Leilani blog Im 19

He’s been at it for quite some time, you’ve been fucked in multiple positions, getting freely tossed around, cumming at his will. The air is cold against your skin, you’re only in a robe, it’s not enough to keep you warm, but his cum is doing a fine job at that that.

Loads of thick white globs of cum leak out of you at every thrust of his cock. A foamy rim of cum from both of you is around the lips of your cunt. Luffys grip tightens on your ass, as yours tightens on the wooden railing of the sunny. The wood is creaking at each shared trust, and the straw hat on your head is jolting with it.

The Sunny is rocking gently along with the water, and the moon is shining on your faces “you feel sooo good- oh my- I just want you on my cock, forever~” he whines out to you, a plea as if you guys don’t have duty’s in the morning.

He moves with a rough but careful rhythm, each motion claims you as his. His body is tense as every muscle is tight as he fucking into you, the sound of his hips meeting yours are muffled by the waves against the ship.

The mix of his scent with the sea, his hard yet sweet pace, it becomes a bit to much. Soon, your body is overwhelmed with pleasure “fuckkk~ luffy- I can’t please, it’s to much for me” your legs are shaking at a fast rate, and your thighs jiggle with every push of his dick.

Luffys movements become more heated, and urgent, like your words were almost a praise of encouragement “you can do it, just give me one more round. please, I know you can~” he begs out to you, and with a sudden motion, he pulls you up and spins you around to face him. There is quick pause in your movements, you see your captains fucked out face.

“So perfect for me, just so-“ he keeps eyecontact, his eyes droopy, his thrusts continue even harder and deeper than the last time. The force of them jolts your whole body, your head leans back. Your body feels warm, and the core of your stomach feels tight with unreleased pressure. He goes to nuzzle his head in your shoulder for a second.

Then, Luffy's pace becomes almost frantic. His head pulls back up, and his hands slide up from your waist, one tangling in your hair to gently tilt your head back. The other hand is possessively across your stomach, holding you tight against him as he moves.

“I can’t hold back much longer” he moans in your ear, his breath is hot and sends shivers down your spine.

“captain~ ngh please, I’m so close… don’t stop” luffy groans out a low rumble to your words, he lets out all that he’s been saving for this round. He drives into your cunt with a fiery passion, the pleasure building up in you with every thrust.

Luffy has lost control at this point, one of his hands land back on your hips and he’s fucking you with all he can give. His other hand is now rubbing where he hopes is your clit (lets bffr, he guesses) “I won’t stop- can’t stop anymore, I need you, you’re everything to me- Close- so close, ah cumming, cumming for you~”

With one final thrust, a hot stream of cum fills you to the brim. His body is trembling against your back, and his movements become raw as he fucks you through his climax.

The last moan rips out of him, and he is back to pushing his face in your shoulder. He bites down to contain the rest of his cry’s, and the intensity is enough to trigger your own orgasm. A rush of overwhelming pleasure comes over you, and you moan out your captains name repeatedly. You frantically thrust against luffys cock, in a final attempt of stimulation. 

For a long moment, after both your movements went still, there was only the sound of their breathing. Your pussy is still pulsing around him, and his dick is still hard. Some of his cum is dripping down your tight but neither of you care. Luffys arms are wrapped around your shaking body, keeping you upright while you both try to settle down from your peak.

The silence is finally broken by luffys muffled voice in your shoulder, “soo…. how about another round? Before the crew wakes up?”

You’re going to be up all night

A/N* just a bit of a longer drabble, nothing too special. I’m on wano currently, and luffy is just giving me to many dirty thoughts lolol, feel free to look at my request page and shoot a request! I appreciate your guys support 😘

“You’re so whipped it’s really cute.” Sukuna’s jaw locks, standing, Satoru’s maniacally giggling, as Suguru and Toji sigh.

“Whipped!?”

“Completely, but I like this side of you. All soft-” Sukuna snatches Satoru up by his collar, earning Satoru’s glinting grin under red lights. “Aw, what’s wrong buddy?”

“It’s not being whipped it’s-”

“Whipped.” Toji earns Sukuna’s ire, as Suguru sighs and shakes his raven haired head, brushing it back a bit. “Sorry, but the kid’s right.”

Gojo snorts at Toji, rolling his pretty blue eyes. “A kid? I’m twenty seven, how is that a kid, old man.”

“Old man, the fuck?” Toji’s jaw locks, scar stretching over his lip, Satoru just smirks.

“Will you all focus?” Suguru asks with a sigh, smiling and lapping some salt off a stripper’s chest, before downing his shot, moaning as he gulps it.

“It’s boring. Ah, thanks, sweets.” Satoru smiles as the dancer hands him a drink now, and he sips it, wincing. “Ugh, not sweet enough.”

Satoru stands, and Sukuna raises a brow. “The fuck, you need even fruitier of a drink? Such a lil bitch drink already.”

“Fuck you, I like sweet things.” Satoru smiles and tilts the stripper’s chin up, watching a blush decorate her cheeks as he giggles. “I’ll go grab one, let you all keep being boring.”

“Oh whatever, Satoru.” He hears as he saunters off, determined to get a much sugarier concoction, as he steps through the club, familiar scenes unfolding, the glimmering lights bouncing off semi-naked bodies. Men with their wallets emptied, girls dealing coke baggies with bottles.

It was surely one of the places he enjoyed, it served as such a good front, along with the Casino he and Suguru ran, and many, many other ventures. A life constantly bustling from place to place, in the back of limos, women everywhere, but something yet again, even with the thrumming music of this club, just seems so boring.

That is, until he sees this girl, gorgeous but she doesn’t quite fit in, despite a banging body in fishnets that glimmer with little gems under the black lights, black booty shorts that showed much of those thighs, and a sexy little boostier. The lace cupping her breasts alone makes his cock twitch, just that!? A man who has naked women in front of him constantly.

But nothing is quite like when his blue eyes trail up her chest, past those pretty titties pushed up, to her face, lit up under the flashing reflections above. She’s biting her lower lip, concentrating, brows together as just a strand of hair falls out of it’s high pony tail, and she blows it away, an adorable little gesture. Her little hands are pouring bottles, as she measures this drink like a damn chemist.

But when her eyes catch his?

When your eyes catch his?

Sparkling and open, just a little nervous as you eye him, there’s something that sparks then, this…

He’s not bored.

Not at all.

You see him, this tall statuesque man, brightly glowing damn near with silvery white hair, but his eyes even in the dark, smoky club are so intense it makes you breathless. And he’s looking right at you, a bright pink drink in one of his giant hands, lithe body frozen just for a moment before he moves. You wait with bated breath as he does, as he steps closer, shooting you a little smirk.

His eyes glint with something deep- at first he seemed detached when you’d seen him, but now, swirling storms for eyes, model cheekbones even more accentuated as he smiles at you. Plump, glossy lips and long snowy lashes complete the prettiest face you’ve ever seen, perhaps even prettier than a painting, a silly thing for a bartender to think.

He leans with his elbows on the marble bar, tilting his head, blue eyes drinking you in, and you feel it like a physical touch. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“How do you know?” You manage to murmur, trying to be teasing, but his intensity makes your breath catch.

“I’d remember you. I’m sure.” His words like some sultry purr, as his eyes caress your body, to the point you almost moan.

Fuck, who is he?

“I am new.” You say softly, he hands you his glass then, for a brief moment your fingers brush against each other, and Satoru feels this shock, like static, as he keeps his fingers over yours.

He vividly pictures it then, having you, but fuck not having you… he wanted to have you in every fucking way. Feral from fingers brushing when he just had a stripper all over him. His lips part as he sees your cheeks heat up, your tentative and sweet little smile, while lights dance across your skin, the thrumming of music fading to the background.

It’s like some fucking movie, in slow motion, as your smile melts him. “How about you make me a drink, huh sweetheart? Ya any good at it?”

“How do you like it… Mr…”

“Gojo.” You blink in recognition, everyone knows the Gojo family, though heavy in crime, they protect people, they keep their town safe. They’re insanely powerful, and you can feel his power, as he shrugs a broad shoulder, snowy lashes lowering over his gaze.

“Mr. Gojo…”

“And you are?” When you say your name, he repeats it, softly, and you’ve never fucking heard anything better. “Well, let’s see what you can make, pretty bartender.”

Pretty.

The word is used often, but from him? Your tummy is full of rapidly flapping wings of several butterflies. You clear your throat a bit, taking the glass now. “What kind of drink, Mr. Gojo?”

“Something sweet… sweet as… I bet you taste.” You barely hear the words at the end, and you blink in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Huh?” He grins then, throwing his head back, resting a hip on the bar as he studies you harder. “You’re cute.”

“Cute, hmm.” He just grins, as you make his drink, mixing every sweet concoction you know, he sips it then, moaning and fluttering his lashes.

“Perfect.”

“You’re special, the first drink I made.”

Satoru leans far too close over that bar, as he eyes you, and he knows then, he has to fucking have you. Fuck he’d not even let you leave his damn bed, keep you pinned under him, picturing how sweet you must taste, god how you even smell when he inhales near you is addictive.

“Are you… sniffing me, Mr. Gojo?”

He smirks a bit, but inwardly?

God you smell good.

“Perfume? Is it… Versace bright Crystal?”

“How would you know that?” He’s just grinning, sipping the drink with the thin little black straw, as you wonder just… who is he?

“I’ll see you around, sweets, hmm?” You nod curiously, narrowing your eyes just a bit, sighing as he walks away, you don’t see him when he eyes you again, before stepping back into the velvet red of the VIP room.

“Took you long enough.” Toji grumbles, and Satoru looks at Sukuna then, one question in his mind, along with one thought.

The boredom?

Gone.

“Who’s the new girl?” Sukuna turns towards him, a smirk on his face, which immediately changes as his girlfriend steps in right next to Satoru, he swears Sukuna has heart eyes. Satoru looks at her as she smiles brightly, giving him a hug first, making Satoru grin at Sukuna when he scowls.

“Satoru!”

“Hey pookie how are you?” He smiles and pats her head. Satoru and Sukuna's girl had become close. “How's it living with this psycho?”

“She loves it.” Sukuna huffs and drags her away, earning the soft laughter of everyone in the room as she's sat right on his lap, brushing his hair back affectionately. Strong, tough, big ass Sukuna was just a little kitten for her. “Tell him about the new girl, brat.”

“Oh!” She repeats the name, your name, and Satoru brightens up. Sipping the sweet drink you concocted and exhaling at how good it is. “She's a friend from way back, she got into… a hard situation. So Kuna hired her because he's sweet.”

“Tch.” He glares at her as she giggles, and suddenly Satoru wonders even more about you. What situation? What did you need it for? “You like her huh?”

“Just curious, she seems…” Different, exciting, beautiful sure but there was something so intriguing, especially about her touch.

“Pretty?” Toji says with a grin, and Satoru sighs.

“Duh, just curious… she makes the sweetest drink I've ever had.”

“The way to Satoru’s heart.” Suguru says with a chuckle. Satoru comes back to sit next to him, shaking his head when a girl comes to him

“No thanks, love.” The room collectively blinks at him now, as Satorus pretty eyes rest on Sukuna’s girl, a dancer herself… well somewhat. It's not like Sukuna let's her leave his sight much. “She's your friend?”

“Yes from high school, she left and did her own thing but…” She bites her lower lip. “Um, her mom got into some… bad debts with people, gambling.”

“Oh, she's like Toji.” Sukuna mutters, earning a middle finger from the gruff man, even as he's kissing up a girl's neck.

“Fuck off.” He grumbles, and Satoru would laugh, but he's even more intrigued. “Paid my debts, shithead.”

“Shithead!?”

“So she came to help?” Satoru asks her, and she nods, smiling just a little sadly.

“Her mom left her with a house about to get foreclosed. And debt with… I can't get into too much more. But she works full time and it's only enough for bills, not the debt.”

“So she's working like what, 60 plus hours?” Satoru asks, and she nods with a frown.

“I'm hoping here she'll make enough to get it settled? Kuna may help negotiate-”

“Who is it?”

“Why so curious?” She asks, as her eyes light up. “Oh… you like her.”

“I just… am a curious boy mmkay pookie?” She giggles and then Suguru snorts in laughter next to Satoru.

“He's blushing.”

“Am not! Just… something about her seemed… different. I was curious. Is she…”

“Single? Satoru Gojo is asking that?” Toji says then, and Satoru’s eyes narrow.

“Shut it old man.”

Toji’s jaw tenses. “I swear to-”

“Ask her yourself, hmm?” Sukunas girl says, Satoru sighs, because for the first time ever he feels a little…

Nervous?

Satoru Gojo is nervous, hands sweaty, blushing over you.

Who are you?

“I mean can we… get her in the next meeting?”

“Sure lover boy.” Sukuna says with a chuckle. “Want her on your lap?”

“Maybe. Yes.” The room's atmosphere is just a little lighter, as they finish and Satoru finally heads out for the night, turning a corner and bumping right into you, causing you to almost fall, but he catches you with those big hands, steadying you carefully.

“I'm so sorry, Mr. Gojo.” You murmur softly, god your voice is pretty, it's soft and sensual. He could listen to it all day- wildly wondering how it sounds when you’d cry out his name, to the point he’s just standing there for a moment, as your eyes meet, and he notices now, you have dark circles under them. It seems whatever concealer you had faded by now.

“You headed home?” He asks, seeing you’re now wearing a jacket over that bustier, and you nod a bit, hiding a yawn.

“Yeah, I have to work at like eight am.”

Gojo blinks now, peering at his silver Rolex. “It’s like two am, what sleep are you gonna get?”

“A couple hours I hope.” Satoru holds the door open for you now, and you give him another pretty smile.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, I’ll walk you to your car, unless you want big Jim to.” He points to a giant broad shouldered man, you giggle, looking back at Gojo, who has a little mischievous glow in his eyes now.

“I’ll let you walk me, thank you.” He slings his jacket over a shoulder, holding it with one finger, the other in his pocket, as the breeze gently blows around the two of you in the quiet night.

“How many nights are you working?” He asks, you tilt your head a bit as you come to your car, a little one good on gas, really the only reason you got it.

“I’ll be working Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Do you come here often?” Satoru snorts now, leaning down over you, free hand against your car as he leans, making your heart hammer in your chest at the proximity, eying his glossy lips.

“That a pick up line, sweets?”

“What!? Oh shit… it sounded like one!?” You cover your face in embarrassment, and he chuckles now.

“Teasing you is all. I do come here a lot, I know who I’ll be getting drinks from then. That was the best one I’ve had.”

“What no way!” He just grins as you lower your hands, a little bit of your hair falling out of your pony tail again, he brushes it away casually, tucking it behind your ear, his cool fingertips making your skin tingle. He watches the hitch of your breath, feels the heat of your cheek as you look at him, wide eyed.

“You kept blowing it out of the way.” He teases softly, fingers lingering on your cheek for just a moment.

“You noticed that?” You ask softly, feeling your heart thrumming with excitement despite your exhaustion.

“Noticed you also bite your lip too much.” He brushes a thumb over it briefly, shooting desire hot through your tummy.

You hadn’t even thought of sex or intimacy, as tired as you have been, working full time and taking overtime constantly, finally having this job as well, you haven’t even considered your needs. So tired you barely get horny, but something about this… Mr. Gojo, it’s making you ache to yank him by that tie, pull him in.

Do you even remember how to be seductive?

Why are you thinking like this?

“Do I?” You ask, all you manage really, and he nods just a bit, dying to kiss the indentations on your plump lower lip.

“Sure you’re okay to drive? I have a driver.”

“Oh no I’m good, I didn't have a drink or anything. But thank you, I hope… I hope I see you again… um to make more drinks?”

You’re cute.

Fuck you’re cute.

“You’ll see me around.” He assures you, opening the door then, and you exhale a bit, sliding into your seat and starting the car. “Have a good night, bartender.”

“Bartender huh?” He winks and you wave just a bit, leaving Satoru whistling just a bit, shaking his head, unable to figure out just what this is, this feeling, as Suguru walks out, yawning and stretching.

“Oh shit, that look.”

“What look?” He asks, as they walk to their sleek black car, the driver ready holding the door open for them.

“That obsessive Satoru look.”

“Oh psh.” He rolls his pretty blue eyes, but Suguru just chuckles.

“She is pretty.”

Satoru scowls at his best friend now, who’s just smirking at him. “Don’t even think about it.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“I’m not… obsessive.”

“Mmm, alright Satoru.” He pats Satoru’s shoulder as he looks at his phone now, typing in your name casually of course- to find your socials, and any pictures of you he can save.

******

After busting your ass at your normal 9 to 5, you ran your mom’s interest payment to the intimidating Mei Mei, she’s smiling cooly, so fucking fake it makes your skin crawl, raising a brow under her light blue hair as she sees the amount. “Oh, darling, that's double, hmm?”

“I had the extra, took another job.” You yawn as you peek at your phone, realizing you have to get ready for the bar soon.

“I see, should I charge you more for each installment, since you’re doing so well now?” You blink now, shaking your head and earning her soft laugh, as she stands, tall and curvaceous, hips swaying as she tilts your chin up, long nails brushing your skin. “I was kidding, that face!”

“I’m sorry, Miss Mei. I swear I’ll try to do double but could we keep to the current please?” She nods a bit then, smiling and sauntering back to her desk, sitting on it and crossing her leg, blue dress riding up just a bit.

“I don’t mind helping, as long as you keep paying. You sure are a lot better than your mother. How is she?”

Your jaw sets. The moment your mother left town, and left you with all this debt after begging you to come back, under false pretenses, your life had become an endless cycle of pure work. Work, work, work, and nothing else, that was it.

Work. Bills. Interest.

Work, more work, more interest.

The only break had been meeting him, at the bar, Mr. Gojo.

“Smiling, darling?” You clear your throat, shaking your head.

“Just happy I’m getting this done.”

“That’s the spirit, see you next week.” She now hops down, dismissing you with a little wave of her fingers, as you hurriedly leave, leaning against the door of the fancy building as you damn near feel sick, sighing and trying to gather yourself.

You want to resent your mother, want to hate her even, but you don’t have it in you. There’s just one thing on your mind, work, work, and work. The handsome man at the bar may be a beautiful distraction, but he’d surely just stay that, the little bit of serotonin you need.

******

“On your lap?” You blink a bit, as Satoru’s grinning, leaning over the bar later that night, looking far too sexy in that pinstripe suit of his.

“So usually the strippers do, but I’d really like you too, and you will make more than you do in an hour. How much do you usually make?” You murmur a number, and he hands you hundreds instead.

“You can’t!”

“I’m taking your work time, I damn well will. Here, take it sweets.” You sigh, stepping out from behind the bar, crossing your arms under your breasts and looking up at him.

“I just, sit on your lap?”

“Well, you may have to… let me snort coke off you?” You’re a blushing mess now, and he’s laughing softly, brushing your hair back just a bit. “Just a little coke.”

“You’re kind of insane, Mr. Gojo.”

“I’ve been told. Come on, what do you say?”

So… that’s how you ended up here, in the velvety red VIP room, Toji, Sukuna, Suguru and Satoru of course are there, you see your friend on Sukuna’s lap, the lifesaver who got you this job, who waves from where she’s on his lap. You smile nervously, as Satoru sits, patting his thigh then.

“C’mon, got a seat right here.” He says with a wink, and the next few minutes you’re finding it impossible to focus.

You can feel it, Satoru’s muscled thigh against your heat, pussy throbbing around nothing at this proximity, as Sukuna, Suguru and Toji all talk amongst themselves, Toji and Suguru have stripper’s on their laps, Sukuna has your friend- his girl- on his. And you’re right here, with Satoru’s big hand against your waist, fingers wrapping around the gentle curve of it.

You try to bite back a moan at just how good it feels, and you embarrassingly wonder if he can tell, if he can feel how wet you are, surely not you hope. He’s calmly talking as he shifts his thigh just a bit, and you have to hold in your gasp, your booty shorts aren’t enough of a damn barrier, surely, not for how his thigh presses up for a moment.

“You good, sweetheart?” He murmurs to you softly, and you turn your attention to him, blinking just a bit, lips parted.

“Huh?” Is all you manage, his full lips tilt up just a bit as he tilts his head, his other hand now on your fishnet clad thigh.

“Lots of heavy topics, too much?” He’s so sweet you think, as if the problem isn’t you’re soaking your shorts, and no you didn’t even have panties on to try to help whatsoever, in such a hurry you hadn’t washed any and said fuck it.

Big mistake.

“Oh, a little bit.” You are such a liar, but what do you say? Yes, Satoru, your thigh is making me want to grind on it, to make myself cum like some pathetic-

“Try to tone 'em out, it’s what I do.” He says with a wink, and you laugh softly, breathless, as if you’d heard a word any of them said, no… your pulse is racing too loudly to hear them.

“Got it, Mr. Gojo.” He takes the little baggie one of the strippers has then, brushing your hair back off your shoulder, watching goosebumps raise across your neck, your collar bone so inviting he wants to bury his face against it.

“The Zenin are now a bigger issue than ever, they perceive that Sukuna literally took Naoya’s girl and his kid.” You frown a bit, looking over at Sukuna, who’s gripping his girl so tightly, scowling, while Toji speaks. “I know it’s not that way, but it’s what we’re up against.”

“So we fucking take em all out.” Sukuna throws back a shot, and his girl shakes her head.

“Kuna…”

“Don’t you fuckin’ Kuna me.”

“They’re cute.” Satoru murmurs, you nod in agreement, as you watch her make this giant man melt.

“They are.”

“Is right here alright?” His thumb brushes your collarbone, and you flush nervously, eyes lowering shyly as you nod. “Never done anything like this, hmm?’

“No, not at all.” You look around as the other men are doing so, however, and tilt your neck just a bit. “But I trust you.”

“Yeah?” He murmurs, you exhale, when he taps some of the ivory powder across your skin. “Stay still for me, pretty?”

Pretty.

God when he calls you pretty.

Your heart pounds out of its chest damn near when he’s gently lining it up, one hand gently brushing up your back as he leans over with a rolled one hundred, snorting it right off your skin. Something about it, snorting coke off your body, makes Satoru even harder than he already was, especially when he hears the softest of whimpers from your pretty throat.

“Fuck…” He wonders if he says it out loud, but you don't respond, still as he had commanded you to be, making him wonder wildly just how much you’d listen.

If he told you to hold these sexy thighs open, if he told you to bend over and arch your ass, if he said get on your knees. Would you obey him?

Once the powder is up his nose, his snowy lashes flutter shut, letting it run through his system, and he moans just ever so softly, before lapping up the residue from your throat. Your hand grips his hair unconsciously, without even thinking, hips shifting so he feels that heat on his thigh, making him leak precum.

You’re trembling just a bit as the tip of his tongue slips up the curve of your neck, a hand slipping up your thigh, thumb pressing under one of the diamond openings of the stockings, brushing bare skin. Your breasts are damn near in his face as they rise and fall in the thin black halter you’re wearing, nipples poking out with how they’re tightening.

He presses a little kiss on your neck with plump lips, and instead of smirking at you like he would, he can’t form a coherent thought - all he can think is he needs you, beyond a want. He needs to bite your neck and mark you up for him so beautifully, so much so none of that concealer you wear would work, no you’d have to take days off, finally relax so good with him rubbing every inch.

It’s like the room fades for you, you can’t remember there are strippers, that there are mobsters, that your friend is there, it’s all this man that’s practically a stranger, who you for some reason trust to snort this powder off you. His lips linger far too long, before he pulls back, blue eyes so dark they’re black, his pupils dilated, with a mix of cocaine and desire.

“Woah, you need the room?” Toji mentions, earning your blush, but Satoru can’t stop staring, at that vein in your neck just pulsing, aching to bite it, like some psychotic feral vampire. He feels things right now he never has, not the casual desire, not the ease of having a woman, he wants to bite, kiss and lick every goddamn inch of this sexy body shifting again on him.

“We’re actually almost finished if you can focus a moment, Satoru.” Suguru says as he pinches his nose a bit, tilting his head back and letting his own line hit.

Satoru clears his throat, gently pulling you just a bit more up his hard thigh, smiling at them all. “Go on, finish the boring shit.”

“It’s not exactly boring, Satoru. Considering we need to meet with them.”

“The Zenin?” Suguru nods, and Satoru’s jaw clenches.

“Let’s meet with the Kamo family first.” Sukuna suggests, pressing a kiss on his own girl’s neck, as she strokes back his pink locks, making Satoru ache for this from you, for everything from you. “We can see if potentially they’ll be on our side.”

“Shit, it’s a good idea.” Toji sips on his beer now, laughing as he presses it between his stripper thighs, grinning lewdly.

“I’m down for that first if everyone is in agreement. Satoru?” Suguru asks, and Satoru tries to focus on all this boring shit, when he’s much rather finger the slick he feels gathering against his expensive slacks.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll set it up.” He mumbles, and you look at him, your eyes dilated like his, but without any drug, it’s just pure want. Fucked up off his energy. “I can send everyone the details.”

“Sounds good.” Everyone gets up now, and Satoru holds you down just a bit longer, as they’re laughing and talking, heading out to the bar, he turns you to the side just a bit, tilting up your chin, hair falling down your back, brushing against where he has his arm against your back.

“You alright, sweets? That’s a lot to handle.” You blink just a bit, flushing as you shyly nod. “Ya sure?”

“I didn’t hear much.” You admit, and he exhales, his hand slipping back up your thigh, waiting for you to say something, to push off his hand, but you just watch him, eyeing him carefully, legs spreading just a bit. “I was distracted.”

“Yeah? By what, hmm?” You look away, so shy, he chuckles, leaning even closer to you. “You’re so cute.”

“You say that.”

“You are.”

“These dark circles sexy?”

“On you.”

“Mr. Gojo…” You lean closer yourself now, shifting your hips just a bit, earning his soft moan as he feels that wetness pouring against him.

“Need something, love? A thank you?”

“You gave me hundreds to be here, it’s already too generous. Why… um did you?” You ask curiously, and he looks down a bit, at your lips.

“I heard you work a lot, and can’t miss shifts. I didn’t wanna make you lose out on tips.”

“That’s so…” You’re blown away then. “I really appreciate it, but you wouldn’t have had to pay me to sit on your lap.”

“Oh yeah?” You bite your lower lip, shaking your head, when his hand slips even higher, and he eats up every bit of your expression, like you’re just as drunk off him as he is off you.

“I’m sure no girl has ever needed to get paid on your lap, Mr. Gojo.”

“My name, it’s Satoru.” You brush your hair back a bit, letting silken strands flow through your fingers, as Satoru’s hand is at the apex of your thighs, his thumb brushing right against where you’re soaked, eliciting a soft whine.

“C-can I call you that, though?”

“You can…” His thumb brushes your clit now, and you moan out loud, covering your mouth, but it’s too late, he heard it, thumb pressing where you’re sticky and so hot he can’t take it. “You’re soaked, baby girl.”

“Embarrassing… I’m so-”

“No, fuck it’s sexy.” You’re blushing further, so overheated as your thighs spread, and he moans, lips an inc from yours. “Satoru, say it.”

“Sa-”

“Are you coming Satoru?” Suguru peers in, and you quickly hop up, as Satoru considers killing his best friend. “We gotta - shit… didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no it’s fine!” You’re quickly walking out, and Satoru literally has to turn and adjust himself, groaning, head falling back.

“Shit, my bad Satoru.”

“I’ll kill you, Suguru.” He grumbles, shoving at his friend just a bit. “Let me say goodbye to her first.”

“Calling it a goodbye?”

“Fuck off, Sugu.” He’s shoving his friend, as he catches sight of you rushing to the locker rooms.

You’re splashing cool water on your neck, on your face, you don’t even recognize yourself in that mirror, with the desire making your face look like you’re lit off your ass, like you’re drugged from that cocaine on your skin. You can’t even be thinking of this, not with who you’re dealing with right now, not with all your shit, all the work you have to do.

Satoru’s beautiful but…

You’ve never been one to fuck randoms, you’re unfortunately a person that needs feelings, and fuck if you don’t already have feelings that make no sense for someone you barely know. Something about him beyond model good looks, beyond that clear confidence, something about his touch sending those shocks through you, shocks that make no sense.

The door opens, and instead of one of the girls, or even Sukuna or Toji, it’s Satoru, disheveled hair spiked up, his eyes bright fucking blue in the lights of the locker room, looking right at you. You turn back to the mirror, hastily fixing your hair, trying to act normal.

“Leaving for the night?” You ask, voice hoarse just a bit, as you ache to say so much more, but he’s walking to you, long strides, until he’s right in front of you, cupping your face with one of those big hands, exhaling sweet cool breath against your lips.

“I want you to sit on my lap during the next meeting, yeah?”

“Satoru…”

“I’ll pay more.”

“What!? Why?” You ask again, curiously, and he sighs.

“I like you there.” His vulnerability shocks you. “Meetings, business, life? It’s so fucking boring. With you it’s…”

“Different?”

“Yes, different. I can’t really… will you?” You nod then, shyly, earning his big grin. “Also, I want you to take a day off.”

“What? Off here?”

“No, your normal job. Here, for next time.” He hands you hundreds, and you shake your head, but he takes it and slips it right in your bra, backs of his fingers brushing against your breasts, eliciting a whimper. “Shit…”

“You can’t give me all this. And… taking a day off, I-”

“Fine then leave early or some shit. Just… you look like you could use a little break?”

“Don’t feel sorry for me for working a lot.” You frown a bit, and Satoru imagines just how little you’ll ever have to do, when you’re his.

“I admire it, shit. Swear I don’t feel bad for you. Just know, that’s pennies to me, okay? And I enjoyed your… I enjoyed you there.”

You smile a bit, as the cash presses against your skin, and you step closer. “Can I hug you?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

You both giggle, and you’re looking down shyly. “Just a kiss?” Satoru presses you against the counter, his hard body hot against yours.

“Pick which lips you want kissed.” His voice is husky, as he presses a thigh between yours, and you can’t stop the soft cry that elicits from your mouth.

“Satoru…”

“I’m serious. I can put a kissy on each lips, baby girl.” He’s tilting your chin up, and you lick your lower lip nervously, as swirling blue eyes drink you in.

“Why me? You can have… anyone.”

“You’re not just anyone. But also… have you seen you?”

“Yes, silly. I look tired.”

“Psh, pick it, where you want your thank you kiss.” You brush against his thigh, and he leans down, hungrily kissing you, and then it’s over for Satoru.

When your lips, so plush and pliant under his part just a bit, your cute little gasp, his tongue slips in past the seam, and you’re whining out softly, hands clinging to his dress shirt, earning him pressing that thigh harder. You’re grinding on it, fucking shameless as your tongues meet, at first tentative on your end, but Satoru consumes your damn mouth, your everything.

He’s moaning, damn near whimpering, a hand entangling in your hair, pulling just a bit as you roll your hips. “Shit, gonna grind on my leg like that? Even wetter than that whole meeting, huh?”

“Shh, w-wasn’t…” He smiles against your lips, kissing you deeper and deeper, as you grind, damn near about to cum from the friction.

“I can take care of-”

“Ahem.” Toji and Sukuna walk in then, and Satoru exhales, resting his forehead for a moment, against yours, as your breaths mingle, thoughts wild.

Satoru Gojo is dangerous, right?

He runs the Gojo Mafia, right?

Then why is he so sweet, so caring, so… fuck, he’s thoughtful. And every bit of his danger makes you crave him even more, like a moth drawn to his bright light, the beauty of him was just a small part of it. You ached to be consumed by him, fucked until you have no more thoughts.

Not all the damn money you owe Mei Mei.

Not the responsibilities thrown all over you from your mom.

You want to be thrown in every position for this man, submit yourself to anything he wants, and the thoughts are making your brain hurt. You take a shaky breath as he pulls back finally, easing a thigh back when you see it, a slight darkening, of where you’d soaked him with your cunt. Panicking, he just turns a bit, brushing it with his thumb, putting it to his lips.

“Shit, ya’ll need a room?” Sukuna asks, as Satoru’s eyes flutter shut, and his cheeks hollow as he sucks you off him.

“We got VIP rooms, ya know. Should charge Gojo for em.” Toji teases, but Satoru is gripping your face again, making you feel like the only damn thing in the world.

“I’ll be here Thursday, take that next day off, yeah?” You nod shyly, as he then whips out his phone, handing it to you. “In case you need anything.”

“Oh… thank you.” You scan the little code, entering his number in your phone with a shaky hand, and he smiles, eyes lingering.

“Night, sweets.”

“Night, Satoru.” You murmur, as he walks out then, you damn near collapse on this counter, head leaned back, finally alone for a moment.

Satoru Gojo, who is he.

Is he the guy that runs with people like Mei, or is he different? He feels different, he seems different…

Later that night you can’t get him out of your damn mind, tossing and turning, you only have a couple hours to sleep, ever, and you can’t be spending this just thinking of Satoru all damn night. You finally bite your lower lip, shooting him a little text, hoping it wouldn’t wake him up.

You: Good night, Mr. Gojo.

Satoru: You know it’s Satoru, hmm? Can’t sleep?

You: A lot on my mind… but thank you for today, you didn’t have to.

Satoru: That’s nothing to thank me over. But, you’re welcome, have sweet dreams… of me.

You giggle then, shaking your head, and biting your thumb just a bit.

You: Only if you dream of me.

Satoru: You think I haven’t already?

You cover your face, damn near squealing, fuck he makes you feel like some little high school girl, giggling as she hears her crush on the phone. Your hands are shaking just a bit as you contemplate what to say. You are terrified to bring anyone into the shitshow that’s your life, your mom coming in and out, taking money and disappearing, your brother coming too, begging for money.

You have a mess of a life, with a cruel woman after you, threatening you constantly, and you’re scared to open up, to be happy, even for a moment. But when he texts you next, you can’t stop your heart from racing.

Satoru: You know, masturbation relaxes me, knocks me right out.

You: Oh does it now?

Satoru: Try it and let me know next time you see me.

As Satoru speaks, he’s picturing you, and he can’t stop himself from stroking his cock slowly, up and down, as he’s riding in the back of his limo, finally all alone, fuck just your three dots typing and the memory of your taste are more than enough. His head falls back as he does, stroking his cock up and down, twisting and whimpering just so, when you finally type back.

You: Hmm… it is a little relaxing.

Satoru almost loses his shit, picturing how pretty your pussy must look.

Satoru: Giving it a shot? Listening, like a good girl?

Good girl, shit. You’re whining as you run circles over your clit, and you can’t type anymore, and Satoru notices, calling you now, shocking you. “S-Satoru?”

“Lemme give you pointers.” He says huskily, and you hear him, grunting just so, making you cry out.

“What? Are you…”

“So you get good sleep, you know- f-fuck. Rub little circles on that clit, hmm sweetheart?”

“Fuck…”

“You cuss?” He asks with a breathless laugh, hearing your whine on the phone, as your fingers get slippery. “If I wasn’t going out of town I’d come right over, make sure you’re doing it right.”

“Oh, would you? What if… I w-wasn’t, ngh!” Shit, Satoru’s about to bust just hearing your breathy cry.

“I’d have to show you how, baby girl. For your sleep, you know. Maybe use my fingers, bet yours don’t hit hmm? So tiny.”

“Mnh… Y-you would?”

“Let you use my thigh.”

“Satoru!”

“My face?”

“Fuck!” You’re screaming out as your little clit twitches, just edging him to moan, pumping cum all down his hand, he groans at it, at the flooding of sensations, his head falling forward, seeing the endless white cum spurting out his pretty pink tip. “S-sorry, I don’t usually cuss I s-swear… or d-do this…”

“Shh, sweetheart, you deserve some relaxation, hmm?” His murmur makes you ache for him, as you wonder…

What is this?

He just makes you let go.

You exhale now, struggling to right yourself, adjusting your shorts, sticky just a bit, as Satoru’s wiping himself um, moaning softly. “I’ve never done this.”

“You’re so cute. So fun to corrupt.”

“Oh!”

He’s laughing softly, zipping himself back up, as he aches for you, more and more. “I’ll see you soon, maybe I’ll show you some pointers.”

“You’re so sure of yourself hmm?”

“I’m Satoru Gojo, baby girl.” But he’s not sure of himself, he’s not sure he’d last long inside your cunt, god he imagines it’s perfect, he can’t get it out of his head, those moans, those whines, that liquid heat on his thigh.

“Satoru, wherever you’re going, be safe.” Your thoughtfulness touches him then, sure he has some friends, but no one says - stay safe. He’s momentarily stunned, hearing your yawn then, smiling at it.

“Of course I will be. See, masturbation, the cure.”

You giggle, shaking your head as you yawn once more, feeling your eyelids get heavy. “What’s this… mean?”

“That you want me so bad-”

“Satoru!”

“It means you’ll sleep good.” You both laugh softly, and you sigh then.

“Good night, Satoru.”

“Good night, sweets.” He waits for you to end the call, covering his face now, as his cock throbs with aftershocks, and he knows good and damn well it’s not the last time he’d jerk off to you tonight. No, it’s definitely not, he’s in the shower later at the hotel he’s staying at for the night, wishing he could just say fuck all this, and fuck his pretty bartender.

As he lays in the fancy hotel bed, he’s stroking it again, picturing how you’d ride him, how you’d bounce on his cock. The next morning even, he’s stroking it again, until his cock fucking hurts, remembering those moans, those whimpers, those sweet little cries.

Satoru must have you.

A/N - hehe I know it's SO LATE- I'll reblog in the morning <3 I hope you all enjoy- I'm thinking 6 parts or so on this onneee, there is gonna be a lot of drama and a lot of Toru being whipped- this is kinda the intro chap. See you in the comments my lovesss

You grew up in the nicest suburbs of Boston, got whatever it was you wanted, traveled on first-class flights before you were old enough to spell, had a father who treated you like gold in human form.

But, that last one? Yeah, that was the problem.

Being adored feels a lot like being controlled when you’re the only daughter of a man the entire country worships. Because in hindsight, you were. Not purposely, of course. You were daddy’s little princess from day one, which meant he needed to protect you at all costs.

From the moment you entered your elite preppy high school at age fourteen, that was when his watchful eye sharpened into one that never stopped watching. As a hall of fame athlete, a New England Patriots legend, he’s seen too much of this world to know that he needs to keep his precious girl safe from it all.

And when he retired? It got so much worse. He was always there. Which basically meant you couldn’t do anything without him knowing or without his permission.

Your best friend, Blair, who lived two houses down, lived the life you wished you could. Another rich, preppy privileged girl, yes, but one with parents who didn’t give a single fuck what she did. And she’s been partying since, well…forever.

She lost her virginity in the bathroom of a Red Sox game, threw a rager so big when her parents left for Saint Barts she got suspended for two weeks, snuck out of the house so often she practically wore a path through your backyard.

She begged you to join her. To come out and have fun, be a normal teenager, but you never could. Sometimes you wondered if your father even realized he’d built a cage around you—a gilded, loving, suffocating one. And you were tired of not being able to live life to the fullest.

Which is why when the time finally came to decide on college, you knew you had to choose the furthest plausible option. You also knew that wherever you went, would have to be with Blair.

So the two of you sat down and planned it. She listed all sorts of schools, Miami, Alabama, Ohio State, Wisconsin, all known for their party scene, but they weren’t far enough in your eyes.

Then, the idea hit you. California. All the way across the country, nice ass weather with no brutal winters, huge nightlife. It ticks every single box.

“How about USC?” You suggested.

Blair’s eyes widened like she’d won the lottery, “That’s it! That’s the fucking school. We’re applying—today.”

You indeed did apply that same day, keeping all of it, every whispered dream of palm trees and frat parties, a secret from your father. He didn’t need to find out that you were plotting your escape. Only if you got accepted, would you tell him.

After applying, came the long, excruciating wait. Every notification made your heart jump, every morning felt loaded with possibility and impending doom, but then on a random Tuesday afternoon after school, Blair got an email. You were sprawled across her bed when her phone dinged and when she checked it she froze, slowly looking at you, “No fucking way.”

Your heart stopped, “What?”

She glanced back at her screen as if it might disappear, “Bitch…I got in!”

You barely had time to process it before she launched herself at you, both of you collapsing onto the bed in a fit of hysterical laughter, “Check yours,” She demanded, already grabbing your laptop.

Your hands shook as you logged into the portal and when the screen flashed in red and gold, Congratulations! We are pleased to offer you admission to the University of Southern California…

Your vision blurred, you were going to finally leave Boston and remove the shackles. Blair grabbed your shoulder, “You’re free, babe.”

The word hit differently—free. But not yet, because you still had to tell him.

You waited until dinner, when the house was calm and your father set down his fork and asked warmly, “How was your day, princess?”

You pushed the printed copy of your acceptance letter across the table, watching as he unfolded it slowly. His sharp eyes scanned the words once, twice, then a third time, as if they might rearrange themselves into something less horrifying.

“…Southern California?” He said at last, voice tight, “That’s three thousand miles away.”

“I know.”

“And…you want to go there?”

“I do. Really bad.”

There was a heartbeat, a breath, a visible internal meltdown occurring within him, until he asked, “Is Blair going?”

“Yes. She got in too.”

He exhaled through his nose like that single fact alone saved his life, though it probably shouldn’t have. She’s the last person on Earth he should want going with you, but thankfully, he’s blissfully unaware of who she really is, “Well. I guess that’s different.”

Your mother kicked him under the table, “Just say you’re proud of her, honey.”

He looked at you again, long, conflicted, and terrified, yet still soft, “I am proud of you,” He murmured, “You know that. I just…you’re my little girl. And California is far.”

“I’ll be okay.”

He didn’t believe that, not at all, but he nodded anyway, “Then I guess…USC it is.”

Just like that, you were free. You could almost taste it. And now, months later, you’re here—Move-in day.

The California sun hits hotter and brighter, like even the light feels less restrained than anything you ever knew in Boston. Your father sits restlessly in the rented SUV that’s packed full with your belongings, your mother is in the passenger seat, Blair is following behind with her mom.

It should’ve been a sweet, sentimental moment. College send-offs usually are, but this one wasn’t. Because in order to get to your dorms, you had to pass Greek Row, and your father sees everything he fears most.

A group of shirtless guys on a lawn, covered in sweat playing die on an old, warped table. Two frat brothers throwing a football back and forth across the street like they own it, a cluster of girls in micro shorts walking toward one of the houses, someone’s shotgunning a beer while blasting John Summit so loud it shakes the sidewalk. Your father’s hands tighten on the steering wheel so hard the leather creaks.

“Oh,” Your mother murmurs gently, “Look at that…school spirit.”

He does not share the same sentiment. He stares, shell-shocked, shoulders squared like he’s preparing for war. One of the frat boys looks straight at the car, lifts his chin at you through the window, and smirks. Your dad nearly swerves into the closest telephone pole, “Oh hell no,” He curses under his breath, “Absolutely not. Over my dead body—”

“Dad,” You warn softly, cheeks burning.

He tears his eyes away from the horror, but keeps muttering, “This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea. They let freshmen live near this? They let you live near this? Those boys are—They’re—”

“College students?” Your mom offers.

“Degenerates.”

You hide your smile behind your hand. Because the truth is, everything he saw that scared him? Is everything you wanted.

The noise, the craziness, the alcohol, the energy, the…boys. A world you were never allowed to touch is now directly outside your window.

Your father grips the wheel harder like he’s debating whether or not to spin the car around and drive your happy ass back to Boston himself, but he doesn’t. He continues onward; straight to the dorms, your new life, and the one thing he could never fully control—your freedom.

But freedom, apparently, also comes with an audience. The moment your father pulls into the freshmen unloading zone, heads turn. A few students stop mid-conversation, some whisper, some don’t even bother whispering. Phones lift in that sneaky, sideways way people use when they swear you won’t notice.

“Is that—?”

“That’s him, right? That’s him?”

“Dude, her dad is literally the goat.”

“Wait, does that mean she’s—?”

You feel the heat crawl up your neck, but your father doesn’t react. He’s practiced at this, years of fan interactions, interviews, cameras shoved in his face at even the most inconvenient moments. Nothing really shakes him—well, except the frat boys. Those do.

He steps out of the car and grabs your suitcase with one hand, posture straightening like he’s going on National TV. A couple of guys across the quad nudge each other when they recognize him, jaws dropping as if a God descended onto USC’s campus.

“Sir!” One of them calls out, already pulling out his phone, “Big fan! Like…huge fan!”

“Thank you,” Your father says with a polite nod, slipping seamlessly into his media smile and then, because the universe enjoys humor at your expense, another voice bursts from a group near the dorm steps.

“Holy shit, that’s his daughter?”

You want to sink into the pavement, but your mom slips her arm through yours, “Don’t mind them, sweetheart. They’re just excited.”

Blair, climbing out of her mom’s BMW behind you, practically cackles, “Oh my God,” She whispers gleefully, “You’re famous already. Do you understand the power you’re about to wield?”

You glare at her, but she’s too busy vibrating with excitement. Meanwhile, your father spots the second wave of frat brothers who’ve stopped tossing a football to stare openly at the scene unfolding, and stiffens.

His tone drops into one that is low and protective, “Stay away from boys who look like that.”

“I will,” Oh, you most certainly won’t.

Once you’re all inside the dorm lobby, even more chaos ensues.

Athletes, business majors, engineering kids with lanyards all mingling, moving, dragging various pieces of furniture; and then there’s the group of girls next to the elevators, eyes flicking between you and your father with thinly-veiled recognition.

One whispers, not nearly quiet enough, “You think Gojo’s seen her yet?”

The other girl beside her giggles, “Please. Someone’s probably already told him.”

You freeze, Blair’s head snaps toward you like a bloodhound catching a scent, “No way! You’re being talked about by him?”

“Who is him?”

Blair lowers her voice, “Okay, so—remember how I stalked USC on TikTok for, like, two months straight?”

“…Yeah?”

“Well,” She says, pushing her Prada sunglasses up her nose, “There’s this international student from Japan, Satoru Gojo. Apparently the frat guy on campus. Junior, filthy rich, shameless, hot as fuck, total slut, owns a white Porsche, finance bro who probably fails all his classses, and ends up on every ‘hottest men at USC’ list.”

You stare at her, “And you know all of that from TikTok?”

“Yep,” She says proudly, “I do my research.”

You open your mouth, then close it, “Okay, but what does any of that have to do with—”

Blair gestures vaguely at your face, “Sexy freshman girl with famous NFL seven time Super Bowl Champion quarterback dad? You’re deadass his exact type of…project.”

You almost choke, “Project?”

She nods sympathetically, “Project as in…he’d want to be the guy to ruin you for every other man on campus.”

Your father hears the word ruin and nearly breaks his own neck whipping around. Blair immediately straightens, innocent smile plastered onto her face.

“Don’t worry,” She says softly out of the corner of her mouth, “You probably won’t even meet him,” Then quieter, when she knows your father isn’t eavesdropping, adds, “You’re totally going to meet him.”

Your dorm room on the fourth floor is already propped open when you reach it. Small, bright with two twin beds and bare walls. It’s nothing like the Boston mansion you grew up in, yet somehow it’s more exciting than any bedroom you’ve ever had.

Blair lets out a delighted gasp, “We live here? Oh my God, we actually live here!”

She races inside to claim her side of the room, throwing herself onto the bed next to the window. Your father stands in the doorway, scanning like he’s doing a threat assessment, “It’s…smaller than I expected.”

“It’s a dorm, honey. Not the Ritz,” Your mother reminds him.

He hums, but does not relax in the slightest. And just like that, the four of you are unpacking boxes, hanging clothes, folding towels, arranging the mini-fridge that your father inspects with the seriousness of a homicide detective. He tests the door three times, plugs it into a power strip, unplugs it, inspects the outlet, then plugs it back in.

“Dad,” You sigh, “It’s a fridge, not a life-support machine.”

“You say that now,” He warns and you just chuckle.

It’s chaos, but the warm kind. The kind you’ll remember and cherish forever, yet also feels like the end of something and the beginning of quite literally everything else. At one point, Blair steps behind you to hang a string of fairy lights and whispers, “Okay, but seriously—imagine Gojo in this room.”

You elbow her so hard she drops a clip, your father spins around, “What was that?”

“Nothing!” You and Blair answer in unison.

Your mother laughs softly. Your father absolutely does not.

Eventually, after your bedding is on, your father stands there at the foot of your bed with his hands on his hips. A silence settles, one that says that this is real, this is happening, and this is goodbye. For now.

He checks his watch, again. He’s been doing it all morning. He has a flight to Oregon to catch—the new job he picked up right after you announced you were moving across the country. He needed the distraction, otherwise he’d be stuck in Boston all day, thinking about what you’re doing out here…and what you probably shouldn’t be doing.

He’s a commentator for College GameDay. Covering the biggest football games of the year, traveling to each host school every week, however, he should’ve left ten minutes ago. But he just can’t.

“Princess,” He says quietly, “You sure you want this?”

You nod, heart pounding with the thrill of independence, but your face softens into the kind of innocent expression that always makes him melt, and you’ve absolutely learned how to weaponize it.

“I do,” You say softly, then perfectly timed and aimed, you hit him with the, “But…do you really have to leave so soon?”

His entire chest caves in, “Oh, sweeheart…” His voice thickens immediately, “I don’t want to. I wish I could stay with you the whole day.”

Inside, you’re buzzing, thinking, please leave already. Oh my God, leave and let me live.

But outside? You look up at him with big, sad, puppy dog eyes, “I’ll miss you.”

He pulls you into a crushing hug, “I’ll miss you more,” He murmurs, “So much more. I hate the timing of this stupid College GameDay thing—I should be here helping you settle in, not rushing to the airport.”

You cling just enough to sell it, but not make him change his mind and stay, “It’s okay, daddy,” You say, ultra sweet, “You have to work.”

He sniffles, “I’ll FaceTime you from Oregon,” He promises, “Every night.”

You nod against his chest, all gentle affection while your internal monologue screams, yes, yes, yes. Commentate on football and go.

Your mom steps in next, hugging you warmly, “Call whenever you need anything. And maybe…don’t tell your father everything you’re doing.”

Your father shoots her a look of the utmost betrayal, she ignores it. Blair hugs them both dramatically, “You guys are like my second parents. I’ll miss you too.”

Then he steps away, still unwilling, still staring at you like you’re five years old heading into kindergarten instead of nearly nineteen. He wipes his palms on his jeans and breathes out shakily, “Okay. Okay, I can do this. You’ll be fine. You’ll be safe. Blair, keep her away from—”

“Boys?” She fills in the blank.

“Exactly.”

You almost laugh as he heads for the door, pauses, and looks back one last time, “You sure you’ll be okay without me?”

You nod sweetly, oh so, so sweetly, “I’ll manage.”

Resigned, he gives you one last look and disappears down the hallway with your mother. The moment they’re gone, Blair turns to you, deadpan, “Oh, you are one evil bitch.”

But you’re not pretending anymore. A slow, wicked grin spreads across your face, one you’ve been holding back for years, “Blair,” You breathe, “I am finally free.”

And somewhere down Greek Row, in a house with bass shaking the floorboards, a brother with white hair and blazing blue eyes checks his phone, seeing the group chat’s new messages.

sig chi or die

ryan: yo gojo you see the qb’s daughter?

ryan: she just moved in and she’s BADDDD

And he smiles, one full malicious intent. He hasn’t seen you yet, but he already plans to.

Blair gives you exactly ten seconds of peace after your parents leave before she turns to you, eyes manic with purpose, “Alright. Put on something slutty. We’re celebrating.”

“We literally just unpacked.”

“Exactly!” She says, already digging through her suitcase, “Sigma Chi is open for business and so are we.”

You laugh, half nerves, half adrenaline as she tosses the tiniest black skirt you’ve ever seen your way and a cropped baby tee. You catch it, then go still, because across the chest in red rhinestones it says, Let Them Eat Cunt.

“Blair.”

She beams like it’s the funniest joke on Earth, “I got it custom-made. For today. For your whore arc!”

“My dad would literally die if he saw this.”

“I know,” She says proudly, “Now put it on.”

You hesitate for only one second, then slide both the shirt and skirt on. The moment you do, Blair makes a strangled noise, “Oh my God, bitch. The guys are going to lose their fucking minds.”

You look at yourself in the mirror; skirt so short it could be considered a napkin, rhinestoned filth across your boobs, lips perfectly glossed and instead of nerves, a spark catches in your bloodstream. This is what you’ve been waiting for.

“Yes,” You murmur, adjusting the hem, “They will.”

Blair freezes, “Oh? Oh?”

“Blair,” You say, meeting her eyes in the mirror, “I didn’t move across the country to behave.”

She shrieks into her palms, “You are out for blood tonight.”

“Dick, actually,” You correct calmly, “I’m out for dick.”

Her soul leaves her body, “Oh my God—yes! Say it again!”

“I want to get drunk,” You explain, “I want a hot guy. And I want to erase the last eighteen years of being babysat.”

Blair is feigning tears, “This is everything I’ve ever prayed for. I feel like a mother watching her child blossom into a slutty flower.”

“Let’s bloom, then,” You grab your phone, keys, and head for the door without a semblance of doubt.

Blair scrambles after you, “Wait, slow down—!”

“I have places to be,” You coo, already striding down the hallway.

“We haven’t even pregamed!”

“Sig Chi has alcohol,” She laughs manically at that and follows you outside into the California heat.

The walk over is brutally short, every step feels like peeling off another layer of innocence, the music from Greek Row growing louder, deeper, and dirtier. Blair bumps your shoulder, grinning slyly, “You know…he’s probably there. This is his frat.”

You already know who she’s referring to…Gojo. Again with this guy?

You roll your eyes fondly, “Blair, you haven’t even seen him.”

“Oh, but on TikTok I have,” She says, “And trust me—foreign rich boys? They’re always the ones who fuck like they’ve got something to prove.”

That piques your interest. Maybe, just maybe you’d have to find that one out for yourself.

You round the corner and Sig Chi rises ahead of you. Three stories in all its glory, music blaring, people spilling across the lawn, lights pulsing behind the windows.

Blair squeezes your hand, wicked grin glued to her face, “Okay. Deep breath, babe. Act natural.”

“I am natural.”

“Not with you wearing that shirt.”

You scoff as you step inside and the frat swallows you whole. It’s loud and cramped, bodies swaying under LED lights, the smell of beer and flavored vape clouds hanging in the air. A table of jungle juice sits in the corner, multiple couples are making out aggressively against walls, and then, you see him.

You don’t even realize it’s him at first, you just register—absurdly tall, insanely built, ocean eyes, broad shoulders, cut-off muscle tee showing biceps carved by God himself, LA Dodgers snapback backwards on his white hair, laughing lazily with two girls hanging off him like decorations.

So, this is the infamous Satoru Gojo. No wonder why he runs USC. He’s hot as fuck and knows it. He’s leaning against the kitchen island like it’s his throne, until one of the brothers near him nudges his shoulder, “Yo, QB’s daughter just walked in.”

Gojo doesn’t react immediately, he never does. Instead, he finishes whatever joke he was saying, grinning, dimples deep, girls giggling into his ribs.

Then, slowly, he looks up. The moment his eyes find you? Everything stops. The flirting, the talking, the lazy smile—gone.

His mouth parts just a little, eyes raking down your body, the skirt, your legs, and then eventually stopping right on your shirt. For a split second, he genuinely looks stunned, but then?

Oh, he smirks. A slow, sinful curl of his lips like all of his dreams have finally come true.

Blair whispers behind you, “Holy shit, Gojo’s staring.”

You don’t answer, because he isn’t just staring. He’s studying, recognizing, and realizing. He knows who you are, everyone does. You’re the football dynasty princess, Boston royalty, a girl whose father could call the dean of USC directly and have a frat shut down in ten minutes flat.

And yet, here you are. In that shirt, in his house, looking like trouble he suddenly, desperately wants.

A girl he wants to ruin before anyone else has the chance to.

He straightens up from the counter and sheds the girls clinging to him without a second glance. They look confused and annoyed, but he doesn’t give a shit. He was never one to care about girls’ feelings anyway.

His eyes stay locked on you. Blair inhales sharply, “Oh my God—he clocked you. He fully clocked you, bitch.”

You swallow as he continues to stare, smirk, and look at your shirt like he wants to frame it above his bed. Then, he murmurs something to the guys beside him, still not breaking eye contact, and you feel it—the shift, the moment the king of Sig Chi decides he’s going to make you his next conquest.

Blair elbows you, “I swear to God if you don’t at least talk to him—”

“Blair—”

“No, shut the fuck up. I’m your wingwoman. I’m morally obligated to get you laid.”

You exhale, pulse electric, heat flickering under your skin as Gojo starts to move. Not toward you yet, but closer. Circling, watching, like a wolf that noticed the rabbit wasn’t scared of him.

You catch his eyes again, sharp blue under the brim of his backwards hat, and this time, he tilts his head. Acknowledgment, interest, amusement, and mouths something. Blair grips your arm, “What did he say?”

You gulp because you know exactly what he said. Two simple words, as clear as day, “Nice shirt.”

Her grip on your arm grows so taut your circulation stops, “Okay, holy shit. We need to get drinks right now or I’m going to pass out.”

You let her drag you toward the jungle juice table, but you feel his eyes following you. Every step you take, every sway of your skirt, his gaze is glued to it like he’s trying to memorize your movements.

Blair shoves a cup into your hand and whispers, “He’s coming over. I repeat, he is coming over!”

“Don’t look,” You whisper back.

“I’m not,” She lies, staring directly at him.

You take a sip of the juice; sweet, disgusting, perfect, and then, Gojo appears. He leans one shoulder against the wall beside the drinks table, arms crossing slowly, biceps flexing under his cut-off tee, snapback still backwards, silver-white hair falling into his eyes. He’s taller up close, annoyingly so, towering even with the casual slouch.

He looks at your face first, then your shirt again, and smirks, “Bold choice,” He drawls, voice low and painfully self-assured, “You always introduce yourself with your chest, or is tonight special?”

Blair chokes on her drink, you swallow, “It’s a shirt, not a dissertation.”

He grins, cocky and fucking lethal, “Could’ve fooled me,” He murmurs, eyes dipping to your bare stomach, your hips, your legs, “That thing’s doing a lot of talking.”

Your heart flips, but you refuse to fold so soon, “Then stop staring at it.”

He laughs, quiet, dangerously pleased, and drags his eyes upward until they lock directly with yours, “Oh, princess,” He says softly, like he already knows the nickname from his mouth will ruin you, “I’m not staring at the shirt.”

Your breath hitches as Gojo’s tongue slides across the inside of his cheek before he tilts his head, diverting conversation, “You’re new.”

“Freshman.”

“No shit,” His smile widens, “I meant new as in…no one here’s touched you yet.”

Blair coughs so violently she has to turn away, your cheeks heat, “Why would you assume that?”

He shrugs, bending slightly to dip his cup in the jungle juice bowl, filling it lazily, eyes never leaving you, “Because I’ve never seen guys on my lawn look so fucking scared.”

“Scared?”

His smirk grows, possessive and knowing, “They were staring at you like you’re a grenade with the pin half-pulled. Pretty skirt, filthy shirt, famous daddy?” He takes a slow sip of his drink, “Yeah. They’re terrified.”

You open your mouth, but he steps closer, close enough that you can smell his cologne—clean, expensive, a bit woodsy. His voice drops to something only you can hear, “But I’m not.”

Your pulse stutters and he notices, of course he does. He’s got girls’ body language down to a fucking tee. He leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear, “You walk into my house wearing that,” He whispers, “And you really think I’m letting anyone else talk to you first?”

Your soul leaves your body. He pulls back just a bit, eyes locking onto yours again, darkened now and unblinking; his smirk softens as he nods to the crowd, “Guys are already looking,” He says, almost dismissive, “Thinking about walking over.”

He lifts your chin with one knuckle, light as a tease, heavy as a claim, “But they’re not going to.”

Your lips part, “Why not?”

Gojo smiles, wicked, "Because you’re talking to me.”

Something hot shivers down your spine. Blair, silently screams in triumph. Gojo watches your reaction like he wants to eat it almost as much as he wants to eat you.

Then he lowers his voice even further, “And if any other guy touches you tonight?” He taps the rim of his cup against your, a subtle clink, “They’re dead.”

Your heart slams against your ribs, he smirks again, “You don’t even get what that shirt’s doing to people,” He says, leaning back just slightly to give you a moment to breathe, but not space to escape, “But it’s okay. I’ll show you.”

Your mouth goes dry. He straightens up, flicks his eyes over your legs one more time, and adds softly, “Stay where I can see you.”

Then he walks off, not far, but far enough to make you watch and to tell every brother and guy in the house that you’re his.

Not yet. Not fully. But don’t even fucking try.

Blair is still gripping your arm like a talon when Gojo strolls off, leaving you breathless, dazed, and partially frenzied.

“Holy shit,” Blair hisses, “Okay. Okay. We need more alc immediately. You need to ride the confidence wave.”

“I’m…pretty sure confidence isn’t my problem right now.”

“No,” She agrees, dragging you toward the bar counter, “Your problem is wanting to climb that man like a tree, but that’s what vodka is for. Loosen up, be the slut you were born to be.”

You snort so hard you almost trip. The kitchen island is cluttered with liquor bottles, chasers, cups, and three guys already pouring shots.

Blair slaps her palms on the counter, announcing way too proudly, “This is my best friend! She is having her slut awakening tonight, if you care!”

“Blair—!”

They shout like they’ve just been told USC won the national championship. One of them, a blond with aviators on indoors, grins at you, “You taking shots or you just gonna stand there and look hot?”

Blair gasps, offended on your behalf. You roll your eyes and reach for the Tito’s bottle. Blond aviators whistles, “Oh, she’s going straight for the hard stuff.”

Blair squeals, “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

You raise the bottle, “Wait—” Blair warns.

Too late, you’re already taking a deep, burning, reckless swig. The kitchen collectively screams and you cough once, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, “Fuck.”

Blair smacks the counter, beaming, “Yes! That’s my best friend!”

Someone shoves a red cup into your hand, another chanting, “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

So you do, because why the hell not? This moment has been eighteen years in the making and the drink is warm, disgusting, and makes your head pleasantly light.

Blair hops onto the counter, already dancing, “I am so proud of you!”

Guys around you start cheering harder, forming a half-circle as if you’re performing, and you laugh—dizzy and loud.

For the first time in your life, you’re not a quarterback’s daughter with curfews and rules and expectations. You’re just a girl in a filthy shirt getting worshipped by a kitchen full of frat brothers.

One leans in, too close, grinning, “So, uh—you rushing? Because we were thinking—”

Another cuts him off, slinging an arm around his shoulders, “—thinking we should make you Sig Chi’s sweetheart.”

Blair snaps her gaze to you, giggles erupting, “Oh my God, (Y/N), they’re already trying to crown you.”

The first guy leans closer, bold with liquid courage, “You’d run this place.”

“Yeah?” You tease, voice looser than normal, “What would I get out of it?”

He smirks, “Priority at every party. Your own room. Free booze. And—”

Before you can even smile, a low voice cuts through the kitchen like a knife, “Who the fuck told you idiots you could talk to her?”

Gojo stands in the doorway, cup in hand, expression blank and walks in with the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea, “You boys drunk or just dumb as fuck?”

“Gojo, we were—”

“Don’t speak,” He snaps, stepping closer, “You think you can ‘crown’ girls now? Offer them rooms? Priority access?" He laughs once, “You can’t even organize a mixer without me holding your hands.”

One brother stiffens, “Gojo, come on—”

Gojo turns his head slowly, “You interrupting me?” The guy goes pale, Gojo’s voice drops, “As active brothers you’re supposed to know the rules,” He nods over toward you, “And rule number one—you don’t approach girls I’m watching.”

A ripple flows through the kitchen, “G-Gojo—”

“Probation,” He replies simply, “All three of you,” Their faces drop, “No parties. No tailgates. No socials. You’re on cleanup duty for two weeks with the Pledges.”

The room detonates with whispers, “And if you ever look at her again? I’ll pull your letters myself,” They stare at him horrified, “Now, get the fuck out of my kitchen.”

The brothers scatter like roaches and Gojo turns to you, “Having fun?” He asks, voice warm again, teasing the way only danger could.

“M-Maybe.”

He steps closer; his knee brushes your thigh, the scent of his cologne wraps around your spine, and the buzz of the vodka evaporates from how stupid hot this is, “I thought I told you to stay where I could see you.”

Your heart jumps, heat rushing straight into your stomach, “I didn’t go anywhere.”

His eyes flick down your body, slow and deliberate, “Oh, you went everywhere,” He says, “Guys over here. Guys over there. Taking shots on my counter like you’re trying to get a reaction.”

Blair is wheezing into her cup somewhere behind you. You lift your chin, “What—did it bother you?”

His jaw ticks, just once, but you feel it like a pulse under your skin. He steps closer, body angling into yours, hand coming down beside your hip on the counter. He’s caging you in without even touching.

“It bothered me,” He says quietly, “How much fun you were having without me,” Your stomach churns, his voice drops further, “Didn’t like seeing other guys look at you like that.”

“You told them off,” You remind him.

“I shouldn’t have had to.”

Your mouth opens, he watches you react—your pulse, your breathing, and soaks it up like it feeds him, “You’re drunk,” He says, eyes glinting, “But you’re not stupid.”

“Meaning…?”

He leans in, lips brushing your jaw, “Meaning you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Your thighs press together on instinct and he catches it, something daring flickers across his expression; hunger, annoyance, restraint, then he nods toward the staircase, “Come with me.”

“Where?”

He smirks in the way he always does before hooking up with girls, “Upstairs.”

Your breath falters, “Why?”

He takes your wrist gently, shockingly gentle for someone with such big hands, and pulls you away from the counter. His thumb slides across your pulse point, “You want me to say it?”

You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t. But you nod.

His eyes drag down to your shirt again, bold letters across your chest, daring the world. He lifts his gaze back to yours, “Because, princess…” He murmurs, voice an unholy whisper, “…I wanna do what your shirt says.”

Your knees nearly give and Gojo’s hand tightens on your wrist, “Come upstairs,” He says again, firmer this time, “Before I do something stupid right here.”

You don’t think or even breathe, you just let him lead you through the kitchen, past the music, up the stairs; his hand warm and unyielding around yours, every step feeling like the point of no return, and everyone watches.

Because the king of Sig Chi just bagged the coveted QB’s daughter.

Gojo hears all their whispered words, but they don’t affect him. He just smirks over his shoulder, hand still wrapped around your wrist, doing what he’s done almost a hundred times before, and keeps walking.

Up the stairs, down the hall, past guys who stop talking just to watch you go. You can feel the attention, the shock, the rumors already spreading like wildfire and the second the door to his room shuts, he’s on you.

His mouth crashes onto yours before your back even hits the door, one hand sliding into your hair, the other gripping your waist and dragging you closer until there’s no space between you. Your hands fist in the hem of his shirt; he groans into your mouth, the sound dark, low, sinful.

And then Gojo doesn’t walk you to the bed, no. He throws you onto it. One push to your hips and you fall back onto his mattress, bouncing once; he stands at the edge for a second, just looking at you, chest rising, jaw tight, like he’s trying not to pounce too fast.

Then he laughs under his breath. A quiet, disbelieving sound. He’s had all types of girls on this bed—sorority girls, party girls, girls who begged for his attention, but none of them ever looked like this.

His shirt rides up as he pulls his hat off to run a hand through his hair, eyes raking over every inch of you. The skirt pushed high, the lewd baby tee, your glossy lips parted from panting.

You’re not like the others…you’re worse. You’re a good girl, not his usual type, not ran through; temptation he was never supposed to touch, the quarterback’s daughter with the perfect reputation, and the perfect face, and the perfect body he’s dying to destroy.

His laughter fades, replaced by something darker and hungrier as he steps closer, eyes dragging over you like he’s choosing which part of you to ruin first.

“Yeah,” He murmurs, tone dropping, “I knew you’d look good on my bed.”

Then his hands, big and unforgiving, close around your thighs. He drags you down the mattress in one smooth, brutal pull, your skirt sliding up high on your hips, your breath punching out of your lungs.

Your ass hits the edge of the bed, legs falling open for him on instinct. Gojo inhales sharply like the sight of you hurts him, “Fuck,” He breathes, half a laugh, half a groan, “You’re gonna kill me.”

He doesn’t climb onto the bed, doesn’t join you, he just stands there, looming, tall and broad, with his thumbs pressed into the soft inner curve of your thighs; pushing them wider until the stretch borders on obscene.

You can feel your pulse now, between your legs, desperate and unable to ignore. He looks down at you like he’s about to pray to whatever god put you in front of him or ruin you for sport. You can’t distinguish the two.

His fingers hook into the sides of your panties, “Lift.”

You obey in an instant; he slides them down your legs slowly, savoring the reveal, until they hit the floor with a soft thud.

The second he sees you, bare and already wet for him, his jaw flexes, “Jesus Christ,” He mutters, running a hand through white strands to control himself, “You’re soaked.”

Heat floods your face at the sight, at the words, and he smirks because he can tell, “Shy now?” He teases, “You wore that shirt and came to my frat but this—” His thumb barely grazes the inside of your thigh, nearly touching where you want him, “—this is what makes you flush?”

You try to speak, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, he bends deliberately slow, bringing his mouth closer until his breath hits your skin. Your thighs tense, it only makes him grip them harder, “Relax,” He coos, eyes lifting to yours from between your legs, “I’m gonna take care of you.”

You don’t get a chance to register anything, he leans in and licks one long, slow stripe up your pussy—so slow you swear he’s doing it just to see how flustered you’ll get from the first touch alone.

Your head falls back against the sheets and he laughs, a soft, smug sound that vibrates right into your core, “Taste so good,” He mutters, already going back in for more, “Knew you would.”

And then he loses himself. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting your hips off the edge of the bed, dragging you closer until your knees are hooked over his shoulders and his mouth is pressed fully against your sopping cunt.

He eats you like a man starved, deprived, one that’s been waiting for this ever so patiently, and one whose life mission is to ruin you for every man who could ever come after him. His tongue flicks and circles and presses, “Satoru—”

He groans, the sound reverberating so deep your body shudders, “Say it again,” He says between licks, “Fuck, say my name again.”

You do, over and over, because you simply can’t not.

He tightens his grip on you, holding you still as he sucks your clit with a filthy reverence, and your back arches so hard your vision spots. Your legs try to close on instinct, but he doesn’t allow it. Gojo pushes your thighs wider with his shoulders, pinning you open without even trying.

“Yeah…” He murmurs into your skin, breath so hot it makes you twitch, “Keep ‘em open for me.”

He dips his head again, sucking your clit into his mouth with a force that knocks a cry out of you and you try to wiggle away from the intensity, but he stops you.

He growls, a low warning, fingertips digging into your thighs, “Oh no, you’re not running from this,” His voice drops, rough, entertained, and mean, “Daddy’s princess doesn’t get to run.”

Your body jolts like he slapped you and he feels it; pausing for a second, his lips still brush your folds as he lifts those piercing blues to watch your reaction. A smirk cuts across his face.

“Oh my fucking God,” He breathes, “You liked that shit.”

You try to lie, “I—no.”

But you did like it. Some depraved, twisted part of you liked it.

He laughs, delighted, “Yeah? You denying it?” He gives your cunt another slow lick, “Cause your pretty pussy’s kinda telling me everything I need to know.”

Your face burns with shame, unable to stop the shrill sound that falls out of you. He groans, guttural and hungry, “Holy shit—daddy’s good little girl getting off on being talked to like a slut?”

He moves closer to whisper directly on your skin, your lashes flutter from the warmth, “Guess daddy’s girl isn’t so good anymore.”

You can’t stop yourself from reacting to that, your hands yank his hair hard and he moans straight into your cunt at the pull, “Ohh fuck yeah,” He hisses, “Give me that again, princess.”

You tug him once more, pushing him deeper into your core; your voice comes out small and shaky, “Don’t…wanna be good…” Gojo tenses, your next words fracture on a whisper that will haunt him forever, “…just wanna be good for you.”

That line sends him into a frenzy, his mouth crashes back onto you sloppily—tongue working like he wants to drag that confession out of you again, sucking your clit with a messy, perfect pressure that shatters your thoughts.

He holds you open as he devours you; there’s no rhythm to it at all, just a man fully out of his fucking mind.

“Satoru—Toru—” Your voice cracks as your orgasm slams through you with a force you didn’t think possible.

And he groans like your pleasure pleases him, licking you through the entire climax, refusing to let go of you until you collapse onto the mattress, trembling.

When you do, he pulls back slowly; face glazed, breathing erratic, eyes wild, “Fuck,” He whispers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Need to be inside you.”

He doesn’t waste a minute, lifting you by the hips again both effortlessly and possessively, he drags you up the bed until your head hits his pillows.

“Goddamn, look at you,” He sneers, hovering, “Already fucked dumb and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”

You whimper helplessly as he’s already lining himself up; thick, flushed, heavy in his fist, and pushes in, sinking inch by inch into a pussy so tight his eyes flutter shut.

“Ahh—fuck, princess,” His voice wavers, “You’re gripping me—fucking gripping my shit already—”

He tries to breathe properly, but fails miserably, “God, you’re so fuckin’ tight. Feels insane.”

He pulls out, pushes back in deeper this time, and your cry is instant. It’s music to his ears, “Yeah…that’s it. Take it. All of it.”

His pace builds, slow at first, then faster, angling to hit the spot that makes your nails drag down his back. When you clamp around him, his breath stutters, “Oh my God—don’t do that shit,” His hips jerk without his permission, “Fuck, I’m trying to pull out—I’m trying.”

But he’s not. He’s lying.

You feel it in the way he grips your thighs harder, his hips snapping deeper, the shudder that runs down his spine like he’s fighting himself.

“Toru—”

He cuts you off with a broken groan, “I’m trying to pull out, I swear. But your pussy—shit, won’t let me.”

Your walls clench around him again and he grunts, forehead pressing to your cheek, “Princess—stop squeezing, fuck.”

He tries to pull back this time. He really does, but he can’t. You’re too warm, too tight, and way too fucking wet from how good he ate you out.

“Oh—no, no, no,” He chokes out, “Fuck—I can’t, I can’t.”

His thrusts turn frantic and the filth spills right out of him, “Shit, I-I’m gonna cum—inside,” His hips slam into yours, desperate, “Can’t pull out. Fuck, I can’t—pussy won’t let me.”

Your nails claw into him now, so hard it’s certain to leave marks, and that’s what ends him, “Fuck,” He drags the word out, burying himself all the way to the hilt, and cums right inside you.

Spilling into you in long, uncontrollable pulses, hot and thick. He groans into your neck, “God—fuck, fuck, princess—cummin’ in you—so deep, shit.”

Each spurt drags another sound out of him, almost pained with a hint of reverence; his hips keep spasming and he stuffs himself deeper, like he can’t help it.

When you finally finish milking him dry, he lifts his head, looks down between your bodies, and sees it.

Where he’s still inside you, how full you are, a ring of white already gathering around the base of his cock and something shifts in him, “…Holy fuck.”

You blink, dazed, “What?”

He doesn’t hear you at all, eyes glued to the sight of you stretched around him, dick nestled in you like it belongs there. His tone drops into something low and stunned, “I—I really came in you.”

You nod weakly, out of breath, “Mhm.”

He swallows hard, but doesn’t pull out. Instead, he presses in even deeper, like he needs to feel it one more time. You gasp and he throws his head back, “Oh my God…” He mutters, almost to himself, “…it’s so warm.”

He runs his hand down your stomach, stopping right above where he’s still buried. Then he pushes gently, just enough to feel his load shift deeper, and you whimper.

“Shit…” His voice is nothing but pure, filthy awe, “I’ve never…fuck, I’ve never done that before. I don’t even fuck raw.”

You expect panic, but what hits him is the opposite. A wave of feral, possessive pleasure that lights up every neuron in his brain. He exhales shakily, eyes flicking up to yours with an emotion that looks close to worship.

“Princess…” He’s smiling, a crooked one, “That felt fucking incredible.”

Your stomach flips, because he’s right. It really fucking did.

He lifts your thigh higher on his hip like he wants to see everything and have this visual burned into his mind forever, “Fuck…” He whispers, chest rising faster, “You took all of it.”

His fingers gently spread you open around him, his cum spills out just a little, and he moans, “Ohh, fuck—look at that…” A soft laugh falls from his lips. You’ve never seen a man look so corrupted by his own desire.

But then, reality slaps him across the face, “Oh shit. Shit, shit, wait—no, no, no—” He drags a trembling hand through his mussed hair, expression fracturing between pleasure and dread, “—I cannot believe I just fucking did that.”

“Satoru—”

He cuts you off, still staring at the wetness leaking around him, “I mean…That was fuckin’ crazy—like way too good. Scary good. I get it now.”

Your pulse trips, “But also—” He finally pulls out and when more of his cum spills onto the sheets he moans again, “Fuck, okay—we need to go. Now. Like now-now.”

You raise a brow, “You’re freaking out?”

His eyes snap up to you, “Do I look like I’m freaking out?” He gestures at your pussy, “I just creampied the girl whose dad could literally shut down our chapter. Of fucking course I’m freaking out.”

But then he pauses, glancing down at you, your thighs, the mess between them, and something hot flickers back onto his face, “Not gonna lie though…it looked really fucking good.”

Heat floods your cheeks and he smirks, clapping his hands once decisively, “Okay. Get up. We need a Plan B before I start thinking with my dick again.”

You’re still trembling, the last of his load spilling out onto the sheets, and he stares at it—at you, for a second too long, chest rising like he’s physically restraining himself from going back inside.

But then he steps away, fast, a black hoodie already in his grip when he barks out, “Up. Now.”

You’re in a haze, legs barely working, but his urgency snaps you out of it. You sit up, shaking, pulling your skirt and panties back into place.

Gojo’s already dressed, hoodie thrown over his head, white tendrils sticking out, jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscle twitch, “Satoru…”

His sharp eyes cut to you, wide from leftover adrenaline, “Not now,” He says quietly, “We can’t talk right now.”

Because he’ll lose it and he’s hardening again, even with his cum leaking out of you, “Let’s go.”

You barely get your shoes on before he’s grabbing your hand and leading you out the room, down the stairs, and through the pulsing music, ignoring every brother who tries to high-five him and every girl who wants to touch him.

He’s too wound up and aware of the possibility sitting warm between your legs.

Outside, the cool west coast air hits, but it does nothing to help him. His grip stays taut on your hand, guiding you quickly down the sidewalk, away from Sig Chi and anyone who might see him like this.

He doesn’t speak to you, not once, but you can hear his uneven breathing and every few steps he mumbles something nearly inaudible.

“Fucking dumbass…”

“Should’ve pulled…”

“Evil ass pussy…”

However, thank God for college towns and their love for twenty-four hour pharmacies; a CVS sign glows bright up ahead and Gojo moves quicker, beelining it with you in tow.

Once inside, he pauses at the automatic doors, lifting his hood higher to shield his face, then walks straight to the family planning aisle. He doesn’t hesitate, there’s no need to browse or think, he just grabs the Plan B box so fast the air moves with it and heads for self-checkout.

No cashiers, no chance for eye contact, no witnesses. He’d rather be shot dead than caught lacking like this. If anyone found out that Satoru Gojo had a weak ass pull-out game, he’d lose all sense of power on campus.

He scans the box with tottering hands, grabs a bottle of water from the mini cooler next to the register, pays in cash, and throws the receipt away as soon as it prints. Only then, does he finally look at you, “Come on.”

The two of you make it maybe ten steps outside before he’s gnawing the Plan B box open with his teeth. He places the tiny pill in your hand and shoves the water at you, “Take it.”

He watches every centimeter of movement; the pill hitting your tongue, the rim of the bottle on your lips, and the bob of your throat when it’s all swallowed.

When it’s done, his shoulders fall, showing you how fucking scared he actually was, “Okay…” He murmurs, nodding, “Okay. Crisis averted.”

But then you shift your weight and his gaze drops to your legs, the memory of how you squeezed around him hits, “…Fuck.”

“What?”

His voice is quieter now, “You look way too good right now for someone I almost got pregnant.”

You laugh softly, but he doesn’t. There’s not even a flicker of amusement behind those bright eyes. He steps closer though, hand lifting to your face, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, “Come here.”

Gojo tilts your chin up, scanning all of your features with that same predatory focus he had right before he got on his knees for you. Then, he speaks like he’s laying down scripture. A speech he’s given to hundreds of girls before, you’re sure.

“Alright, princess. We need to set some ground rules.”

“Rules?”

His thumb grazes your lip, “Number one,” He says, tone steady, “This is just sex. Nothing more.”

You gulp as he continues, “Number two. I will never be your boyfriend.”

That one stings for reasons unknown. You nod anyway, “Number three. You don’t ask who I’m seeing.”

So he still plans on seeing other girls. Okay.

“Number four…” He steps closer, so close you think he might kiss you, “…when I want you, I get you.”

The way he says it makes your stomach flip violently, “And number five,” He adds, “You don’t let any other guy touch you like I did tonight.”

He can fuck other girls, but you can’t fuck other guys? The fuck?

“Why not?”

His eyes burn into yours, “Because you told me you wanted to be good for me…and I’m holding you to it.”

Then just like that, he steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets, hood still up, fully composed frat boy again, “Got it? Okay, cool,” He rushes, “I’ll text you.”

“That’s it?”

“Yup,” He pops the p, starts walking backward, eyes dragging over your entire body one last time, “Night, princess.”

And turns away, leaving you standing under the glow of the CVS sign like some whore he used, legs shaking, heart pounding, and the worst part about it all? You still want him and still want more.

Freedom like this is too much fun.

But you tell yourself you won’t text him back. This was a one-time thing, you needed to get it out of your system as a repressed daddy’s girl. That you’re not the type who gets addicted to a frat boy she met at a party, no matter how hot he looks or how good he fucks.

Yeah…that lie lasts about less than twenty-four hours. Because the next night, at 12:47 A.M., your phone buzzes.

satoru: open your dorm window

You blink at the message, confused, until headlights sweep across the courtyard, bright, white-blue, and unmistakable—his Porsche.

Blair is already asleep beside you, your heart’s sprinting. You slide the window open to peek out and there he is, leaned against the hood, hoodie up, hands in his pockets, looking at your window like he knew you’d listen.

He lifts his chin, “Come down.”

He doesn’t say please or explain further and you go, of course you go.

The next time you see him, it’s in your dorm room. And it starts with kissing—always kissing.

He’s got you pinned against the inside of your locked door, hands under your ass, lifting you like you weigh nothing, grinding you against the thick outline in his sweats with a low, starved sound in his throat.

“Missed this,” He mutters, lips on your neck, “Missed you.”

You don’t have time to decipher the meaning before your phone rings. Your dad’s contact photo lights up the screen.

You freeze, but Gojo doesn’t. He looks at it, then at you, and smirks evilly, “Answer it.”

“Toru—” But he’s already dropping to his knees.

Your phone quivers in your hand as you swipe to accept the call, “Hi, princess,” Your dad’s voice comes through, “How was your first few nights in the dorms?”

Gojo pushes your skirt up, your pulse skyrockets as you force a steady tone, “G-Good. Umm. Really good.”

He drags your panties down with agonizing slowness, eyes locked onto yours the entire time, enjoying every ounce of panic flickering across your sweet face.

“That’s good to hear,” Your father continues, “You settling in okay? Eating enough? Staying safe?”

Gojo’s mouth touches you and you nearly drop the phone. His tongue slides through your folds, deliberate and slow, savoring you like he’s got all the time in the world.

You bite your lip so hard you taste blood, “Mhm,” You manage, “I’m—Dad, I’m—I’m very safe.”

Gojo laughs softly against your pussy, “Good girl,” he murmurs, too quietly for anyone but you to hear and sucks your clit into your mouth.

Your voice breaks into the speaker, “What was that?” Your dad asks suddenly.

“N-Nothing!” You choke out, breathless, “Just—Just moving…something.”

Gojo looks up at you, eyes blazing, pupils dilated, and pride dripping from his smirk as he ruins your composure with the lightest touch of his tongue. You end up cumming so hard you have to mute yourself.

When you hang up, Gojo wipes his mouth with his thumb and stands, kissing you deeply, giving you a taste. Then he whispers on your lips, “Next time you say you’re safe…you’re gonna tell him that I’m the one keeping you that way.”

You don’t know whether that’s true or the biggest lie you’ve ever heard.

And the next time after that happens three nights later. You’re wearing tiny shorts and a tank top when he texts.

satoru: out front

satoru: now

You slide into the passenger seat of his 911 and the smell of him, clean and sharp, wraps around you immediately.

He doesn’t even say hi. His hand is in your hair before you finish closing the door; he’s pulling you over the console, kissing you with the same urgency as the first night.

Then he leans back in his driver’s seat, spreads his legs, and nods down at his lap, “Need your mouth,” He breathes, strained like he hasn’t gotten off in months instead of last night with some other girl, “Now, princess.”

And you give him it, because you’re somehow already gone for him and want to see what you can do. He grips your hair while you throat him deeper and deeper, until he’s cursing under his breath in Japanese and dragging a shaky hand over his mouth.

God, you fucking love it when he does that.

“Fuck—baby, baby, wait—” He pulls you off his throbbing cock, kisses you hard, and pushes your panties to the side, “Get on top.”

You straddle him and he drags you onto his dick in one long, devastating push. The car rocks as his hands grab everywhere—your hips, ass, waist, guiding you, using you, groaning into your neck.

“Mmm, that’s it—ride me,” He whispers, “Show me how bad you want it.”

You ride him until the windows fog and the V6 engine ticks with residual heat. He cums on your stomach with his face buried into your chest; a low, wrecked moan muffled against your skin.

That same weekend, there’s a night where he pulls you into a dark hallway at Sig Chi during a party. He pushes you against the wall without warning and slides into you from behind, hand clamped over your mouth.

The bass of house music is pounding, the hallway is thankfully empty, your skirt is bunched around your waist, and he fucks you slow and deep—like he’s trying to memorize the exact way your cunt clenches around him.

“You’re so fuckin’ addictive,” He breathes into your ear, “Gonna end up wearing you out every night.”

You don’t doubt it.

A week later, you’re in your communal dorm bathroom when you see it—blood. Thank the fucking Lord. The Plan B had worked.

You text him two words.

period came

Four minutes later he responds.

satoru: i’m here

You barely have time to lie down before he’s on top of you, mouth everywhere, voice rough with relief, “Good girl…” He murmurs against your stomach, “Fucking good girl.”

Then he pushes two fingers into you and you arch your back, whining. He smiles into your neck like it’s the best thing he’s heard, “Celebration sex,” He decides, “C’mere.”

Period? He does not care whatsoever. He fucks you like you’re his reward, and you let him.

But one morning, you catch him staring. Not at your tits or ass or mouth—at you and your face, something beneath your skin he’s trying and failing to deny.

He looks away fast, jaw tight, hoodie pulled up like he’s hiding from a fact inside himself and you pretend not to see it.

Because you know if you acknowledge it and name the thing growing between you, what you and him have will stop being fun and become dangerous.

Though the truth lingers in the air the next time he texts you at 1:03 A.M.

satoru: want you

And your fingers answer before your brain does.

come get me

He comes quickly.

Ten minutes after your text, his Porsche glides to a stop outside your dorm like it was summoned, and sends a text.

satoru: here

You’re already moving. As soon as you open the door, he grabs your jaw and kisses you before you can even sit down, pulling you into his lap like he’s starved. It’s harsher tonight.

“Always taste so fuckin’ good,” He mutters against your mouth, “Just for me, right?”

You don’t answer because you know he doesn’t need you to, it’s obvious. However, the next time he’s throwing you onto his bed, when you land on the sheets—something shifts.

There’s a scent in the air. Faint and sweet, a floral perfume you don’t wear. You don’t do floral, only gourmand fragrances. It hits you before you even spot the evidence.

There’s a hair tie on the nightstand that’s not yours, tube of lip gloss half-tucked under his pillow like it was hidden there in a hurry, a sweatshirt on the floor that definitely isn’t his.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even notice you noticing, because he’s too busy touching you.

His hands are already on your thighs, spreading them, his mouth dragging down your neck, voice thick with desire that doesn’t sound recycled or casual, “You been thinking about me all day?” He murmurs, “Thinking about how good I fuck you?”

You force yourself to swallow it down. The perfume, the hair tie, the gloss, the clothing, the ache blooming beneath your ribs.

But because you don’t answer, he grabs your jaw gently, making your eyes look into his, “Don’t get quiet on me now,” He smirks, “You’re not allowed.”

He kisses you again, filthily, and the sadness knots inside you in a way you refuse to acknowledge. Not now, not when he’s touching you and you want him this badly.

So you pretend.

You let him wreck you again, let him fuck you into the mattress with the haste of a man who can’t get enough. Although something tiny fractures within you when he flips you onto your stomach and you see the lip gloss again.

You shut your eyes, a yelp breaking from you as you try to imagine that it was never there.

Then four days later, you’re the one who texts first. You hate yourself for it, but you can’t help it.

you busy?

Delivered with no response.

Ten minutes pass, then twenty, then an hour.

You throw your phone aside, furious for caring in the first place. You knew what you were getting into from the moment you let a guy like Satoru Gojo fuck you.

Blair, who’s sitting in her bed beside you, glances at your expression and raises a brow, “Him again?”

You lie, “No.”

Two more hours pass and nothing. Your stomach twists with something awful and sharp because you know exactly what he’s doing. More so, who, he’s doing.

At 1:36 A.M., your phone lights up.

satoru: nah

satoru: come thru

You look at the texts, pissed off by his lack of consideration, but even more pissed by your lack of control. Because you go to him like he says.

You hear the music from the street when you arrive at Sig Chi. The house is loud and buzzing, full of energy he clearly enjoyed without you present.

He meets you at his bedroom door and the second you see him, all the oxygen leaves your lungs.

His hair is tousled under his blue snapback; his shirt is twisted, collar stretched like it was yanked. There’s a pink flush across his face, his lips look too red, like he’s been kissing for hours.

His breathing is slightly off as if his heart rate still hasn’t calmed down yet, but the room? Oh that’s the killer blow.

The sheets are tangled and half on the floor, there’s mascara smudged on his pillows, and God the trashcan ruins you. You can see multiple golden foils from where you are—condom wrappers.

And Gojo just stands there, letting you take it all in like he doesn’t even care. He watches you, blue eyes cool, leaning against the doorframe like you’re the one who kept him waiting, “You coming in?”

Your throat burns. Say no. Say no. Say fucking no.

But you step inside and the door clicks shut behind you, sealing you with the smell of a perfume that isn’t yours.

“Come here,” Gojo says.

And because you’re weak and something about him has rewired your brain, you walk closer instead of slapping him.

He hooks a finger under your chin, tilts your face up, and kisses you like he wasn’t just inside another girl before this. It’s greedy and possessive in a way he has no right to be; you let him take and take, until something within you snaps.

You push him back a step, breathing labored, “Satoru.”

He lifts a brow, already annoyed at being interrupted, “What?”

“I want…” Fuck, you hate yourself for how small it sounds, “…I want to be the only one.”

There’s dead silence in the room, but then—then he has the fucking audacity to laugh, “Oh, princess,” He coos, amusement curving his mouth as he pulls your waist against his, “That’s not how this works.”

Your stomach is in knots, the smirk is still there, “You can’t be the only one,” He says unapologetically, “But—”

His hand slides down your ass, gripping hard enough to make you gasp, “You can be my number one.”

Number one. Like you’re just barely good enough to earn the top spot on a team’s roster.

“…Your number one,” You echo.

“Yeah,” His lips brush your throat, “The one I fuck the most. The one I come back to. The one I call when I actually want it.”

You feel sick, “And what about me? Do I get anyone?”

He pulls back to look at you with eyes as sharp as knives, “No.”

The word lands like a slap, “No?”

“No,” He confirms, “You don’t let any other guy touch you. That was the deal.”

“That wasn’t a deal,” You seethe, “That was something you said after you—after you almost got me pregnant.”

He shrugs, “So? Still stands.”

Heat floods your entire face—anger, humiliation, desire, all tangled, “You’re allowed to fuck other girls,” You vocalize, “But I’m not allowed to—”

He cuts you off with a kiss so deep you forget how to breathe and when he breaks it, his voice is dangerously soft, “I don’t share.”

You swallow, pissed at yourself for the way your body always reacts to him, “And what if I don’t want to be your number one?”

Gojo smiles, “Then you wouldn’t be in my room right now.”

Your pulse trips because he’s right and you hate it. You shove him weakly, but he catches your wrists, pinning them above your head as he walks you backward toward the bed, “Don’t start pretending you don’t want this. Not after the way you moan for me.”

“Satoru—”

“You asked for the only one treatment?” He asks against your mouth, “Fine. I’ll fuck you like you’re the only girl in the world.”

He pushes you onto the mattress, “And then…I’ll remind you that you’re not.”

His tone is cruel, you’ve never heard him sound like this, and despite that fact, your body still betrays you. He drags your shorts down, mouth already on your inner thigh, kissing higher and higher, biting hard enough to leave a mark.

“Satoru—stop,” You whisper, but you don’t mean it and he knows you don’t.

His tongue licks up your folds and your back arches like you’ve been shocked. The reaction makes him laugh, “See? This pussy knows who it belongs to.”

You want to hit him, kiss him, run, and stay all at once. Your voice is barely a sound when you say, “I hate you.”

The words make him grin, “No, you don’t.”

He flips you onto your stomach before you can respond, pulling your hips up, positioning himself behind you—no condom, like always, “I’m your number one, too,” He murmurs, tip prodding your entrance, “You just don’t want to admit it.”

“Satoru—” He pushes into you in one long, ruthless stroke.

Your gasp shatters in the quiet room, “Fuck,” He groans, hands gripping your hips so tight you think they’ll bruise, “Every time—every time, you’re tighter.”

Then he fucks you like he’s proving a point, “Say it again,” He growls, “Say you want to be the only one.”

“I—I want—” You choke out, tears blurring your vision, “I want to be the only one—please—”

He moans, he actually fucking moans at that, as if your pain gives him pleasure, like he’s some sick sadist.

“Oh, princess,” He says, kissing your shoulder, “You break so pretty.”

And then he leans down just enough to whisper the nail in your coffin, “But you never will be.”

You cum around him anyway. Because you foolishly still want him, and maybe you’re some sick masochist too.

And when he finishes, pulling out of you with a quiet hiss, you think maybe he’ll soften—maybe he’ll say something real. But all he does is toss you a towel to clean yourself and grab his hat to shove it back on his head, muttering, “Close the door behind you.”

And like the dumbest bitch alive, you do.

You walk home at 3:12 A.M. with aching thighs and your heart bloodied. When you slip into your dorm, Blair is still awake with her laptop open. She looks up once, clocking everything in a single glance, “You good?”

“I’m fine,” You lie, kicking your shoes off.

She just stares and you stare back, knowing that she doesn’t believe you in the slightest, but doesn’t press.

You shower and scrub your body as if it can erase Gojo from your skin but you still feel him everywhere. Then you crawl into bed, praying you wake up a new person, but of course. You don’t.

The next morning, right as you wake, you open Instagram on autopilot, and Blair, sitting cross-legged in her bed eating dry cereal from the box looks over at you as your face goes blank.

Because on your feed is his story.

@.gojosatoru

Posted 32 minutes ago.

He’s at In-N-Out, with a blonde girl in his passenger seat, and her hand on his thigh. No caption.

Blair freezes mid-chew, “…Is that—?”

“Uh-huh.”

She leans closer, “Oh, fuck no.”

Your fingers go numb as you remember last night. He told you you were his number one, held you down, and fucked you like you belonged to him.

Now he’s posting publicly with other bitches? So as number one you can get the sex but you’re not worthy of anything else? Sure.

Blair sets her cereal aside, “Babe…are you okay?”

You fucking hate that she has to ask that. You swallow hard, “Yeah. Totally.”

She scoots closer, voice lower, “(Y/N)…he’s an asshole.”

You know, you’ve always known. But last night, in his bed, with his hands on you and his cock so deep—you forgot.

Blair studies you, then says gently, “You’re not this girl.”

Something inside you snaps back into place.

She’s right. You’re not. You’re not the girl who gets hidden, you’re not the girl he gets to fuck at 2 A.M. and replace by breakfast, and you sure as hell are not someone’s afterthought.

You inhale slowly, exhale sharply, and stand. Blair blinks, “What are you doing?”

You look her dead in the eye, “Remembering who the fuck I am.”

“And who is that?”

You don’t answer her with words. Instead, you walk over to your dresser and pull out the skimpiest bikini you own. Blair lets out a low whistle, “Damn. You’re gonna make someone crash their car.”

Putting it on, tightening the strings so it sits just right, you look at your reflection in the mirror.

The girl staring back at you isn’t the one crying over a frat boy. She’s someone else entirely; someone Satoru Gojo should have never underestimated.

You grab your phone, open your camera, and take the mirror selfie. Blair leans over your shoulder, “Caption?”

“Don’t need one,” You say with a smile, all you do is post the location of where you’ll be—Santa Monica Beach.

Oh, but you do decide to throw in a blue heart emoji, just to twist the knife. Then you hit post.

The likes come in immediately and your DMs explode. Blair’s jaw literally drops, “Oh my God, babe—TKE is already swiping up. Like, three different guys, holy shit.”

Yeah, that’s right. This is who you are.

Blair laughs with pure joy, “And guess who else viewed it?”

You don’t even ask, already knowing. Because a second later, your phone buzzes excessively.

@.gojosatoru: wtf is this pic

@.gojosatoru: delete ts

@.gojosatoru: answer your fucking phone

@.gojosatoru: (y/n)

Blair snorts, “Oh, he is so pressed.”

You slide your phone into your tote bag choosing to ignore it. He can scream into the void for all you care.

“Coming?” You ask Blair casually.

She grins, grabbing her sunglasses and keys, “Fuck, yeah I am. I ain’t missing this shit.”

You sling your towel over your shoulder and for the first time since you came to USC, you feel like yourself again, “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

You smile, “To remind him why he should’ve never posted that blonde bitch in the first place.”

You and Blair barely make it into the hallway before your phone vibrates again, but it’s not Gojo this time. It’s the TKE boys again.

tyler: u heading to santa monica?

zach: come slide we’re pregaming in the lot

kyle: we got room in the jeep if you need a ride

Blair leans over your shoulder, “Oh, we’re definitely taking the ride.”

You shouldn’t, but then you think of Gojo and how you’re done letting him dictate your life as if he’s the only one with power.

So you type back.

still at the lot?

The response is instant.

zach: still here. u look insane btw

kyle: pls come im begging

Blair cackles, “They’re literally foaming at the mouth, Jesus.”

You head downstairs and step outside into the morning California sun, the second the TKE boys see you, the whole group goes silent.

“Damn,” Tyler says, walking forward with a grin way too confident for someone who failed Econ twice, “You look…wow.”

You lift your sunglasses with one finger, giving him a lazy once-over, “Thanks. You driving?”

“Yeah,” Zach blurts before Tyler can speak, “You two riding over with us?”

You exchange a glance with Blair, “Sure.”

The boys practically beam; Tyler opens the passenger door for you and Blair slides into the middle seat, Zach sits beside her trying to play it cool.

The TKE boys are laughing, hyping each other up as music blasts through the speakers, and they glance at you like they can’t believe you’re actually coming with them.

You feel Blair tap your shoulder from behind, “You good?”

“Never better.”

But your phone keeps vibrating in your bag and you know exactly who it is.

satoru (16 missed calls)

satoru (24 messages)

You peep the last three.

satoru: where tf are u

satoru: stop ignoring me omg

satoru: seriously pick up

Blair sees the name and giggles, “He’s unraveling.”

Tyler leans over the center console, spotting the contact too, “Oh shit—Gojo’s blowing you up?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter.”

Zach scoffs, “Isn’t he like…obsessed with you?”

You smile sweetly, “Nah. He’s not.”

They seemed pleased with that answer and in less than twenty minutes, the Jeep rolls into the Santa Monica lot. Warm wind tangles through your hair as the ocean comes into view.

Everyone hops out quick, grabbing something to bring, but you? You step out slowly, letting the sun hit your bare shoulders and letting the boys stare unabashedly because they can’t help themselves. And God, does it feel good.

You eventually spread your towel on the sand, lay back, and get right to tanning. Everything is warm and golden, the boys crack open beers, Blair sets up the speaker playing Bad Bunny on full volume.

Tyler hands you a High Noon and you take a sip, laughing at something stupid Kyle says. And for one moment, you feel free again. But your goddamn phone won’t stop buzzing in your bag.

Blair nudges you, “You gonna check that?”

“Nope.”

She grins, “Good.”

“(Y/N)!” Tyler calls, tossing a football, “You play?”

You catch it one-handed despite being off guard, “Do you forget who my dad is?”

They laugh and so do you, but your phone still keeps popping off like a warning for what’s about to come next. Because not even ten minutes later, you hear it.

That sound, the unmistakable growl of a high-performance engine being pushed too hard. A Porsche 911 tears into the parking lot—his Porsche. Your heart plummets as Blair whispers, “No fucking way.”

The boys turn, heads all over swivel, and then he appears. Satoru Gojo steps out of the Porsche like he didn’t run five red lights on the drive here. His white tee is wrinkled to shit, blue shorts slung low on his hips, sunglasses pushed into his mussed white strands, jaw clenched so hard you see the muscle jump.

In his hand is his phone, the one he used to blow up yours, and he doesn’t walk over to you, no, he stalks. Across the sand, straight toward you with a purposeful, terrifying calm, the kind that makes groups of guys instinctively step back.

But you’re not scared in the slightest. You lift your sunglasses and meet his eyes; cold blue, laser-focused. He stops in front of your towel, shadow sprawled over your body, chest heaving like he’s on the verge of losing it.

“(Y/N),” He hardly ever uses your name, “Get up.”

You make him wait three whole seconds before you do; you stand, unbothered, brushing sand off your thighs, refusing to break eye contact. He takes a step closer, nostrils flaring, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Pretty sure I’m sitting on a beach.”

The TKE boys shift behind you, Gojo’s eyes flick to them—Tyler holding a drink, Kyle shirtless and smiling, Zach close enough that his knee had brushed yours.

He laughs once, “With these loser cucks?”

Kyle bristles instantly, “Bro—watch your fucking mouth.”

But Gojo doesn’t spare him a glance, he keeps his eyes on you, “Deadass?” He murmurs, “This the shit you’re on now?”

You shrug, “Looks that way.”

“You ignored sixteen calls. Sixteen.”

“Yeah,” You reply, lifting your drink again, “Cause I didn’t wanna answer.”

Kyle folds his arms, “Yo, she’s busy. Maybe back up.”

Gojo turns his head just enough to look at him, “I wasn’t fucking talking to you,” Then his eyes snap back to yours, “So you’re really out here with TKE?”

“Why not?” You ask.

He scoffs, sucking his teeth, “They know that you were on my dick last night?”

Your cheeks grow hot with rage, but he wants that reaction, so you decide to give him nothing, “Thanks for the reminder. I almost forgot.”

“You forgot?” He repeats, voice tight, “After the way you were screaming my name?”

Kyle steps forward, fists clenching, “Alright, back the fuck off—”

You lift a hand, stopping him without looking away from Gojo, “No. Let him talk.”

“You’re really gonna stand here and pretend last night didn’t happen?”

“You mean the part where you said I’ll never be the only one?” You ask, titling your head, “Or the part where you posted the blonde on your story less than twelve hours later?”

His jaw ticks, “That’s what this is about?” He snaps, “A fucking story?”

“No. It’s about you thinking I’m stupid.”

“You’re jealous.”

You genuinely laugh, “No, Satoru. You’re delusional.”

His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s debating grabbing you or strangling someone. He glances at the boys again and something cold creeps into his countenance, “Answer me something.”

You raise a brow as he gestures at the guys behind you, “You fucking one of them now?”

Tyler coughs, Kyle looks away, Zach smirks like he hopes so, “Why? You care?”

Gojo steps closer, the warmth of his chest brushing the top of yours, “That’s cute. Acting like I don't."

“Go home, Satoru.”

“No.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

His gaze drags over your bikini again, “Get in the car.”

It’s sad—that some part of you almost gives in like always. Because you know that if you left now, the argument would end. It’d end with him giving you the craziest dick of your life and you back at square one; you refuse to do that again.

So, you stand taller, “No.”

A muscle in his cheek pops, “…No?”

“You heard me.”

And because Gojo can’t win with logic and can’t bear the thought of being denied for once in his life, he reaches for cruelty, “Fine…You’re cut.”

Cut. From his roster. But your voice is steady when you say, “Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah,” You say, “Good. You did me a favor.”

Gojo’s expression flattens, “Cool. I’ll replace you in an hour.”

You take one step forward and smile, “I’ll replace you in fifteen minutes. Won’t be hard.”

The collective gasp from the boys is audible. Gojo doesn't even blink, but the vein in his neck jumps and for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks hurt. Real hurt.

He steps back, then once more, “Enjoy your day,” Adding coldly, “Princess.”

He turns and walks away, sand kicking up beneath his feet, and you don’t look after him. Not even when the Porsche engine snarls and he peels out of the lot so fast seagulls scatter.

Blair exhales, “Holy shit…I’m glad I came.”

Tyler whistles low, “Yo…you’re gonna break that dude.”

“Good,” You say, laying back down on your towel, “It’s his turn.”

But the beach doesn’t go back to normal after that. You tan, you swim once, you drink enough to feel warm, the boys continue to orbit you like planets caught in your gravitational pull, yet it's not the same.

Blair leans in at one point, whispering, “You know you don’t have to actually hook up with any of them, right?”

Right. That was the whole reason why you did this in the first place. To get revenge.

You hum, “I know.”

Though when the sun begins to set, casting amber over the waves, Kyle asks if you want to come back to the TKE house and you hear yourself say, “Sure.”

Not because you’re dying to fuck him, but because of everything Satoru Gojo did. The house is louder and dirtier than Sig Chi—bass rattles the wall, bodies are everywhere. Kyle leads you upstairs, respectful, a little nervous, but beyond eager.

Your stomach twists with anticipation, you’re finally getting your lick back. Kyle closes the bedroom door behind you, “Want a drink?”

“No.”

You step closer and his breath catches, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

He leans in and kisses you…It’s fine, you guess. Soft, warm, nothing like the way Gojo does. You’re unsure if that’s a good or bad thing. Kyle’s hands are on your waist and his mouth moves down your neck. He’s sweet, careful, and you should like this more—you don’t.

But you need it. You need something to hold onto that isn’t him. Kyle whispers, “You’re so fucking pretty,” And you let him guide you toward the bed.

Your phone buzzes in your bag, you ignore it. Then it buzzes again, long and insistent. Kyle notices, “You can get that if you want—”

“No,” You breathe, “Keep going.”

He nods and kisses you again, and you try, God you try to lose yourself in it. But the second his hand slips under your top, your phone lights up in the dark room. Bright enough in your bag that you both see it.

satoru: answer

satoru: stop playing

satoru: (y/n)

You go still, Kyle pulls back, “Hey…you okay?”

“Yeah,” You lie, “Just—just keep going.”

He leans in, but your eyes stay fixed on the glowing screen. Another message comes through and it’s not angry this time. It’s worse.

satoru: please

Your breath stutters as Kyle kisses your shoulder, your phone vibrates again.

satoru: princess please

Your entire body locks, because this isn’t how he talks. This isn’t a man who begs and it definitely doesn’t sound like one who moved on in an hour. Kyle’s hands slide down your waist, his lips brush your collarbone, and then you reazlie—you can’t do this.

You sit up abruptly, “Wait.”

Kyle freezes, “Oh. Uh, did I do something wrong?”

“No,” You say quickly, “No, you’re great. I just—I can’t.”

He bows his head, disappointed, “It’s cool. Really.”

You grab your phone and open the messages, staring at the last one until your chest aches.

satoru: please just pick up

Blair texts you at the same time.

blair: WHAT DID YOU DO? HE LOOKS LIKE HE’S HAVING A BREAKDOWN

You inhale sharply as the truth slams through you. You’re not over him, not even remotely. Your fingers tremble as you text Blair back.

where is he

blair: SIG CHI bro he showed up like a psycho

blair: he asked EVERYONE if they’ve seen you

Your pulse spikes so hard it hurts. Kyle is still on the end of the bed, giving you space and pretending he doesn’t see your face falling apart, “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod even though you aren’t, and stand too quickly, grabbing your bag, “I—I have to go.”

“Because of him?”

“…Yeah.”

He nods slowly, expecting it, like every guy on campus knows that whatever the hell is happening between you and Satoru Gojo is bigger than anything they could touch, “Douchebag doesn’t even deserve you.”

Yeah, he’s probably right about that but you bolt out of the room anyway, run down the stairs, and through the crowd spilling beer everywhere. Someone calls your name, but you don’t care. Your phone is in your hand, Gojo’s name filling the screen over and over like he’s clawing to get to you.

Pushing out into the street, cool evening air slams into your chest and you call him without thinking. It rings only once, “(Y/N).”

“Satoru—”

“You’re at TKE?” He blurts out. There’s noise behind him—music, voices, and footsteps as if he’s pacing through Sig Chi.

“Yes…”

“Did you go back with Kyle?” Your mouth opens, but you’re unable to speak, so he does it for you, “You did.”

“Satoru—”

“Just tell me,” He cuts you off, voice shaking with fury he’s trying to swallow, “Did he touch you?”

Your pulse slams against your ribs, Gojo keeps going, “He kissed you, right? You let him? You went into his room? You let him fucking—” He stops suddenly, breath hitching like finishing the rest of his sentence would choke him.

“Nothing happened.”

“…You’re lying.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, frustrated tears burning, “I left, Satoru. I left him. I’m literally calling you—”

“Why the fuck were you even there?”

“Because of you!”

A voice in the background of Gojo’s line says, “Bro, chill—” And you hear him snarl, “Shut the fuck up,” Followed by a door slamming so loudly you flinch. Now he’s alone and the truth crawls out of him, “I thought you were gone…I thought you actually went and—and fucked him.”

“I didn’t.”

“You almost did.”

Almost…and you would’ve too if he hadn’t kept texting, “You don’t understand,” He says hoarsely, “I’ve been looking for you for hours. I tore through the whole fucking house. I asked everyone. I—”

“Satoru…”

“Where are you now?”

“Heading toward Sig Chi.”

You hear movement and the sound of his breath catching, his shoes hitting the floor, something crashing behind him as he pushes through the thumping house.

“Stay on the phone,” He orders, “You’re not walking alone.”

“I’m fine.”

“Stay on the fucking phone.”

You listen then. Breath syncing with his footsteps as he barrels through the hallway and out the back door, onto the street. He’s running now, you can tell, “Satoru—slow down—”

“No,” He pants, keys jangling, car door slamming, Porsche engine purring to life, “You think I’m letting you walk alone after someone else had their hands on you?”

Your grip tightens on the phone, “So what? You’re coming to get me?”

“I’m already halfway there,” He breathes, rounding a corner so sharp the tires skid, “Don’t hang up.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

A long exhale leaves him, desperation blended with rage, “Tell me again. Tell me nothing happened.”

“…Nothing happened.”

He lets out a broken laugh of disbelief, “Good…Because I’m two minutes away, and if he had fucked you—”

You feel it in your bones, the relief so violent it comes out as anger, “Satoru,” You whisper softly, “Just…get here.”

“I’m coming, princess,” And then he hangs up.

The Porsche’s roar echoes down the street long before his headlights appear and once they do, he swings by the curb so fast you stumble back a step. He rolls the window down only to say, “Get in the car.”

You open the door, slide into the passenger seat and the second you’re in, he peels off so hard your shoulder hits the door, “Fuck—relax.”

“Can’t,” His knuckles are white on the wheel, every muscle in his forearm flexes with barely contained aggravation, and he doesn’t look at you once during the drive. He whips into the Sig Chi driveway, parks crooked as shit, and kills the engine.

Finally, he turns his head, eyes blazing, “Inside.”

You don’t argue; you follow him through the front door with your pulse in your throat, up the creaking stairs, through the hall, until he shoves his bedroom door open and pulls you inside, slamming it with so much force the walls shake.

“What the fuck was all of that?”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Your tone is full of bitterness, “Don’t think I forgot about the blonde you posted today. Don’t act like you didn’t show me exactly where I stand.”

“That was different.”

“Was it?” You step closer, chest heaving, “Was it different when I walked into your room last night and saw a trashcan full of condoms? When your sheets were a fucking mess? When your lips were swollen and you looked like you’d just—” You don’t finish that thought. He flinches at your words, but you don’t stop there, “When you fucked me and laughed in my face, telling me I’d never be the only one?”

His throat works, “Say something,” You snap, “Go on. Justify it. Tell me I’m crazy.”

“I didn’t fuck her,” He runs a trembling hand through his hair, “I didn’t fuck anyone,” He says louder, “Not the blonde. Not last night. Not today. Nobody.”

You stare at him, “Satoru. Your room—your trash.”

“I couldn’t even get it up…happy?” He spits out the truth like it hurts, “I kept—” He gestures violently, “—trying. With someone else. But it didn’t matter. My dick wouldn’t stay fucking hard.”

Your mouth falls agape, he keeps going, voice cracking down the middle, “I kept putting the condom on and I’d go soft. Again and again and again,” He laughs once, “That’s why there were wrappers. Not because I fucked anyone, but ‘cause I literally couldn’t.”

He steps closer, “You wanna know why?” You don’t say anything, but he gives you the answer anyway, “You.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” He says, voice dropping dangerously soft, “Can’t stop seeing your face, can’t stop remembering how you sound when you cum, can’t stop thinking about how it feels to be inside you.”

Your thighs press together involuntarily, “And do you know how fucking pathetic that makes me feel?” His voice breaks again, “That I can’t fuck anyone else because the only pussy I get hard for is yours?”

Now you’re trembling, “But sure, go ahead. Tell me again you were just being petty. Tell me again that you thought going home with that TKE fuck was gonna hurt me.”

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did,” He rasps, “You wanted to make me jealous,” He takes a step closer, “You wanted me to come find you,” Then another, “You wanted me to lose my fucking mind over you.”

Your back hits the wall, he cages you in with his arms, “And congratulations…It fucking worked.”

“Satoru…”

His forehead presses to yours, breaths mingling, anger turning molten, “You’re not replacing me, and I’m sure as hell not letting anyone else touch you…because you’re mine.”

Something hot flickers in your chest, “And you’re mine.”

He freezes, blue eyes turning a shade darker, “Say that again.”

You lift your chin, “You’re mine.”

As soon as the words leave your tongue he surges forward, mouth crashing onto yours with a force that feels like the room exploded. His hands are already on your hips, lifting you, dragging you toward the bed.

Your back hits the mattress, bouncing once before he’s on you, over you, everywhere; kissing you. His teeth catch your bottom lip, his tongue forcing its way in, and his fingers tear your shorts down so fast the friction burns.

“Spread,” He growls against your mouth. Without hesitation, you spread your legs wide open. He drags you down the bed by your thighs like you’re something he gets to rearrange however he wants, and when he drops to his knees—it’s over.

His mouth is on your cunt instantly, tongue flattening against your clit, sucking and licking. You arch intensely, a choked cry crooning from your throat, “Fuck—Satoru,” Your thighs clamp around his head, but he forces them wider. You try to lift your hips and he pins them down.

“Stay still,” He mutters, “Or I’ll take my time,” It’s a threat, a wonderful filthy one. He eats you until your vision blurs and you’re pulling at his white tendrils; when you cum, you break with your head thrown back, mouth fully open, moaning his name in a way that would destroy him if he weren’t already in shambles.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” He pants, climbing over you, dragging his mouth up your stomach, ribs, throat, “Ruined and wet and waiting for me—fuck.”

He lines his cock up without looking, he doesn’t have to at this point. He knows your body by heart, and when he pushes in it’s one languid stroke that make your nails claw into his back and his breath punch out of him, “Shit—baby, so tight—”

He locks one hand behind your knee, shoving it higher, deeper, opening you more than you’ve ever been before, “You feel that?” He grits, hips snapping hard enough the headboard slams the wall, “Feel how easy this pussy takes me after I eat you out?”

The moan that escapes you sounds like a sob, “Feel how deep I am?” He thrusts again, brutal and perfect, “Feel me right fucking there?” One of his big hands presses right on your lower belly, a helpless whimper falls from your lips; his eyes go dark, “That’s where I wanna cum.”

Your stomach drops, “Satoru—”

“I want it so bad I can’t fucking think,” Each thrust is more forceful, sloppier, desperate, “You have no idea,” He pants, “No fucking idea what it did to me the first time—seeing my cum dripping out of you. Fuck, I been thinking about it every night since.”

Your cunt clenches around him, his eyes roll back, “Yeah…” He groans, “You liked that, didn’t you?”

His hand slides to your jaw, holding your face still so you can’t look away, “You want me to fill you again? Want me to make you mine for real?”

God, you shouldn’t want it. Not one bit.

Not with him and not when the risks outweigh the rewards. But at the same time, you fucking do.

Your brain fogs, melts, almost liquifies, “I want—” You gasp, nails sinking into his back, “I want you to fill me—”

He growls, “Fuck, princess—don’t say it unless you mean it—”

You’re too far gone to stop yourself, “Make me yours,” You whisper, trembling, “I want all of it, please.”

Hearing you beg for a load would make even the strongest man fold, and for a guy like Gojo, it takes very little to get him to. He snaps, thrusts turn punishing, ragged, the rhythm of a person who has lost every ounce of sanity, “You don’t—understand what you’re asking for.”

You cling to him, eyes half-lidded, “Satoru—don’t pull out.”

He shudders, grip on you tightening painfully, “Baby—fuck. You’re gonna make me—shit, you’re gonna make me cum—”

You wrap your legs around him and pin him in place, he fails to hide the moan that leaves him, “Oh my God,” He grunts, “You want it—you actually want it.”

He convulses then, slamming into you one last time, shoving himself all the way until his tip kisses your cervix, and cums inside you with a sound that is pure, ruined surrender.

His cock is throbbing, pulse after pulse, pumping you full of hot, thick white ribbons. He stays there, trembling through it, shaking, and when he finally pulls out, he looks down.

The sight that greets him is his favorite in the world. His cum leaking out of your pussy in warm, heavy streams, “Fuck…That’s perfect.”

He drags two fingers through the load, smearing it, then pushing it back in you with the darkest smirk on his face, “I could get addicted to this,” He murmurs, before adding, “Maybe I already am.”

Your chest is heaving, the room spinning around you. He’s still hovering over your hips, transfixed on the mess he made like he can’t look away, “Should make you keep it.”

Your entire body tenses because he doesn't look at your face when he says it—he’s still staring at your legs, like the sight has rewired something fundamental in him.

He pushes his fingers deeper, you whine, “But I can’t,” He mutters more to himself than you, “I shouldn’t.”

He pulls his fingers out and wipes them on your thigh, eyes hooded and dark with something you’ve never seen in him before. Gojo sits back on his heels, rakes a hand through his hair, when it finally hits him—reality.

He actually did it. He came inside you. On purpose this time. His eyes flick up to yours, unsure, “…We need to get you a Plan B.”

You knew that was coming, but the tone is different. He sounds shaken, disappointed even, “Okay.”

But he doesn’t move. He just keeps staring at you—the bite marks blooming on your throat, the mess between your thighs he put there, and something in him cracks all over again, “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

Your pulse stutters as he exhales hard, standing. The room tilts as he grabs his USC hoodie off the floor, tugging it over his head with shaky hands. He hesitates a second too long before speaking, “I-I didn’t mean to…do it like that.”

“Do what?”

His eyes flick away shamefully, “Nut in you like I was trying to get you pregnant,” He mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, “Because that’s what it felt like,” Your heart skips, he glances back at you, almost pained, “But that’s not—we’re not doing that.”

Silence stretches, then he shakes his head as if snapping himself out of whatever daze he’s in, “Get dressed. Please.”

You pull your shorts back on and he hands you one of his shirts without looking directly at you—like one wrong glance, one more glimpse of you fucked-out and dripping, and he’ll pin you back on the bed to do it again.

When you’re covered enough to leave, he grabs his keys; his hand finds yours, he squeezes without thinking and doesn’t let go. He leads you out of Sig Chi through a side door because he doesn’t want anyone seeing you like this. 

He walks too quick, not talking, not until you reach the quiet part of the sidewalk does he finally say something, “Don’t ever let me lose you like that again.”

You look up and he’s staring straight ahead, but his grip tightens, exposing more than he means to, “Come on,” He murmurs, unlocking the Porsche, “We’ll get the Plan B.”

But even as he says it, even as he feigns rationale, his hand won’t stop squeezing yours. The Porsche unlocks with a chirp, he opens your door for you and then slams his own harder than necessary. He starts driving, fast, silent, and focused but not on the road. 

Every streetlight flickers across his face, shadowing and revealing the truth in flashes. Good. She’ll take the pill. This was just heat, adrenaline, possession. 

But beneath that, something far darker hums through him. Still…fuck. I could give her what no one else can. I want that.

He swallows hard, grips the wheel tighter, drives even faster. The CVS is almost empty, thank God. He shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets because he doesn’t trust them not to shake, walking over straight to the aisle he was in mere weeks ago.

Gojo remembers the last time he bought it, but the last time he never wished, that for one stupid second, that if biology had given him a loophole, that maybe—maybe you’d keep a piece of him.

He grabs the box with stiff fingers and at the register, the cashier doesn’t make eye contact; something ugly and possessive in Gojo likes that. Likes that no one here knows what he just did or what he put in you and how deep you let him.

He pays the fifty dollars again, shoves the box into his pockets, and hands it to you the second he makes it back to the car as if he may take it back if he doesn’t. 

You take the pill out, open a water bottle, tip your chin back, and he watches. His jaw moves once, like he’s grinding the idea to dust. Good. She’s safe. She won’t be pregnant. This isn’t happening. 

Then, right behind it, a quieter, eviller truth. Would’ve been kinda nice if it was. 

And the thought doesn’t fade, it festers. Even after you swallow the pill and he drives away with his hands white-knuckled on the wheel, even after he drops you off at your dorm and tells you to text him when you’re inside. 

No, it fucking lingers. A wrong desire he keeps trying to destroy, a feeling he can’t outrun. Something vital within him shifted when he finished in you that second time, and it bleeds into everything that happens next.

The next morning, you’re brushing your teeth when your phone buzzes.

satoru: you got class at 10 right?

Before you can answer, another text comes.

satoru: be outside in 5

He picks you up with a coffee in the cupholder, the exact way you like it, and a muffin he claims he “accidentally bought two of”. You don’t call him out on the lie. 

Gojo doesn’t drop you off at the curb, either. He walks you all the way to the building and when you turn to go inside, he hesitates, “Text me when you’re done.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” He cuts you off quietly, “But just do it,” And he walks away before you can fight him on it.

The night after, he shows up again in the same hoodie with the same look in his blue eyes, and that same damn inability to stay away.

He kisses you before the door fully closes behind you—soft at first, almost tentative, like he’s afraid of wanting you too much. Then he remembers your voice calling him yours, your legs wrapped around him, your cunt squeezing around his dick while he came inside you, and suddenly? He’s not soft anymore. 

He lifts you, carries you to your bed, lies you down like you’re fragile, but unravels you like he’s ravenous. He fucks you slow and deep, way too deep; breathing into your neck, voice shredded, hands quivering on your thighs.

At one point, he stops entirely. Stops moving, buried all the way inside you, hips pressed flush, eyes squeezed shut like he’s in physical pain, “Princess…” His forehead presses to your jaw, “If I move, I’m gonna cum in you again.”

You shiver and he doesn’t pull out, not yet, only when he finally forces himself; finishing on your stomach, staring at your body the way a sinner stares at temptation—ruined, in awe, and absolutely starved for more. 

In the days after, he starts acting like your boyfriend. Though neither of you ever say the word, and acting like your boyfriend also apparently includes spoiling you rotten, but he’d never admit that’s what he’s doing.

It starts with him handing you his card one afternoon, “Here. Go get your nails done. Want your hands lookin’ nice around my cock.”

You choke on air, but he won’t meet your eyes, pretending it’s not the sweetest, filthiest thing anyone's ever said to you. Next thing you know, he’s paying for all kinds of appointments. He sends you money for your facial along with a text claiming, “i could give you a better one but idt you’d like it as much”.

Then he’s bringing you on routine mall runs. He takes you straight to Sephora, Aritzia, Zara—anywhere you so look at or mention and buys everything you touch. You tell him he’s insane, but he just shrugs, “It’s not a big deal. Gotta keep you pretty for me.”

You don’t buy the reason for a second.

Then comes the dates. Real ones at fancy places. The first time you’re confused when he tells you to “dress nice”. The second time, you’ve learned that “dress nice” means he’s dropping a stupid amount of money at a restaurant where the menus don’t have prices.

From sushi restaurants in Beverly Hills to Italian spots in West Hollywood, the dinner always goes the same way. With him watching you the entire time like the sight of you sitting across from him looking so beautiful is doing things to his soul and paying the bill without giving you any time to even pretend to pick it up.

“Don’t insult my manhood, princess,” He jokes, already placing his card down, “I’d rather die than let you pay a dime.”

But the worst parts aren’t the dates or the ridiculous instances of spoiling you. It’s what happens after.

One night, you’re sitting in his bed when he removes his silver chain he never takes off, the one you’ve seen in every photo and TikTok. He’s hooking it around your throat while you protest, “Toru—”

“Shh,” He hushes, “Just try it.”

It settles against your collarbone, cool and heavy with a distinct weight to it. His eyes drag over your neck, slow and hungry, like the sight of something that’s his on you does something violent to him, “Mm,” He hums, thumb grazing the metal, “Looks real good on you.”

Your pulse stutters and he kisses you before either of you can process what it means.

And then there’s the night where you’re laying on his chest, tangled in the sheets after he fucked you senseless, when you ask, “What’s Japan like?”

His voice softens in a way you feel in your ribs, “Depends where you go. Tokyo’s crazy. Kyoto’s pretty. Snow up north is perfect.”

You smile into his skin, “Sounds amazing.”

“Yeah,” He replies, adding way too casually, “I’ll have to show you one day.”

You’re quiet for a second before saying, “Teach me something.”

His eyes are warm, melting, “Okay…Say this—suki.”

“Suki,” You whisper; he exhales slowly, almost shakily, “What does it mean?”

He hesitates, choosing to lie gently, “It means…I like this.”

You believe him, but the truth is written all over his face. He doesn’t mean he likes the moment, he means you. Then he looks at you with his chain glinting on your neck, wondering when wanting you turned into needing you—and he’s terrified he can’t stop.

And the need for you only grows.

He picks you up every day from class, keeps snacks in his car that he only buys when you’re around, gives you his favorite sweatshirt when he notices your cold, opens your door every time. On his wrist sits your hair tie, although he says it’s for you, part of you thinks he wears it just because it’s yours.

When you’re walking together, he switches sides so he’s closest to the street. When guys stare, he sees it before you do. One afternoon on the quad, a guy from your lab waves too eagerly at you. Gojo’s voice is flat, “Who the fuck is that?”

You elbow him, “He’s just in my class.”

Gojo scoffs, “Yeah. Don’t like how he looks at you.”

You try not to smile, yet you do.

His frat brothers also start to tease him, “Gojo doesn’t even talk to other bitches anymore.”

“Bro’s whipped.”

“He’s in love with the QB’s daughter.”

He throws a pong ball at their heads, but doesn’t bother denying any of it.

Then, the sex between you? It starts to evolve into something precarious. He no longer fucks you like some sleezy, fuckboy frat bro chasing a climax. The tempo is slower, sensual, intimate in a way that makes your blood curdle.

There’s a night in his room with the lights low and music soft, where you’re riding him, moving slow, his hands gripping your hips like you’re sacred.

His head falls back against the pillow, he’s too sensitive, too close, “Baby…” His voice breaks, “Don’t…don’t do that unless you want—”

But you roll your hips anyway and he loses it. His fingertips dig into your thighs, eyes rolling back, breath catching in a strangled gasp, “Fuck, princess—stop, stop—if I cum like this it’s going inside you.”

And the terrifying part is that he doesn’t sound scared of that. He sounds desperate for it.

He pulls out at the very last heartbeat, just barely. His cum splashes across your chest in hot, heavy ropes and he stares at you like he’s memorizing it. He touches it, swipes some with this thumb, smearing it over your skin. He whispers, almost reverently, “God…would’ve looked better in you.”

Then his gaze glosses over his chain around your neck, and he wonders what it would be like to give you something more permanent.

Next weekend, there’s a tailgate at Sig Chi for the USC football game. It’s loud and crowded, red solo cups litter the backyard and Don Toliver is blasting from a blown out speaker Gojo keeps threatening to throw over the fence.

You’re sitting in his lap in a tiny red skirt you probably should’ve reconsidered, but he hasn’t stopped touching you since you showed up. His hand rests on your thigh at first until it slithers its way to the curve just beneath your ass; thumb rubbing slow circles like he’s publicly claiming territory.

Every time you shift, you feel how hard he is under you. He’s shameless in how he pretends not to care, but his brothers definitely notice. One of the Pledges walks by and does a double take, though Gojo doesn’t look up. He just tightens his grip on your waist and says, completely casual, “Yo, Pledge. Flick me up with my girl.”

My girl. The words strike your bones, “Your—your what?”

Gojo finally lifts his eyes, jaw set like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and that he hates the entire Pledge class, “My girl,” He repeats, patting your thigh once, “C’mon, hurry the fuck up, idiot.”

The Pledge blinks and scrambles to grab his phone, you try to move off Gojo’s lap, flustered, but his arm locks around your waist, “Sit still,” He murmurs into your neck, “Wanna see how pretty you look sittin’ on me.”

Your pulse skitters and he doesn’t even look at the camera—he looks at you, hungrily, lazily possessive, like he already knows he’s gonna post this shit.

When the Pledge sends over the photo, he’s immediately plugging it into his feed on Instagram, which is something he never does. His feed is reserved for himself, thirst traps, aesthetics. So when he posts you with a caption, “me and mine”, all of USC sees it and implodes.

He brushes a kiss onto your jaw, “Let them talk.”

And that same night, you barely make it inside his room before he has you against the wall, kissing you like he’s been deprived of it. Your skirt is on the floor already, your top has been shedded. He lifts you, legs locking around his waist, and thrusts into you so deep your vision spots.

His entire body is shaking, “Princess—fuck, slow, slow, if you keep—”

But you’re too cockdrunk to stop. He grips your ass, burying himself inside you to the hilt, moaning into your shoulder like he’s rupturing, “I’m not gonna…baby—I can’t, if you don’t let go.”

You tighten your legs around him and he falls apart. For one horrifying, heart-stopping second, he doesn’t pull out. He stays in your pussy, groaning into your neck, the two of you trembling against each other.

Gojo only yanks himself out at the very last fraction of a second, finishing in thick, desperate ropes on your inner thighs; he stares at the mess like it’s his masterpiece, but also like he wants it somewhere else.

He strokes your thigh with the back of his fingers, voice impossibly soft, “I can’t keep doing this. I’m trying. I swear I’m trying. But every time—every fucking time, I almost stay inside you.”

Your heart skips a beat, “And the worst part?” He looks at you, eyes blazing, “I don’t even know if I’d stop myself next time…”

And it happens two nights later, when things between you have settled into this terrifying, intoxicating rhythm. You’re already falling asleep in his bed, cheek pressed to his shoulder, his arm wrapped around your lower back like he’s locking in you place.

He whispers, “Come here,” Pulling you into his chest so your thigh slots between his and you feel him instantly—he’s hard, achingly so.

You look up at him through sleep-heavy eyes and he caves. He rolls you onto your back, slow, like he’s been waiting for an excuse to fuck you.

His mouth finds yours, hungry and unhurried; your breathing is barely steady when he finally pushes his cock into you and it’s different. All of it is. Far too deliberate, delicate, deep.

He groans into your neck, voice already wrecked, “Fuck…I’m obsessed with you.”

He’s still sliding himself in when you clutch his biceps, arching up into him with his breath catching in his chest, when he loses the last piece of control he had. His hips snap forward sharply, burying his cock fully inside, and curses low like the feeling of being right where he is now knocks the sense out of him.

He does try to pull out once, you feel it, the hesitation in his hips. But for reasons unknown, you wrap your legs around his waist on pure instinct rather than purpose, and he can’t stop what happens next.

Gojo collapses into you with a broken sound, forehead to yours, thrusts morphing sloppy and desperate, “Baby—fuck, don’t—” His voice cracks, “I can’t—if you do that—”

But you’re already tugging him closer, nails digging into his back, those pretty little cries spilling from your lips send him straight past rational thought.

His hands clamp around your hips, dragging you flush against him, “Oh…God—” He chokes and thinks maybe for a second, he’ll try to pull himself back, but the moment he feels you tighten around him, he breaks with a sound he’s never made before.

A desperate, helpless moan punched out him as he bucks his hips and stays there—buried, locked to you like he couldn’t move even if he tried.

“Fuck, I’m cumming—inside…shit,” And you feel it, hot spurts filling you so completely full that it steals your breath. He can’t even stop, his entire body spasms against yours, quaking through the release, his forehead lodged into your throat as if he’s holding onto you while he falls apart.

It’s a lot. More than the last time. More than either of you expected. So much, it’s leaking around him even while he’s still stuffed deep, twitching through the last waves. He doesn’t move, he just stays there, even when he pulls his face up to look at you with blue eyes blown, “…Fuck. I didn’t pull out.”

Your heart sits high in your chest, he watches your expression like it’s life or death, “Honestly…I didn’t even try.”

But that’s when it hits him. He should tell you to go on birth control. He knows it. That it’s the responsible, sensible, smart thing to do; the normal thing guys in college say when they don’t want their lives derailed.

Though, truth is? He doesn’t want normal, not with you. Because birth control kills the possibility, the danger, the fucked up little thrill that coils low in his stomach every time he pushes in deep and realizes that he could claim you in the one way no other guy has.

If you were on the pill, there would be no risk. No moment where he hovers on the edge, shaking, wondering if he should pull out or just stay, and he lives for that moment. That heartbeat of insanity right before he cums, where he thinks, if I don’t pull out, she’s mine for real.

So that’s why he never says the words, “You should get on birth control.”

And as deranged as it is, he doesn’t want to eliminate the one thing that makes fucking you feel holy, catastrophic, and fate-altering.

But…little does Satoru Gojo know that you’re already on it. You got on it right after that second time he finished in you.

Because that night scared you—you couldn’t trust him anymore, you couldn’t trust yourself either, and the recklessness was going to ruin you both.

You weren’t an idiot. Despite being a sheltered good girl your whole life and being inexperienced with sex, you know the consequences. And after watching his hesitation to pull out disappear night after night and feeling him stay inside you longer each time you fucked, you knew you made the right call.

However, you kept it a secret. You figured it was what was best for the both of you. You were protecting yourself all while letting him play out his little fantasy or whatever sick game he gets off on, letting him think every time might be the time he gets you pregnant.

It was smart, it was calculated, it was you being safe. Or…So you thought. Because of course, life had other plans, cruel and ironic ones. The kind of plans that are in motion before you even realize anything is wrong.

The Plan B you took after that second time he finished in you? Yeah. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work when you’re ovulating. And that night was exactly when you were.

The symptoms creep up on you so sneakily that you don’t even notice them. At first, it’s just fatigue. A bone-deep heaviness that sinks into your limbs on a random Monday morning, although you chalk it up to Gojo keeping you up until 3 A.M. again—him pinning your wrists above your head and whispering “one more round, princess”.

But then the smell of breakfast the next day makes you nauseaous, an odd twist within your gut when you catch a whiff of Blair’s bacon egg and cheese sandwich, “Girl, you good?”

“Fine,” You lie, "Probably just dehydrated,” Though you’ve been drinking water all day and still feel wrong.

Then your boobs hurt, really hurt. Tender in a way you’ve never felt before and Blair notices when you flinch throwing your tote bag over your shoulder, “That bad?”

“I think I’m getting sick.”

You’re not getting sick. You know what your body feels like when something is off and this feels different. The next morning you’re brushing your teeth when Blair says casually from the sink beside you, “When did you last get your period?”

“Last month,” But then your hand stops in mid-air.

Last month. You haven’t gotten it this month yet and it should’ve come by now. Your blood runs cold, “Wait…what day is it?”

Blair checks her phone, “October 27th.”

No. No, no, no. Your toothbrush slips from your fingers and clatters into the sink as realization cleaves through your ribs. It’s been three weeks since that night. Three weeks since the Plan B. Absolutely enough time to pass to start experiencing...pregnancy symptoms. And you already know it has a reputation for not always being effective.

“(Y/N)…?” Blair frowns, “What’s wrong?”

You lift your trembling eyes to hers, “Fuck class, we’re skipping. I need to go to CVS.”

She nods at that and the two of you urgently walk together to the CVS of doom and despair. Except this time, there’s no adrenaline buzzing within your veins, only fear.

You’re in the family planning aisle once again, but not to grab a Plan B, instead it’s a box of three pregnancy tests that feel far too heavy in your shaky hands. Blair hovers behind you, pale, “You really think—?”

“I don’t know,” You whisper, voice breaking, “I don’t know.”

But you do. You do know. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it. Your hands continue to tremble as you pay and walk back to the dorms and shut the bathroom door. Blair waits outside for you, “(Y/N)…I’m right here, okay?”

You nod, barely breathing, your reflection in the mirror looks like a stranger—pretty, terrified, wearing his silver chain around your throat like a brand or prophecy to something more.

You open one of the tests, take it, and set it on the counter. You wait two minutes, only two, and grip the sink and pray. For what, you’re not sure. That it’s negative? Or that it’s positive so you don’t have to keep pretending you aren’t already half in love with Satoru Gojo?

Negative. Yeah, definitely negative. You’re only eighteen, in your first semester of college. You moved across the country for this experience. Your dad would literally murder you for fucking it up.

You squeeze your eyes shut, then you look, and everything inside you falls, collapses, and rearranges.

Two pink lines. Bold and immediate. You’re fucking pregnant. That can’t be. You rip open another test and force yourself to pee again. False positives happen all the time, right? Right?

You wait another two minutes, only for the result to be the exact same…pregnant. Yeah, there’s no denying both. But fuck it, might as well take the third.

Another test, another positive. Three positive fucking tests, “Oh my God,” You whisper, “Oh my God…oh my fucking God—”

Blair knocks lightly, “(Y/N)? You okay? What’s happening?”

“He…” Your voice cracks, “He got me…pregnant.”

The word tastes unreal in your mouth, “But didn’t you take a Plan B? Aren’t you on birth control—?”

“I must’ve been ovulating or something,” You hiccup, tears brimming, “I-I did everything right.”

“Baby…open the door.”

You open it, numb, and Blair pulls you into a crushing hug as the three tests shake in your hand, “Oh, sweet girl…” She coos, “What are you gonna do?”

You shake your head, tears hitting her shoulder, “I—I have to tell him.”

As soon as you make it back to your dorm room you text him.

toru come over

now

please

He replies instantly.

satoru: omw what’s wrong

satoru: princess ??

You don’t answer, but minutes later you can hear the rumble of his Porsche pull into the dorms’ parking lot and not even seconds pass before his frantic knocking rattles your door. When you open it, he stops breathing. Your eyes are bloodshot red, your entire body is quaking, and his chain, of course it’s still on your neck.

“(Y/N),” He exhales, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him with trembling fingers, “What the fuck’s going on? Did someone—did a guy—? If someone touched you I swear I’ll—”

“It’s not that,” You whisper and hold out the three tests.

Gojo goes utterly still. He looks at the tests, then at you, then at the tests again. His throat bobs, “…What are those?”

“You fucking know what they are.”

“They’re…positive?”

You nod once, he inhales sharply like someone punched him, “Fuck,” He says it again, quieter, “Fuck.”

You watch his whole demeanor short circuit. At first it’s shock, but then something within him settles, something darker, something like acceptance wrapped in possession. He’s already thinking, you’re pregnant. With my baby. Mine.

His throat works once, hard. His mouth twitches, barely but unmistakably, because he tried to smother whatever expression is trying to surface.

“C’mere,” He murmurs, pulling you into him like he can fold the entire world away. You break immediately, tears spill hot and fast, your hands clawing into his hoodie as you shake uncontrollably.

And Gojo holds you, arms wrapped around your waist, palm pressing the back of your head gently into his chest, and behind your hair, unseen, his lips curl with a quiet, corrupt satisfaction he can’t suppress.

He does feel bad that you’re crying. He really does, but he also doesn’t care in the way he probably should. Because at the end of the day, you’re carrying his baby, and no one else will ever be able to say that.

He keeps rubbing circles into your spine, shushing you softly. His voice is warm, soothing, everything he thinks he’s supposed to sound like in this moment, “It’s okay, princess…breathe. I’m here.”

But really, ever since you said the words, he’s been reminiscing. Which time was it? After the third time he came in you, he’s stayed in you more often than not. He’s lost count of the nights he finished deep inside, hand fisted in the sheets, moaning your name.

Was it the night on his couch? The night he fucked you in the bathroom of his frat formal because he couldn’t stand the way his brothers were looking at you? Was it when he pulled you onto his lap and didn’t even pretend to pull out? Or—

You sob, “I don’t—I don’t know how it happened—I thought—”

He pulls back slightly, thumb brushing your cheek, “Well, we stopped buying Plan Bs. So we weren’t exactly being…safe.”

Your chest tightens, oh, right. He has no idea that you’ve been on the pill, “Satoru…I need to be honest with you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, petrified for whatever you’re about to say, “…Okay,” He says slowly, carefully, “Tell me.”

Your bottom lip trembles, “I…I’ve been on birth control.”

Everything in him freezes, “…What?”

“I started it…after that second time, the night we fought,” You whisper, tears slipping fast down your cheeks, “I couldn’t trust us anymore. I knew we were being stupid and I just…needed to do something. But I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want things to change.”

Gojo stares at you like the entire universe just rearranged itself behind your eyes. Birth control. You were on birth control and still wound up pregnant. It wasn’t the nights after. It wasn’t the couch or the bathroom, it wasn’t the time he came in you so deep he saw stars behind his eyelids.

No, it was that night. The one where he called you his and you called him yours, the one where he finished inside you on purpose and you wanted it. The night you took the Plan B after he watched his cum drip out of you like it was the eighth Wonder of the World. Of course it was that night; a night that ended up being prophecy.

Gojo isn’t even upset with you for not telling him about the whole birth control thing, either. Matter of fact? Some twisted, fucked up, and deranged part of him feels satisfied. Because you really tried, you tried so hard not to get pregnant.

But fate already made its decision long before either of you pretended you had control and the idea of that makes something warm and primal settle in his chest, “Oh my God…it was that night.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fresh tears dribbling down your cheeks, “Satoru, I—I don’t know what to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I took the pill, I was on birth control, we—we should’ve been fine—”

He shakes his head immediately, firmly cupping the back of your skull. What he wants to say is that this was always supposed to happen, but instead he opts for, “Hey. Stop. No. This isn’t on you.”

Because it isn’t. If anything, the blame sits squarely on him—he’s the one who kept cumming in you like he was trying to write your future with his body alone. You were the one taking precautions and trying to keep things under control. He was the one who didn’t stop.

So, of course you got pregnant. He practically begged the universe for it with the way he fucked you, “I should’ve been pulling out,” He murmurs, thumb brushing away the tears, “But I didn’t. That’s on me.”

Your breath breaks, “How come you don’t you look upset?”

Gojo stiffens at the accusation. He doesn’t look devastated or destroyed and he definitely doesn’t look like a twenty year old frat boy whose life got flipped upside down.

He looks…eerily calm, “I don’t know what I’m feeling yet,” He lies; he knows exactly what he’s feeling and it’s not something he can say out loud without disrupting whatever fragile world you’re clinging to.

You turn away, pressing your hands to your face, shoulders jerking, “My whole life is screwed, Satoru. My dad—my classes—everything. I don’t even know how to breathe right now.”

His stomach twists, he hates that his lack of fear and panic makes him feel like a monster. He steps closer until his chest brushes your back and wraps his arms around you from behind, tugging you into him.

“Princess,” He murmurs against your shoulder, “I know you’re terrified. I get it. You have every right to be. But I need you to hear me,” You don’t look at him, but he tilts his head, voice dropping into something achingly soft, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your lips quiver, “Then why does it feel like everything is falling apart?”

He exhales slowly, forehead dropping to the curve of your neck. Everything is falling apart for you, but for him? It feels like everything is falling into place.

The girl who arrived to USC that every guy wanted, the girl who has always been good until she met Satoru Gojo, had been claimed by him. He closes his eyes, swallowing down the feral pulse in his chest, “It feels like it’s falling apart because you’re shocked. It’s big and sudden. Anyone would feel what you’re feeling.”

You shudder and he tightens his hold, protective in a way that feels instinctual, “But you’re not alone in this. Not for one second.”

You sniff harshly, “You’re taking this way too well.”

He almost laughs at how easily you see through him, “I’m taking it the only way I know how.”

Quietly, privately, his mind says a different thing, because some part of me knew this was coming the second I didn’t pull out. He presses a soft kiss to your temple before you can see the flicker in his expression.

“Talk to me,” You whisper, voice rasped, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He hesitates, because the real answer is, you’re pregnant because of me. Because you told me to make you mine and I did. What he says to you is gentler, “I’m thinking that we’ll figure it out and that you’re safe with me.”

But beneath it, humming like electricity in his bloodstream, I don’t regret it. Not even a little. It was always gonna be us. You were meant to be mine.

You don’t even get a chance to respond to what Gojo has said when the universe decides to fuck you over for a second time. Your phone vibrates in the pocket of the hoodie you’re wearing—his hoodie. A single buzz, then another. You still instantly, Gojo’s hands pause on your waist, “Who is it?”

You pull back just enough to fish your phone out, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. Your vision blurs as you blink at the notification. And when you see the name on the lock screen, you freeze entirely.

Gojo’s brows knit, “Baby?”

“…It’s my dad,” You swipe his message open with tottering fingers and the text hits you like a brick to the sternum.

dad: Hey sweetheart! Good news! College gameday is in USC this weekend so I’ll be seeing you in a few days.

dad: I can’t wait to see you, princess. Love you.

Your throat swells, he leans in slightly to read the message himself because you can’t find your own voice, and for the first time tonight, Satoru Gojo breaks, “…Oh fuck.”

Your dad is coming in three days.

But no matter how many times you swore you weren’t secretly obsessed with her and that there was no fucking shrine hidden in your closet or under your bed, she’d been saying the same shit long enough that no one believed you. 

“Can you just leave me alone?” You frowned, forcing your way through the crowd to get past her as she called out some other teasing remark about you going to rub one out. 

Loathing couldn’t quite suffice for just how much you couldn’t stand her.

Hate boiling and burning beneath your skin every time she hurled a new taunt your way, when she’d find you eating lunch in a single bathroom stall just to make your meals hell too, mocking you with glossy lips and a glittering smile while the rest of your class treated her like an angel even when her antics annoyed them. 

And when the girl that could do no wrong wished the worst for you, well, it seemed the worst was all you got. 

The rest of the student body had started treating you like shit too. Sneering and scolding you for staring, everyone convinced you had to be some sort of predator just because she said you liked girls. 

People didn’t grin at you in the hallways. 

Just glared. 

Your room had been ransacked a few times, clothes tattered and wrecked with staff that didn’t care to scold them. Your lunches knocked out of your hand. Stupid notes stuck to your back during class. 

There wasn’t a single person in this fucking place that wanted to be your friend. 

But you guessed it didn’t matter. 

You didn’t have that much longer left stuck here. 

Graduation was coming up soon – and despite the hell boarding school had been, the scholarship you’d been granted to attend had set you up for a pretty nice looking future. One without Toru. 

You locked the door to your room behind you, dropping your bag to the ground before collapsing onto your bed. Exhaling as your eyes shut, a migraine budding behind them from spending another day attempting to avoid her and failing miserably. 

Rolling over to pluck your phone from your pocket, your mouth reflexively curled up into a smile at the name on the screen. The one bright light in the midst of this pit of misery filled with pretty girls who thought you were pining after them and tried to punish you for it. 

All of them absolutely clueless that you were already taken. 

By a man they would definitely be desperate to call theirs too. 

You’d been seeing Satoshi for two years. 

Sorta. 

You hadn’t officially met him yet. Not when you started talking through a dating app. Back then, you’d been craving any company so much you had caved and downloaded a bunch. And you had lucked out to land an equally lonely person. 

Your relationship had been fairly casual at first, late night conversations where you stayed up until your eyes were sore and you nearly fell asleep sitting up in half your classes. Things had picked up this past year, the photos that used to be half your face or whatever you were doing escalating to more…intimate images. His questions turned more personal too, picking apart your brain until he knew probably more about you than anyone you’d ever met before. 

Sure, it wasn’t conventional. But he had sent plenty of his own questionable pictures and voice messages to quell any of your suspicions. He never asked for money either, instead showering you with attention and sending you expensive gifts (although everyone on your floor was convinced you were spending what little money you had sending them to yourself). He was wearing a uniform from an all-boys boarding school not all that far away in a lot of them – but between sports and classes and busy schedules, neither of you had been able to arrange a proper meet up. 

Until this weekend. 

Finally, you’d be able to do something other than giggle and grin at the photos of his pretty washboard abs and replay his thick, groggy good morning messages. 

He made reservations at a fancy hotel nearby, promising that he’d be waiting for you there with the biggest bouquet he could buy and wearing his best outfit in blue, sending you sweet messages about how badly he was aching to be yours in person instead of just online. 

Most people would think you made him up. 

And honestly, at first, when you tried to dispel the rumors and whispers about you being a lesbian by protesting and bringing up that you literally had a boyfriend, but when he actually went to another school, no one would believe you. 

Eventually, you gave up. Stopped seeing a point in swearing the truth when everyone else would always prefer the lie. 

It gave them someone lower on the totem pole to push around. 

Kept them safe from Toru’s reign of terror. 

Why would they listen? 

You told yourself that you were almost free. So fucking close to being out of her reach. 

They could all worship at her feet and follow her around like the lost puppies they were. You weren’t going to be a loser lingering in her shadow forever. Not when you still had your support in Satoshi. 

A new notification buzzed on your phone, breath catching in your throat in anticipation as you clicked on it too fast, before you could even read it. 

You should’ve looked. 

An unknown number and a nasty word stared back at you, your fingers automatically moving to block the number and delete it with a frown. 

Immediately re-opening your messages with Satoshi as you sniffled a little, too exhausted to keep the swirling emotions inside you at bay as you sent a short message, biting your lip until you tasted the blood on your tongue. 

Can you talk right now?

ε✿з

“Please, please, please, please-” 

“God, do you ever shut up?” Suguru groaned, rubbing his temple while Toru thrusted the phone in his face. 

“But I need your help,” she whined, pouting harder as he squinted at the messages. 

“You said you’d tell your girlfriend last month,” he annoyingly reminded her, brows knitting together in irritation as he reluctantly took the phone anyway, readjusting on his bed after she unceremoniously burst into his room after getting a ride all the way to their rival boarding school. “Don’t particularly feel like doing this for two more years.” 

God, what good was a best friend if they wouldn’t help in a time of need? Wasn’t he supposed to be a wingman?

“I’m telling her this weekend,” Toru frowned back, folding her arms across her chest as she glanced around his dorm room. It was honestly cleaner than hers, in shades of gray and green instead of the soft blue she was used to. Books actually neatly stacked on his desk instead of scattered haphazardly on every surface. “I wanna make it romantic. Like, book a hotel room and everything.”  

Buy you flowers, maybe an expensive set of lingerie, have them scatter rose petals over the bed and leave champagne on the table. Book a couples massage and take you out to a fancy dinner? Sure, she’d probably have to apologize for being a bit of a bitch to you over the years, but once you saw how serious she was about being in a relationship with you, couldn’t you just let bygones by bygones? 

Suguru arched one of those thin eyebrows, giving her one of those irksome looks that implied he didn’t think it was a good idea. 

But he was a man. 

What did they know? 

“You think she’s going to take it well?” He tentatively asked, and she couldn’t help scoff. 

“She likes Satoshi. Satoshi is me,” she simply said, gesturing with her hands as if it should be obvious. “Besides, shouldn’t she be grateful for my attention? Anyone would be.”

Suguru laughed, like it was a joke. 

But she just scowled back at him, completely serious as she tried to get what he didn’t get about the whole thing. 

Whoever got to be with her was the lucky one. 

Toru was beyond beautiful. Wealthy. Wore the best clothes and went to all the best vacation spots every year. Who wouldn’t want to be hers? 

It was just common sense. 

She’d been worshipped from the day she was born. It wasn’t like she was expecting you to do the same. She just wanted you to see how fortunate you were to have her favor. 

God, any girl would die to be in your shoes. Guys too, actually, beg for her attention and crawl on their knees for the tiniest slice of the attention she gave you. 

Sure, maybe she wasn’t always good at getting it across verbally, but she couldn’t risk someone else sneaking in and stealing your attention! Besides, her mouth seemed to always speak for itself around you, never saying exactly what she intended to when all her brain could think of was the shape of your lips and how your uniform clung to your tits since she’d bribed the office to keep sending you the size down. 

She could admit that she could be a little aggressive, but she just wanted you to finally fucking admit that you wanted her too. Not just play hard to get and avoid her all the damn time.

“She’s probably just going to complain about you,” Suguru warned her, jealousy flaring up in her chest as she ran her fingers through her hair. 

What the hell did he know? 

At least you were talking about her. 

Toru would rather your thoughts revolve around her than to be nothing to you at all. 

“She was definitely checking out my tits today,” she defensively argued, even though Suguru was still making an annoying face at her. So what if he didn’t believe her? 

You had, hadn’t you? This wasn’t just totally in her head? 

Maybe you didn’t even realize you’d done it. Toru had been trying her hardest to get you to see that you were obviously a lesbian like her, that the two of you were clearly compatible.

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, and she wanted to yank the pillow out from underneath his head and smother him with it. 

“Are you going to call her or not?” She pouted, returning to the point as he slowly scrolled through the messages.

She imagined you back in your own bed, maybe biting your pretty lips until they were swollen, breaking the skin as you waited for a response. Would you let Toru lick the blood off if you knew it was her on the other end? 

“For fifty bucks,” he exhaled, and she once again contemplated suffocating him. 

But she was still shrugging down her purse, digging through its messy contents to pull out a hundred and toss it at him. 

“You’re such a dick,” she derisively huffed, even though she had started this whole arrangement by promising to pay him a couple years ago. Begging him to let her use his photos to catfish you, and despite his initial moral protests that it was wrong, blah blah blah, he eventually caved in. 

It wasn’t ever supposed to last this long. 

She meant to tell you months ago. But there were always pesky little flies buzzing around every time she tried to talk to you at school, and she couldn’t get the correct words to leave her lips when everyone was always watching the two of you together. 

God, even when she tried to talk to you in the bathroom when you ate your lunch in there alone, people still fucking followed her. 

“You better pull your pants down a little and snap a pic if I’m paying you,” she hissed at her only actual friend, just for Suguru to roll his eyes at her again from his lazy position on the bed. 

God, did she have to do everything herself?

She climbed on top, grabbing his slacks by the hips and wiggling it down as low as she could without revealing his disgusting dick. She didn't really understand what you could possibly find appealing about the obviously inferior gender, but maybe it was just because you didn't know better yet. Hadn't seen what her pretty tits looked like without her uniform covering them or properly experienced a woman’s touch. 

“Are you serious-” 

Toru ignored Suguru, tugging his shirt up too and snagging the phone back, carefully angling it to snap a photo that captured his dark happy trail, the defined muscles and ridges of his abs and hitting send. 

It was almost instantly marked as seen. 

She stared at the screen, willing your response, wishing for something in return and grinning wildly when you sent an image back. 

Your uniform removed to reveal your gorgeous tits pressed together in a pretty white bra. Had you picked it out for her? Or well, Satoshi? Your face wasn’t in it, but she could imagine what expression you were making. How your lashes might flutter, how your bottom lip might push out. 

Were you touching yourself? 

“Do you still want me to call her or do you wanna go rub one out?” Suguru sarcastically asked, his voice thick with sleep from the nap she ‘rudely’ interrupted. 

“Ask her to send a video of her doing that,” she demanded, holding the phone back out while he let out a low exhale, shutting his eyes like he hadn’t meant to sign up for that.

“Do I at least get to watch the video if she sends it?” He grumbled, and Toru glared back at him, folding her arms across her chest as she gritted her teeth. 

“Fine,” she begrudgingly accepted. 

It was only natural, she supposed. She spent almost every day bragging to him about how gorgeous you were, rambling about all the cute faces you made and funny things you’d said. Of course, he’d want to experience the little pieces of you Toru was generous enough to share. 

He took the phone, hitting the call button as Toru gestured for him to put in on speaker while it rang. He did, and you only took a second to answer. 

“Hi,” your soft voice breathed on the other end, and a jolt of excitement shot through Toru. 

You sounded so adorable. She just wanted to take a bite. Sink her teeth into you so deep you’d be stuck with the bite marks for the rest of your life. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” Suguru greeted, keeping a straight face while Toru suppressed actually giggling at the light sound of your pretty laughter through the phone. 

“What are you doing?” You asked, all sweet and sincere. 

“Just thinkin’ about you,” Suguru smoothly replied. Toru couldn’t help rolling her eyes at him, having a hard time believing any girl could actually be stupid enough to-

“Really?” 

Nevermind. 

This was exactly why you needed Toru. Sure, Suguru was her best friend, but moronic men like him would never be able to take care of you like she could! 

“I liked that photo you sent me,” he murmured into the phone, pitching his voice down while Toru’s nails bit into her palm, imprinting half-circles into them as she heard your breathing hitch on the other end. 

“Y-yeah?” You stuttered a little bit, as precious as always. A little awkward, too, but that was part of what made you so addicting. What made Toru so desperate to be the one you were stammering and stumbling over your words for. “I liked yours.” 

“You wanna show me just how much?” Suguru spoke slowly, leaving the implication up in the air for you to jump to your own conclusion. 

To decide just how badly you wanted to please Satoshi. 

“You want another photo?” You asked after a moment, temptation teetering there. Toru was dying to touch you. Be there in your bed as she heard your sheets rustling underneath your body through the grainy line. Replaying all the pretty expressions you’d worn in the hall earlier, imagining how different the one you had on now was. 

“I want more, angel,” Suguru replied, immediately reminding Toru that you still didn’t know you were hers yet, still enveloped in this boy version of her that she and Suguru fabricated. “Are you touching yourself for me?” 

“Maybe,” you shyly said, close enough to a confession. 

“Think you could record it for me, sweetheart?” He hummed, careful not to sound demanding, just issuing a little dare she knew you would take out of fear of disappointing him.

“If you really want me to,” you hesitantly replied, all light and airy. Barely needing to be nudged to agree to send a video of your breathy moans, one where your fingers would slip underneath your matching panties as you cried out after someone that never really existed. 

“Good girl.” 

You didn’t even ask him not to show anyone else. 

Just blindly trusted him. 

Would you still feel the same when you knew it was really her? Follow her lead and stay on her leash? 

Sometimes, you sorta reminded Toru of a lost little lamb. One she had to shepherd back into place. It wasn’t like she was trying to put the crook around your neck, to pull you close, but she’d do what she had to just to have you. 

ε✿з

Be there in five. Can’t wait for you to finally be mine.  

“Can I help you, miss?” A hotel employee startled you, blinking hard a few times in surprise as you swallowed hard and shook your head.

“I’m, um, just waiting on someone,” you answered with a tight smile, grateful when they seemed to accept that answer, nodding politely and walking away as you rested against the wall rather than taking a seat on one of the stiff couches clustered together by coffee tables nearby. 

You were too anxious to sit. 

Nerves racing under your skin as you continuously checked the time, smoothing out the skirt you picked out and glancing down at the revealing shirt you’d chosen after he made a comment about how much he was looking forward to burying his face against your breasts. 

But as minute five came and passed, you still hadn’t spotted a single sign of him. 

You felt like an idiot, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you kept scanning the lobby for a glimpse of blue like he promised. Pulling up your phone to read and reread his latest message for comfort. 

Fingers tapping the keyboard, typing out a message to ask if he was close only to delete it and try to reword it, wasting another few minutes struggling to come up with something not totally desperate to say only to come up empty. 

A familiar giggle made your blood run cold. 

In a single instant, your mood was spoiled, rotten, head snapping in trepidation as you saw the blue you were searching for at the receptionist’s desk. Just on the wrong person. 

A tight blue dress clinging to the hips of your least favorite person, pushing her boobs up and riding high on her thighs as she turned towards you, eyes locking onto yours like she already knew you’d be here. 

The receptionist passed her two keycards, and she had to readjust the huge bouquet of flowers in her hand to grab it before she started walking towards you, her tall heels clicking against the tiled lobby. 

“Don’t you look adorable?” She smiled at you. Smiled. You were pretty sure your brain short-circuited. Overwhelmed by the fact a compliment had left her lips with not a hint of cruelty. Perhaps a sliver of condescension, but unless your stare was suddenly deceiving you (and you so badly wished it was) she actually appeared genuine. 

“W-what are you-” You started stammering, heat rushing up to your face as she stepped even closer, looking down at you with amusement glittering in her pretty eyes as she pushed the flowers into your arms.

“I'm Satoshi, silly,” she hummed, her mouth curling up in a smirk that just screamed she was proud of her scheme. 

“No, no,” you bluntly said, struggling to breathe when her words threatened to unravel years of a relationship you’d been clinging to, counting on to keep your sanity intact. “He called me. Sent me voice messages, photos-” 

“I had to get my friend Suguru to help,” she admitted, fake sympathy in her practiced smile as she reached out and touched your cheek. Caressed it with her soft fingers while you stood there in too much shock to recoil. “But all the conversations were me, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. 

The word had never made you feel so fucking sick before. 

Satoshi had called you that all the time. But he was apparently her, and the realization that all your raw vulnerabilities, all the times you poured your heart and soul out just for Toru to be on the receiving end. All those reassurances you’d hung onto, the pretty words you copied down into diaries and woven into your brain, they all belonged to her. 

Betrayal burning through you as you tried to process the depth of their deception. How many layers to it were there? How much time had she spent just to keep up this charade? Pretending to be a fucking man to what?  

Humiliate you even more than she did on a daily basis? 

“Am I just a sick joke to you?” You asked, voice thick with hurt you couldn't hide anymore. She tormented you for years. What the hell else were you supposed to think? 

“You're my girlfriend?” She retorted, tilting her head to the side as if she couldn't understand what you were confused about. 

“You hate me,” you pointed out, mentally replaying every mean word out of her mouth from the day you met. All the times she accused you of wanting to have sex with her and basically being a lovesick loser. 

“I like you,” she corrected you, and you got the distinct impression this wasn't exactly the reaction she'd been expecting from you. 

And in the next thick pause, the silence where you stared at her with an open mouth, you realized that perhaps she'd been projecting. 

That maybe the obsessed one had been her all along. 

You stepped back, shaking your head as you heard yourself scoff. 

“Do you just want me to say sorry?” Toru asked, her glittery lip gloss catching the light as she dramatically pouted. “I am, you know, I just get so excited when I see you, it’s hard to hold it in.” 

You blinked. 

Her eyes shifted down to your chest, openly ogling you as pink bloomed against her pretty cheeks, her fingers slipping back into your hair like you were a couple. 

As if, in any universe, this could be considered normal. 

You wanted to scream. 

To storm off and slam the glass door behind you. 

Go back to your room and cry into the pillow after you scrubbed every stupid photo and video you ever saved of Satoshi from your phone. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to graduate and get as far from Toru as possible, find a place with your boyfriend and start a new life where you could forget about the past few years you’d spent here. 

“What did I do to ever deserve you doing this to me?” You breathed, a hot lump forming in your throat as you tried to hold back the sob that wanted to break out. Hyper aware of how hard you tried on your makeup this morning, how much time you’d spent picking out what to wear and how to style your hair, desperate to impress someone who apparently didn’t even exist. 

The tears were welling up anyway, heavy in your lashes and collecting in the corners of your eyes as you felt the stares of people passing by. The whispering you’d gotten used to whenever you were around Toru. 

Her face scrunched up, her annoyingly pretty mouth parting as she moved her hand to drag her thumb underneath your eyes. Wiping away your tears while she tilted her head to the side, loose waves bouncing in time with her huff, “Are you seriously crying?” 

“You catfished me,” you said, hating how crushed you sounded. But you were. In a handful of seconds, she had decimated any ounce of your confidence you had left. Reduced you to rubble under her stupid red-bottomed heels and then rubbed it into the glossy tiles you were standing on. “You’ve been calling me a lesbian for years, but you-” 

“That’s because you are one,” she said, perfectly plucked brows knitting together tightly as she took a small step closer. Almost enough for both your chests to touch, her eyes drifting back down for what felt like the twentieth time at your shirt. “I mean, I am too, was it not obvious?” 

No, it absolutely wasn’t fucking obvious, but the way she said it was enough to make you freeze. 

Honestly, if anything, you thought she was a little homophobic before this, but you didn’t know how she’d take that. 

“Come on, you can just admit that you were crushing on me, you don’t have to keep-” You made some sound at her insane statement, pure disgust mixing with the scoff that escaped. 

“I hate you,” you half-whispered. Loathing burning in those three short words as you tried to find the strength to move. But she didn’t flinch. Just pursed her lips together as she batted her soft, white lashes at you. 

“You told Satoshi you loved him last night,” she so unhelpfully reminded you, speaking slowly as if she was giving you time to think between her words. “That means you love me.” 

“I-” 

You couldn’t even get out what you wanted to say when she started twirling a loose strand of your hair around one of her long fingers. 

Was she actually trying to seduce you? 

Her chest pressed against yours, not sparing so much as a glance to anyone else in the lobby despite how much attention she had to know she was drawing as you felt her tits through her thin dress rubbing against yours like you were playing the starring role in a cheap porno. 

“Think about all those late nights we stayed up together,” she purred, looking down at you the same way she always did, and you wondered how you ever could have missed the hunger in them before. 

Well, that wasn’t quite true. You’d seen it. 

You just hadn’t realized what she was starving for. 

“All those times we talked about our families and our lives and what we wanted to do with them. All the stuff we wanted to do together,” Toru hummed, her nose nearly brushing against yours now too. You were struggling to wrap your head around the idea of her being the one you spilled everything too. Fuck, how many times had you complained to her about her? 

“I didn’t know-” You started, but she made a soft shushing sound that somehow shut you up. 

“We can still do all of it,” she promised, like you had any interest in any of it now that you knew what a fool you’d been for putting your trust in someone you never actually knew. In her. “Me and you.” 

You got the impression in your already flustered brain that she was trying to be romantic. 

That this was all supposed to be some grand gesture to show you that her feelings were genuine. 

But it just felt like fresh embarrassment. 

Your heart slamming against your rib cage while your thoughts ran in the same panicked circles, falling apart in front of a room full of strangers.

It sort of felt like you were being proposed to in public. Forced to say yes to not seem like a total asshole when everyone else was probably convinced she was earnestly confessing to you. 

And after years of being around her, you already had the experience to know the universe would always side with her. 

“What do you expect me to say?” You finally spoke, flat-out dumbfounded as your voice trembled. Her treachery was already twisting into something else in your stomach, your body attempting to turn it into something flattering just so you could cope with it. The intoxicating scent of her perfume stuffing your nostrils and clouding your thinking as you struggled to sort out all the different emotions rattling around inside you. 

The hurt and the heartache and the conflicting feelings of loss and longing for someone that wasn’t there. The scariest part was that some sliver of you was starting to consider Toru. 

Starting to want her. 

Acknowledging that you couldn’t actually have Satoshi, and coming to the conclusion that she was the closest fucking thing you had. 

The thought itself was incredibly depressing. 

“I love you, Toru?” She offered, doing her own impression of your voice. 

“I don’t,” you argued, although you weren’t sure how convincing it actually came out when her proximity left your voice quivering. 

“What? You only loved me as a boy then?” She grinded her sharp canines, not quite glaring, but clearly unhappy as her blue eyes bored into yours. 

“How was I supposed to know my boyfriend was you?” 

Other than the fact he was obviously too good to be true. A guy like that would never be interested in you. No, the only person who was, apparently, was your insane classmate who’d been pretending to be a man for two years just to get you to fall for her.  

You almost wished this was simply blackmail. That she just wanted to hold your humiliation over your head.

This felt so much worse. So much ickier. 

Especially when your body was beginning to betray your mind just with her touch, her scent, warping what your senses with her cruel fingers and soft skin. 

“A girlfriend is way better than a boyfriend,” she huffed at you, rolling her eyes like you should already know that. 

“You want to be my girlfriend?” You asked, meant to be rhetorical rather than serious. But her eyes lit up, lips lifting up into a blinding smile as she nodded. 

“Duh.” 

No. No. No. 

This could not be-

“Let’s go check out our room,” she hummed, effortlessly changing the subject as she backed off only to grab your wrist. Throwing an annoyed look over her shoulder at all the passerbys who had not-so-subtly paused to watch whatever was happening between both of you. “So annoying how people are always obsessed with me.” 

Too blind to see how much of a hypocrite she was being.

You were too stunned to stop her. Feet uselessly following after her as her pale fingertips dug deeper into your skin, dragging you around like you were just an accessory on her arm. 

Feeling almost like you were floating along, trying to tell yourself that this was all just some fucked-up dream you’d wake up from before you got there. 

But you didn’t. 

Just standing there like an idiot when she was holding the keycard up to the door, glancing down to realize you were still holding the flowers in your other limp hand. 

The saddest part was you were pretty sure no one else would give you anything as remotely nice as these. 

“I wasn’t trying to ask you to be-” You tried one more time, but she was already opening the door and pulling you in. 

“You know, you’re kinda being ungrateful,” she huffed, shutting the door with a heavy thud as she dropped her designer purse on the floor. You didn’t even think she knew how much it cost. Probably just purchased it without considering how many meals that much money could’ve bought someone else. 

“I’m ungrateful?” You echoed, hurt coiling hot in your core as you stared in disbelief at her in front of you. You wanted it to be hurt, at least, forcing yourself to look away only to find rose petals all over the floor. 

She reached around to start pulling down the zipper of her dress, stepping out of her heels without pausing before shimmying her clothes off. 

Shit. 

She wasn’t wearing a fucking shred underneath. 

You weren’t a lesbian. At least, you were pretty sure you weren’t a lesbian. But something was fluttering inside you against your will at the subtle bounce of her breasts when she bent over to pick up a rose petal and pinch it between her fingers, pouting like she was disappointed by the color of them. 

“I mean, you have me in front of you, and you’re not even appreciating it,” she complained. 

“If you’re expecting me to beg for you-” you started, awkwardly turning to place the flowers on the closest table, but that only gave her the opportunity to move closer. To bridge the gap between you. 

“I’m not,” she argued back, but the mischievous little grin on her face was enough to cast doubt. “But you will anyway.” 

Your mouth fell open, and it felt like she had your heart in her fist, squeezing it to watch the blood slowly drip out. 

“I’ve seen how pretty you look begging,” she murmured, and that heat simmering inside you just creeped higher, flooding your face as you realized what she meant. Remembered all those videos you’d sent her thinking Satoshi was seeing them. “Wanna hear it for myself.” 

And before you could even deal with the notion that Toru had a plethora of videos of you masturbating stashed away, that she probably had fingered herself to you, she was kissing you. 

She tasted like candy. 

Sugary sweet gloss melting onto your lips as her mouth messily collided with yours. You froze for a few moments, but your lips started to kiss her back. Parting to let her tongue slip in as you were torn between telling her to stop and letting this continue. 

What could you do? 

What should you do? 

If she sent those videos to anyone, your life would be fucking ruined. But you didn’t want to just be Toru’s pet, something she doted on in secret and embarrassed in public. 

And at the same time, your body was reacting to hers almost instinctively, leaning forward instead of pulling away, despite your arms falling to your side, unsure if you could even touch her back. 

Toru, on the other hand, was grabbing a handful of your ass – and one of your tits too. Groping and squeezing while her tongue explored your mouth like she owned it all. 

Maybe if you gave into her now, if you let her have this, have you this once, you could still just leave anyway after graduation. Change your number when you changed cities, fuck, maybe changed countries if it meant getting away from the war she was waging between your head and heart. 

“You’re such a bitch,” you breathed when she broke the kiss, knowing that if she kissed you again, you weren’t going to stop her either. 

She laughed. At that, or maybe just at you. 

And then she was grabbing your hips, twisting you around and guiding you back to the bed, pushing you down on it hard enough to knock the air from your chest. 

“Don’t be a brat,” she pouted, pushing her glossy lips out as she easily rolled up your little skirt around your hips. Grinning at the sight of your lacy little panties, the pure white shade that came a little too close to her hair that she quickly pulled down around your thighs next.

“I’m not a-” 

Your words died in your throat as she slipped a delicate finger inside your warmth before you could protest what exactly you were. No better than a bitch in heat when just an experimental circle had a broken gasp escaping your mouth. 

She smiled at you again, pride and amusement shining like stars in her blue stare. You supposed she’d just found a new way to play with her favorite toy. 

“You’re so cute,” she complimented, climbing on top of you, her knee nudging your thighs further apart as her other hand trailed underneath your shirt. 

You swallowed hard. You knew you should say something else. 

Tell her to fuck off. 

But nothing came out. 

All the words dried up as she dragged her finger even deeper inside you. 

And then added another digit. Slowly getting to work stretching you open, feeling the way your walls started to squeeze down reflexively as she held your stare hostage. 

“You wanna tell me just how much you don’t like me?” She condescendingly hummed, daring you to disagree with her. 

“Do you hate me?” You asked instead, still struggling to wrap your head around the fact this was happening, no longer confident in something you had been certain of an hour ago. That somehow, you were proving her right. That just by being underneath her like this, with the taste of her candied lip gloss on your mouth and her fingers stuffing you full, you had become exactly what she said you were. 

A loser in love with her. 

You tried to tell yourself again that you weren’t. 

“I’m literally, like, in love with you,” she pouted, a hint of a familiar whine in it like she was sick of saying the same thing in different ways. “What do I have to do to make you see that, hm, pretty?” 

Probably erase the past few years from your memory, but you had a feeling she might engineer something like a car accident if it had the chance to cause retrograde amnesia – and force you to let her take care of you. 

And then her thumb drifted over your clit, and you forgot what you were thinking anyway with the soft pressure she applied. 

“Doesn’t it feel good?” She hummed, begging to rub careful circles over it, your body tensing as your chest tightened at the sensation. Your overheating core threatened to send shivers down your spine as her fingertips prodded deeper, faster. 

“T-Toru-” You didn’t know what you were even trying to say, brows knitting together as sweat started to drip down your forehead, everything inside you quickly grew all fuzzy. 

“You know, no one else could make you feel this good, sweetheart,” she said, teasing you as her thumb pressed that sensitive bud between your thighs like it was a goddamn button. 

Activating an embarrassingly primal part of your brain as you felt the pleasure build closer towards a climax you couldn’t believe you might be having. 

“No one else will ever know you like I do,” Toru continued, and you loathed that she might be correct. You told her everything. Every thought. Every secret. Every dream. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to trust anyone else like that again. “Love you like I do.” 

You wanted to hate this as much as you hated her. 

But her fingers were longer than yours, hitting spots you couldn't on your own as she slipped a third one in, swirling it around to tease you with that pretty, lilting laugh of hers. 

“Look at you,” she cooed, still mocking you even when you were in her hotel bed. “Soaked on my fingers like a slut.” 

You were.

Shaking and squirming as her fingers pumped in and out of you, whimpering weakly as she played you like a goddamn instrument. You knew you were going to cum. 

Knew that she’d won. 

Toru had made a mess of you. Unravelled you into a million little pieces that probably would never be put back together again. 

“That’s it, my pretty little lamb,” she cooed, and you wished your head was a little clearer to understand what she giggled about next. Your thighs trembling when she finally crooked her fingers just right, her thumb dragging over your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to finally make you cum for her. 

Your eyes drifting down to her bare body over you, her perfect tits, her flawless skin, the shape of her hips and thighs as her fingers worked in and out of you, her thumb working you through your orgasm as you broke. 

Bent into something unrecognizable under her pressure, her presence, blinking as your brain basically stopped functioning when she filled it with just thoughts of her. 

Watching numbly when she stood up and walked to her bag and back, white hair spilling over her shoulder as she tilted her head to the side to look at the phone in her hand, squinting at the screen as she angled it to capture where you were splayed out in the bleached white sheets. 

“Say cheese.” 

reblogs + comments always appreciated angels <3