipbones against your inner thighs and making you recoil back near the edge of the table. Dangerously. Barely even giving you a second to pick yourself back up before he reaches over to lace both his rugged palms on top of your clammy scalp. Intertwining. Holding you there. 

‘Just the tip’ he said. And yet here he was, pinning you down just to bully his vein-covered length between your snugly stubborn lips. 

“Do not think to run from me-”

“Could never- ngh- could never-” You’re babbling easily at this point, because the curvy trails that his veins left along your walls were only driving you mad. “Just want more, Kento.”

“…Pardon?”

You blink your teary eyes up at him in a way that makes his throbbing girth fatten up, every ounce of blood in the duke’s head rushing to the ballooned-up knob of his tip. “M-more, I say-”

“More.” He’s echoing out, more to himself. Higher-pitched. Almost tasting the pure need in that one word, and the very repetition makes him half-thrust straight into the goopy depths of your pussy. “More…more.”

Nanami pants out a husky giggle—“More.” Oh, he’s just so in love with the way your cunt was struggling to swallow him whole n’ yet squeezing as you try. He leans back down and spits once more, thoroughly ungentleman-like. “Forgive my haste. You just m-make- me-”

And you swear you hear the tail end of that particular sentence break off into a whine once he’s finally, finally bottoming out. 

So sensitive that all it takes is one, two, three lucious swabs of his drivelling orifice to get you to cum. Throat torn with hoarse moans, head throwing back- “I’m- once more…?”

“F-fuck. You are.” Easing in the girth of his cockhead to be spanked against your cervix and make you see stars. Nanami’s already flooding your pussy with a pour of his scalding hot precum. “What a wonder this enchanting body is for me.”

Again. He has you orgasming all over him again.

He’s feeling just a twinge of disappointment in himself for not making you squirt yet another time- but the night was still young. And your sappy cunt was already so wet, with beads of sparkly juices smearing down his happy trail every time he’s whipping his hips forwards.

Slam after slam. 

Your entire body twitches with startles of euphoria, mewling. “Th-there’s so much- so- ah.”

Ah, how he would love to reach his hands over and wipe away the glistening tears streaming down your pretty face. 

But no, right now he had them locked on top of your head and was using the leverage to pound you stupid. Harder. Spiking the peaks of your high with each thorough probe of his stout, mushroom tip. “I know. I know I know I-”

CRACK!

Oh. 

The desk.

It takes a split-second for both your hazed minds to realize that the ancient mahogany table was sagging on one end, Nanami’s raw natural strength too much for it to handle. And then not even that for him to pull out his cock with a wet plop! 

Manhandling you down onto the hardwood floors like a doll, on all fours. It’s such a sinfully new angle to have him looming behind you, tense core plastered against your back once his lengthy cock siiiinks in-

Orgasm still dwindling, entire body shaking. “Fuck- nghhh- fuck, Kento–!”

“You are doing so well, darling.” One hand glues onto the side of your left ass cheek and tugs you back down with his grip. The other carefully rovers just underneath your tummy, “M-makes it so easy to wish to hah- give away to my inclinations.”

A primal sob wrenches from your throat when you’re feeling the slimy drag of his globular, pointed tip. Drawin’ out a zig-zag down and down where you were most delicate, until he reaches the target of your cervix, spank! “Th-then proceed- I beg of you.”

You didn’t know what those guttural words would mean. You didn’t even know if you would make it out alive- but right now you’re starting to doubt it once Nanami gasps.

Once he’s slamming one of his flattened feets by the side of your thigh, deeper. The raw, sensual feeling so much that he can’t control himself. Rutting and rutting away as if he’s gone feral—

“Is this to- to your liking then, ma’am?” The duke’s gurgling out through a translucent froth of spittle, splat-splattering right down the middle of your arched spine. “H-how about now?”

He shutters his eyes furiously and rams the remaining few inches of his cock. Bottomed out and still trying to probe even deeper inside, so all he can do is plant his sock-covered foot over the top of your head and press. Bending. “N-now?”

“I adore it—” You’re keenly whining, “Love it- ngh- please.”

Proudly, Nanami dares to snicker as his left thumb brushes down the plump, roaming tummy bulge he was fucking into you. Pushin’ down just on the curvy tip of where you could feel his split-ended cockhead thrashing your poor insides. “And I should love to hah! make this gorgeous cunt mine- make you mine.”

And he was a man of action.

It was high time you realized that, because within exactly three repeated swats of his plummy, rose-colored shaft- he’s discovering your g-spot. He’s kissing that bullseye with a looong, soppy glide.

“Though…that is what I am doing, that should be no hngh- sham.” 

Feeling all the crimson rush to your head, he presses down just as his aching hot cock presses in. “It’s- it’s just- fuck.”

Faster. Harder. So sloppy that the planks of the floorboards start to sing out in singing creaks of protest, soiling with a trickle of syrupy precum and slick being poured from straight between your legs. Constantly. 

Rubbing himself swollen n’ redly raw on the cavern of your tight pussy, Nanami doesn’t even want to blink to break his staring contest with your bulging pussylips. 

Milking himself. 

The sweetest smooch for your sweetest spot, Nanami coos as you shake- struggling to keep your weakened arms straight as you hold yourself up in this lecherous position. “Come now.” Your overstimulated vision spots with pure white as he darts the hand at your stomach to loop around your throat like a necklace - a headlock. Springing you upright—“I have you, My Lady.”

Spittle waterfalls in embarrassing bucketloads from your mouth and stains the front of his beefy forearm, squeezing your airway. Dilated pupils swirlin’ stupidly every time his strawberry divot circles the entrance to your womb. Squealing, “Y-you…ngh!…mm–”

“Hmmm—?”

“You- hck! please, Ken-”

His warm, ravaging cock was so big that the constant stretch of your walls finally had you stupid. Your brain nothing but a pulp of melted mush every time he snaps his clammy hips to your ass with a stinging pap! of skin-on-skin.

 “Me…I’m-” And it’s like each time the puffy veins decorating each side of his overworked shaft gets squeezed, Nanami finds himself seeing stars. Sweaty, bulging biceps tightening on your throat even harder- you scream. “I have you, My Lady- I’m yours.”

Your hole gaping, thighs wet. Just taking everything he’s giving as he finally cums—and you do, too.

Though, you’re not registering it at first. 

Not when that leaky hole at the very end of his cherry-red shaft pipes out a creamy icing of cum, layering thickly across every inch and cranny of your rummaged insides. Pump after pump- each one has your pathetic pussy overspilling with so many knotted wads of seed, and yet he always had so much more more more-

“O-oh.” He’s grunting out, feeling a particularly big splash of sap at the base of his cock- and it’s only then that you’re both realizing that you’d just squirted. All over again.

It’s traveling down like a flood between your thighs, painting a glistening ring on the tawny curls at his hilt. Soaking him utterly n’ completely that Nanami finds each thrust to let off the most primal sluuuurp! 

“You- you really are the most beautiful hck! lady that has graced this Earth, my love.” Your gaze, your smile, that soul. It was your soul he found most beautiful, the instant he laid his eyes upon you. 

He simply knew.

“Y-yet, I’m a chambermaid-”

“I care not.”

“You’re just-” It’s a damn wonder that you even could still speak by now, because every rubbin’ massage of his fat cock only left your mind blank. “-saying- mmm- saying that, Kento.”

“I fear you are mistaken.”

His veins indent your walls with lightning bolts, his cum cobwebbed across your spongy cervix and was splashing after each jackhammer. 

Nanami drills into you low and slow now just to help your dripping wet cunt suck him dry. Loving the cute, velvety way you were clamping around his rovering shaft tiredly, “Only allow me to prove my ngh- heart.”

You’re so fucked-out that you’re barely even flinching when he’s finally freeing you of his sinful headlock. Taking mere nanoseconds to pluck that infamous House of Nanami signet ring off of his finger- and pushing it straight down the ring finger on your left.

An engagement. A promise. 

“I shall get you another ring- one that is proper, one you deserve, when- if you shall have me, My Lady.” The smoky tone of Nanami Kento’s bass tickles the side of your stinging throat, almost a purr. “I swear it upon my word-” He guides that very same boneless hand of yours to cup his plush, thumping left pectoral. “-and my heart, to forever keep you the most beautiful lady upon this Earth. You shall never want, for I pledge to you my body, my soul for your happiness.”

You whimper, thighs still shaking with your high. Tears slipping down your face that he kisses away, “I-if you’ll have me, Your Grace.”

“Kento.”

“Kento.”

And by the time the last of his wadded ounces of cum had finished spraying out, Nanami pulls his hips back with a bellowing squelch that makes your body heat flare. Such a creamy mess of ivory glossing your pussylips that he’s taking one glimpse at and gasping-

You mewl, “K-Ken, what are you-”

“It seems…” He drawls, manhandling you spread-out onto your back with his sculptured hands. Snaking his face down to mouth a hot puff over your swollen folds that stick together. Tasting. Drooling like he’d just happened across his favorite dessert. “-that the ball is far from finished, my wife.”

.

.

.

Dearest gentle reader,

It seems we have a rather special (and scandalously romantic!) special announcement. Yes, whilst your lips were whispering at her majesty the Queen’s Royal Diamond Ball the previous night, those of his grace, Duke Nanami Kento, have certainly been up to worse. 

The ton reached new heights of hysteria over Duke Nanami’s attendance of the ball with his lovely chambermaid acquaintance. This author personally confirms that her highness’s royal orchestra was barely audible over the sound of shattering hearts!

However, if this was where the story ended, dear readers, we would still possess our wits. Not only had her highness titled this unnamed belle of the ball as the Diamond of the season; aforementioned diamond was not in audience of her naming!

Where was she, you might ask? Why, nowhere else but bedding a certain handsome duke—or so palace patrol whisper amongst the halls. 

An impatient dalliance or stirring the pot? You tell me, dear reader, though it certainly doesn’t help that said new diamond was spotted near the end of the evening with both a real diamond and the Nanami signet ring upon one’s betrothal finger!

 It’s said that the House of Nanami - and particularly a once-stoic Duke Nanami Kento - has been exceptionally lively in preparation for the blessed union and his new bride.

On the other hand, this author shall have to purchase new robes for a summer wedding. 

Yours Truly, 

Lady Whistledown.

A/N. Tell me why it was SAUR difficult to write in regency speak I feel like I don’t even know this language anymore pls-

“Oh.”

Notorious chatterbox, mean loudmouth, and the student that had oh-so-famously gotten detention for probing into Professor Gakuganji’s sex life - but that was all Gojo had to say right now?

With a slight huff of laughter, you’re staring down the amber bottleneck- aimed directly opposite you, towards where your friend was sprawled across the carpet like he owned it. 

Which was, honestly, how you’d always known Gojo. 

Whether it was on the basketball court or accosting you on the very first day of orientation, there was a reason every student on campus knew his name. Knew his number. Knew the nights of his parties. 

But didn’t know whether they wanted to be him or be with him. 

Which was why it made your heart thud in a singular beat of surprise to glance upwards and find Gojo looking so…lost. Rosy lips parted, chest unmoving like he’d forgotten to breathe. 

And somewhere down the line, you swear you notice him gulp. Biceps straining against his flowery button-up as he pushes back those angelic white bangs of his, Gojo’s azure eyes flit furiously between the bottle, and you, the bottle, and you, the bottle-

“Ehem.” Shoko coughs into her fist, with the pointed subtlety of a sledgehammer. 

You see her flick a finger towards the wide wooden closet that loomed ominously by the far wall. “If you’re going to eye-fuck, I suggest you do it in- hck! there like the game says. Uta’s about to throw up already.”

Said Utahime dry heaves, “I’m not.”

“And who suggested this game?” But you’re standing up to a few jeers anyway- what’s one silly kiss between friends, after all? It was a small group of your friends, and a few stragglers starstruck by their proximity to Gojo. 

Though, turning around, you’re realizing that Gojo was, too. 

Narrowing your eyes in confusion, “Satoru?”

Gojo’s tongue darts out to nervously wet his lips, “Yeah? I- oh.” Geto reaches over to thump his best friend on the back, making the other man startle into a stand.

Stumbling up on agile feet for a few steps, before he’s crossing the circle to grasp your hand in his large ones-

And that just makes the room erupt.

“That’s my boy–!”

“Don’t get pregnant– I can’t be an uncle yet.”

“Yuck.”

Cackles, cat calls, and a few obnoxious moans that ring out even louder than the thumping bass from the party downstairs. You’re crinkling your nose in amusement once Gojo flips them off and speedwalks towards the closet with crimson ears, dragging you straight in tow.

“Sa-Satoru.” You’re giggling, stepping inside the stuffy space. 

The smell of prized vodka and mothballs cling to every surface of the closet like an outdated perfume. And from where you’re pressing yourself up against one mahogany wall, you can feel the soft press of clothes tickle your body. 

It was dark inside - darker than dark, in fact. Your only merciful source of light coming from the dim yellow glow of Haibara’s room from underneath the cracks in the door. 

But even with the cloak of obscurity, you can already make out how snug of a fit it was inside. 

Because Gojo was towering - what else could you have expected from the ace of your university’s basketball team? 

Unruly strands of ivory brushing against the closet ceiling, broad shoulders cushioned by either wall. He has to press two palms upon either side of your body and lean down just to hear you speak, “Do you want to do this? Y’know we don’t have to-”

“Yes.” He’s breathing, labored. Uneven. Before catching the glint in your eyes and sputtering- “I mean- ah, I mean, why not.” Wincing, “…Do you?”

You hum, taking in the heady scent of his cologne. Cherries. “I mean— we should be good sports about the game.” 

“The game- the game, yes.” Gojo nods, a thin line of sweat starting to bead from his temple. And maybe it was the punch, maybe it was the dizziness of being so close- but did Gojo Satoru just stutter? “So you…want to kiss me?”

Your head tilts in question, and he flinches at the teasing look in your eyes. 

Fuck, was he ever-so-glad it was too dark in here for you to see the way his ears burn. 

“I-I mean, of course you want to kiss me.” With a slight puff of his sculptured chest, Gojo fluffs up his hair. Nose turning up in that haughty way it often did whenever someone asked for his number. “Who wouldn’t? I’m Gojo Satoru, after all. So, of course, I should kiss you, too- and I should s-stop talking and do that right now and- wow, is it just me or is it really hot in here-”

Then you’re shutting him up - with your mouth on his. 

Murmuring into his parted maw, “Shut the fuck up.” And the only thing sweeter than the taste of his soft, candied lips was the way that Gojo presses his ripped body further against yours and moans. 

Low, primal. Like it was something being wrenched from the deepest depths of his throat and he couldn’t possibly control it even if he wanted to.

So the only thing his poor, muddled body can think to do is lap at the glossy crevice of your own lips. Wobbly mouth tuggin’ on your greedily, it was almost cute the way that Gojo’s grunting just as soon as you pull away with a lewd wet noise-

Staring at him in awe, even in the darkness you could make out the ruddied shade of his blush. 

“Uh…” You pipe up, after a few seconds of silence, your friend’s gaze still locked on your lips. The skin of his cheeks flare red-hot underneath where you’d grabbed him with your hands. “Hello? Don’t tell me I broke y-”

He’s attacking your mouth once more. 

Ravenous, Gojo’s sultry lips drag allll across yours. Washboard abs pinning you to the wall of the closet, the pointed tip of his nose bumping messily into yours. He lets off a throaty keen as you’re parting your mouth with a gasp, “M’sorry.”

“H-hngh, Satoru-” The temperature inside this lil’ space heightens enough to make your goosebumps sizzle.

“M’sorry.” He’s drunkenly whispering, one of his meaty knees saddling right between your thighs. You’re whimpering at the feeling of his flexed muscles, “M’sorry m’sorry I-” 

One of his trembling hands slides up n’ down your back, as if Gojo didn’t trust himself to hold too still. And his touch was seeping warmth through your thin dress, lungs screaming for air-

“I’m sorry, it’s just- you. I don’t think I can control-” He’s interrupting himself with another chase of your mouth, sloppily sucking on the tip of your tongue. Gojo lets a slick puddle of drool formulate on the corner of his swollen lips, eyes glassy when he’s kneading his hips forwards to rut- “D-did you know that this is my first-”

“Time’s up lovebirds—! Oh.”

The sudden explosion of light strikes you like whiplash, and both of you snap your heads towards the entrance to the closet.

Geto stands frozen, slightly silhouetted by the bedroom glow. But nothing - absolutely nothing - can hide the way his sly eyes widen ever-so-slightly, caught off-guard by the vision before him.

He darts his peripherals to Gojo’s hands dipping dangerously low on your hips, to the manner you’re pinned against one wall, to the way your lips are swollen.

And Gojo’s were worse. 

It’s only then that your head’s clearing up enough for you to try and half-heartedly push at your friend’s heaving chest- to no avail, of course. Because Gojo doesn’t move a single inch, in fact, he’s only tugging you closer to him with a slight growl. 

Looking over his shoulder at the intruder, his eyes narrow—“Fuck off.”

“This- we-” You’re starting, unsure why you were so heated when this was the entire point of the game. 

But Geto beats you to it- “Well, this is certainly better than I thought. I expected our dear Satoru here to piss his pants and faint. Congratulations.” He points at something near Gojo’s khaki shorts, “Fix that.”

Fix…? In unison, you slowly swivel your heads down and find your mouth drop-

“Fuck! Suguru-” It’s only then that Gojo lets go of you like the mere feeling of your body scalded his own. 

Back shoving against the other end of the closet, both hands flailing downwards to hide the massive outlined bulge you’d caught just a glimpse of. And yet, even that wasn’t enough for him to hide the utter raw tightness in his pants.

Your mind sparks once you register that he was rock-fucking-hard. 

Handsome cheekbones all stained with rouge, you catch the smear of your lipgloss glitter all across Gojo’s lips when he hisses at the other man. “It went down just looking at you.”

“Liar.”

“Asshole.”

“Vir-”

“Shut up.” Slightly slurred by your moments prior, there’s a slight daze within Gojo’s stare as he turns to you - still covering his erection. “I-I can explain, I actually-” 

Whatever half-baked excuse it was, you don’t have the privilege of hearing it. 

Because just then, rings out a call of your name—Shoko. And you could recognize her rarely-serious tone anywhere, making you hastily step out of the closet. Leaving behind a sputtering Gojo Satoru and a snickering Geto Suguru to instead head back to your circle. “Everything alright?”

A few cackles escape your friends at the sight of you - all dishevelled and kissed stupid. 

Hell, even Shoko manages to break through the worried furrow in her brow to let off a slight giggle. “Mhm, my greatest apologies for interrupting Satoru’s little wet dream-” Ignoring the aforementioned man’s cranky ‘hey!’ as he closely follows you. “-but Uta isn’t feeling well, so we might just head back.”

You nod, “I’ll come-”

“No no, stay with-”

“We should get her to bed.” You’re waving off her protests, a no-brainer to go with the friend who was visiting all the way from Kyoto. Picking up Utahime’s bag as she starts to fight back her gags once more. “It was probably that cheap beer, I told her not to trust anything Usami bought.”

It’s with a few rapid goodbyes and promises to send photographs that your little trio staggers out of Haibara’s room, Utahime clinging onto both of you. Babbling weakly, “M’sorry for ruining your love story.”

The pit of your stomach twists with something you don’t know how to name, “You didn’t ruin anything.” Brows furrowing, “And what love story?”

“B-but-” She wails, making a few heads turn. “-but it’s been years- mmpf!”

Shoko sighs, one hand firmly slapped on Utahime’s mouth now. She throws a meaningful glance at her friend, “We’re never drinking again.”

Meandering through the throngs of people and alcohol, at an equal ratio - you’ve just got a foot out of the penthouse doorway; the one that Gojo rents for him and his friends, the hotspot for your university’s student body to be on a weekend night-

-when Gojo himself breaks through the overstuffed crowd. 

“W-wait–!”

“Satoru?” You’re swerving back in confusion, eyelids squinted at the flashing strobe lights. 

The party atmosphere paints his pale hair in red n’ pink, bringing out the prettiest specks of grey in his blue irises. 

And Gojo gasps, he heaves - seemingly more at the sight of you than the entire trek it had been to weave through a party that yearned for but a simple glimpse of him. Even now, he was deaf to the calls of his name from all sides, the hands patting him on the back- only letting out—“Do you…want to do something?”

You almost have half the mind to look behind you, “Do something?”

“An outing.”

“An outing?”

“A science experiment.”

“A science experiment?” You gawk, slightly appalled at the fact that Gojo Satoru of all people wanted to take up extra credit on a weekend. “Did you drink that bad beer too? Because-”

“Dammit-” Without warning, he’s smacking his forehead. “Just- just meet me, to talk about something. I’ll text you.”

You have to fight to keep your voice even- from amusement if not for genuine concern. “And you couldn’t text me that? You had to run all this way.”

He almost pouts with a huff, “Had to say it before I lost my nerve.”

“But-”

“She’ll be there.” Shoko’s vocalizing from your right, still holding up a dangling Utahime. And there’s something knowing - something meaningful - in her smirk, “I’ll make sure of it. If you beg on your knees, that is.”

Gojo flips her off in two seconds.

Then he’s on his knees in one.

“G-get up–!” You damn-near shriek, feeling the party buzz and gape at the encounter - you think you even see one attendant pull out her phone and start recording, sure to make a splash in the campus bulletin by tomorrow. “I’ll be there- just- go-”

Still unsteady from whatever the fuck that was, you’re shuffling into the elevator for Shoko’s Uber. still feeling Gojo’s stare burning into you afterwards. 

Blissfully dazed as the doors close behind his slight, anxious wave, Utahime cups your cheek and slurs. “You’re going to make such beautiful hck! babies. All from you, of course.”

.

.

.

“So…what did you need to talk to me about?”

“T-talking? Did I say talking? Well, I was really gone that night, y’know that-”

“Satoru.”

“-and we’re talking right now, aren’t we-”

“Satoru.”

If it was physically possible for a basketball player - numerous inches over six feet, unfairly chiselled, with a shock of white hair above all - to hide behind a humble convenience store shelf then Gojo certainly didn’t know how. 

But that didn’t stop him from trying.

And his tufts of pale bangs flinch at the stern tone of your voice, despite being separated by an entire aisle. 

Blatantly avoiding being in your proximity, Gojo’s simply pushin’ aside a few bags of chips to peek at you from the other side of the shelf. Shoulders hunched, eyes crinkling once he’s noticing your no-nonsense stance. “You see…remember how, last night, had that little erm- problem-”

“Your erection?” You’re questioning, purposefully not lowering your voice to make him squirm.

And he shushes you frantically, looking around the store - there was only a sweet elderly lady a few shelves down, and he was hoping to the heavens above that her hearing aid was turned down. “Yes- yes, that. And I said I could explain…well…”

“Well?”

Inhaling a deep, deep breath, “I’mactuallykindofatotalvirginandIwantedyoutohelpmewithsomepointersmaybe.” He’s forced to inhale an even deeper breath after that. 

“Y-you’re a…” It felt like you’d just short-circuited. Only one word from that entire jumbled mess standing out to you - virgin.

Not that there was a problem with that. It’s just- there was no way that Gojo was a virgin - not after all the stories that girls and guys alike would whisper about him in bed. Not after the harem of fans that would follow him ‘round each party like a second skin unless your friends dragged him away. Not after the way he had a new number being begged to be put into his phone every day. 

And yet, Gojo’s nodding at your unspoken question.

Somehow, it suddenly made sense that in all the years you’d known him, you’d never seen him go on a single date. But no one had to actually date to hook up. Sputtering, “And was that your-”

“First…kiss…” He grimaces, fingers twitching like they were about to topple the entire aisle of chips just to escape this conversation. Before smoothing his features back with a gasp- “B-but that was the best first kiss I could’ve ever dreamed of- I kinda did dream about it later but…”

As you start to slowly back away, he waves his hands fervently. Panic seeping into his voice, “Don’t run!” Withering at the way the old lady nearby turns, “I-I mean, that’s exactly why I need you. I need you to teach me–!”

You feel your heart race, voice lilting high. “Teach you?”

“Teach me how to—” Your friend waves his hands wildly, and you’ve never seen him so stressed - not even before his biggest games. “-not embarrass myself if I do something like that.”

Crossing your arms, the thought churns over and over in your brain. He wants to…kiss you again? “So…let me get this straight- you want me to give you lessons on how to kiss someone?”

“And maybe…other…stuff.”

“Satoru, you us want to hook up-” 

“Teach me.” He pleads, baritone crackling just a bit. A sharp smack resounds as he clasps his hands together in prayer position, “I just need you to give me a few tips- a few pointers, I swear. Just a few lessons so I won’t embarrass myself like that ever again. I could get on my knees again if you want-”

“No! Shut the fuck up.” You bark out, hands coming up to massage your temples. “I need to…think.”

And all it takes is one look at the other lady beside you two, discreetly turning her hearing aids up, for you to stride your way to Gojo’s side of the aisle. Right where he was holding up a packet of chips like a shield, waiting for you to burst. 

He wants to be intimate with you.

He wants a repeat of the party.

He liked it?

Something about that, you liked. 

You sigh, a sound that felt years older than you were. “Fine.”

“Yes-”

“But we’re doing this platonically. And I’m only doing this because I don’t wanna hear you begging. Or hear any girls laughing at you, because that’s embarrassing for me.”

Your head swivels behind you - ah, perfect. The two of you were loitering right between the chips and contraception shelves. “Lesson number one, wrap it before you tap it.”

Gojo starts into motion, eager to please. Though, it wasn’t very pleasant for you once his hand shoots out immediately to pluck at the gold n’ black box of Trojan Magnum…XL. 

“Hah! That’s funny.” Your grin twitches at his blank expression, “That’s a joke, right?” Then completely dissolving at his silence. “…Right?”

You’re still ogling in utter disbelief even as you walk to the weary young cashier, in line behind that old lady. “Satoru- are you sure you need that one? Lesson number two is you don’t have to compensate.”

“I’m actually worried it won’t fit.” He frowns, closely reading the measurements in the back. And from the corner of your eye, your imposing fellow customer gawks, discreetly hurrying up the payment. “Maybe lesson number three could be the pull out game.”

And right before you can answer - maybe make fun of his confidence, maybe even call off the entire deal altogether - the grim elderly lady taps your arm before leaving. “Good luck, dearie.”

.

.

.

“Sh-shit.” Gojo’s mouth closes and gapes stupidly, and no matter how much his firm chest heaves, he can’t steady his pitch. He can’t catch his breath. 

He can’t even think about anything other than the feeling of your soft, pretty hands wrapped ‘round his rock-hard dick.

A quick trip to your apartment later, with him backed into the corner of your couch, and you’re not making fun of him anymore. 

You knew what they say about men with big feet - but Gojo’s throbbing erection was even bigger than you could’ve imagined. 

Just about nine- maybe even ten hot, pinkish inches that glistened with a steady stream of precum. So hard that it looked painful, so thick that you’re having trouble closing your wrist over his circumference. 

Gojo’s slender hands grabbing onto each side of the couch to push n’ push his restless body upwards. “Shit shit shit- what the fuck-”

Grappling, fighting, in a split-second he feels the crown edge of your thumb graze his slit and damn near loses his mind. 

“Shiiiiit—” Almost whiny, if this was any other time then he’d be fucking embarrassed about the way his bass cracks at the very end of his sentence. 

“Shush, Satoru.” Your voice purrs, and just the sultry sound of it is enough to make his swollen cock twitch. Glistening out a treacly line of pre from the strawberry-pink orifice at the top of his shaft, “Lesson number three is to learn to be quiet. My landlord’s gonna complain.”

“Well, lil’ landlord Higuruma doesn’t have your cute hands on his cock, does he, beautiful?” 

“Well you’re failing the lesson then.”

“Fine.”

In retaliation, you’re giving him a looong, languid stroke along his vein-covered length. Mouth watering at the delicious way it makes him throw a hand up to cover his flushed face, other hand resting on your wrist.

Gojo’s hands were big- bigger than yours, and much more suited to help pump his prolonged cock with ease. 

Possessively, he’s curling your pretty fingers tighter ‘round his girth and bounces up n’ down, up n’ down, up n’ down. Whispering, “Faster- faster now, my girl- I mean- beautiful.”

“It’s just-” You’re nearly biting down on your own tongue, reluctant to state anything that would feed your popular friend’s ego. 

But you just couldn’t help it when he looked so pretty - eyes glazed with unshed tears and need, high cheekbones permanently pink, his fat cock pulsing between your fingertips with each passing second. And you swear the blushin’, bulged tip of his shaft swells even bigger with your intense stare, “Lesson number four is that you’re big. It makes it almost…difficult.”

“O-oh.”

Without a second of warning, Gojo’s slouching his muscular body over. Rosy lips pursed to depart with a glob of spit— straight down to the tip-top of his erection.

Letting the sticky mess trickle down the side of his shaft, he’s moving your hands to glue over his tender underside. Fap-fap-fapping rapidly, the sides of your pinkies spank against his bulky base and make him keen. 

“Difficult? Difficult?” Tonality just seeping with grunts, your touch smears the glossy webs of saliva down each vein. “M’passin’ this lesson with flying colors- oh, you’re gonna take it. How could anyone even- ngh- compete?”

“And here I thought y-you were the competitive one.” You’re garbling out your words, feeling your palms massage with the zig-zagged ridges of his length. 

“H-heh- hell yeah, I am.” With a pant, Gojo’s twisting his hand - one of his encapsulating both of yours, and something primal in you twitches at the stark size difference - to jerk down his slicked cock. “Faster.” Voice ruined. “Faster.” Breathy. “Fast- ngh-”

He can’t even think to finish his sentence before his body ruts- ethereal head thrown back, lips gnawed raw like bubblegum. “Oh, ohhhh, never felt like this.”

And Gojo Satoru - famed for his steadiness, his agility - had never sounded so uneven. With his sweaty scalp lolling back and forth like he didn’t know whether to push backwards or keep looking down at your work. 

Drag after lewd drag. 

He was so lengthy n’ big that your arms were almost aching at this point, repeatedly pumping from the ruby-red globe of his cockhead, and down, down, down. 

“Pretty hands hck! tired, huh?” But Gojo’s only maneuvering faster- capped knees spreading on the cushions of your couch to buck into you faster. “Come on- come on come on- don’t stop.”

“S’this any different from your- hah- usual routine, Satoru?” Even you were out of breath at this point.

You’re flicking your doughy fingerpad in a lazy line underneath the flared line of his slit and watch as Gojo only babbles. “Yeah- never felt something so…f-fuck, why are you so soft.” Large palms pressing down on yours, exactly where you could feel the outline of his shaft pulsing the most. His shoulders shake with each singular thwack! of your hand hitting his hilt, white curls bouncing. “So tight-”

Your friend’s fingers were dexterous, curling inwards so that your manicured nails would graze his swollen balls. 

They were slightly tanner than the rest of him, glittered with speckles of buttery precum that you take it upon yourself to gyrate your palm against. Purposefully pressing down lecherously–

And when Gojo looks up with a slight, dopey grin you knew that whatever fell next from that devastating mouth would not bode well for you. “Wonder if your pretty pussy would be just as ngh- tight.”

You feel your poor heart stutter—“Sh-shut the fuck up.”

“Ohhh- that almost made me cum.” He’s admitting through a raspy gasp, cadence giving way to something needier. Something harder. Something that was nearly scraping the flesh of your hands raw with his white happy trail. “S-say it again-”

“Shut up-”

Sapphire eyes squeeze shut, and the front of your poor skirt starts dripping with a few creamy wads of his pre. He was close. “Ngh-” 

Thighs pressing together, suddenly you’re realizing just how drenched your panties were. “Aren’t you supposed to be- fuck, learning a lesson?” And oh, were you shocked you managed to keep your voice even.

“Mmm, I’m learning alrigh’---” Gojo drawls, looking at you with such heated half-closed eyes that you can only more thoroughly drag your thumb down the line of his sensitive slit. “Shit- stop that- wait, don’t stop-”

Brain sparking, he’s singing out in protesting groans at the same time as your furniture. The cushions dipping as Gojo’s lurching his lanky body off of the couch, like he didn’t know whether he wanted to fuck your first for more, more, more or run away–

“Learning, huh?” You’re cracking a grin in amusement, hands letting off the sappiest squelches as you decide to slow down for his own sake. “Lesson number five…”

“No!” He’s pulling you back, he’s wrestling your hands to jerk faster, he’s grabbing you by the throat- left hand clinging onto the sides of your neck and squeezing. 

Scorching hot breath wafts your face as Gojo’s staring dead-on into your own pupils, “Stay. K-keep going. Keep going.” Something at the back of his throat makes him choke. “M’so close- don’t you fucking stop.”

“Fuck, Toru-”

“So fucking—” Your skin heats up with clammy warmth following the feeling of his sleazy eyes sweeping all down your body. Your hands working over time. Your hips slightly bucking back. Your tits-

Which he’s tugging down to see with an index hooked to the front of your top.

And you catch the exact moment that he does - the exact moment that his long, ivory lashes flutter further open, mouth parting with slick drool, face flushing.

Because that very day, you’d just-so-happened to have worn a special set of blue underwear. The exact same color as his eyes.

And it’s enough to make Gojo cum. Instantly.

He couldn’t even have the rationality to be mortified at the pathetic suddenness of it, because all he could do was lock his heady gaze onto your bra-clad tits n’ cream all down your wrist. 

Hot and aching.

Throbbing.

“Mmm, Satoru.” Splurging out from the swollen end of his shaft - the same shade as a strawberry, and twice as plump. Now with buttery sap to match. Something about that makes your mouth water. “Cum f’me- cum more.”

He was fucking up through each peak of his high like he was dying to pump each n’ every drop into your pussy. 

“Fuh-fuck.” And it’s hot, almost like he was melting out into you. A slow line of sweat dripping down his temple at the utter bursts of pleasure behind his hazy peripherals. “Cumming—m’cumming so much for you, beautiful.” Hauling your body closer to his, he’s spraying such thick, ribbony volumes of cum that you almost couldn’t believe it.

Jaw unfastened at the rapidly-growing puddle of ivory sap on your skirt. He’s so sensitive that he’s flinching just from the sound of your voice, like his favorite song. “Do you always cum so much, Satoru?”

“N-no—” Gojo huffs, slightly squeaky with his unstable pitch. “Only for you. When it’s you, I…”

Trailing off, both of you look down in synchronization at the glaze of white cum that’d started to trail down your forearm. And before you can let out a single word, he has one hand tuggin’ on your wrist.

Guiding your trembling fingers to unglue from Gojo’s pulsing, reddened cock with a sluuurp! He’s promptly sucking on your glossy fingertips with a moan. 

“Mm, so good.” Heavy erection still bobbing with the zaps of his euphoria, he looks up at you through long lashes - in a way that makes you gulp. Something he’s surely feeling, if the way that those fingers tighten on your neck says anything. “S’sweeter when it’s by you.”

Oh.

You’re fucked. 

.

.

.

“Oiiiii—Satoru—!” Whenever Geto spoke in that tone, it couldn’t mean anything but trouble. He looks past the (multiple) groups of the usual onlookers, “Your cute lil’ girlfriend’s here~”

“Geto Suguru, you know my name.” You’re snarling from your close seat on the first row of court bleachers, realizing only too-late that you made a fatal mistake. “A-and I’d never be this one’s girlfri-”

“Ohhh, did you hear that?” Of course, the inky-haired man is ignoring every word that falls from your traitorous mouth. Nudging a disinterested Nanami, who pretends to read something on the ball. “Didn’t deny the girlfriend part. I think you owe me ten yen.”

You squawk, “You bet on us?”

“You bet only ten yen?” Gojo Satoru, equally as indignant, but for a completely different reason, waltzes off of the court as Coach Yaga approves his dribbling check and calls for the next. “Way to show your faith in me, bro.”

Geto grins, walking onto court, “Can you blame me?”

And you didn’t know what made you sigh more - the furious cheers and cat calls emanating from Gojo’s fans, who never failed to show up to a single practice, or the way he saunters right up to you.

Expensive sneakers squeaking on wood, carrying with him the scent of adrenaline and cherry bodywash. With such a devastating grin, he winks towards the audience - and you swear you see at least one in a replica of Gojo’s 06 jersey faint. 

“Y’know, I think our lessons are working, beautiful.” Snickering at your surprised gasp, “The aura of…experience, it’s working. Yaga told me I was on fire today, Sugu said I was glowing and asked me for my skincare routine. Hell, even Nanamin - Nanamin - didn’t recoil in disgust when he first saw me today, which, considering Nanamin, is the equivalent of getting a big kiss on the lips as hello.”

“I thought these were lessons just for your future reference?” You raise a brow in suspicion, one that makes him sweat. 

“S-semantics. Hey, something’s working, isn’t it?” He waves a lengthy hand - and you can’t help but get struck by flashbacks to just a few days ago. 

It’d only been about two weeks since your little deal - and you’d been taking it slow. Well, as slow as you could get when your first day was spent fisting his furiously needy cock. 

A few kissing lessons here, maybe another handjob there. And Gojo was lapping it all up the exact same way he would when he was in the middle of a game, focus laser-sharp - and constantly locked on you. Only you. 

“…Right.”

Your partner-in-stupidity opens his mouth- but just then Yaga barks—“Gojo Satoru. If you have enough time to flirt, throw some hoops before the Kyoto match.”

“Ay ay, captain.” With a slight roll of his eyes, he’s giving you one last glance over his shoulder. Mouthing—‘After. Practice.’ And your heart races as you manage to make out, ‘Locker.’

Throwing a wink just for you - and the basketball in his hands, right along with it. That dimple at the edge of his grin was dazzling, “This one’s for you, beautiful—!”

He shoots. 

And he misses. 

Geto misses too, too busy rolling on the floor cackling. 

.

.

.

“M-mmm.” Gojo’s hiccuping, tone coming out ragged. And then he’s gasping- like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or sob at the tight feeling of your mouth. “Take it-”

You whimper, strugglin’ with the thick, reddened end of his cock bulging all the way near the back of your throat. Oh-so-swollen that it was swabbing into every nook and cranny inside of your maw without even trying. 

Gojo was ruthless - he was mean. 

Fucking into your mouth like this was the first taste of the pearly gates he’d ever gotten, and he’s writhing with each of your hollowed-out sucks. 

Acting like he wasn’t damn-near spearing your mouth permanently open into a cute ‘oh!’ with his size. One hand clawing onto the crown of your sweaty scalp, the other letting go of his useless wet towel now.

You’d just barely seen all the members of your university’s basketball team filter out, before Gojo - freshly showered, already half-hard - had dragged you into their spacious locker room.

And it almost reminded him of that first night in the closet, back scraping against the metal of the locker. Pushing you in so close that he can almost feel the way your tastebuds flood with saliva, “Take it take it- t-take it-” 

Rutting. Grinding. 

Your nails claw red, red lines down the pale expanse of his thighs, each muscle getting newly-decorated by you. “M-mmpf, Satoru.” Nostrils flaring, you feel his plump mushroom tip slip deeper past your throat the moment you relax. 

“Fuck- fuck yeah, say my name.” He’s spitting through grit canines, “Say my name like that- s’better than any fanchant I’ve heard.”

Gojo always became so honest any time he was bending to your every whim like this.

And right now he couldn’t stop prattling away between each heavy groan, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the feeling of his weighty girth sagging on your tongue. “Bet they didn’t know you’d be on your knees like- ngh, this f’me, huh, beautiful?” He titters, giving you a thorough rut of his inches until you feel the globe of your friend’s tip scrape down your throat. “Fuh-fuuuuck.”

It was almost too much.

The scratch of your ridged taste buds, salivating down every sensitive ridge on his erection. The prettiness of your teary eyes peering up at him. 

“Bet they didn’t know that- ngh, that sharp mouth would be shut up like this, huh?” Bucking. Thrusting- the heat of your mouth was just so heavenly that he can’t stop chasing it.

Not stopping for a single second to let the clingy back end of your throat part from his cock. He sticks his pelvis up and probes deeply into a sinful lil’ spot at the back of your maw that you didn’t even think was possible. 

Something hitches in his breath, snowy brows furrowing once he feels the dripping slope of your pussy gyrate up his calf. “That you’d like it so much.”

Again and again. Gojo’s repeatedly pushin’ in until he could feel the soft back of your mouth form a bruise in the exact circumference of his girthy tip. “Think ya like it even more than me, beautiful.”

“E-easy there, tiger. Lesson number number five is to pace yourself.” You’re trying to smoothen your tone - unsuccessful, of course, when he’d just been hitting your voicebox hoarse. 

Sensually - slowly - he’s managing to regain a mere ounce of control in that sloppy cadence of his. Loooong, massaging drags that plunge the ruby-red crown of his girth, Gojo’s still making sure that your velvety tongue licks up every solid inch of him.

You plop your swollen lips specifically down on the flared line of his slit and suck. “And lesson number six is to just- hah- shut up and take it.”

“N-ngh, love when you’re mean to me.” He’s grinning, one hand snaking down to his meaty base. Soon enough, your pursed maw is being positively showered with a spray of his dewy precum. 

A glittery gloss gluing all down your chin, you make sure to stick your lips along the prominent lines of his veins and smear-smear-smeeeear. All down the extra-tender spots of his shaft that makes Gojo shoot his free hand out to grab your throat with a labored whine. 

“R-real fucking dangerous.” He’s spitting - literally, a wad of spit that aims straight onto your sizzling tongue and makes an even bigger mess. 

Squeezing your neck, feeling the large cylindrical bulge that was reaching for your lungs. 

He could feel himself move with each back n’ forth of his toned hips, tightening until that particularly bumpy outline was making him lose his mind. “You’re real fucking dangerous with this pretty throat n’ these- hngh- preeeetty lips.”

You’re mewling, tears welling up behind your eyes when Gojo’s using the restraint on your throat to pull you off of his cock ever-so-slightly. For a few sultry seconds, just to spew out a translucent polish of precum. “And this pretty- pretty gloss.” Milky beads decorate your lips, they’re dripping down the front of your chin and makes him flinch carnally. “H-heh, say it again, beautiful. Say it when you’re hck! like this?”

“Shut the fuck up, Satoru.” Muffled, through the press of his painfully hard cockhead sliding between your lips. Once. twice. 

Thrice. “Nghhh- just like that.” The star player’s head falls back against the lockers with an echoing thud! when you start bobbing your head even faster. Syrupy precum welling up inside your mouth as if someone had just opened up a fountain. “Makes me s-so fucking hard.”

“Tight-” You manage out, gasping for air. Past all the animalistic ruts, past the squeeze of his lengthy fingers on your throat. And you can’t help but motion your pussy down and up the muscles of his leg, leaving a glittering trail of slick everywhere you go. “So- ngh-”

“So- so fucking—” Shit, Gojo cracks open one of his dazed blue eyes and can’t even finish his sentence at the pure sight of you.

Your eyes dazed, jaw stupidly unhinged. the entire lower half of your face glistening with all his bittersweet sap. Taking and taking each of his visceral ruts - you were absolutely ruined.

And he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful.

So much so that Gojo’s body moves before his mind, barely even stopping to think before unplugging his cock from the back of your throat with a filthy squelch–! Manhandling you into a standing position with only one arm, he has your back shoved against the lockers with the other.

“S-Satoru, what are you-”

Flipping up your skirt- plump, pinkish cocktip kissin’ the wet slope of your pussy. It’s the only thing Gojo needs to be creaming himself near-dry.

To plaster your jittery thighs together with the silky, white syrup of his cum, soaking your flimsy panties. Gojo’s sweaty bangs tickle the inside of your throat when he plops his face down on your shoulder and groans, “Fuck. F-fuck fuck fuck-”

And he isn’t just reaching his high- he’s trying to fuck you through it.

Trying to drill his aching hot cock between your legs, the fatness of his length keeps on pushing against your clothed cunt needily. “Y-y’know, I’m reeeally good with my hands, beautiful?”

“Y-you are–?” Your breath hitches, limbs starting to quiver weakly. Your entire spine zaps with eager pleasure as he’s lazily sliiiding aside your panties. “S’that lesson number seven?”

“Seven- eight- sixty-nine, heh, whatever.” Chuckling into your skin, you swear he’s tugging astray your panties and cumming once more just at the sight of your pretty, sopping panties. 

Hips surgin’ forwards automatically to smear a line of seed between your plump folds, Gojo’s mouth drops. “Oh.” His forearm comes banging down on the locker beside your head to cage you in, “My first time c-cummin’ on a girl.”

His entire body’s wracking with shivers once he’s guiding up stripes of his meaty mushroom tip along your pussy. Uuuuup and down, stray hand pryin’ your sloppy folds apart to paint your cunt a syrupy white from the inside itself-

Slimy fingerpads pushing you all open to dollop out generous helpings of his cum - fuck, honestly he doesn’t know what feels better. Those electric bursts of his orgasm, or the feeling of your fluttering wet cunt as you take it. “And she’s so preeeetty.” 

“Pretty–?”

It’s a fucking battle for Gojo to rip his half-lidded eyes away from your naked pussy, but when he does it’s to kiss your temple sweetly. “You’re pretty too, my girl- beautiful.”

Something in that gentle tremble of his voice makes your hands grip for purchase on the holed surface of the locker. 

And you can only whisper, “Sh-shut up, Satoru.”

“Shit-” Nearly forgetting that the rotund, throbbing end of his shaft was still aligned with your cunt. Just one move and he’d be throwing away just about all his first times. You’d be all out of lessons. 

Somewhere along the slight pang of disappointment at the thought, you feel his overstimulated length twitch—

Catching Gojo staring wildly at that one particular hand of his - the one that was stuffed between your messy legs and spreading your pussy so that he could splurge out his splotchy cum to the maximum.

“Oh.” Realization hits you like a truck. “N-no, Satoru, don’t-”

Before he sucks on his stained, white-topped fingertips like candy— moaning, the blur of his irises roll all the way back to the depths of his skull. “Yeah–” He’s noisily lapping up each ounce of your slick n’ his cum, like the utmost delicacy. “Yeah, m’learning a loooot from these lessons of yours, beautiful.”

“You’re filthy.” You sputter.

“You made me this way~” He leans in close for a kiss, and you can’t admit to yourself that you’d gotten slightly addicted to the taste of his mouth. The plush, cherry-tinged flavor of his lips, glossed with your filthy concoction from before. “Ya like the taste?”

You scoff instead of an answer, “Go shower.”

Pulling back with a mwah–! of lips-on-lips, he reaches for the puddle of his towel on the floor. “Wanna join?”

“In your dreams.”

“You have noooo idea.”

“Shush- before I end your lessons.”

Gojo laughs, loud and beaming. And you can’t help but smile to yourself, something bittersweet, making a hasty escape from the locker room before you stretched your luck too far. 

If only you’d taken your time.

Because then you might have seen a lone, towering figure standing by the wall leading to the doorway. Hidden by the sharp corner, and his lengthy raven hair. 

He watches as you waddle guilty away - as if leaving a crime scene - and Geto Suguru frowns. 

.

.

.

“Alright- it’s time to lock it in.” Yaga’s gruff voice bellows through every corner of the locker room, “Play your game, play fair, prove you belong. This is D1 basketball and I expect each one of you to play like it. Show those Kyoto fuckers who we really are.”

As deep cheers rattle the atmosphere, Gojo finds his hands almost too shaky to knot his laces - too full of adrenaline, full of pride.

Full of the thought that maybe you might be here in the stands, watching. Maybe.

Beside him on the bench, Geto silently tightens his own sneakers. And Gojo can’t help but crack a smirk, “Why so quiet today, Suguru? Don’t tell me you’re nervous about fucking Kyoto.”

“No, not at all.” He responds simply. 

And ‘simply’ would never be quite good enough for Gojo Satoru. Which is why he’s furrowing his twinkling eyes at the other man, “‘Nooo, not at all?’ Appropriate spaces for commas and all? Who are you- Nanamin?”

“Right.”

Gojo frowns, “You’re off today.”

“Are you sure that you’re not the one off?” Geto states, tense. Until he was registering what’d just slipped out of his mouth, immediately shooting into an upright stand. 

“What do you-”

“Forget about it-”

“No.” But he can barely take a single step before the taller man’s honed reflexes make a swipe at Geto’s elbow. Stopping his teammate in his tracks, Gojo’s voice dips low in that serious, tight way it usually never did. “What do you mean.”

A statement, not a question.

And his best friend can barely stand to look at him, head tilted slightly to the side, as if giving into the concerned looks thrown their way. “I told you not to play with her heart.”

Seething, “What?”

“Satoru, when I said I’d support your feelings for her, it wasn’t to make a fucking fool out of yourself.” Shrugging off the hand, which gives way easily. “So many years, and this is how you make a move? She’s my friend first- and you’re treating her like some fucking game.”

“She-” He gasps, face burning. “She’s just teaching me lessons in-”

But Geto always was the quicker of the two - and the more stern. “How long did you expect this to go on, huh? When you’re all done with your ‘lessons’, then what?” 

“I…I didn’t think-”

“Didn’t think that she might actually enjoy that nice restaurant downtown you’ve kept the pamphlet to since meeting her? Didn’t think that she might want to know that you’ve always kept extras of your jersey for her, her favorite flowers, her favorite movie, just in case?” Geto’s fists clench, “Didn’t think that it’s fucking stupid that you two aren’t together, yet? You deserve to be happy- but she does, too.”

Silence. Deafening, deafening silence. 

“What are you doing, man?”

“It’s sex-”

“Stop fooling yourself.”

As he watches Geto’s disappearing back, Gojo wasn’t sure whether he wanted you watching him anymore. 

But it still stung, just a little, when you weren’t.

Kyoto won that day. And Gojo Satoru has never faced a more devastating loss. 

.

.

.

“-my hometown friend, don’t you dare flirt with her, Satoru–”

What was Geto saying again? 

Ah, does it even matter? Gojo Satoru, freshly-titled ‘campus boyfriend’ after only a few hours on said campus, hadn’t heard a single word out of his high school best friend’s mouth after your name.

After you’d batted your lashes cutely and smiled his way–

Oh– blah, blah blah— He’s letting out an audible sigh as you begin speaking something or the other about your major, the usual for orientation day. Proper name, proper place, backstory stuff-

“-toru- Satoru–!” It’s only with a hearty smack on his shoulder that Geto manages to snap Gojo out of his daze, still staring at you from afar where you’d decided to talk to Shoko. And the black-haired man shifts his weary eyes between you n’ his other friend. “Oh no-”

“Suguru, I think I just found my wife-”

“Hell no.” Dramatically, he shakes the other’s shoulders as if desperately trying to jolt some sense into that basketball-addled mind of his. “Satoru, you’ve gotten about fifteen different phone numbers-”

Geto pauses as another fresh-faced student flounces up to the duo and gives them both two slips of paper with a number scrawled on, one that Geto’s immediately tearing up.

“-sixteen just today itself.” His dark brows furrow, as much as he loved his best friend, he knew the mind-numbing popularity that came with him, too. The reputation. “I don’t care if you’re a virgin who’s never held hands-” Ignoring Gojo’s protesting ‘hey!’ “-if you think I’m about to let you play any games with her heart then-”

“I wouldn’t even imagine it, Suguru. Really.” Leaning back in his chair, Gojo’s azure eyes stray to you - as they’ve always seemed to do since then. Second nature. And only a second before tearing them away, undeserving to have you notice. “There’s just…something.”

There’s a tone there that Geto couldn’t place.

Something tender. Something that makes his eyes light up like they did when he was about to nail a slam dunk.

“Something about her that makes me feel like I can win all the championships in the world.”

.

.

.

“O-oh my god, mm—” Your mouth hangs lewdly open, thighs trembling where they were thrown over the far end of your bed. 

Gojo had himself nose-deep in your syrupy wet pussy and it still wasn’t enough for him- he was still clawing both hands onto your thighs and forcefully dragging you halfway down the silken sheets. “What has- hah! what has gotten into you, Satoru-”

For perhaps the first time in his life, he doesn’t have an answer.

Can’t even think of one.

Not when the long, slimy edge of Gojo’s tongue was dipping past your drenched panties and pushing them juuuust barely to the side. Darkening that pale blue shade with the wetness of his maw, he’s plastering his taste buds to the slope of your pussy and watching you squirm.

And it’d started right after you’d arrived home, wondering whether it was too late to text him about the match - only to find the man of your thoughts himself sat outside your front door.

Waiting for you.

Towering, he’d thumped his head down on your shoulder in silence. 

That is, until you two had made your way inside-

“I-is this about not coming to your- ngh! game?” You’re wailing out a broken whimper, twitchy hands weaving between his ivory locks to try and steal a glimpse of his face. “Because Gakuganji held me back for a club thing and I’m sorry- fuck!”

Without a single warning, without even a speck of hesitation, your friend’s shovelling the inches of his tongue past your elastic entrance until that tight rim resists.

Until he’s keening into your puffy core at the tightness, until he’s usin’ a thumb to spread-spread-spreeeead your glittery pussylips apart even further. “Taught me- taught me lessons, didn’tcha, beautiful?”

Murmuring into your cunt, each syllable is ended off with a heavy lashing of his silver tongue. 

Spat straight into your quivering hole, Gojo’s licking away primally. Each raw scratch of his wet muscle trying to push past your hole, trying to fuck you the way he’s been aching to for years. “Taught me ta kiss those pretty lips- now you’re teaching me a whole hah- other type of kissing.”

“N-ngh, oh my god- Satoru.” He was just filthy. Both his babbling, pussydrunk words and his motions.

It’s like he didn’t know where to stick his tongue to like adhesive - wanting anything and everything, all at once.

From the throbbing nub of your clit, to the weepy orifice of your cunt. Though, he was making sure to lap up every ounce of slick glistening out of you, like the sweetest honey.

You’re whimpering, begging for fucking mercy from the wide, glissading edge of his tongue. You grip the soft tufts of his hair and try to lift him slightly off for dear life. “Fuck- Lesson number eight is to s-slow down–!”

“Then m’gonna hafta fail.” He’s rasping out, starved. 

Barely even breathing, whatever words escaping Gojo depart only reluctantly. Between each pant he’s forced to take by his screaming lungs, he’s unfastening his slobbery maw even wider to suck on your clit. 

Thighs closing sensitively ‘round his clammy head- “You’re being sooo—” You think that might just deter him, but he’s only climbing further up from his position at the foot of the bed, on the ground. 

Chasing your pussy no matter how much you were bucking. Feral. 

“Mmm, think I like it better when you hngh- shut me up like this.” He’s blubbering through a greedy mouthful of your cunt, slick-glossed mouth pinching your clit. 

You’re damn-near yelping as his plush, puckered lips start rollin’ side to side just to tease that nub like bubblegum. Your own thighs ache with the flesh-ridden press of his big, beefy biceps curling ‘round your thighs to push them even closer. “Can you even ngh- breathe?”

“Suffocate me.”

And he sounded dead-serious.

Throwing your trembling legs over two muscular shoulders, Gojo’s leering his handsome face impossibly closer.

Right up until the straight button of his nose bridge presses against your clit, and the front of his face smeeeears with a pathway of your pussy’s sweet, sweet juices. 

“Don’t care.” Spitting, a great glittery glob that sticks just to the side of your outer pussy and makes it so much wetter for him to start dipping his wide tongue inside. “Don’t care don’t care don’t care- I don’t need air, I just need- hah! You.”

Lavishing your snug hole with so much attention, you can’t help but clench ‘round his grazing taste buds. Letting your entrance be tugged n’ snagged according to Gojo’s every whim.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Letting him spit on your pussy once more-

“And her.” Slimy, wet muscle flopped right now, he was running through each line he’d read online about this like a gameplay. Zig-zagging from your clit n’ back to jackhammer into your hole, “We’d made such a loooovely couple, wouldn’t we, beautiful?”

And you don’t even know who he’s talking to you - you or your poor, battered pussy.

But before you can ask, Gojo’s patience snaps with a rut-

“Fuck, your walls-” Just as soon as you’re clamping your thighs surrounding his head. He’s whining, he’s shoving his face in deeper like the prolonged length of his tongue could scour your channel even more. 

Like that particular muscle could maze in a slithering up n’ down- Gojo’s sharp jawline strikes the base of your cunt and he groans in disappointment. Unable to dive in even deeper.

Feral. Thirsting, He’s nose-deep and still filling up your every orifice with his textured tongue for more, letting each ravenous taste bud stir about your sweet innards. “Your walls want me so ngh- badly. Wants ta suck me up so badly- look.”

“What do you- oh!” You flinch at the sudden warmth of another puddle of saliva striking your pussy dead-on, smearing about.

Gojo’s eyes were widened, mouth unfastened as far as it would go. “How the fuck doesn’t anyone get addicted?” Genuinely serious. Genuinely asking. 

“Y-you’re too much-”

“Oh, you want more?” Wait…what? You’re momentarily speechless at how his melty mind had just understood your sentence. Mouth thrashing about on overdrive, grin sleazy. “Heh, I’ve always wanted to do this.”

And then you’re snapping your head down in a split-second, just in time to see two of Gojo’s lengthy, roughened fingers tease the crevice of your slit.

All lightly calloused by basketball, he’s sloooowly circling your puckered hole. “Cute, s’like she wants ta- ngh- kiss me.” He’s giggling, prying apart your folds to ease his way in with a raw, noisy sluuuurp–! “Hope she doesn’t mind how looong they are- or do. My lesson number one is that you’re going to take it all.”

Bucking into his touch, and that makes him copy you - crushing the thick, bulging outline of his erection against the bottom of your bedframe. 

So hard that the mahogany panels creak– jostling you, right alongside the bed. “Fuck-” He hisses, looking down. “Look how you’ve got me - like a fucking animal.”

“You’re so filthy…” 

“S’all your fault.”

You’re sobbing now, legs twitching cutely on top of Gojo’s deltoid after every time his knobbled fingerpads scraped a spot that was particularly sensitive.

His size- oh, you should’ve expected a size to match a basketballer’s hands - because they’re plugging every nook n’ cranny without even trying. Scissoring your gooey walls far apart to claim each hidden area of yours, “All- all your fault.” 

Almost whimpering because it’s just that tight. He’s swervin’ rapidly and surely. “You made me like this-” But he wasn’t done- he was leaning over to spit a web of spit once more, dampening your soft cunt just enough to bully in a third finger. “Made me so stupid.”

Barreling straight into your g-spot. 

“Foooound it…”

“Oh- oh my god–” You’re losing your mind at this point, hips thrashing about. The blankets stick to you like they’re made of adhesive as you’re arching into the perfect curvature-

“Stay down.” Gojo barks - a stern edge to his voice. And before you can make a single move, he has one bicep pinning down your hips, maw opened to suck on your clit so you stay down.

Left too weak to do anything but cry out at the feeling of his tastebuds rolling over n’ over on your nub. Sensitive. Overstimulated. 

You’re gasping at the heated sparks of white that burst behind your lids, “Toru- I th-think m’close- don’t think m’gonna last- hck!”

“Told you I was good with my hands—” He slurs out, ruined on your pussy. "That's lesson number hck! three- maybe two? Ah, I dunno…”

Pump after pump, Gojo curls his digits so they bruise right into the spot locating your bundle of nerves. Feelin’ your soft walls clamp down sappily, “Only thing I do know is that I want you- hah-” Pulling back, he teeths your clit with a sinful squelch. “-oh, I wan’ you cumming on my mouth.” Fingering you so hard that the mountains of his knuckles were reddening with impact. “And I want you screamin’ my name every second of it.”

“Oh please-” The roughness of his fingertips are starting to plunge even deeper, as if Gojo was ready to probe into your womb right then and there. “Satoru-”

“Call me ‘Toru’, beautiful-”

“Toru-”

“Louder.”

Harder. 

It was so hard to speak with tiny sobs catching in your throat, with your body being run ragged by him. Lips wobbling with each long push of his digits- “Toru.”

“How about- ‘my Toru’?”

“My- my Toru—!” You’re squealing; the exact same moment that your pitched voice cracks, your sanity does, too. 

And in mere sultry nanoseconds, you’re shattering into white-hot explosions of bliss. Your orgasm sweeping your entire body with goosebumps, you can only scratch carnally at Gojo’s crowned scalp. 

Your fingers maneuvering his head up and down in sloppy gyrations, it’s as if you were riding his pretty features through each peak of euphoria. “M’cumming- oh-” Your high hitting you so hard that tears pinprick at your pupils, and Gojo was only happy to make them overspill. To dangle his hefty tongue out so that he can lap up your cunt with every drag. “Can’t believe you- oh. Are you sure this is your first time, Toru?”

He finches at the nickname, “Fuck yeah, sweet thing.”

Brushing his tastebuds up and down- probing against your clit. 

He was still ravenous.

Even when you’re blinking back your vision, though, you still couldn’t see with the way that Gojo’s velvety mouth made your pupils criss-cross constantly. 

Toes curling, limbs shaking with sensitivity. 

It was getting to the point that your mind was slowly going blank, spittle falling from your mouth. “I-I’m hngh- m’high’s over-” Still sparking somewhere at the back of your throat, even though you push and push at Gojo’s forehead, he’s only digging deeper. “Oh my god, Satoru-”

He blubbers, “M’fucking starved, beautiful. Been wanting this for sooo long.”

“Then shut up and fuck me.”

Oh.

Oh, that did it.

Because Gojo lurches his head up as if he’d just been zapped with electricity; eyes snapped open, strings of slick still connecting his lips to your swollen ones. 

“F-fuck you…?” He grunts- buying more time, those buried fingers of his pull out from your walls with a slurp. Finding their usual pathway between his greedy lips, he catches your look. “What? Haven’t I ever told you that you make me so–”

Thoroughly cleansed by now, Gojo smacks his lips with satisfaction. 

“-greedy?”

The dark glint in Gojo’s eyes makes you squirm your body slightly backwards- all the way up until you hit the headboard with a gasp. And he only looms closer. Only prowls up to you like he was closing in on the most appetizing prey.

And now that he’d gotten one taste of you, of course he’d be craving more. 

Like you were the sweetest of desserts, he’s gliding his tongue allll down those slick-glossed lips of his. Your juices worn halfway down his face - smearing up to his cheekbones - with utter pride. “And I think m’ready for another lesson now.”

You take one look at him - pupils glassy, face glistening, ears flushed - and immediately dart your hands down to Gojo’s belt buckle. 

Meanwhile he’s shedding himself free of his t-shirt, whatever’s left of your bra, hooking over your panties—

RIIIIIP—!

“Th-those were expensive.”

“I’ll buy you fucking ten more.” Pointedly, Gojo stuffs the ruined fabric into the back pocket of his trousers before disposing of them somewhere by the side of your bed. “Then tear those off, too, next time.”

Next time.

“Excited ‘bout a ‘next time’?” Oh- fuck, you’d just babbled that out loud.

He couldn’t have looked more smug if he tried, pointed canines flashing in a smirk. His thick thumb dips into the hemline of his boxers, pulling them down in a flash.

And Gojo was hard - so fucking rock-hard that his upright erection smacks the front of his abs with a thwack! 

Long. Perfectly thick. Always just so pretty. Bedazzled by a few veins down his pinkish shaft, Gojo’s sensitive cock twitches as he’s panting. Ruby-red tip painting a horizontal line of precum, you’re mentally calculating the measurement and wondering just how deep he’d be inside of you. 

Swatting away your sheeny thighs, that’d just started to close. “Ah ah- where’d you think you’re taking her?” Before his glossy, sleek jaw unhinges ever-so-slightly in wait. 

“You want me to-”

“I’ve spit on her so many times.” Gojo muses, quirking one snowy brow. Holding you by the throat, he pushes his face into your personal proximity, “Think s’time for you to return the favor.”

Whimpering, restless, it was just so cute to him how you’re pressing your lips together shyly. 

Whacking a bead of slobber precisely onto the target of his tongue- and Gojo barely even gives you the time to register your little ministration before surging his entire body and kissing you. Open-mouthed, heated.

At the exact same time that his globed, weeping cock pushes straight past your swollen folds. 

But it wasn’t so easy- “F-fuck.” Gojo shutters his eyes, expression looking like he was just in prayer. Hiccuping, rutting- back and forth in rapid half-thrusts as if he couldn’t bring himself to pull out of your pussy any further. “What the fuck…what-”

“S-Satoru, are you okay?”

“No.” SMACK! He’s trying to strike his pelvis against your own so hard that your thighs are jostled. Fat cock stuck by the resistance of your cute, cute cunt. “No no no- s’just…I lost my virginity to you.” 

You’re speechless as he looks up at you with a giggle. 

Repeating, “I just lost my virginity to you and it’s too- good.”

“And you’re t-too big—” You claw all down his pale back, feeling every muscle flex underneath your touch. 

“Remember my first lesson?” Head tilted, the smile on Gojo’s face was oh-so-tender - even though his mushroom tip was furiously pumping in and out of you like anything but. “You’re going to- take it- all.”

Fuck, but he didn’t know who he was torturing more. 

Because your cunt gives way to swallow up one more of his solid, rovering inches - just past the slick line of his slit - and Gojo hunches over. He heaves. His vision blurs with tears- “Ohhh my god, I c-can’t.” Voice octaves higher, breaking. He’d just started to put it in and he was crying.

Shit, he’d learned nothing. 

With a hand pushing your left thigh open, Gojo’s trying to pull his ravaged cock out. Just too good for him to handle. Maybe he’ll keep some part of his sanity intact if he fucks you with just the tip-

But in that instant, your clingy insides are squeezing around him so tight and he’s thrusting.

Out-of-control. 

Fighting against the stretch, you’re clawing for the headboard above your scalp- “Oh my god- I don’t know if I can- fuck! It’s just so big.” Nine - nearly ten - inches throbbing at the mere sound of your voice. 

“Lesson number one lesson number one- oh, lesson number one-” Echoing like a broken record-player, he’s ruthlessly haaaauling you back with a hand latched onto your hip.

Soft grunts wafting your features like a furnace, “Breathe” Gojo begs into your ajar mouth, pinning you with the prominent muscles of his v-line. “Breathe- one- two-” With each stroke. “Breathe with me-”

Those exact same exercises that he’s taught himself over and over again during the toughest of training regiments. “Feel it in your s-stomach.” You’re nearly screaming as one of his over-large palms come pressing down on your stomach, making you feel like he’s spearing his plump tip all the way into your lungs. “Then let it allll out through your lungs- breathe w’me, one, two.”

One-two. In and out. One-two. In and out. 

Mewling, “One- t-two.” Mindless hips swervin’ back and forth to meet his desperate drilling and it makes him gasp.

“Breathe- breathe. Lesson one, you hafta take this-” Scrambling for your hips, for your throat. “Even just the tip. Just an inch.” Using the leverage to pull you down, “I’m begging here.”

“T-Toruuu–”

And it’s with a final, resounding spank of skin-on-skin that he’s managing to bottom out.

The hot, pulsating feeling of his sheathed cunt barely even registering in your mind before Gojo’s letting off a wet sob. It just felt too good. “You passed with f-flying colors, my beautiful.”

And now that he’d gotten started, he couldn’t stop.

Gojo was pounding you into your cheap bedsprings like a madman, like it was painful for his swollen, vein-covered cock to go even a second without dragging down your walls. Designing your slick insides with the patterns of his veins, “How are you reachin’ a-alll those spots, Toru?”

“Alllll those spots, huh?” Mockingly, he ends up pushing down on your tummy just like before. 

Except this time, Gojo takes the lecherous time to feel the dull thud! of his split-ended tip poking into your cervix. This time, he can follow each single inch you’re clenching ‘round—“Wh-what is…”

Pushing down harder. “Is that my-” Thrusting even harder. 

Gojo’s size is just so staggering that he’s feeling the exact bumpy outline of his mazing shaft. The way he was spreadin’ apart your walls with his circumference - it just renders his mouth watering.

Gracing you with a dopey grin, one that had drool spilling from one side of his rosy lips. Moaning, “Oh, just when I thought you couldn’t be more perfect.”

Sweet-talker. You whine, just so you won’t pay too much attention to the way your heart races, “Shut up, Toru.”

“Yeahhh- say that again.” Bulky base just drenching with your sweet slick the harder he’s thrusting in, you can feel his rock-hard tip twitch after your words. “S’like you’re made f’me.”

“Shut up, Toru-”

Palm massaging down on the tummy bulge he was fucking into you, he could feel each flinch of his oversensitive cock. “See? See? The way this pretty pussy takes ngh- all of me. The way you make me react-” Pumpin’ a thorough push against your slick-filled sweet spots. “The way you make me s-sooo fucking hard. Ohhh, we fucking fit like a- a…”

Poor chatterbox Gojo Satoru is just so pussydrunk by now that he can’t even go on.

He can’t even speak. Can’t even breathe— entire fuzzy brain honed in on spearheading your walls with his flared cockhead like a flashlight. 

Hips gyrating into the exact angle that it takes for him to strike your needy, waiting g-spot. Hard. 

“There-” Your heart-shaped peripherals sprint to the back of your head, back jerking off of the mattress. “Right- ngh- there–!”

And, usually, Gojo would’ve taken this as the perfect opportunity to brag about how it was ‘so easy’ for him to find the almost-mythical g-spot. Usually, he’d have been snickering outright at the cutely awed expression on your face.

Usually.

But the only thing he was fucking capable of doing right now was marvel at both you and your pussy. Gaze darting up and down so fast it was almost like a blur. 

“Cat- hah, pussy got your tongue, Toru?”

“Sh-shut up…”

“You shut up.”

Shit, that makes him nearly cum. Right then and there.

And to cover up this little weakness, Gojo spanks your overstuffed pussy instead. Open-palmed, with the doughy tips of his digits striking accurately on your clit. 

“Y-you little- ngh.”

“What was that–?” Oh, it was like he’d just stumbled across an epiphany. And before you know it, he plants down three more rude smacks on the slope of your cunt; exactly in sensual unison with the thrashes of his cock. “Why don’tcha write my name on your clit, beautiful? Unless…” 

SMACK–!

You get the message fast enough, even despite your thoughtless mind. 

Your twitchy dominant hand slithers between your thighs, thumbing down your perky clit just in that way you liked. “T-Toru–” Trying for all your might to spell a ‘T’, “Oh- wait, Satoru.”

Then an ‘S.’

But you couldn’t do it just how his big fingers had managed to do, and the only thing you’re getting out is a sultry figure-eight. One that renders your throat dry, “Satoru- oh.” An ‘A’ that looks more like a silly lil’ ‘V’, “I can’t ngh- don’t think I can- fuck.”

And Gojo notices your little struggle - of course, he’s noticing. 

It’s the sweetest little entertainment for him, of course, watchin’ you get fucked too dumb to spell out his own name on your clit. Your lips wobbling when he finally smacks your hands away-

“Honestly- aren’t you supposed to t-teach me?” Groaning at the squelching noise of your growing even more aroused. “Watch and learn, my girl- fuck. My beautiful.”

But it’s not like he was any better, thank fuck you were too gone at this point to realize. Just as much as he was. 

It takes Gojo a few slips n’ slides to latch his plush thumb down on the nub of your clit, “F-first there’s a ‘T’- I mean, an ‘S.’” The dual stimulation of his shaft stretchin’ out your tiniest ridges inside, of his fingerpads writing on your clit, was simply incredible. “Then an ‘A’...‘T’...”

Even through the lust-fogged haze in your mind, you could distinctly make out the messy scribbles of Gojo’s fingerpads. 

S-A-T-O-R-U

Repeated. Over and over until it was like that pattern was burned onto your clit, joints working manually faster. Faster. 

S-A-T-O-R-U

S-A-T-O-R-U

S-A-T-O-R-U

And it’s so much that you don’t even realize you’re shrilling out his name with each movement- “Satoru-” Thighs kicking in pleasure, he’s quickly throwing them over his shoulder and folding you in half. Bending you into a mating press. “Satoru- Satoru Satoru—”

You feel a slimy, wet tendril gleam down your cheek, “Why’re you crying?” Gojo’s licking up salty tears you didn’t even realize you were setting free. “S’not because of my hck! biiiig fuckin’ cock, is it?”

In this mating press, your friend(?) had the freedom to plaster his washboard abs down your front. To scratch your pelvis with his pale white happy trail.

“S’not because I’ve wanted to do this for- for aaages, is it?” Nuzzling the crook of your neck, Gojo gives you a slam so hard that you’re being driven further up the bed.

Only for him to pull you back down. To do it over again.

And over and over and over again until the spongy layer of your cervix had memorized the size of his cervix. Stretching open your cozy lil’ walls, he pricks his strawberry divot firmly against the base of your womb like he was meant to be there. “Not because I’ve always wanted to- to break myself on this pretty pussy-”

Roughly, the wooden frame of your headboard rattles-

“O-oh-” Gojo slams his hand down on the banging headboard, remembering something from the earlier lessons about a landlord. 

Only for the mahogany panel to shatter, for your creaky bed to sag on one side– your eyes widen. Gojo Satoru had just broken the bed but he was still going.

He was still claiming your cunt with each sultry jackhammer, still babbling pussydrunkenly. “S’not because you’re haaaah- close, is it?”

“I am–” You don’t have half the mind to be shocked that he could feel your oncoming high before you. Walls clamping down with each vibration of electric euphoria, “M’gonna cum, Satoru. Lesson number nine is to make- me- cum-”

“You’re gonna cum.” More statement than question. “Really, really gonna cum? Because of ngh- me?” 

You can only nod.

And Gojo’s voice is small, cracking. “She’s gonna- fuck! gonna on my cock?” Furiously nodding, “My cock? Because of- oh- me? Fuck–!”

You’re barely even getting out an affirmation for those last few rapidfire questions of this before Gojo’s tense, driving cock explodes. All into thick, gushing ropes of cum that slather your walls.

And if you thought he’d cum in massive volumes before, then you weren’t ready to be faced with how eager he was to fill up your pussy.

Your geysering slick was nothing in comparison to the way Gojo was buttering up your slitted entrance, cobwebbing your tight hole shut with his sticky cum. Again. And again and again he was pumping each drop into you. 

“L-lesson number two-” But it was not like he would let you get off the hook that easy. And the flesh of your inner thighs sting when Gojo only speeds up, accelerating his shaft to target your g-spot in a way that makes you keen. “-n-never cum after me. Only before-” 

Two roughened crowns of his fingers tweak your clit– a final, ‘Y’ And you’re wondering what the hell that stands for.

Y-O-U-R-S

Gojo flushes as he finishes off the singular word, like he almost couldn’t believe it himself. Before pinching on your clit—“Sh-shit- shit shit shit, m’cumming, Toru.” 

Right now, watching your cunt quiver n’ cum around his cock was better than anything he could’ve ever dreamed of. 

Because your mouth was possessive, crashing into his and whining his name with each twinge of your high. Your pretty eyes were practically mosaics of tears at this point, ones he could stare into for eons. 

And he does - straight into your irises when Gojo’s filling you up from the inside out. “I know-” Feeling his own seed slosh out of him and drip straight down to your womb. “Take it- take it, all inside like it- hah- should be. Like it was always meant to be.”

“Inside-” Gasping at the press of his tensed core, pushing down on your stomach. Right where he was spearing straight through you, “A-all inside, Toru.”

It was one of the best orgasms of your life, and, strangely enough, all of them seemed to have been pulled out by Gojo.

Who was filling you up until you were overspilling, like some fountain. 

Now purposefully slapping the veiny length of his shaft against the roof of your cunt, pounding you through each volt of pleasure until you’re seeing stars.

Until your thighs are left shaking stupidly, your mouth gaped, brain so filled with the static of your stomach being in knots that you don’t even register the damp splat-splat-spat–! splashing onto your shoulder.

Something…wet. 

At least, not for a few seconds until your eyesight can adjust. You’re blinking back your vision to look up and see that Gojo Satoru was crying.

Pretty cheeks ruddied, eyes glistening with even more unshed tears. And you wonder just how long he’d been holding them back.

His perspired head drops down to your shoulder like it had hours prior in front of your door, and you can make out the unsteady gasps of his words. “You- you took my virginity but…” Something raw. Something honest. “I-I just…”

He bites back his words until you’re forced to pull him away from the crook of your neck. Pushing back sweaty, ivory bangs until Gojo can look at you properly. 

Look you right in the eye when he utters—“I’ve always wanted to be yours, too.”

Your heart leaps to your throat, and so do those words that have always, always been on the tip of your tongue. “You already are, Toru.”

Something escapes from his lips - maybe a sob, maybe a laugh. But it’s a sound that makes you beam back, though, you think you’d never be able to match the sunlight in Gojo’s smile. Instead, you take the time to memorize the crinkle of his eyes, the wink of that lil’ dimple of his. 

“My lesson number three is I love you, my girl.” ‘My girl’, he can finally say it now. 

He can finally watch your slightly surprised reaction as you hear it, kiss-bitten lips twitching upwards into a grin. “My lesson number ten is I love you, too.” 

Heart shaking, body fully shivering at the music of those words dropping from your lips. “You- you don’t know how fucking long I’ve waited to hear those words.” He nuzzles his nose against yours, still smelling of that same cherry bodywash and utter fuckin’ love. “How fucking long I’d wait just to hear it again.”

“I have a feeling you won’t have to wait long at all, Toru.” You’re combing your fingers through his angelic hair, head turning to the side with a giggle once he starts pecking your face. Your jaw. Your neck. Over and over and over– 

Only for the moment to be broken when you gasp, “Satoru.” Gojo follows your beeline of sight, straight to the top of your bedside dresser. Right where it was proudly displaying a familiar black and gold box, one with a glaring ‘XL’. “We forgot about lesson number one.”

.

.

.

You think you’d never get used to wearing Gojo’s famous 06 jersey. 

An original, of course - one that’d been safely tucked away in the back of his closet, that he absolutely refused to tell you how long he’d kept ‘just in case’ for you. 

It drew stares, though, you think part of that came from being at the very front row to the final NCAA championship game. Your eyes follow each slide of pristine sneakers, each cut-throat pass, each swat of the basketball hitting the polished court. 

Tokyo vs. Curses; it was a tie. 

And right now, you didn’t care about the gaggles of numerous fans gossiping behind your back, or the way Coach Yaga kept yelling at Gojo about showing off for you - and the fact that he was telling your boyfriend to do more of it.

To leave no mercy once Geto’s passing to him, to sprint faster with only two seconds left on the clock, to slam dunk the basketball straight through the hoop—

And that’s exactly what he does. 

A buzzer rings, and suddenly you can’t even see Gojo’s figure through the heaps of confetti bursting from the arena. In blue and white for Tokyo Jujutsu University.

Tentatively, as you’re spotting family and coaches rush onto the court, you’re taking a step. Just a single one - but Gojo always did say he could find you amongst a thousand crowds. 

Heart leading him to you. 

As the confetti and streamers phase just a little, you spot him rip out of his team hug with a call of your name. Being dragged back as MVP, Geto pauses to dap his best friend up - before thumping him on the back and letting him tear through the throng of people to get to you. 

“Excuse me- excuse-” Maneuvering nimbly with his towering figure, “Beautiful–!” He’s calling out, loud enough to turn heads. But Gojo doesn’t care, he doesn’t give a fuck. Not when he’s crashing into your arms, and murmuring into your lips. Such a loving kiss. “Beautiful.”

His grin was contagious, and somewhere in the distance you can hear his team jeer. Hell, even Yaga seems to chuckle from somewhere. “Congratulations on the slam dunk, Toru.”

“It was always for you, my girl.”

A/N. FAWK- the things I would do to have him. Can you tell I’m ovulating because I made him whimper?