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pairing dad's best friend!satoru gojo x university student!afab reader
synopsis you're still not over megumi, but trying to forget about him leads you into risky waters. an unfamiliar set of hands sends you spiraling into the only pair you trust.
tags afab!reader, angst, smoking, unbalanced unhealthy relationship dynamics, f!virginity loss, (sukuna x reader), gore/tattoos, slight corruption kink, use of nicknames girl/baby, oral f!receiving, risky sex, nsfw
word count 12.5k (wtf??)
authors note honorary blog fic update with the new themey-theme :p thank u phyphy for helping me shape this chapter from the ground up and loving/hating gojo right alongside me. in my mind u met sukuna and fixed him like only u can. lets not mention the word-count — i wouldn't be offended if u just skipped to the end to smut, i've edged yall for a while. all my love! enjoy! xx
(jo by @/_3aem 🩻 scene divs by @/cafekitsune)
You're trying not to breathe — working your jaw around a wad of mint gum to drown out the dull, stabbing pain in your lower back. The tattoo needle buzzes in time with your winces growing deeper as his script draws lower.
His hands are big and strong, holding your skin taut in the space just under your waistband. You stewed over the placement so that Dad would never know — going back and forth from your shoulder blade, then to your ankle, perhaps just under your clavicle. But, with a bit of guidance from the burly, light-haired man agonizing over your skin, you decided a small tramp stamp with your surname scrawled in Kanji made for the perfect first tattoo.
"Hah, you said Geto is your surname? Guy won't have any problem remembering your name after the fact."
"Dude, ew."
"That's the point of this placement, smart ass," Sukuna grumbles, strong brow furrowed as he traces the last few strokes. He's draped in dark clothes — short, tattered sleeves showing off his impressive whole-body piece, which Maki couldn't stop asking about upon their first meeting.
Trying to forget that your jeans are pulled down enough to show the soft, pink hearts printed on your panties, you look up, cracking a little smile. "That was kinda my train of thought. I also love my family, I mean," You shake your head, tonguing your gum into the side of your cheek. You look up to see Maki scrolling her phone, back pressed against the full-body mirror at the back of the studio. "When I get married, I want some mark of that name on me."
"Or you could just keep your name." She adds, high-waisted dark jeans gripping her waist into nothing against the dull lighting. Maki waves her phone as she talks, like her point is one to be focused on. Together, your friendship is built on experience — not so much because you're very much alike.
"No," Sukuna drawls, wiping the bleeding ink from your back with a blacked-out paper towel before hunkering down again. "Changing it's the way to go. You can't deny a man his rightful territory."
You swallow that one down, trying to drown out the memory of Megumi's hands on your skin. Even if it was just balanced on your thigh or pinched between your fingers, it still felt good — right. Then, you turn your head around, pressing your right cheek into your crossed arms when the ghost of Gojo's touch against your face hits. You close your eyes, pushing the gum back between your teeth to chew out the weird, sour taste it leaves you with.
"Geto," Sukuna sits up, cracking his neck once he finishes up. He's pinching and pulling at your skin with stained gloves, watching as it blooms into bumps under the warmth of his hand. He can't help but admire the way the redness around the fresh ink blooms when he presses down — how your muscles tighten just barely before releasing again. He licks his lips. "You're all done."
You think he's being nice to you — you hope he is, but you can't really tell. He has one of those faces that swallows happiness before it can even reach it. It is impossible to read those dark, crimson eyes, but you want to. Sukuna rolls back in his stool, tossing his gloves and towels into the trash can, gaze shadowing you the entire time. At the bustle, Maki looks up again, tucking some stray hair behind her ear as she closes in on the final piece.
"Let me see," She mumbles, shrugging her phone under her arm as you're sitting up. Back to the mirror she was just in front of, you lift your shirt and smile at the light-handed lettering peeking against the lace trim of your waistband. "Your Dad is going to freak—
"Not if you don't tell him." You hiss, letting a smile grace your features as Sukuna stands behind you, letting out a gruff, satisfied hum. "Shit — ouchie."
"You gonna run away or will you let me wrap it up for you?" Sukuna watches the two of you ogle over his new piece in the polished mirror, cracking his thick neck as he digs for the proper aftercare materials. A second skin, lots of ointment, and another pair of gloves so he can touch you again. "Come here, girl."
You snap back into attention, chewing on a small smile as you saunter back to him with the lightest limp in your step. Sukuna sees that — makes him breathe out a stupid laugh. "Just be gentle." You offer, then turn around before him, keeping your shirt lifted — your panties pulled so he has easy access to his masterpiece.
A gasp falls from your lips when his fingers push at the swelling, rubbing ointment into the raised skin with the bedside manner of a typical man of his stature. Your heart patters like a hare in your chest, silently enjoying the way he doesn't listen to you — how he doesn't really care that much.
"Ow," You whine for the last time, face scrunching up when he presses a second skin over the tattoo, flattening it down against the vast, sprawling heat of his palm. His other hand digs into your waist, keeping you there — stopping you from running. To Sukuna, dealing with you is like dealing with a grabby-handed child, and he can't figure out why that awakens him.
"That feel good?" He pushes, giving the tattoo one last gentler squeeze before pulling your underwear back up with a delicate, intimate snap.
Okay, that was obvious — he has to be telling you something.
Playing it by ear, you reply, "Ouch."
Sukuna breathes out some semblance of a laugh, letting it disappear into your back before you can really register it. He tugs your jeans back up, adjusting them so the thick waistband doesn't chafe the sensitive skin. "Get out of my studio."
"With a free tattoo? Nice." You peek over your shoulder, hot, minty breath giving way to your flustered words. Sukuna peeks up at you, his cheeks hollow with sucked air and a demeanor unshaken.
"Don't get the idea that I need your money — but I'm gonna need you to pay."
You laugh, shaking your head when his grip falls. Maki approaches you two, eyebrows raised like you're dragging her along. Sukuna stands up from his stupidly small stool and leads the two of you back to the front.
"Oh, Ryo, I just found out that Choso is playing at that club down the street tonight."
You met Tsukumo on your way in, reflecting her expansive knowledge of Shibuya with childlike optimism. She and Maki clicked immediately, sharing social media and going on and on about fashion culture and how the city mirrors it come nightfall. Now, she's sitting back in her cushy, rolling chair, her chic, dark boots kicked up on the polished, new-age metal desk. Her light hair pours over her shoulders like an invitation, and when Sukuna closes in, she sits up, kicking her feet down.
"Is that an invitation or a thought?" He clicks his teeth, leaning over the desktop as you gather your purse and jacket, spitting your gum back to its wrapper to throw away later. Maki leans across the desk, watching Sukuna type something short — random.
"How much are you gonna charge her?"
Sukuna ignores her for a moment, eyes flicking to Tsukumo before moving back to the screen. "Don't know. Are you paying for it?"
"You're such a dick… I love it."
"Get out of the way or get your friend." He drawls, bored as Hell but slightly taken with the midday distraction the two of you provide easily. You hear him mention you in conversation and finish situating yourself, smiling in apologies as you approach the desk.
Sukuna disregards you while you pull out your card, flaunting your Dad's money. "What were you saying about Choso?"
"He just got booked last-minute in Shibuya. It's a crazy lineup, but he invited us." She's not even trying to hide the conversation, so Maki doesn't hide the way she walks into it like it's her own.
"Did he invite us, too?"
"How much are you going to charge me?" You pull his attention back for a moment, eyes staring at his lips as they part to answer your question. You're hanging onto it — to him, and every piece of attention he can offer.
"I'll be nice and do twenty-three thousand. Your skin took to the ink nicely."
You giggle, handing him your card without a thought. He takes it quickly, finishing out the transaction behind his screen.
"Absolutely, we're going." Maki nudges your side, pulling you out of the trance that Sukuna's demeanor pulled you into. "We can get really close to the table — she knows the DJ,"
You glance at Tsukumo, sitting up with her chin propped in her hands. She's smiling — a good, welcoming sign. "I-if she's okay with it, yeah."
"You just invited two kids to a Choso set?" Sukuna's face turns up as he hands you back your card, offended as if someone had cursed him to death.
"Of course, I did. There's no way into that club without knowing someone. God forbid I help out a few girls, they're sweet enough." She glances at you, eyes all sparkly and enticing. "Aren't you just so cute — how's the new ink?"
You light up under the attention, already turning around and lifting your shirt so you can show off the work. Sukuna chuckles behind the desk, catching your eyes when you peek over your shoulder. "So good, I love it so much."
"Geto…" She reads. "A name?"
"My name," You smile, dropping your shirt and turning back around to feed the conversation further.
"Her Dad's name." Maki rushes out with a gentle bite to her tone. "Technically."
"My family name," You reply, voice as dull as a pack of unsmoked cigarettes. "You make it sound so weird."
"Is it not a tattoo for your Dad?"
As you and Maki go back and forth, Tsukumo and Sukuna share a scripted, fleeting look before he butts in. "That might be one of the dumbest points I've ever seen argued before. Get out of my shop."
Tsukumo laughs, waving her hand to extinguish Sukuna's growing flames. She notices how you tuck and cower down like a kicked puppy — a fucked sort of smile on your face. "I'll give you my number, just text me and I'll send you the deets."
"Cool," Maki watches her scratch out her digits on a notepad behind her laptop. "I'll drag my boyfriend along — he hates EDM, but loves me, so it's okay."
"Thanks again. You were so cool, and the tattoo is great," You offer Sukuna as he starts to step away. "A-and if you're going to that DJ set, I guess I'm going too, so—
"Keep that skin on for at least a day — you're a bloody girl, so I'm aiming for more like two days, okay? Don't remove it in the shower or expose it directly to the sun. Once you remove it, gently wash the area and apply more ointment. Don't call me with any questions, search it up." He cuts you off before you can finish, holding open your mouth and pouring information down your throat so you choke on it. You nod quickly like a child, wanting to reach out and tell him to linger a bit so you can pinpoint the undertones of his cologne. Of course, you don't — you are terrified of Sukuna.
"O-okay… That's fine, thank y-
Before you can finish, he's walking off, offering that professional, cold shoulder you thought you overcame with the sheer closeness of the session. Then, you internalize the coldness and wonder if you're just delusional — hungry and angry for touch that he offered up for a little bit of your money.
Your stomach churns. Turning to Maki, you mention, ashamed of yourself, "Let's go."
"Sure." She replies, waving Tsukumo goodbye and jogging to join you at the door. "Are you okay?" You shake your head, swinging the glass door open outward.
"Dude's such a dick — Like, shit." You catch your breath on the sidewalk, stumbling out of the shop like it was a haunted attraction. Your heart is thrumming in mystery and angst, short, staccato bursts of air puffing out of your joined lips as you reassess the environment. "He's an energy vampire, ugh."
"So creepy, right?" She agrees, throwing an arm over your shoulder to walk you down the street and away from the shop. You nod, crossing your arm over her back. "Hopefully, he doesn't show tonight, because we will."
"One or two drinks, and I'll be on his level." You offer, smiling vaguely in her direction. Your back sings in pain, but you're not trying to hide it. "We can have a dick-measuring contest right there on the dance floor."
She laughs, her head thrown back, with no care in the world. "Dude, your Dad is seriously going to flip."
You have to ditch Maki sometime in the late afternoon to see Gojo at work. It's been set in stone since last night — he sent you a text, not an invitation, but telling you to be at his studio at an exact time, because he has something for you. Knowing Gojo, that something could be the equivalent of a brand new car, so you're not going to blow him off. You love how he puts you on a Holy pedestal just like Dad does. As long as he keeps treating you so sweetly, you'll keep kneeling at his feet.
You change your clothes back at your place — a loose-fitting black dress that won't rub or scratch at the new ink. You have to peel tape from the bedroom mirror to see the bleeding tattoo under the lights. It's just like Sukuna said — your skin took it well, but not without a bit of blood. You think that's the aftereffect of him being so heavy-handed.
Unashamed, you're thinking back to his touch — how it lingered after the ink was laid, the way they stayed so steady that he felt hardly human, it just lit you up. You have to shake your head clear of it, though. You can't let him get close.
Or, maybe you will.
Once you're dressed and wrapped up in a loose jacket, you step out of the front door. For summer, the air is surprisingly chilly as evening slowly approaches. The streets are quieter at this odd hour, so you take your time, clutching your little blue purse close.
Gojo's studio is genuinely just a five-minute walk away — down the corner and to the left, situated high and bright in a city scraper. He gives you a code to get in from the bottom, since he only rents a single floor, and tells you not to knock, but to surprise him. His door is always open for you, and you have plans to take advantage of it once you've learned to tolerate him a little better.
You enter through the secure doorway, nodding to friendly strangers as you make your way to the ultra-modern elevator. Riding to the 13th floor alone, you stand with your back to the wall, focusing on the way the pressure hits your fresh tattoo just right. It's an addictive sear, only sparking under certain circumstances. Everything feels a bit more real when you're experiencing pain, whether it's hunger pangs, cramps, or body modding — you think you're obsessed with it.
The elevator doors pull open, and the brightness of the whited-out hallway stuns you back down to Earth. Of course, you know Gojo has money, but you weren't expecting this kind of money — city money.
You smile as you navigate your way to the frosted glass entry, pulling it open without knocking, just like Gojo asked. You step inside the space, met with a small waiting room — three chairs, all tucked together in the corner with a wall-mounted TV and years of sports awards tacked onto the drywall. You let the door close slowly, tucking your arms over your chest as you admire the space. Outside the windows, the city breathes like a pair of healthy lungs, pulsing with trains and laughter, bustling as the workday draws to a close. It distracts you for a second; you don't even realize you haven't made yourself known yet.
"Gojo?" You call, moving into the narrow hallway, only covered by three slim, white doors. The one towards the back left is cracked, and from the view, you can vaguely make out an office — a desk and chairs, with a laptop propped open. "It's just me!"
Nothing. Silence hits you like a slap in the face.
"Gojo?" You try again, chewing on your bottom lip as you walk deeper into the space. You go to his office, pushing the door open gently, just peeking to check. You don't see him, so you turn back around and try the second door.
You push it open into a complete, state-of-the-art, professional gym — weights hang from walls, ropes tied in clusters on the vaulted ceilings. Like white noise, the thumping sound of fists hitting foam doesn't register until you're sticking your head into the room, mouth falling open when you finally see him.
You're fucked — he's shirtless, beading sweat in all the right places as he lays a routine out on a test dummy, no gloves, no shoes, just him and all of his years of training filed down to a daily practicing session. His beauty angers you so much because nobody who's pushing fifty has eyes like this. A soul like Gojo's is hard to come by, period, but even more so in his generation. He's so mystifying and deadly, turning his head as soon as he sees the door open in the reflection of the wall mirrors.
"Hey, Kid!" He chirps, just like always, giving you that stupid nickname you abhor. He's all breathless and strung out on energy, chest rising and falling dutifully as he catches it. "Sorry, I got a little hot there. How long have you been waiting?"
"Not that long." You take a few more steps into the room, watching him snatch up a discarded shirt to squeeze back over his bulging muscles. You shiver a bit at the sight, smiling when his fluffy head pops back out, white hair all strewn about and flat on his scalp — sticking up in odd places. His shirt is one of those compression ones he seems to never take off, but you can't complain for shit. He's so hot. Criminally hot. "That was so cool, you should teach me a little fighting."
Gojo's face lights up like a kid in a candy store, jaw slack as he closes in on you. "I smell like sweat, so you have to, as well." He pulls you in for a hug, squeezing your shoulders tight in his grip as he presses you into his built chest. You don't pull away; in fact, you immensely enjoy the interaction — this tiny show of intimacy that shows just how close you have gotten in such a short amount of time. "I'm all yours to learn from. Whenever you want it, this gym is yours to use. Just let me guide you when you start."
"Please," You insist, patting his back a few times before pulling away. "I wouldn't dream of doing it on my own."
"Hey, someone's in a good mood. Is it because your friends touched down today? How was your breakfast with them?" Gojo mentioned the message you sent him around sunrise this morning, asking him how he slept and that you'd be seeing your friends for breakfast today. He offered to pay your way, you declined, and now you're here in his arms.
"Somewhat." You decide not to tell him about the tattoo, at least not yet. He'd have to ask or see it in passing for any answers, but you won't lie to him. "I also just want to know what my surprise is."
"Ah, that explains the mood." He laughs, winding his heavy, lanky arm around your shoulder. He walks with you in tow, peeking down at you through fine, white hair as you stumble against his demanding weight. He's so close that you can feel his breath blow across your face in proximity, and it makes you shiver. "I remember promising you a special something."
Standing in the space where one room ends and the hallway starts, you bite your bottom lip, gazing up at him like an expectant child. "Lots of diamonds? Everything I've ever wanted? Your company?" You're listing off everything Gojo has told you in passing, forgetting half of the stupid conversations he pulled you into because you couldn't see behind his title — Dad's Best Friend.
Scratch that — Dad's lifelong childhood best friend.
Now, looking at him like this, his hefty touch on your body, you forget about all of that for a second. Looking down at you like he's entranced, Gojo feels more like a… friend?
Either way, he laughs that off. "All of that still stands, but I was thinking something more… bipedal?" He furrows his polished brows, stepping away from you for just a moment to cross to the only closed door in the condensed studio space. He cracks open the door, boasting a sick, toothy grin, and the door opens to nothing but sunlight.
Floor-to-ceiling windows block off entirely two of the walls; similarly tall mirrors occupy the other two, beaming bright streaks of harsh sunlight against the polished wood floors. Everything in here is so clean — sparkling like Gojo just took a mop to the floor.
Deep down, you know he didn't. There's probably housekeeping in here every other day. But, disregarding the cleanliness, your eyes rake and fall onto a full-sized, brushed-silver bike, wrapped with a delicate, white ribbon on its handlebars.
"Fuck, are you kidding?" You beam immediately, shouldering past him in the entryway to crowd your new prize. Gojo stays at the door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. For a moment, he watches you quietly, offering you a stern smile when you beam back at him.
"It's yours."
"You fucking liar, you said you had a thousand just lying around…" You kick the kickstand up, fingers running over the plastic sticker label on the brand-new body. "You just bought this, asshole."
"So, what? You like it, don't you?" Gojo watches as your dress lifts ever so lightly as you hoist yourself onto the seat, boots fitting snugly against the pedals. You beam at him, feeling freer than the birds flying past the windows as you stand up on the bike, riding circles around the room.
On your first lap through the room, you catch Gojo's shiny stare in passing, turning back to smile at him, "You're seriously the coolest. I'm sorry for ever treating you like a piece of shit."
He laughs when you do, rushing forward to eat your dust on your second pass. "Yeah? I don't believe you."
"Suck it, old man!" You tease, face curled up in early mischief as you pedal into a steady pace, sitting back down on your seat once you're gliding with little direction.
"Old man?! Oh—" Gojo takes that like an insult, waiting until you glide past him one more time before intervening. If you fall, so what? He'll pick you up — Gojo reaches out for your handles with God-like reflexes, steadying both bars and skidding you to a risky halt. You stumble, chewing on a soft gasp as he comes into your steady vision.
"Really? You could have killed me!"
"I would've caught you if you fell…" He whispers, in such close contact with you that he doesn't need to give more than you need. Blinking into his pearly, shimmering gaze, your heart falls into your ass. "Old man, piece of shit, fucking liar, asshole, tool — what else do I have to repeat back to your father?"
"Don't be a narc,"
If Gojo were a bit braver, he'd close the distance and kiss some respect into your veins, knowing you wouldn't push him away. However, he's the adult here — self-control is a must. Instead of laughing you off or stepping away, he lingers close to your face and studies your features down to the very marrow, clicking his tongue when he says, "You know, you don't look like him at all."
"Does that make it easier?" You reply, piggybacking off his tone as your heart runs circles in your chest, just like you rode circles around this room. He's standing at the front of your bike, pinning the handlebars so you can't pull away. For a moment, you two linger in this space, smirking against warm breaths and words unsaid. You wish he'd give it up and kiss you already — it's evident that's what he wants to do.
Yet, he decides to hold back just a little longer, letting the battle work itself out in his mind in time. Gojo's trying to tell himself that you're not interested — how could you be? He's twice your age, totally removed from club and drug culture, and you're seemingly right in the throes. All he can offer you is his only hour of free time a day, his sleepless nights, money, and maybe a lovely meal here and there. It's all he has, and you need someone who can run circles around you.
Or, that's what Gojo guesses by how he's perceiving you. Surely you don't need a man to lock you down and turn you out. Right?
You leave Gojo's with a full tummy from your late lunch, run back home to change, then head back out to dinner with Maki and Yuta, where you only picked at a sushi platter. You watch them bounce off each other's little endearments and annoyances all night, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, clearly in love. It makes you mad, almost, how they fell into each other's laps like pieces to a puzzle. They talk to each other in a language you can't quite understand — not like you and Megumi spoke to each other, but more reminiscent of Gojo and all your bantering tendencies.
Most of the time, Yuta sits back and lets Maki take the reins, completely dazzled and speechless with every precise move she makes. His eyes wander over her body, trailing across her waist and the shape of her thighs in her dark pants, and he doesn't apologize for it. It's so evident that they're in love, and that's what you crave. You want it right down to your marrow. You think you'd die without it, just like you'd die if you didn't constantly feel some pain.
Standing in the building-wrapped line to the club with a cigarette smoking between your fingers, you have your brows knitted, staring daggers down at your phone screen as Maki makes conversation with the girl waiting with you. Yuta idles next to the line, hands stuffed in his loose, denim pockets as his dark eyes scan everything but the goers' eyes. He feels like he's the only sober one here and takes that to the core.
You, however, are thoroughly sober, but drunk on anger. Gojo hasn't left you alone since you arrived at the club, sending you vague, worried messages like he didn't have the specifics of your location all the time. It's a stupid, trivial back-and-forth on your phone screen that you don't want to turn away from.
From: Gojo
Don't like that club.
To: Gojo
shut up
From: Gojo
Don't care. Don't like.
Not in that dress.
What have you taken?
To: Gojo
idiot
i changed my clothes, i'm wearing a skirt
You scoff around a drag, pulling your lips down to blow the smoke towards your exposed knees. Maki turns to you after a moment, propping her hip against the shoddy concrete. "Put it down, vixen."
"Dude." You deadpan, shaking her thoughts from your head as you ponder on another message. "Do you see this man blowing me up?"
Maki glances at Gojo's texts, then at your oddly… satisfied demeanor, and cracks a smile. "Oh, please. He wants you so bad, and you love it."
Your legs tremble as her words rush over you — sinking into your skin like pins and needles. "H-he… Y-you—
Maki fumbles over her words, mocking how lost you seem against her filthy, ragged read. "Take your time."
"He's just a fucking man. Forty years old or not."
"More like fifty." She smiles, showing all of her teeth like a predator for prey. You laugh a little, locking your phone and stuffing it away as the line moves forward. Maki has to linger a bit, holding her hand out for her little puppy to come running. "Yuta!"
"Sorry!" He snaps back to focus, jogging to meet you guys in line and grab Maki's awaiting hand. Behind them, you shrug your purse closer, glossed lips chewing at the filter of your smoke as you bite back nerves. You're just waiting for him to stumble into you at any second — The tattoo artist, Sukuna. You know they're here.
You three almost make it to the door before the worst — and the best — comes to be. Lingering close by the bouncer, all tight in mini-shirts and cut shirts, you see Tsukumo and Sukuna first. They're an unmistakable duo, but it's Tsukumo's waist-length hair pushed over her shoulder that sparked familiarity. You perk up.
"Oh, it's the kids." Sukuna notices you and Maki first, with stringy pink hair weighed down by gel, blinking from his eyes when they scan your face. In the darkness, his similarly dark eyes shine something sinister, and you're falling in before you can even catch yourself.
He looks so good, dripped in chains — dark jeans and painted nails, pierced tongue running over his top lip as you look on in mystique. "Hey, Sukuna." You speak up, turning that tucked-in state you were just in to dust, pretending like you've known him your entire life.
You can tell in the way he's looking at you — up and down, drinking you in like water, or something poisonous. He taps Tsukumo on the shoulder, pulling her attention from the familiar bouncer to point out your small group. "The kids."
"Oh, I'd recognize this baby face anywhere." Her face lights up when she sees you, skipping in her heels with arms wide open to wrap you in a hug. Maki watches on, hand covering the cheeky smile she's trying to hide. "Geto girl!"
You laugh — genuinely, wrapping your arms around her shoulders in a fleeting hug, skin to skin in the slight warmth of the night. She then turns to Maki when you pull away, standing with her hip popped as if she's waiting for the mysterious girl to make a move. "Hello, stranger."
"Well, hello, hello," Maki replies, scanning over Tsukumo's tight-fitting all-black ensemble, right down to her knee-high faux leather boots. "Yuta's my boyfriend. You won't even notice him tonight, don't worry." She speaks into a hug, smiling and clutching the blonde by the shoulders, if only for a second.
"I wasn't expecting to." She mumbles around a tight-lipped, but genuine, smile, waving over at Yuta, who stares at her — popping a soft side-smile. "Cutie. Keep that one within eyesight, hm?"
"Don't worry, he's tied down by chains."
Tsukumo and Maki go on quietly, smiling in each other's faces, locked arm in arm, nodding in agreement over something you can't hear. For a moment, the bustle of the jittering crowd seemed to fade when Sukuna's eyes glinted towards you like he wanted to say something. You're hanging onto every thread of his demeanor — the curl of his fingers around black rings and the way he chews the inside of his cheek in impatience. He can feel you staring from worlds away, and to him, you're just an ant — a little lost puppy dog grasping for affection.
It's why he blatantly ignores your sad stare as he turns to the bouncer when you guys are next in line, whispering something curt in his ear before turning to Tsukumo. "Just the three of 'em?"
"Yeah," she speaks over her shoulder, trying to carry the conversation with Maki just a bit further before it breaks against the chaos of the club.
The bouncer mutters something to someone behind the open door, noting your presence as if you were fated in these four walls. Sukuna seems to know almost everyone here — he nods in passing to a few of them, using that stark gaze to get where he wants, and fast.
You drop your cigarette onto the pavement before your group steps through the threshold, following Sukuna's brooding, light head through the thin crowd around the outskirts of the dance floor. Tsukumo, Maki, and Yuta trail behind you and Sukuna, and the only reason you're walking so fast is to keep up with his long, heavy strides. You feel like you're about to fall over with your pace, but you don't want to let him out of your sight.
Finally, Sukuna turns back to you when you're all tucked behind the table, leaning against the black metal barriers keeping the space somewhat secure. It's your first time being in an environment like this, stoked in blue lights and pulsing waves of electricity. Between sets, popular house music roars over the speakers, drowning out the constant chatter of voices as bodies sway and push. You could really use a drink right now — maybe something heavier.
For now, it feels like you're chasing a buzz in the way Sukuna's eyes rake over you. He's not trying to hide it — he's trying to take in every inch of your soft, familiar skin and tuck it away to remember on a lonely night.
The way you lean — hips jutted, soft skirt flowing over your thighs, but stopping just before it can kiss your knees, makes his breath catch. You're so feminine and sensual with your lazy, smudged makeup, exposed collarbones, and expectant stare. He's waiting for you to say something, maybe to explain that look on your face, but you don't.
Silently, you swallow against the deep thrum of an uncomfortable bassline, ignoring your writhing friends blending in as the set time grows closer and the crowd thickens. You and Sukuna stay in that side-by-side silence for what feels like lifetimes — really, just two minutes, but it's safe back here in the dark, a few rows back from the DJ and shielded by bodies in the harsh lights.
The announcer hypes up Choso's name, getting the crowd roaring and hungry — thick as bodies push and move to get in the spot you and Sukuna hold. Still, in your absent little corner, the two of you are alone. He keeps staring at you, eyes locked on your breasts — the way your necklace falls so delicately, there. He doesn't hide the invisible, passing way his tongue licks over his bottom lip like he wants to eat you alive. Your body lights on fire.
When Choso comes out, the crowd erupts before an uncanny silence falls over the venue. In that small pocket of space, Sukuna leans over and whispers in your ear. "Don't stare at me like that and expect me to hold back."
Something about his choice of words hits with so much menace that it makes you weak. You have to reach back, holding onto the barricade to keep your knees from buckling. As soon as you open your mouth to speak, the beat to a heavy-hitting EDM track ravages the floor, but you and Sukuna stand stoic, side-by-side.
"Don't hold back." You take a step closer to him, the side of your hip pressing into his leg. He looks down at you, blowing a laugh right into your adoring, wide gaze. Studying the inky darkness of his face tattoos in the light, all of your inhibitions flutter away with the beat of the music. Sukuna closes in on you, breath ragged as he reaches for the waistband of your skirt.
"Nice skirt."
"It's an antique." You gasp when he pulls the waistband, dark eyes flicking from your shivering pupils to whatever you have hiding under that pretty fabric. Usually, you'd feel so exposed and entirely too sober to be so taken by him, but you're just so taken with the feeling of being wanted — finally, carnally wanted.
"Different panties from this morning, too. Should've taken and kept 'em in my pocket."
Your stomach drops, core tightening and quivering around every one of his words as he offers them up. You've never felt this alive before, like you're finally stepping into how you feel as a woman without trying to drown it out with temptation and feeling. Sukuna makes you feel alive, even when he's staring down your skirt in the middle of a club.
Crawling over Sukuna's splayed body in his dingy studio apartment, you're not sure what exactly you're trying to achieve; you know that you need this. His touch is big and hot over your back, digging into the dull throbbing pain where your new tattoo is. Sukuna knows that — of course, he does, he likes the face you make when you wince.
Knees dug into his unmade bed, creaking under the shared weight of the two of you. You kiss and nuzzle at his neck, inhaling the salty-smoky undertones of his pheromones. Deep down, you think he can't tell just how inexperienced and nervous you are — entirely too sober for this, but your body is on fire. You can't stop shaking, fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt, telling him in every way but with words that you want it off.
"Want you." You purr, experimentally humping down on his knee, feeling his hard body peek through the fabric of your skirt. Reaching back to tangle your fingers in his oily hair, thick with product, you imagine that they're soft and dark, instead. You close your eyes and imagine that the knee you're grinding on is the one you wanted to marry — that you dreamed of marrying since you were a girl.
Everything about doing this with Sukuna feels so wrong, but you need it. Twenty-two years of being untouched, repressed by your partner, and finally able to face the hormonal nature of your being, all stacked up into this filthy, unfurling mess.
"Enough of this, gotta be inside you." He grunts, gruff and insensitive, into your skin. His hands grab and claw at your skirt, holding your ass like he owns it — entirely too rough, entirely too scary. Your breath hitches.
"A-at least touch me."
"You think I like you?" He mutters, unfazed, like it didn't just send daggers through your soul. "No. I want you."
You can't just ignore it. In good conscience, you can't just swallow that down — it hurts. "Really?"
"Are you not here to get fucked? Did you not say you wanted me, too?" He pulls away from you for a minute, eyes shadowed and thick with annoyance and nerves. Still sat on his lap, hand in his hair, you debate it silently. "Do you think I treated you like that because I liked you?"
He doesn't have to say anything else. You don't have to hear anything else, and you damn sure can take a hint.
When you stand up, wiping your smudged lipstick, Sukuna rolls his head back in a sigh. "Just leave… And you're lucky it's only me you led on. Any other guy around these parts wouldn't let you go that easily."
Sukuna's words settle over you for a second — the nonchalant nature of his tone stabbing you two more times in the gut. You stumble across the room, bleeding out and sensitive, rethinking everything you thought you needed.
Your heart feels heavy as you slip back into your boots, stumbling against the tile entryway, cloaked in uncomfortable, impending silence. You wish you could see Sukuna's face — perhaps, read his mind, but you're not sure you'd like what he's thinking.
"Do you even know where you are?" He drones, some semblance of guilt finding its way into his heart as you stumble for the door. "It's two in the morning, just let me call you a ride or something."
"I can walk."
"When I see your face in the missing persons report, I'm going to tell the police exactly what I'm telling you now."
"…Thanks. Hope they find my killer."
"Will probably try to pin me for it—
"Even better." You spit, pulling open the door and slamming it shut in the span of two seconds. You feel so cold — so disrespected and ridiculed, and you can't exactly pinpoint why. Was this not the reason you decided to go home with him? To hook up?
You can't seem to steady your mind, and when you stumble outside, your decision doesn't hit until you're scanning your surroundings, heart racing because you genuinely have no idea where you are. This part of town isn't exactly the cushy financial district Dad put you up in, and it's sending you into a spiral.
The wisest decision you could make here might just be the worst. You could go back upstairs, swallow your pride, and ask Sukuna for a ride home, or…
Or, you could call Gojo.
You can't remember the last time you pulled out your phone, but it hasn't been on your mind. You and Sukuna dipped your heads out pretty soon after Choso started, talking your time on the walk back to his. Neither of you spoke much — you asked about how long he'd been tattooing, and he answered in some roundabout fashion that left you with more questions than answers. He's so gruff, treating you like a doll or a baby — tugging you around by the forearm, cursing you when you'd veer off your path and walk into him.
You thought the dominance was what you needed — you thought he'd change once you touched him, but he's just as hard as Megumi thinks he is.
When you pull your phone out, your heart drops. On your screen sits a pile of messages and missed call notifications, blinding your sensitive eyes in the dark night. They're all from Gojo, and you don't even read the texts; you're already shaking with nerves, unfamiliar with how he gets when he's upset. You can tell he's upset — it's in the air of the situation.
Still, you call him back with shaky hands, stepping off the front stoop of Sukuna's building. The line hardly rings once before it's clicking — Gojo beats you to it.
'I'm coming to get you right now. Do not move. Hello? Do you understand?'
"Gojo…" You whisper, on the verge of tears, though he didn't sound angry, just worried.
'Stay on the phone.' He demands, wind rushing past the speaker. 'What happened? Are you safe?'
"N-nothing happened…" You reply, defeated and starving in every form of the word. "I went home with this guy and I— uh, it didn't work out—
'Guy?! What guy?!'
"Please…" You beg, trying to keep your voice even through the shaking. "We didn't do anything, please don't tell my Dad."
Maybe it's something about how innocent and scared you sound, but Gojo can't be mad. You're broken and soft on the other line — that shake in your voice unmistakable. 'I won't tell Suguru.' His nerves even out once he takes a breath, the sound of his car door swinging shut a welcome omen that he'd be here soon. 'But I am upset that you put yourself in this situation. You are not in the countryside, do you understand? You are young and unassuming — stunning, too. A man won't ask; he will do. I hope you understand that.'
"I-I understand." Bearing the lecture like you would if it's Dad on the other line, you stand with your shoulders sagging, head low between your shoulders. "I know, I just thought it'd work out between us. I really wanted it to."
'No,' He rushes out, heavy and demanding with strength and knowledge. 'If you need anything from any man, you ask me. Always. That is the promise I made him, and I won't break it.'
"H-we—
'I think I see you, hold on,'
As soon as Gojo pauses, headlights rounding the corner, the door to Sukuna's building, behind you, swings open with raw strength, slamming it back against the brick wall. "Fuckin— I knew it. Hey, get inside! I'm calling you a ride home!"
"Fuck off! I don't need your help!"
"Get the fuck inside!" He yells, voice booming through the quiet street. Your voice trembles around what you want to say, but just seeing him right now is like the final stab that sends you to your grave. "You're pathetic! If I saw you out here, I'd kill you too!"
"You are literally the worst person ever, my God!" You're too busy yelling back, phone hung by your side as headlights close in on the two of you. Your blood is all hot and spiked, letting the throes of anger block out the slam of a car door — the flurry of footsteps as they close in behind you.
"Get in the car!" Gojo grabs your shoulders from behind, cutting your screaming match short as he spins you around, pushing you towards his idling car parked in the middle of the narrow city street — not a care in the world. You jump, catching your footing as Gojo closes in on Sukuna, standing barefoot in his entryway. "Is there an issue?"
"What? Don't tell me she dragged her Dad to my front door." Sukuna scoffs, ready to turn around and let you leave him alone forever, but slightly interested in what this poised, long, white-haired idiot has to say next.
Comfortable in loose sweats and a t-shirt, Gojo nearly sprints to the doorway, ready to assault whatever bastard made you feel so worthless. "Do I look like her Dad?"
Before Gojo can crowd him, Sukuna stands back, ready to slam the protected entry shut right in his face. "Right, creepy uncle is more your speed. Have fun with that one, it's fucking clueless."
"It?! How about I rip this door off the hinges and beat some respect into you?!"
"Gojo!" You roll down the car window, yelling through the passenger's side with tear-streaked makeup. "Let's just go, please…"
"Listen to it — pathetic."
Gojo sucks his cheeks in, ready to lay this idiot down on his ass — perhaps steal his last breath, but he's shut behind reinforced glass now, Sukuna mocking him with a snarl on his hard, tattooed face. "If I ever see you around here…"
"Yeah, blah-blah — threaten me all you want, grandpa." Sukuna chuckles, stuffing his hands into his jeans as he turns around, letting Gojo fume on the other side of the door. Tonight was not a good night — being blue-balled, then threatened, was not how Sukuna expected you to end. He's glad you did, though. Sukuna has no use for a virgin. He could read it on you as soon as you started touching him.
Gojo, however, can't exactly pinpoint how he's feeling. He's ashamed of himself, knowing that he should've just come to swoop you up from the club, but hopeful you could handle yourself and have a good time. Sure, he's strict, but he knows why you're in Shibuya even more — Suguru wanted you to live your life, and Gojo had no right to come between that.
So, he's not guilty, but he's upset. Yeah — he's upset. That's the feeling he settles on.
He walks back to the car, pale face flushed with emotion, and his fingers fiddling as he tries to regulate his breathing before he reaches you. It's truly a sad, pitiful sight — you sobbing in the passenger seat, hunched body and shaking shoulders. Gojo wishes he could take it all away, but knows that there's nothing he can truly do to make you feel better. For a young girl like you, he knows rejection like this comes with the territory; he just didn't suspect he'd have to face it head-on. He chose not to have kids for a reason.
When he slides back in, your cries quiet down, turning into the occasional sniff and whine. Gojo lets the silence settle for a moment, swallowing back so much he has to say. Picking his thoughts like fruit, he shifts the car into drive and mentions, "I'm glad you're safe."
"Me too."
Gojo smiles, thinking he played that one perfectly. "I want you to know that I am not upset with you at all. Just scared, hm?"
"Mhm…" You reply, looking up when you hear him shift in his spot. The car eases into motion, and Gojo slides his hand across the middle console, holding his palm upwards as an invitation. You look down at it, then to him, and decide — fuck it.
Your right hand, once shaking and unsure, slides against Gojo's left like you've felt him all your life. Damp with tears and snot, he doesn't care. He winds his long fingers around your smaller hand and brings it to his lips, eyes locked on the road as he kisses over your knuckles twice.
Staring at him with a slack jaw and blurry vision, you can't pull away. This touch is something you've never felt before — genuine, honest, and affectionate. It's such a far cry from how you were handled in the past with Megumi, then to how Sukuna held you for a moment. This feels… real, like Gojo cares. The tenderness lights you up from the inside out, stoking the fire you so badly wanted to tap into.
Staring at his perfect side profile, rushed and lit up by the night, your heart opens just a bit, widening for a pair of scary blue eyes that you know might hold you better than anyone who's tried to in the past.
"Gojo…" You whisper, hand pressed to his lips as he hums. Your fractured soul seems to piece itself back together as you stare at him, and that scares you. You need him to tell you what this is… now. "I-I don't—
"It's okay." He replies, voice soft and low so as not to scare you further. He lowers your hand, but still keeps it in his grip, rubbing his thumb across your heated skin. "You're with me, now. You're safe."
Gojo takes you back to his apartment.
You've never seen it before, but when the choice came up to go to yours or his, you couldn't turn this down, more like you won't turn it down — not when you feel like this. He gets out of the car first, opening your door as you step into the grey of his apartment deck. The cars surrounding you are all expensive models, giving you a taste of the demographic Gojo fits into.
You can see now that he tends to hide his wealth from the plain eye — no flashy jewelry or loud, boasting designs on his skin. Every time you've seen this man, he's been in training clothes or sweats, but you love it. You know he polishes up nicely, and you know you want to see it.
Walking with his keys jingling beside him, Gojo lets you trail behind, leading you to a pair of frosted glass doors. He has an inkling that you prefer silence right now, and though he can't stand it, he wants you to be comfortable. The doors open for you, and, biting down on your fist, you follow him into the elevator.
As the shiny, metal doors drag shut, Gojo hesitates before pressing his floor number, still silent, respectful to your withered state. He doesn't want to believe what this looks like — feels like. He wishes he could open his mouth and say that you can leave whenever you need to, but he finds himself choosing silence in your favor again.
As you two ride up, Gojo leans against the handlebars across from you, trying to stop his wandering eyes as he sees you in good light for the first time. He can't even try to hide it anymore. You're so beautiful.
He rolls his lips between his teeth, swallowing as he rakes his eyes over your crossed, shaking legs. The silk in your skirt stops his search midway, turning his attention to the shape of your hips and the curve of your waist. Gojo lets a steady stream of air pass through his lips as he blinks back up to your face, catching onto the tail-end way you wipe your left eye before the elevator slows to a stop.
Without a word, you follow him out and through the short hallway, stopping in front of a shiny wood door that he has to unlock with the keys dangling from his fingers. Gojo doesn't waste any time, which you're grateful for. If you could spend this night on his couch, that's all you need to feel good enough to be alone again.
Gojo tosses his keys on a side table in the dropped genkan, toeing off his shoes before you can draw the door completely shut. The silence is starting to grow heavy; you can feel it too, but you still won't speak until he initiates the conversation. Your mind is just so completely lost.
Before you can take off your strapped heels, Gojo drops to his knee in front of you, head hung as he whispers, pulling at your shoes, "You're killing me, Kid."
For some reason, the nickname doesn't bother you as much as it used to. Leaning down to bravely comb a hand through his fine hair, he looks up at you, brows downturned and forehead on full display. You crack a sad smile, shamelessly endeared by how he's handling you right now. He unhooks the first clasp on your shoes, looking down as he pulls it from your foot.
You step out, jutting your right foot for him to set free, and he does so without hesitation. When you're back on level ground, your hand falls from his hair to his face, trailing across his chiseled, soft cheek. It's just an inkling, but you think you know what this is, now.
Eyes shut as you touch his face, Gojo rakes over his bottom lip, leaning into you before crossing his strong hand over the back of your thigh, squeezing it softly. You gasp, eyes wide and hopeful as his touch smooths against your skin, trailing under your skirt, running across the swell of your ass.
You're so soft and young that your skin feels like it's made out of butter — silky and smooth against the years he carries in his hands. It's impossible to say no, and even more impossible to turn you away once you're stripped so emotionally bare in his apartment.
Gojo knows. He feels the guilt weighing him down like cinderblocks, but… God, he's a coward.
Still on his knee in the genkan, Gojo leans forward and drops his forehead against your thighs, overcome and just needing to breathe without looking up and seeing you, or more so, your Dad. He needs to make this decision — he can send you home to an ocean of tears and self-hatred, or he can make it all go away with one wave of his magic wand.
Turning his head to the side, he stares blankly into his dark apartment, trying not to feel so overcome by your fingers massaging his scalp. Gojo needs you to say something — to make this easier on him.
Almost like you read his mind, you whisper, a shell of your needy teenage self in the hands of this beautiful, capable man, "I don't wanna be alone."
It's not exactly what you want to say, but it's close — it's a hint that Gojo so desperately needed to get his mind rolling again. You're an open wound, needing something to fill the gash if only temporarily. This didn't have to mean anything in the long run. That's what he has to tell himself. He doesn't quite know the effect it'll have on you when he turns and kisses your knee, trailing his lips all the way over your skirt and stopping at your jutted pelvis, biting over the sliver of exposed skin on your soft tummy.
"Your skin is like honey." He whispers against you, kissing and suckling at your lower stomach, turning his pink lips red in your favor. "So sweet… so soft."
"Please, touch me." You find yourself asking for the second time tonight, unable to control the constant, unsteady engine between your legs that you've never felt so blatantly before. It's running you into reckless, yet steady arms, and you like it. "B-between my thighs, please."
Gojo hates the way your voice shivers around your pleas, as if you're ashamed of your need. Truthfully, Gojo hasn't been in this position in nearly five years. His work really took off after a fleeting romance ended, and all the energy he lost in her, he funneled straight into work. No woman has made him come close to breaking that self-bond, but you're barrelling right through it with your shaking legs and sensitive tone — the prettiest wrecking ball he's ever seen.
"Please…" You whine, grip turning hard and demanding in his hair as you fight tooth and nail with your mind and body. Through gritted teeth, you whisper, "I need this so bad… I won't tell anyone. Nothing has to change. I need this."
"Everything will change whether you like it or not." Gojo's eyes are wide when he looks up at you, begging you for a different outcome — one that won't leave you broken in the long run. He doesn't want you to hate him, and he doesn't want you to look for this in anyone else. He swore to Suguru that he'd keep you safe, and his lax mood tonight pushed you right into the arms of danger. He'd never forgive himself if he let the door close on you.
Call it pity, but Gojo can't let you leave like this.
He makes up his mind when he rises to his feet, gaze shadowed as he takes your hand. Swallowing down nerves, you bite your lip and follow him hand-in-hand past the doorway and into his spacious apartment. Lights flick on in passing, seemingly motion-activated, because Gojo is on a steady mission to press you into his bed — you said you needed it.
The lights in his room are also motion-activated, and his bed is made and pressed pristinely. In fact, everything in Gojo's house is abnormally in order. You wonder if he happens to enjoy cleaning or will pay someone to do his dirty work. You hope it's the latter.
You find yourself not hoping for anything but his lips on yours as he cradles the side of your head, brave enough to stare straight at you as he pulls you into a kiss. Lips soft and finally touching yours, you stand at the side of the bed with closed eyes, gently pursing your lips against his. He's not using his tongue, just taking his time letting you adjust to the feeling of someone's lips on yours. Gojo hates how he can tell just how inexperienced you are, and hates that he doesn't mind very much. Your fumbling lips are endearing, your heart beating like a drum against his chest.
Right now, in his arms, you're not his best friend's kid — you're not even a kid. You're a woman who knows what she wants. He can tell as much when you let his hand go and press it experimentally into his crotch, core pulsing when you feel the heaviness against your palm. Gojo's not sure when he got so excited, but he's filling out his pants, dick interested in something that wasn't the thought of his current celebrity crush and his own left hand.
You feel like he knows, but when his hands slide back under your skirt, you feel the need to breathe into his skin, "I-I'm a virgin,"
Gojo pulls away for a second, smiling softly when he sees you under the soft lights, shaking and panting through kissed lips. He reaches up, cradling your chin, tucking some hair from your face. "Good girl."
You want to laugh, but it comes out like a scoff. "What do you mean?"
"It's hard to come by a man who is comfortable with the aspect of taking it." He starts, stroking your face softly as he explains his reasoning into your slack jaw. "Let alone one who knows how to take it correctly." Gojo kisses you, overcome with that sweet look on your face that makes his soul shiver. "Would you like me to undress you, or would you like to do it alone?"
"Help." You decide before he can even finish, taking a step back to flop back onto the bed. It's true, you're addicted to his touch now. Even when he was pulling at your shoes, it felt so sweet and pleasant — precisely what you needed. He laughs a bit, too, seemingly more at ease as the situation has time to settle and he's not so lost in his head.
Raising your arms like an expectant angel, Gojo bites his lips and steps forward, sliding his fingers under your tight waistband and pulling your shirt up and off. It gets caught in your necklace, pulling and tugging at your skin as he gently guides it over your face. Gojo's barely breathing now that you're nearly naked in front of him — clad in an unassuming black bra. He doesn't look at it; he looks at your face.
"Lift your hips." He demands, ready and roaring to finally get this delicate fabric off of your body and onto his floor. That damn skirt has made him crazy since he saw it, and now that you're this close, he has a mind to make you wear it every day just so he can peel it from your familiar body.
You listen to him easily, leaning back on your stretched arms to tilt your hips upward. "I-I want you to be dominant. Tell me what to do."
"Mm," He replies, fingers lost in the fabric of your skirt as he tugs it down your hips. Your underwear gets caught alongside his strength, bunching and pulling around your hips. Gojo's mouth waters when he sees the ghost of your core against it, jaw tightening to manually hold himself back. "You don't have to ask that of me. I hope you'd expect it."
"Just making sure." You sound confident, but your soul is swimming. "I trust you… More than anyone."
"Oh," Gojo shakes his head as that revelation falls over him, a sick mix of feelings swimming its way through his gut that all adds up to arousal. You keep speaking in that sweet tone that lights him on fire, and you don't even know. Just the word 'dominant' from your mouth made his dick jump. "That's the goal, you know, you can always come to me." Your skirt gets tossed over his shoulder, and you're left in bunched up panties, your gold necklace, and bedroom eyes, already fucked on the thought of him. Gojo pulls his t-shirt off, hair everywhere, when he retreats. "…For anything."
"Mhm." You reply, breathless as he drops to his knees in front of you. Both big hands grab your thighs, pulling you towards the edge of the bed. Slowly, carefully, he hooks both knees over his shoulders, eyes drifting shut when he comes face to face with your most sensitive area. "W-what—
"Shh, baby, I have to get you ready for it, hm? Can I open you up on my tongue?"
"I trust you."
"Yes or no?"
"Yes." You whisper, staring at his scary blue gaze between your thighs. It's such an embarrassingly close position, but you're so beside yourself in nerves, horny and eager down to the marrow bone.
Gojo kisses the inside of your thigh, staring at you unblinking before gathering your panties in his fist and pulling them away, letting them hang expectantly from your right ankle. When he settles back down, watching the way your soft, fluttering cunt shakes for him, he nearly finishes in your honor, but something holds him back. He needs to be inside of you tonight. He has to finish inside of you.
"Oh, my— pretty." He finds himself piecing together, reaching in to peel your sopping folds apart. Watching him with a head full of hot air, you bring your fist to your mouth and bite down, eyes squeezed shut, core trembling. "Uh-uh, I need to hear this." Before diving in, Gojo reaches to push at your arm, willing you to let your fist free.
"S-sorry,"
"Don't be." He speaks finally before delving into his messy meal. You nearly scream as his lips find your clit, licking and prodding at the insanely sensitive bundle of nerves you could never find it in you to explore. Your back arches, determined whines and moans tumbling from your lips upon impact.
"Go— oh, my, f—!"
He doesn't respond — Gojo's hardly listening, he's just enjoying your taste with his eyes slipped shut, cradling both of your thighs in his firm grip so you don't suffocate him in a headlock. You're even sweeter than he could've ever imagined, melting like warm ice cream on his tongue.
He dips down, prodding at your tight entrance against the tip of his tongue. You're spasming around him, hips rising and falling, flopping like a fish all over his once neat bedsheets. The stretch from his tongue against your silky walls sends you damn near to panic, thinking this is too good to be real. Your body feels like you're feeling everything under a magnifying glass — like your loins are on fire.
The obscene slurps and moans he's feeding you are unreal and so filthy and unrestrained. Pooling under you, a sick mix of slick and spit rubs against your heated skin, wetting Gojo's chest, soaking the sheets under you. Gojo gives you all he has here, knowing it'd set the scene for your expectations of sex in the long run. He always wants you to be satisfied — running away from the white-hot feeling because it's just so good.
"I-I'm g— please!! Mm—
Gojo sits up, watching you writhe and squirm as he slips a single finger into your soaking wet cunt. You swallow him up like you've been doing this forever, but he knows it's your body welcoming him in. He's got you exactly where he needs you to be, broken open and sucking him in, just like he sucked you down seconds ago. He nods you through your blurred speech, watery eyes catching as your tummy trembles and folds against the intrusion.
"You're gonna cum? Do you feel close?"
"I want you in! N-not your finger — you!" You're damn-near yelling at him, matching his patient syllables with demands.
"I don't want it to be uncom—
"Please." You peel open your eyes for a second, only until he sneaks a second finger in your hole, curling it alongside his first. Your body screams, then breaks out into mean shivers. You can't control yourself anymore, not like you were doing a very good job in the first place. "Ah!"
"Shh, I know, I know." He whispers, silky-sweet, pumping his fingers in and out slowly as his free hand fishes between his legs, stroking his dick to calm himself down to make it inside of you. "I have to have you too, I know."
"Give me…" You cry, throwing your forearm over your eyes as your back arches, bottom lip sawing between your teeth.
Gojo can't bear to hear you beg anymore. He stands up with a rush, tugging his pants down and off in one fluid movement. You sit up when his fingers leave the warmth of your body, ogling down at him as he fists his cock just mere breaths away from your core. He can't look at you — his hair hanging over his eyes as he slides the leaking, cherry-red tip between your sopping folds, spreading your wetness and his excess spit against your greedy hole, pearling with your lewd mix of juices.
It drives him crazy — your pussy is a mess, and it's all for him. He is the only one who has seen you like this.
Exercising all of his will not to give you his impressive length in one go, he starts with the tip, wirey veins popping in his neck when you expand around him, letting him in with little space to spare. He can't believe that after sucking you clean and spreading you on his fingers, you'd still be so tight, but you're suffocating his cock. He's going crazy.
"Ah— baby, you have to relax. C-can't move."
"'s big…" You whisper, staring off into space as you try to make sense of this seemingly impossible stretch. Gojo's hips shiver, muscles quaking as he holds himself back.
"Mhm…" He cracks his neck, rolling his lips under his teeth as he takes his cock, gliding it back between your folds. You whine, but before you can open your eyes, he's leaning back over top of you, demanding your chin forward into a possessive, all-tongue, clashing teeth kiss. You whine immediately, back arching, hands scratching at his pale back, surely leaving marks in your wake. Gojo feeds off of it, taking the distraction to slip his cock into your fluttering hole once more.
This time, he's able to get halfway inside of you before you're punching at his back, clawing wherever you can, overcome by the impossible stretch but not wanting it to end. He touches you so gently, kissing your face, lips, and neck as he bottoms out slowly. There's no reaction to the way you're abusing his back, because he knows you need to.
These are big, new feelings he's helping you through, and he didn't mind the slight burn of it. In fact, he loves it. He wants your mark on his back forever. Once he's in — cock nestled against your gummy walls comfortably, he experimentally pulls out ever-so-slightly, watching the way your jaw drops — eyes rolling back when he presses back into you.
"You are so pretty. So beautiful." He mutters, grabbing your face to force eye contact. You blink open at him, expression so fucked and sensual that he has to lean down and kiss it away. You whine, bucking your hips down into him to chase a bit more of that pleasure he's holding on a string.
"I can take it." You decide, confidence shining in the dull lighting. You hold him close by the neck, breathing in his sweet scent as he nods and starts you at a reasonable pace, choking on a groan as he fucks into you easily.
You toss your head back, ankles crossed around his waist — wrists crossed behind his neck. You have him on lock, feeding you his sweet, long cock in delicate strokes just until he feels your body relax.
Then, he's giving it to you. Each thrust punches a hard groan from his throat, sending you scooting further up the bed with each concentrated, sick slap of skin. You're crying, holding onto him for dear life, feeling like you'd die if he left you right now.
This feels like love — surely, it has to be. There's no other explanation for it when your vision goes black all at once, your breath caught in your throat as demons expel from your veins and straight into Gojo's open maw. He drinks them all down for you, smiling at the face you make when you cum for the first time, right in his arms.
He manages to fuck you through it, breathing hot staccatos in the air as your cunt tightens and gushes around him. Eyes wide, it's a feeling he's never experienced before — no woman has ever been so wet for him, has come undone like this, shivering and weak in his sheets to the point of being non-verbal jelly against him. His heart grows about three sizes for you, stuck on the fucked out face you're feeding to him as his genuine thrusts carry you through your orgasm.
"It's okay, my girl. Come on, you're with me." He coaxes, trying to bring you down so he can see your reaction when he fucks you into overstimulation. "Open… Look at me."
"T-too—
"I know, it's a lot. You just came so hard." He chuckles, bringing your palm to his lips to kiss, hoping to bring you down even further with the care he's handing out. "Did that feel good? Still with me?"
"Y—yeah," You reply, breathing out a harsh breath as Gojo rocks his hips forward. You gasp, and he kisses it away.
"Please, just bear it. I know you are so sensitive." He brings your hand back to his lips, kissing it over and over again to distract you from his lazy fucks, skin going crimson when his climax draws near. It's impossible to keep you together when he's clawing for sanity, but he wants to try. He speaks to you again, feeling the way your walls flutter when it registers his voice. "Sweet girl—
It's over. Gojo cums the hardest he's ever let himself experience. It stops his hips, balls pulling and spewing thick ropes of release straight to your cervix. Your eyes shoot open, unfamiliar with the feeling of being filled up when you're already so full. Gathering at the base of his dick like a halo of white, Gojo's hips twitch and shiver, giving way for weak little thrusts as he territorially pumps his cum deeper and deeper inside of you until there's nowhere for it to go but up and out.
Bred and limp, Gojo can't seem to find his breath as he pulls out. Your legs unwind weakly, eyes blinking open as you glance up at him through tears. You feel so thankful — finally, entirely in tune with your body like a real woman. There's no doubt about it, now, you're just afraid that you'll come to chase this feeling for the rest of your life.
Gojo pulls out of you, leaving an empty, dripping cavern in his wake. He's entirely too taken right now, chest rising and falling quickly as he collapses next to you. With more energy than him, you roll over, pressing your cheek into his shoulder as he gathers himself.
"Thank you so much, Gojo… So, so much."
He chuckles, lips pulling into a side-smirk as your words fall over him. Gojo can't believe what he has to say to your twenty-two-year-old body, but he knows he has to. His consciousness is so fuzzy right now that it might land harshly, but he has to let you know:
content: the notorious fuckboy suddenly stopped sleeping around and nobody knows why. its totally not because he’s been secretly running around with someone that’s almost a decade older and is embarrassed to be seen with him in public || MDNI, fem!reader, age gap (gojo’s 20-21 readers late 20s), smut, porn w/ plot, fuck buddies, secret relationship(?), gojo plays rugby 🫦, readers lw so embarrassed to be seen with him LMAO, date crashing, he also calls her drunk to tell her he misses her, he's an unhinged little shit
notes: hiiii im so sorry to the ones that asked to be tagged, ive been swamped with schoolwork and im exhausted 😭 11.9k words today, enjoy the read 🙂↕️❤️
Satoru has lived his life quite simply these past few months— just school, training, and games.
Everyone’s gotten on his case about it— mainly just questioning him, but there are moments like yesterday, when he got accused of going through a crisis of some sort over his sexuality. Or last month, when the entire frathouse got together in the living room and tried to have some intervention, thinking he had depression or some other shit.
He doesn't. He’s also not very worried about his sexuality.
It’s crazy because he really hasn’t changed that much. He just hasn’t brought anyone over. Or gone out on dates. Or made out with anyone at parties. Anything related to girls, he hasn’t taken much part in.
But that’s it! That’s all!
He still goes to parties, still has good grades, still goes to practice, and still wins games. He’s just as present— he’s just not fucking anybody, and now everyone thinks he’s dying because of it.
Assholes.
He’s fucked half the school, for all they knew, he could’ve just been giving his dick a break! He wasn’t— but he could be, and that wouldn’t be anybody else's business but his own. He’s a grown man, despite many individuals begging to differ.
Whatever, fuck them.
Funny thing about it all is nobody seems to have noticed that he’s out of the house at certain hours throughout the week. Consistently. So really, it’s on them for not trying hard enough to find answers to their invasive little questions.
Hm. Actually, no. On the off chance that they do ask what he’s up to on a night like tonight, he’ll just lie, say he’s at the gym or something. He’s not exactly allowed to tell, which is fine; he’s more than willing to keep a little secret.
That little secret was tucked away in a nice apartment that had a view of the entire city. A tranquil little place— except for when he’s around.
The bed’s steadily rocking underneath the uneven weight Satoru creates. Relentless smacking— skin to skin, hips to ass, the dirty little squelch that comes with it.
There’s a view, but it’s not the city.
“Arch that back some more— yeaahhh, just like that.”
He pounds into you, balls hitting heavy against your clit as he pulls you back to meet each thrust. Moans spill from your lips, taking every single inch he drills into you. The stretch is insane as he works his heavy cock in and out of you like it’s nothing.
If there’s one thing about him, it’s that he can fuck. He can go on for hours, put you in any position, have you begging and crying, dwindle you down to nothing but a babbling mess from how many orgasms he can work out of you.
He wears you out.
Yet still, at the end of every night—
“Kay’. We’re done here, you can leave now.”
You are so fucking mean.
The first time Satoru heard those words come out of your mouth, he was distraught. How dare you throw him out after the backshots he had given you?! He made you cum so hard you cried! Then you just throw him out of your apartment like some useless whore– like he was nothing but a fucking slut! He had more to offer than just his dick, he’ll have you know.
Now he’s a little less emotional and more…
“You sure? I could stay longer and help you with chores… or something.”
You look around your room, which is spotless aside from his t-shirt and jeans scattered on the floor. “Sure. Why don’t you start by picking up your clothes, putting them on, and then getting out?”
“Oh, come on. Seriously?” he throws his head back and groans rather childishly. “That’s a little rude, no?”
“So was the way you were talking to your little girlfriend on the phone earlier,” you hop off the bed and throw on a big t-shirt that said Modelo on it.
Satoru gets one final look at your ass as you do so and finds himself getting oddly jealous, wondering if the shirt was actually yours or if it belonged to an ex. He ends up telling himself it’s yours, ignoring that you’ve told him how much you hated beer in the past. Delusional? Perhaps, but he’d rather not hurt his own feelings right now.
“Carmen’s not my girlfriend,” he huffs out a laugh as he tries to explain, “I don’t even know why she called me. We haven’t fucked in months.”
He also tried to tell you that he hasn’t slept with anyone since he started sleeping with you, but you didn’t seem to care much about either. The entire time, you were just throwing his clothes at him while he absentmindedly got dressed. He continues to yap away once he’s up and fully dressed, so you grab him by the wrist and start walking towards the door.
“And you wouldn’t believe all the shit the guys have given me for turning girls down. One of them started calling me Celibate Satoru, can you believe that?”
“I sure can.” You open the door, walk around him, and start pushing him out.
“They don’t even know— assholes, they’d take it all back so fast if they saw you,” he huffs out a laugh, trying to cope with the fact that he’s not allowed to tell anybody about you two.
You laugh with him. “You better hope they don’t, ‘cause if they do–”
“You’ll bite my dick off– yeah, yeah. I know.” You never said you’d bite his dick off. Satoru turns around when he’s fully out of the door to reveal the dopey grin on his face. “So, same time next week?”
“Yup! Bye Gojo.”
He scoffs. “I thought I told you to call me Sa–”
He didn’t get to finish that sentence. You shut the door in his face.
Gojo was a nice guy… at least to you, he was. You’re sure a lot of others would say the complete opposite, judging by the way he snapped at the girl earlier for calling him and telling her to lose his number. You felt sorry for her and also felt thankful that you didn’t have to deal with a guy like him when you were 21.
You tried not to reflect too much, it’d just end with you being disappointed in yourself for even letting him into your apartment in the first place. It’s all for fun, but still, you should know better.
Satoru’s a piece of work. Comes from a family swimming in money and has never been told no in his life. He’s impulsive. Very hedonistic, very immature— some people grow out of it, but you have a feeling he’ll never change since he’s never had to work hard for anything in his life.
He is the last person you’d ever want to date, and for someone who usually dated older men— preferably men like his rich father— fucking a frat boy was just embarrassing on your part.
It’s too bad he’s genuinely one of the best fucks of your life— add in the dick piercing, the stamina that came with being a rugby player, and the fact that he spends every moment with you wanting to please you, and he was hard to get rid of.
You met Satoru at the gym. You’d think he’d go to the one at his university, but no, he just had to get a membership at the luxury gym that’s on the other side of town. The only reason why you chose to get a membership there, rather than the more affordable gym down the street, was so that you could avoid annoying ass kids.
Spoiler: It didn’t work.
He didn’t approach you right away. It started with a couple of stares here and there, all of which you pretended not to see since his attention was the last thing you wanted. You can admit that if he were a little older, you would’ve indulged, but it was clear he was a college student, given how he’s worn t-shirts and hoodies with his university’s name on them. Most professional settings wouldn’t allow piercings either— he’s covered in them. One on his nose, one on his eyebrow, multiple on his ears, and a tongue ring. Not to mention the one he surprised you with when he first came over.
Of course, pretending not to notice an attention whore like Satoru Gojo didn’t work, and you soon found out just how annoyingly persistent he can be.
He started going to the gym at the same time as you. It felt like the machines he used just got closer and closer to you with each visit, up until he boldly used the treadmill right next to you one day— you weren’t having that, by the way, and got off less than a minute later. You could be talking to a trainer or one of the staff members, and he’d shimmy his way into the conversation just to get you to look at him and say something, but his attempts were met with you excusing yourself.
It got to a point where he didn’t even care about what was said, he just wanted your attention, good or bad. When he finally did get it, it was neither. You were tired of him before he even opened his mouth.
Imagine this: the annoying little shit coincidentally goes into the sauna at the same time as you, even though you could’ve sworn you saw him walking out the door with his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. How he managed to strip down into nothing but his slutty little rugby shorts in so little time? You have no clue. His knee was all scraped up though, so it was safe to assume that he fell during the process.
You gave him a curt smile and closed your eyes.
He still opened his mouth.
“Great sauna, isn’t it?”
Did he just deepen his voice? Christ.
The awkward and pathetic attempt at small talk never made you want to murder yourself more in that moment. You tried not to sound as annoyed as you were when you let out a sigh.
“It is,” you murmured back, closing your eyes again in hopes that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t.
“I love coming here— nice little escape from everything,” he blissfully said.
You couldn’t imagine what the hell that brat needed to escape from. If only you could say the same, you’ve spent more time dodging him than you have working out the past three weeks.
“Name's Satoru, by the way,” he flashed you a smile.
You’re not a heartless wretch, so you threw him a bone and told him your name, too. Which was a mistake, the one thing you’ve learned is to never feel sorry for Satoru, give him an inch and he’ll shamelessly take a mile. Minutes later, you’re internally groaning. You hated how smooth he was when asking if you wanted to grab drinks later that night. All the charm and charisma that oozed out of him would put any narcissist to shame.
“Did you seriously follow me into the sauna just to ask me out?”
He had to pause because that’s not what you were supposed to say, but he was too emotionally invested at that point to give up.
“Maybe,” he chirps, averting his gaze for a moment. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be weird, though.”
You smile as your eyes scan him from top to bottom, more so out of judgment than interest. “Stripping down into nothing but the male version of booty shorts isn’t weird?”
“Ugh— ok, yeah, fine— maybe it is a little weird,” he sighs, throwing a towel over his shoulders as an attempt to cover up. “Let's just.. Forget about that. Yeah?” You continue to just stare at him, and he clears his throat. “I’d still love to take you out sometime and get to know you a little better. Whatcha think? My treat.”
Age doesn’t matter, you’ll fold too once you see what he’s hiding under his “booty shorts”. Everyone does.
You cross your arms and lean back on the wooden bench. “I’m sorry– how old are you again?”
“I’m graduating this year,” he proudly says, making your face drop in disbelief— he’s well aware that he’s too young for you, and he’s still trying?
“Right.” The judgment in your tone was loud and clear, continuing to look at him as if he were a harmless spider— there’s no fear or concern, just peeved at how it managed to find its way into your vicinity. “So you’re 21…” You tried pulling more information out of him, “since that’s the age you need to be to order a drink.”
“Soon,” he continues to tiptoe around the truth. “Everyone knows me, though. Nobody's gonna check my I.D.”
Besides, he has a fake. He’s had one since he was 16.
“Oh wow.”
You still didn’t sound very impressed, not that it stopped him. He somehow was able to go home with your number in his phone that day, mainly because he was starting to annoy you, and giving him your number was the easiest way to get him to stop— harmless spider, remember? He was probably more of a gnat at that point, though, but harmless nonetheless.
From that point going forward, you ignored him at the gym and his text messages. You could go on your phone and scroll for a minute before seeing a text sent from your end. Now that you think about it, you only texted him back once.
Unknown Number: i feel like im being edged rn 😔 what’s a man gotta do to get a text back??
You: typing…
You:
You: typing…
You: turn 21
Unknown Number: bet
You read that response and immediately regretted it.
He came back a month later, the day after his birthday, and you unfortunately gave in.
And by giving in, you met him halfway and asked if he wanted to come over. He was hot, but there was no way in hell you wanted to be seen in public with him. Being a man as easy as Satoru, he said yes and spent the entire night putting you in every single position he’s ever imagined having you in. You swear he hit every room on purpose— just bending you over every surface and folding you up in every position.
You’ve never had someone throw you around that much before. He fucked you like it was some god-given right. You were so far gone that you would’ve done anything he told you to; you’re just glad his only goal that night was to impress you.
And he did, hence why you are still letting him come over a couple of times a week. Maybe more, maybe less.
He’s tried to get you to come over to his place before, to which you refused for obvious reasons, and berated him enough to make him never ask you a question as insulting as that ever again.
He’s also tried to coordinate your gym visits in the past.
It was a month into whatever little arrangement you had— you say that because you’ve never made an agreement, aside from telling him to never talk to you, talk about you, or approach you in public.
It would come as a surprise to no one if he spent the whole day there just waiting for you to show up.
He didn’t even give you a chance to go into the locker and put your things away before attempting to walk up to you. You had just walked past the front desk— head down, phone up— and felt like there was something off, and what do you know? He was walking in a straight line towards you as if you hadn’t banned him from speaking to you in public.
Luckily, the women's locker room was directly to your left, so you turned and walked there as fast as your legs could take you. You were pissed, slamming your duffel bag down onto one of the benches to spend a minute or two pacing back and forth. There was no way in hell you were going home, so you pulled up with messages with him and sent him a text.
You: Do not fucking embarrass me.
You: Don’t even come near me.
S. Gojo: fine .
It wasn’t another 20 minutes until you finally stepped out of the locker room, mostly ready to spend the next 30 minutes working out. Usually, it’s 45 minutes to an hour, but you gave yourself some grace, even though you really should’ve been getting the most out of your membership with how pricey it was.
The first 20 minutes were fine— peaceful. You ended up letting your guard down as you fell under the assumption that Satoru left, given how he was nowhere to be found. Then, 2 minutes into using the stairmaster, someone got on the one right next to you, despite the entire row being empty.
He was met with a scowl. The only response he had for it was throwing his palms out and grimacing right back at you, as if to say, I’m not doing anything wrong.
Minutes later, he’s reaching over and grabbing your water bottle to take a sip from. Mind you, he already had one with him. It had more water in it than yours.
That was the moment you knew Satoru really wasn’t shit.
He casually gave it back with a smile, trying to act all cute and be funny, so you sent your water bottle flying at his big head.
“Ow!” he frowns, rubbing the side of his head, having absolutely no right to look as shocked as he did. “That hurt!”
“Suck it up,” you snapped at him in a hushed tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t lodge it down your throat and drown you.”
“Why would you do either?!” he threw his arms out.
“I don’t know— why would you reach over and drink from my water bottle when you have your own?!”
“Because I wanted water that had some of your backwash in it??” he says, as if it should’ve been obvious.
To this day, you still don’t know if he was trying to throw you off or if he was being serious.
“If I hear one more word come out of your mouth while I’m here, even if you’re 10 feet away and talking to someone else, I’m fucking blocking you.”
“. . .” You could see the panic in his eyes as his face dropped. “Okay— 10 feet away is fucking crazy—”
“Stop. Talking.”
He opens his mouth, quickly decides he’d rather not find out if you were bluffing or not, and closes it.
You hated being strict with people— you had no other choice but to be strict with Satoru. You could draw a line, explicitly tell him not to cross it and why, and he’d walk right up to it and tap his toe on the other side, just to see if you’d say anything.
With the way you talk about him and talk to him, it’d be easy to assume that you hated him— you complain about the shit he does, you yell at him often, you look at him at times and start to wonder if he was just a sign sent by god to finally get therapy. But you don’t dislike him, let alone hate him.
On the occasion that you don’t kick him out right after you two fuck, he’s really not that bad to be around. If circumstances were different, you wouldn’t mind being friends with him. He’s easy to talk to, easy to get along with when he’s not actively and purposely fucking around and finding out. You honestly enjoy talking to him here and there.
Truly.
Except for when he’s talking about anything frat-related. More often than not, it’s dumb and genuinely a waste of your time to listen to. Not to mention the fact that you don’t need any more reminders of who you’ve been welcoming into your home.
You were pushing thirty for Christ's sake. It'd be one thing if he were just a one-night stand, but he’s not. He raids your pantry when you’re not looking and, on multiple occasions, has purposely left his boxers behind as some sort of parting gift.
It’s gotten easier with time— the embarrassment that washes over you when he says something stupid, that is. Like whatever went down at some party he threw or some joke one of his “brothers” told him. It’s still a waste of your time, but you’ve grown to just let him talk about it rather than shut him down to avoid that pang of guilt you sometimes get when you’re around him.
There’s the disappointment and the embarrassment, and lately, there’s the odd form of pity you have for him. You’ve always known you were going to have to let Gojo down one day and cut things off completely, you’re not quite sure how he’d take it, though.
There was some hope that he’d get bored with you and move on to someone new, but that’s slowly diminishing. He’s volunteered to get tested for STDs weekly and sends you the results. He hasn’t slept with anyone else, either, which is shocking. You’ve gotten a glimpse of his phone and his messages, all of which were unopened texts from the girls he’s probably led on in the past— ignoring them all for a woman who does the same to him more than half the time.
Sometimes you wonder if he notices that, too. He has to. You say he’s stupid all the time, but he’s smarter than he lets on.
—
S. Gojo: how’s my pretty girl doing?? ((:
You: what do u want
S. Gojo: 😭damn not even a question mark?? I didn’t even ask u for anything 😔
You: i can tell when u want something. now what is it
S. Gojo: can i come over after practice today? pretty please
S. Gojo: it ends at 3 today
You: im not even home
S. Gojo: ik i have a key
You: you took my spare key?
You: give it back
S. Gojo: today? (:
You: im not even home by then. I don’t want u there, you’re gonna make a mess
S. Gojo: wtf? I never make a mess
You: what do you even wanna come over for
S. Gojo: i don’t wanna be home later
You: why
S. Gojo: there’s a few sorority girls coming over and they don’t like me
You: why
S. Gojo: it’s just bc of some bet during freshman years
S. Gojo: they’re not over it
You: pig
S. Gojo: i didn’t even tell you what it was!
You: please don’t
You: but ya, no. go to the library or something
S. Gojo: PLEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEE
S. Gojo: FUCK i’ll have takeout ready for you when you get off work ffs
S. Gojo: have some compassion these bitches are gonna try to CHOP my DICK off PLEASE
You: maybe you never deserved one to begin with
S. Gojo: BRO???
You: kiddinggg
You: have some pad thai ready for me. I also expect the place to be vacuumed
S. Gojo: i got u
S. Gojo: i can do your laundry too if you want
You: stop trying to sniff my panties you fucking freak
S. Gojo: ):
You’re home at 5:15 on the dot, and you’re met with the lovely smell of all-purpose cleaner despite only telling Satoru to vacuum. So naturally, you’re in a good mood when you walk into the living room and hang your purse up in the hallway.
Satoru’s on the couch, turning to look at you and doing that stupid nod he does when he doesn’t feel like verbally greeting someone.
You slip out of your heels and walk up. “Did you clean the kitchen?”
“A little,” he hums, taking the opportunity to pretty much eye fuck you since you don’t pay much attention to him as you look into the kitchen.
“What do you want?” you ask suspiciously, turning to look at him lounging back on your couch, half-naked. He’s got nothing but a pair of socks and rugby shorts on, and you can’t help but take a look at his thighs. You don’t ask why his titties are out on display, though, knowing he’d make a comment about how hard he worked cleaning the place.
“Nothin’,” he shrugs, feigning innocence. The slight twitch of his lip right after gives him away, not that you give it much attention. “How was work?”
“Long,” you yawn. “Slow, too— felt like I was on my phone the entire time.”
He tilts his head, getting ready to fuck with you despite it not even being 5 minutes since you walked through the door. “Are you complaining about doing nothing at work today?”
“Uh, yeah,” you mimic his tone. “I hate looking at the clock all day.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I’m gonna remember this the next time you complain about work being too busy.”
You smile and hum. “Do that, and I’m shoving my socks down your throat.”
“Kinky.” You start to walk away, and Satoru takes the opportunity to reach over the couch, biting his lip as he strikes a palm over your ass. “What else are you tryna do to me?”
“Choke you,” you boredly say as you walk into your room, but end up smiling when you hear him laugh. You come out a couple of minutes later in a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Where’s the food?”
“The fridge,” he responds, seemingly distracted.
Only for him to grab your wrist right before you walk past behind him.
You whip your head around and click your tongue. “What?” you whine, eyes narrowing as you shoot him an irritated look.
“How hungry are you right now?” he asks, tongue in cheek as he keeps a firm grip on your wrists.
“Hungry enough.”
“Starving?” There’s an obnoxious glint in his eyes as he asks.
You scoff. “Does it fucking matter?”
“Mmmmmm, a little.” He blatantly checks you out as he hums, not struggling to hold on to your wrist at all. He leans over the couch to get a better look at your shorts, his other hand reaching forward to snap your shorts against your skin. “I like these.”
“Let me guess, you’d like them better on the floor.”
“Something like that— come here,” He stifles a laugh, pulling you closer until you're up against the couch. He snakes an arm around your waist to keep you from leaving, pressing kisses all over your chest. “Been waiting for you forever– give me a minute or two.”
“You expect me to believe it’ll just be a minute or two?” You smile, trying to keep your breath from hitching as he gets closer to your neck.
“Mhm. It’s a lie, though.” He places one last kiss against your collarbone, then pulls a hum out of you as he licks a slow, fat stripe up your neck. He tops it off with a couple of kisses along your jaw before nipping at your ear. “How about I work up that appetite a little, hm?”
Your lids grow heavy, each word growing breathier than the last with each kiss and touch. “My stomach’s gonna start hurting.”
“It’s fine,” he murmurs, running his big hand down your back to your ass, giving it a squeeze before his palm lands on it. “You won’t be thinking about it.”
He steps over the couch and starts nudging you towards your room, dick print against the fabric of his shorts on full display.
“No?”
“Nope,” the grin on his face grows, “I’ll keep you distracted.”
And distracted you were.
Whining as you trembled and clenched around his cock while he worked it into you. You’re at the edge of the bed— bent over for him, back in the craziest arch as he gives you the deepest strokes. The round metal studs under his tip add the right amount of pressure as it drags over your gummy spot.
He leans back, suppressing a laugh at the sight of your fucked out face and the creamy ring already starting to grow around his base. He’s barely done anything, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw drool stains right where your face is pressed up against. It’s always like this, your attitude just magically disappearing the moment he gets near your pussy. Doesn’t matter if it’s his dick, his fingers, his tongue— they’ve all made the miracle of getting you to say please happen.
“Shit,” he curses under his breath, just mesmerized at the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you. His attention only gets pulled away once he hears a soft, drawn-out moan leave your lips, his hands unconsciously moving up to your hips for him to knead. “You alright?”
“Mhm— go faster.” The demand sounds so sweet falling from your lips, how could he say no?
He rests a knee against the bed and leans over your body. Chest pressed up against your back, caging you in. You rest your head on his forearm, unknowingly letting him get a full view of the tears he’s about to give you. He picks up the pace, angling himself just right with each thrust, watching your eyebrows slightly pinch as your breathing picks up.
“Can’t believe you wanted to wait for this,” he starts to poke fun at you, and it somehow goes straight to your core. “The hell were you thinkin’, huh?”
“I don’t know,” you murmur.
“Were you thinking at all?”
“Shut up.” You get whinier with the change of pace. “Can you just– mmh yeah.”
“Yeah?” He grins as you lose your train of thought, rolling his hips nice and slow, working his tip right over that spot that has you curling your toes. “Like that?”
“Mhm,” you hum, fingers starting to dig into his bicep as the praises slowly fall from your mouth. “Feels so good.”
“I knoww– you’re droolin’ on my arm already,” he stifles a laugh as he mocks you, brushing some hair out of your face to grab your chin, turning your head toward him.
He leans down to kiss you, and it’s nothing short of messy. It's all tongue and wet smacks once he held you down and crashed his lips into yours, just rough and hungry. Greed is what comes to mind once you pull away— lips all swollen and covered in spit, out of breath, heat creeping up your neck.
It’s just selfish— who grabs people like that?
The hand on your jaw wraps around your neck, and you soon find yourself taking in a sharp breath as Satoru crashes his lips into yours again. His hips continue to rock into you, grinding every inch of himself up against your gummy walls, trying to knock the air out of you as he tries to take it for himself.
He bites your bottom lip, and you’re giggling as he slowly pulls back, dying out at your throat once he gets back to work. His shallow thrusts grow deep, making your eyes start to glaze over as the fat head of his cock hits and rubs against a spot you’re sure only he can reach.
“Ready?” he murmurs in your ear.
“What are you–”
He bites your bottom lip, then starts fucking you like you owed him your soul or something. He drills every single inch of his cock into you, the sharp sounds of his hips striking against your ass cutting through the air, nearly bringing you to tears from how overwhelming it all is.
“F-Fuck!” you choke out a whine, shoving your face down on the bed, unable to keep up with how fast he’s going. Your cunt stretches around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing around his length as he pounds you into the bed. Low groans slip through his lips as he sees a mess of slick and cream starting to coat his shaft.
He goes faster. The obscene wet slaps of him pounding your pussy and his heavy balls slapping against your clit grow louder, messier. You’re clawing at your sheets and holding back choked moans each time he slams his tip against your cervix. Your legs start to tremble, struggling to keep them open when each thrust pushes you forward with all the force behind them.
You start to feel something in your core begin to wrap up and coil, and you are not ready for it. You find yourself crawling forward, trying to close your thighs, all without even realizing it. Satoru lets out a laugh that fades into a low groan as your walls squeeze and tremble around him.
He teases you as he drags you back by your hips, his ragged voice dripping in amusement.
“You running from me, baby? Where’s this pussy goin’, huh?” He nudges your thighs back apart with his knee, pulling you back on his cock and holding you in place, hips flush against your ass as he lazily grinds into you.
“Yeah, c'mere— m’not done with you yet.” he rasps, picking up the pace back up again until a messy wet squelch can be heard between you as he pounds you out. He presses your back further down into an arch, fucking into you at a deeper angle. “Mmmm— there we go— just stay right there for me.”
“Sa— fuck— t-toru!” Your breath shatters as you gasp, pressure starting to build all over again.
You don’t see the way he smirks when you cry his name like that.
“I know— M’sorry, baby.”
He’s not. A hand slides up your spine to get a fistful of your hair, pulling you up against his chest in one swift go. His pace doesn’t falter as a strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him while his lips graze the shell of your ear.
“Look how good I’m fuckin’ you, though— looks like you’re about to start crying.” He smiles, feeling you squeeze around him as the messy squelch in between your legs becomes more pronounced.
“T-too much,” you sputter out.
“You should probably cum them,” he offers as if it were a simple solution. “If you want, I can work it out of ya.”
“F-fuck,” you inhale sharply. “Please.”
He lets out a low, pleased hum before he just starts slamming into you, making the bed shake as he starts to knock the absolute wind out of you. His free hand snakes down, slipping down in between your legs until the pads of his fingers find your clit. You tense as he presses on it firmly, breath faltering once he starts rubbing little circles.
His grip around your waist tightens as he keeps going, not minding your nails as they start scratching and digging into his arm. Soon you’re let out a sharp cry, trembling as you start gushing all over his cock.
And the way you pussy clamps down and just starts milking him has his thrust growing sloppy, fucking you both through it.
“Fuck— fuuck,” he lets out a breathy groan, doubling over and nearly squeezing you to death when he starts pumping you full of hot cum, flooding your sensitive walls. He breathes heavy, grinding against you, giving you every last drop. “Shit— that was so fuckin’ good— are you alright?”
You’re lying limp in his arms, nodding weakly, trying to catch your breath. “Uh-huh”
“You’re so shaky right now,” he heaves, gently letting you down on the bed. “I fucked you good this time.”
“Shut up,” you barely snap at him, “Go get me my food, I can’t fucking walk right now.”
“Fuck— I’m sorry. Don’t kick me out.”
“Get me my fucking food.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he nods, putting his boxers on and walking out of your room with a little smile on his face.
. . .
He’s leaning against the fridge as he lets his mind run off for a bit, aside from the microwave whirring in the background, it’s quiet— a rare occurrence for Satoru. He doesn’t snap back to reality until he hears footsteps coming up behind him.
He looks over his shoulder to see you back in the clothes he nearly ripped trying to get off you. And that you’re walking perfectly fine.
“Thought you couldn’t walk,” he points at you, gesturing his finger up and down.
“So did I,” you shrug, wrapping your fingers around the fridge handle and pulling it open to retrieve a white claw. You can physically feel Satoru staring at you, while something in your spirit is telling you that he’s waiting for you to offer him one.
You crack it open as you turn to look at him.
“Can I help you?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Initially, his eyes drift to the drink in your hand and look at it quite longingly. “That looks good.”
“It is good,” you say, then obnoxiously take a sip. “Pairs really well with noodles.”
“I’m sure.” His tones flat as he looks back at the drink.
You have no idea why he’s so set on waiting for you to offer him one, but you eventually do because you’d rather not get into some weird silent war with him. “Would you like one?”
“Yes, I would,” he says with a blissful sigh, reaching into the fridge to get one for himself.
The microwave beeps, you open it, and take the plate out yourself. “You know you can just grab one, right?”
The can cracks and he takes a sip, then nods. “I know, I just wanted you to offer me one.”
“Yeah, you made that pretty obvious,” you laugh and walk to the living room, and Satoru naturally follows. “Do you want some of my food, too?”
“No— appreciate you asking, though.”
“Sure,” you say, before muttering, “weirdo.”
He’s the first one to grab the remote and put something on, taking advantage of the fact that you haven’t pushed him out yet, like you do 60% percent of the time. The 40% is too random for him to be able to tell when it’ll happen next.
You weren’t planning on kicking him out too soon today, though, since he’s currently hiding from an entire group of women.
“Wait, so what did you do to get those girls to hate you?”
“Got dared to homie hop.” He casually shrugs, taking a sip from the can. “Over the course of one weekend.”
“What is wrong with you?” you ask with the utmost disappointment.
He points to himself. “In my defense, I was 18.”
“I guess.” You stifle a laugh before feeding yourself another fork full of food. “I’m surprised they still hate you that much.”
“Yeah, I got dared to do it again last year,” he finally mentions, just as casual as the last time.
You pause for a moment as you try to think of an answer. You never do. “Yeah, I think I’d hate you, too.”
He delusionally brushes you off. “You would’ve loved me. I’m a great friend.”
There's a contemplative look on your face as you tilt your head, thinking of all he’s revealed to you about himself, which is probably just a 3rd of all he’s done. “I’m sure you are.”
“I am,” he scoffs.
“Yeah— that’s what I said.” You laugh, wiping the side of your mouth off with a napkin before throwing it on the empty plate, getting up to put it away.
You're in the kitchen when Satoru raises his voice to say something to you.
“I am your friend, right?” he asks.
You close the dishwasher and walk back out into the living room, there’s a slight pout on his face as he walks for an answer.
“Yeah,” you let out an amused sigh. “You’re my special friend.”
“Yeah?” He sinks further back into the sofa, looking more pleased. “Special enough to talk to outside of here?”
“Fuck no,” you say with zero hesitation, wiping the smile off his face again. “You wouldn’t be special anymore. Is that what you want? You wanna be an average normie?”
There are two things in this world that Satoru would never want to be— average and poor.
He crosses his arms and scoffs. “You really know how to turn a situation around on other people, don’t you? That’s pretty evil, y’know that?”
You feign innocence, looking at him all concerned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever,” he rises from his seat, accepting your evil nature and his role as your special little slut. “Can we shower together?”
You give a bored look, knowing he’s gonna try to get you to scrub his back. “Fine.”
. . .
Tonight’s just like every other Friday night. The bass of the music bouncing off the walls, loud conversations happening in every direction. Most people are having a good time, while some are crying their eyes out over something that’ll seem minuscule a couple years from now. The only thing that’s changed is Satoru hasn’t, and most likely won't, bring a girl up to his room tonight.
For once, all of his attention is on playing his fifth round of beer pong.
The guys will still give him shit for the sudden change, but it was never a bad thing, just odd. They’ve given up on theories as to why after realizing Satoru really wasn’t going to cave and tell them this time around. Not even Suguru. He doesn’t need to ask, though, he knows Satoru is fucking someone. With how secretive he’s been though, he’s most likely sneaking around with someone that’ll get him in trouble if word gets out. Like the wife of one of his father's very affluent and important friends, perhaps? It was on brand for him.
It wasn’t that serious. Suguru will find out, eventually. He just hopes it doesn’t end badly for his friend that’s brought enough scandals for his family, being the problem child he’s always been. Hell, he’s being problematic right now, pulling Suguru out of his thoughts as some poor girl tugs on Satoru’s shirt.
Suguru has no idea what she said to him, but he steps in a little closer, pretending to focus on the game as he listens to whatever his friend has to say. Satoru barely looks at her and responds, not only rudely, but with quite possibly the most ridiculous words Suguru has ever heard come out of his mouth.
“Sorry, sweetheart– I like my women a little more grown.”
Mind you, they were in the same year.
She laughs, there’s still stars in her eyes as she looks at him. “Wait, what?”
He shortens it. “M’not interested.”
“Why?” she asks, eyes growing dull.
And Satoru, having already lost his patience, takes a step back and looks at her from head to toe, looking for another reason. It’s quite embarrassing— standing there and waiting for someone to figure out what they don’t like about you.
“Yeaah, no.” He takes another look at her. “You just don’t do it for me— sorry.”
You’d think it’d be fine since he didn’t point out any of her features, but being told you ‘don’t do it’ for someone that you’ve already fucked doesn’t feel very good, nor does realizing that he completely forgot that they have, multiple times. He’s gotten drunk and fucked a lot of people. Keyword: Drunk. He doesn’t remember most of the time, hence his initial confusion when she threw a drink in his face.
Unfazed, he wipes the remnants of her drink off his face, throwing her off in the process as he treats it like it’s a common occurrence and that he’s used to it (he’s very used to it).
“You just proved my fuckin’ point,” Satoru says, still unimpressed as he takes his shirt off and continues to casually wipe himself off. “Grow up.”
The comment makes her realize he was being dead serious with his original reason for rejecting her, even though he had zero problem with fucking her at the beginning of the year. “Oh fuck you, Gojo,” she ends up cursing at him as she storms off, furious and embarrassed.
“Yeah– not happening!” he laughs and yells back loud enough for her to hear.
Suguru just laughs because fucking called it. He totally was seeing someone older, and Satoru's response gave it away. Suguru doesn’t mention it, though. “You coulda been a little nicer, y’know?”
“Whatever,” he waves him off, knowing he could’ve been ruder, but chose not to. “I’ll probably never see her again after graduation, anyway.”
Suguru shrugs. “You never know.”
Satoru ruffles his hair with the semi-damp t-shirt in his hand, wondering why his friend decided to embrace his inner Gandhi when he’s just as bad as him. Satoru literally watched him tell a girl to stop crying after he cut things off with her, then added salt to the wound by giving her some speech about how she wouldn’t run after a snake and explain how being bitten made her feel. Suguru wasn’t technically wrong, but he did not have to say all that. With that being said, he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Suguru lecture him any more though, and lets the comment go.
“I’m gonna go wash the rest of this shit off,” he says, referring to the sheer pink stain on his hair.
Suguru pats his back a couple of times as he continues to laugh. “Have fun with that. Try not to run into her or friends.”
Satoru hoped not, that mini-meltdown was enough for him. He wasn’t stumbling or anything, but having to walk through crowds to get to his room made him realize he was drunker than he realized, not that it made him feel any remorse for the words he said. They did not warrant getting a drink thrown in his face.
The first thing he does when he gets to his room is kick out a couple making out on his bed, throwing a couple of insults and threats their way as they scurry out of his room. Then he walks into his bathroom to wash his hair off in the sink, which leads to him completely stripping down in frustration and hopping in the shower, in hopes that it’d sober him up a bit.
It doesn’t— it just makes him want to call it a night.
He dries himself off and throws on a pair of boxers and sweats before sitting down on his bed with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over the call button as he stares at your contact. The room continues to spin as he wonders if you were even awake. It was pushing midnight.
After spending way too much time wondering if you’d answer, his thumb hits the screen. The phone rings once. Twice. Then a third time.
“What do you think you’re doing calling me this late?” you immediately grill him, your smooth and unhurried tone making you sound more amused than anything.
He smiles as he stifles a laugh. “I can’t call you and say what’s up now?”
“People don’t usually call someone at midnight to say what's up.”
“M’not like other people,” he chuckles, though you know deep down inside, he wouldn’t dare put himself in the same category as a regular person. There isn’t one mirror he’s walked by and hasn’t looked at— the way Satoru looks at his own reflection could send anyone into a crisis, wondering if their spouses really did love them as much as they claimed.
“Yeah, you’re real different,” you respond blandly, coming off as trying to knock him down a peg, when really you’re just trying to move on. “Anyways, what do you want?”
“You should let me come over,” he doesn’t hesitate to say, slurring his words slightly.
“No.”
He pulls his phone away from his ear and looks at it with his brows pinched together, all hurt from how you didn’t even bother thinking about it before giving him an answer.
“Why not?” he grumbles, finding himself more offended than usual. “I miss you.”
He’s reminded that you don’t actually hate him when you begin to laugh at how endearing he can be, even when he’s just complaining. “I saw you two days ago.”
“What can I say, baby?” he murmurs, the stupid grin on his face widening when he hears you click your tongue. “You make it hard not to with that tight little p—”
Are you drunk right now?” You cut him off, wiping the smile right off that little pervert's face.
“Maybe.”
He hears you let out a disgusted scoff on the other side of the phone. “Ew, no. I don’t wanna fuck you when you’re all drunk and sloppy.”
At first, he lets out this noise that can only be described as what a pout would sound like if you could hear it. “First of all, I’m not sloppy. Second, I wasn’t asking to fuck, just let me spend the night. It’s loud here— buncha’ hooligans running around.”
“So you can fuck with my sleep?”
“Baby, I would never fuck with your beauty sleep,” he swears. “I’m a beast— not a fuckin’ monster.”
“You are such a fucking loser.” You pinch your nosebridge as you sigh and mutter under your breath. “You’ll be fine. Just take another shot and put some earplugs in.”
“I don’t have any!”
“Headphones then,” you curtly say. “Anyways, I’m going to bed now—”
“No, wait—”
“Good night~”
Click.
Satoru’s left staring at the wall in disbelief, jaw all the way to the floor. Surely you could’ve offered him a couch— but you didn’t bother, and the thought adds to the betrayal that’s already exacerbated from all the shots he’s taken earlier. It doesn’t go away, it just simmers once he’s processed the fact that you basically told him that he could suffer and fucking die, for all you cared, before hanging up.
The music’s so loud that the walls are fucking shaking, there’s no point in noise cancelling headphones when he can feelhow loud it is. His eyes dart between his phone, his dresser, and the door before finally getting up with an irritated sigh.
“Fuck this.”
. . .
Instead of sleeping, like you said you would when hanging up on Satoru, you continued to watch what you put on the tv prior to answering your phone. Though with how late it was, your eyes inevitably grew heavier with each blink, and you found yourself beginning to doze off.
Until a knock on the door and the muffled sound of your name being called snaps you right back to reality.
“I swear to god if that’s—” you begin murmuring to yourself as you walk up to the door, cutting yourself off because no shit it’s Satoru. You can’t think of anybody else who would still come over despite being told no.
You swing the door open, annoyed that it doesn’t swing outwards, it would’ve been nice to hit him with it. He’s leaning against the entryway to stop himself from swaying in place, as carefree as ever.
“What are you doing here?!”
Immediately, he begins to beg. “You have got to let me sleep here— some nasty couple fucked on my bed and there’s a group of psychos hunting me down with pitchforks.”
He was not going back there, and if a little truth-twisting is what it takes to get you to let him, then so be it.
Your face twists in annoyance. “Hunt you down for what?!”
“For turning one of them down.” He throws his arms out, pretending to be outraged. “Threw a drink in my face and everything just because I wouldn’t fuck her! And now my bed smells like rotten fish—”
“Just get inside,” you snap at him, feeling an incoming headache starting to form from his theatrics.
“Thank you.”
Despite showering and brushing his teeth, you can still smell some of the alcohol radiating off of him as he walks past you. Irritated, you shut the door a little too harshly, missing the way the man flinched as he stood there and waited for you. You completely ignore him, walking to the coffee table and picking up the remote to turn the T.V off. You walk off to your room after, with Satoru following right behind you like a lost puppy.
The decorative pillows get plucked off the bed one by one. The only reason why he doesn’t ask if you need help with anything is that he is a little too scared to ask. You pull the duvet back and whip your head around to look at him.
“Get in,” you order, and he quickly walks around to the other side, pulling his shirt over his head and leaving his sweats on. “And do not wake me up tonight.”
“Kay’,” he says quietly, slipping the covers.
You follow, after killing the lights, sighing as you lay your head back and close your eyes. He awkwardly lies there at first, arms pulling the blanket up to his chest, staring at the ceiling. It’s not how he sleeps, and frankly, he is really fucking uncomfortable. He’s also scared to move right now.
But Satoru is Satoru, and at the very last minute, turns and snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He slides a leg in between yours, and you open your mouth to protest, only to get cut off by his slightly nervous voice.
“Good night.”
. . .
Satoru wakes up twice.
Once at 6:00 am to a pounding headache. He got up to look for an over the counter painkiller. Luckily, he found some in the first cabinet he opened in your kitchen and downed more than he should’ve before getting back in bed, throwing an arm and a leg over you, and falling back asleep.
Then again, at 11:00 am, when he hears some shuffling around the room and realizes you are no longer next to him.
He opens one eye and mumbles, “Where are you going?”
You’re in a hurry as you put a pair of socks on. “To a pilates class.”
“Can I come?” he pops his head up and asks, struggling to open both eyes.
There’s an incredulous look on your face when you pause and look at him. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one, you look like a fucking mess right now.” He didn’t really need to hear that, he already figured it out since he feels like one right now. “Two, I don’t need you sitting alone in the corner, watching me for an hour straight.”
“That’s mean as fuck.”
“Not one lie was told,” you argue back, getting the last sock on and rising to your feet. “I’m not kicking you out just yet, so you can stay if you want.”
“Oh, I fuckin’ will.” It comes out as if kicking him out was never an option to begin with, earning himself a little side eye that he was too busy stretching his arms out to notice. You quickly let it go, figuring the hangover was doing a number on him. “Do you have food?”
“Yeah, just look around in the fridge.” You look at your watch, then throw your bag over your shoulder after realizing you’re just barely running on time. “I’ll be back in like an hour.”
“Kay’,” he yawns, lying back against the pillow and closing his eyes once you're out of view.
As much as his head hurts, he’s glad he’s suffering here and not at the house. It’s quiet, your bed’s comfy, time actually feels like it’s running slow for once. There are another 15 minutes of peace before it is ruined by the ring of his phone.
Before he reaches for it on the nightstand, he takes a few seconds to shove his face into the pillow and let out a slew of curses. He picks up the phone and answers, as if his head wasn’t pounding more than ever.
It’s Suguru, who’s not as concerned as he is confused. “Hey, so— you’re not home.”
“M’not,” Satoru mumbles.
Suguru gives him room to explain, but speaks again when he realizes Satoru’s not going to take any of it. “Where are you then?” Again, not concerned, just confused.
“At a friend’s,” Satoru vaguely says. Even in his current fucked up state, he still remembers that you don’t want him talking about you at all.
“...and this is the friend that you’re not fucking and avoiding everyone for, right?”
He lets out a laugh. “Exactly.”
At least Suguru’s smart and is able to read between the lines, meaning that was enough information for him. “Alright.” He laughs with him. “I’ll let you go then. Have fun with your friend.”
“I will.”
Right after he hangs up, he hears another notification go off that’s not from his phone. He hears the ping a couple more times and quickly realizes it’s your phone hiding under the sheets. You were in too much of a rush to realize you forgot to bring it with you.
Satoru’s not one to look through someone else’s phone. He never has, never cared to, never felt the need to. So fighting the urge not to was not only something new, but incredibly fucking difficult. It’s literally right in his hand. He even knows your passcode from the one time he watched you unlock it because his memory’s perfect.
One minute. He’ll just give himself one minute to take a peek.
. . .
It’s been several.
Putting it down, while he’s in the middle of scrolling through a particular conversation, feels impossible. Even when he knows he’s just ruining his own morning by looking at it, he continues to read and make mental notes.
His names Shiu. 37 years old. Moderately successful.
Boring as fuck.
He can tell when someone’s forcing themselves to keep a conversation alive, and can’t wrap his head around why you’d even bother when it’s over shit you have zero interest in. Shiu hasn’t even complimented you once. Nothing about you physically, not even the bare minimum of making a comment about how he enjoys talking to you, since it’s you carrying all of these dry, meaningless conversations.
It's like he just expects you to talk to him.
He continues to scroll, getting closer to the more recent messages, and Satoru finally sees something interesting. Not for you or Shiu, but for him. Reservations for your date next weekend. The first date.
And also your last.
. . .
Before you met him, Shiu wasn’t someone you’d ever imagined yourself being with. He’s calm, quiet, and more of a listener than he was a talker. Not much of a joker or a gossiper.
He was just stable. Rooted. Shiu is a man who couldn’t be moved.
He was a safe choice. A smart one. A mellow man with a successful career. Given your track record of failed relationships with men that you chose based on how exciting you found them, maybe it was time to be smarter.
Some may say it was settling, but you say it’s being practical and choosing what’s best for you.
After a few weeks of casual texting, you were finally having dinner with him tonight. You weren’t exactly excited, but you weren’t nervous either— maybe this is him rubbing off of you.
You’re not sure, honestly.
It feels like there’s something missing, and in its place is the weight of something that refuses to show itself to you, as if its sole purpose was to burden you with confusion.
You take one last look at yourself before you leave, smoothing your hand over the long, tight black dress you chose to wear. Flattering, not too revealing. The same for your shoes, just simple black kitten heels.
At the last minute, Satoru manages to squeeze his way into your mind as you randomly recall the last time you saw him, which was exactly a week ago. The only thing that was off was his supernatural ability to bounce back from a hangover in under an hour. He was fine by the time you got home— at least fine enough to follow you into the bathroom for some shower sex.
You haven’t heard from him since he went home that day. You should be relieved, you wanted him to get bored with you and pull away, yet here you are, wondering why you haven’t heard from him.
. . .
Shiu wasn’t a man who couldn’t be moved— that would require being passionate about something, and so far, he’s about as dry as a matchstick.
And maybe there is something that he’s passionate about, but you doubt it. It’s not necessarily a complaint, just a change in the way you saw him. Shame on you for building up a false idea of him in your head.
At least he’s still calm and quiet— you’re just hoping that all there is to him.
As for now, Shiu was like a constant stream of water that never changed in temperature. He was a place on earth where the weather never changed. A solid 70 degrees, every single day. Acceptable. Easy to digest. Nothing out of the ordinary is ever likely to happen with him.
He’s still a safe choice.
You’re not exactly sure how it’d be what’s best for you, though. You liked surprises— they turned an ordinary day into a day worth remembering— a life without them was just a forgotten past and pointless future.
You could be acting a little dramatic over it right now, but you are honestly sick and fucking tired of getting absolutely nowhere with all the guys you’ve dated and spoken to.
Which is why you push yourself to consider that Shiu could just be a little shy, it's only 15 minutes into your date after all. You remind yourself that opening up takes time, for reasons that make only you feel better.
You haven’t had a quarter life crisis yet, but learning that you’ve spent all this time swinging sledge hammers and wrecking balls at a safe that’s been empty from the start might finally take you there.
You take a sip of your wine and set it back down. “Do you know what you’re gonna order?”
He slowly shakes his head, humming indecisively. “Not yet.”
You wait for him to say something else, but to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t. “You mentioned it’s your 9th time coming here. Do you have any favorites that you reorder?”
He hums again. “Nah. The food here’s decent, but I haven’t had anything that’s stood out to me just yet.”
It’s not often people leave you speechless, especially on first dates, but here you are. Tight lipped, eye threatening to twitch.
“Wow— you’re 9th time here, and you still haven’t found a dish that left you satisfied at the end of the meal?”
You’re really hoping he backtracks and corrects you. Coming to a restaurant you don’t like that many times was one of the most ridiculous things you’ve ever heard.
“Not yet,” he smiles and shakes his head, as if wasting his time and money on a restaurant he didn’t like was just a silly little quirk of his. “Maybe today will be the day.”
Why the fuck would he take you here?
“Fingers crossed,” you force out a light laugh, feeling your patience start to fade. “So you’re just gonna keep coming here until you’ve gone through the entire menu?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he chuckles, not catching the slight irritation in your tone. “What can you do, you know?”
“I mean… you can always try new restaurants,” you suggest.
“Nah.” He waves a hand as if that's doing too much. “Easy to stay here. I already know what to expect.”
It took the amount of discipline a sergeant had to hold back on saying that this wasn’t the doctor's office or the fucking barber shop.
You can absolutely check other places out.
Does this guy not understand free will exists?
“Makes sense,” you lie, pushing out all the enthusiasm you’re able to put forward. “No point in fixing something if it’s not broken, you know?”
“Exactly,” he proudly nods.
“There you two are!”
…You were going to kill yourself if it’s who you think it is.
At first, you ignored the familiar voice and instead took an extra big sip of wine.
He hates being ignored though, so instead of pulling up a seat between you and your date as he had originally planned, he sits right next to Shiu and smiles at the way you instantly freeze.
You hate to admit how good he looked tonight. His hair’s styled for once, loosely brushed back with some expensive styling cream. You can’t help but notice how much sharper his eyes look with his hair out of his face. More rough and intimidating. He was in a white button up, tailored to perfection, rolled up at his elbows, leaving the top buttons of the shirt unbuttoned to show off the chain he always wore. Grey tweed trousers, also tailored to perfection.
“My bad— ran into some traffic on the way here.”
Satoru turns to Shiu, who’s even more confused than you, and holds his hand out for a handshake, giving him a veryformal introduction.
Afterwards, Satoru proceeds to pluck the menu out of your date's hand.
“Alright, Shiu, what are we getting tonight?”
Shiu is visibly appalled when he looks at you, but doesn’t say anything because he’s never had a stranger do that before. Especially when the stranger’s as eccentric as Satoru.
“I— I don’t know.” Your date stumbles on his words at first from the surprise of Satoru’s sudden appearance. “I didn’t get to finish looking through the menu.”
“Wait— really?”
Satoru looks at his watch and sees how you two have been here for nearly 20 minutes, and he still hasn’t picked something. He doesn’t wait for a response and hands the menu back since he already found what he liked, which sucks for you because now he can direct his attention elsewhere.
He leans back and nods at you, because you haven’t spoken at all yet.
“What’re you getting?” You catch the split second his entire expression darkens. He is fucking pissed.
“The cod and asparagus,” you murmur.
“That’s fucking disgusting,” he says through a smile, playing it off as a joke even though you both know it’s not. “Your palate sucks though, so I’m not surprised.”
“Yeah, no— it’s fucking awful,” you let out a laugh. “I need to start eating better— feels like I’ve been eating nothing but junk the past few months.”
His face drops, and just before he’s about to say something 10x ruder, Shiu cuts in.
“I’m sorry, I’m still confused,” he takes several steps back to about 5 minutes ago, “was there some sort of mix up here? I thought this was a date-date, not a dinner with… friends.” Shiu looks back at you, and you’re no help, you’re just glaring.
“A date?” Satoru huffs out a laugh, making the man look like an idiot for even thinking this was a date. “It’s been dinner this whole time. You’re the one who booked a reservation for four, our other friend couldn’t make it.”
Shiu's face twists in confusion. “What? No, no, no— I booked the reservation under two.”
“No, you didn’t. It was booked under four,” he sadly breaks it to him. “You can go ask the receptionist if you want, but I swear it’s four.”
Shiu gets up from his seat to go talk to the receptionist, because he knows he booked it for two— he’s not fucking crazy.
And it’s true, he’s not. Satoru’s the crazy one here.
He’s still gonna go home believing he is though, since the receptionist got paid to change the booking information and lie to him.
Satoru laughs just thinking about it, then downs the rest of Shiu’s wine, ready to gaslight him over that, too.
Finally, he looks back at you and feels a sick sense of satisfaction. You’re angry… baffled, in complete and utter disbelief— you’re looking at him like you’re two seconds away from jumping over the table and strangling him.
Though in the end, you gather yourself together as you finally ask: “What are you doing here, Satoru?”
“Why the fuck are you on a date with someone right now?” His tone clipped, it sounds like he’s about to throw a fit.
“I—“ you stop for a moment, reminding yourself not to yell. “Satoru, we’re not in a relationship.”
“Fine, then,” he decides to rephrase it, “why are you trying to replace me? And with him? Seriously?!”
“What’s wrong with him?!”
“He looks like a sleazy pornstar from the 80s!”
“Not everything is about looks—“
He laughs and cocks his head to the side. “Ok, what is it then? Is his dick bigger than mine?”
Your brows pinch together. Of course, he’s worried about that. “No— I haven’t even seen it yet.”
“Yet?!” his voice broke.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
You try to use a more stern tone to get him to relax, but you don’t think it’ll work. Satoru looks fucking devastated.
“What’s next, you're gonna have babies with him?”
Your jaw drops at his conclusion. “What? No! Do you not realize how dramatic you sound right now?”
“I’m being replaced by a man with fucking pornstache!” he points to himself and says.
“Excuse me?” You’re both interrupted by a timid waitress. “Um– the man that was here earlier just left.”
“I’m not surprised,” you mutter until your breath.
“Yeah…” she sighs, almost apologizing for it. “Were you guys ready to order?”
You glance back at Satoru, and he’s looking away with his arms crossed. “Could I just get the bill for the drinks?”
“Oh, no worries about that! It’s all been covered already by Mr. Gojo. You can just head out when you’re ready.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Of course! Have a good n–” she cuts herself off, knowing damn well you weren’t. “Take care.”
You would’ve laughed at how timid she was if you weren’t so irritated, and instead just nod and smile. You look back at the date crasher, contemplating whether you should thank him or not for trying to cover the bill, but hold off, knowing he probably only did it to assert even more dominance over your date than he already has.
“We’re leaving.” You rise up and grab your purse. Satoru doesn't even look at you, let alone move an inch, because he’s throwing a fucking tantrum, so you slam your hand on the table. “Get up.”
He gets up.
There’s a slight pout on Satoru’s face as he follows you out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. His hands are shoved in his pockets, dragging his feet.
“Where’s your car?” you ask.
“There,” he mumbled and nodded in its direction, then suddenly, you’re pinching his ear and yanking on it.
“Ow—”
“Walk,” you say through gritted teeth, pinching harder.
“Ow– fuck– I am,” he chokes out. “Ow, ow, ow.”
You continued to drag him through the parking lot, ignoring his pleas for you to let go.
“Suck it up,” you coldly respond. “You were asking for it when you crashed my date.”
“I’m sorry, I… ugh— I’m really not, he was lame as fuck, but still— your nails, ow.”
“Exactly, so get over it,” you continue to scold him. “Can’t believe you fucking did that.”
“Because you—”
“I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, giving his ear one last tug, leaving him next to the driver's side door of his car. “Take me home. Now.”
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authors note - listen, i love myself some pedro pascal but game!joel?? another level for me, ok. you can picture with either game!joel or show!joel, you do you. i haven't written in five years and i have come out of writing retirement just for this man. pls be kind to me!! any feedback is appreciated, especially as this is my first smut in so long and i'm used to writing about peaky blinders boys! feel free to send me asks, requests, whatever whatever u want
warnings - dbf!joel, afab, reader described as wearing a dress, dry humping, cheating (joel is married!!), joel takes readers underwear, reader is v horny and shameless about it, facesitting/riding (aka reader would kill joel irl), lots of dirty talk, pussy pronouns, brief female masturbation and brief mention of male masturbation, dryer is in the kitchen cause i'm british ok!!!, slight cum play but not really, use of the word slut, joel gets off on having just hair pulled at js, somewhat switch!joel towards the end but maybe not idk, semi-public sex, office sex, age gap (20 years, the rest is down to you)
word count - 8k.
You knew it was wrong to be besotted with your parent’s best friend, especially when he was a married man but how could you resist? Joel Miller did nothing to help your cause.
He was polite, handsome and always walked around like he oozed confidence and could do whatever he wanted and no one would bat an eyelid. His smile was enough to have you clenching your thighs during family meals and your fingers stuffed deep in your pussy the very same night as you dreamed of what else that mouth could do. It was a long, tortuous, heavenly roundabout that you were stuck on and frankly, you didn’t want to get off.
What did you do in a previous life to deserve this? Why couldn’t you have met Joel in another life? A life where Joel and your dad didn’t meet every Saturday night to play card games and drink beer whilst discussing the latest game. A life where your mother and Joel’s wife, Charlotte, didn’t have spa nights and drink cheap fruity wine they got from the local store. You deserved more, you deserved better, you deserved Joel.
You have been so good. You’d resisted him for years. You’d perfected your best, fake smile during every anniversary dinner, congratulated them as they announced the renewal of their vows, you’d helped his wife pick out her wedding dress alongside your mother, you’d done everything you were meant to do. When was it your turn?
“What you thinkin’ bout, girl?”
You dragged your eyes away from the kitchen window and over to Joel who stood in the doorway, halfway to the fridge before he stopped. How long had you been staring out the window at him? You had only come in here to check on your laundry, how long ago was that? Were you going crazy?
“Nothin’, Joel,” you said softly, quickly glancing down at the dryer, only a few minutes left. “You and my dad havin’ a good time?”
You nodded out the window and towards the car that Joel and your dad had been working on for almost six months now, they never seemed to get any further with their latest mechanical mission. On the lawn next to the drive sat your mother and Charlotte, both of them engrossed in conversation as they sipped on lemonade whilst basking in the Austin summer heat. You didn’t hate Charlotte exactly but you envied her and you didn’t know what was worse. You envied her pretty flowery dresses and long curled hair that always look elegant, her fingernails which were always painted a pretty light blue colour and perfectly maintained, envied the fact she slept next to Joel every night and probably didn’t realise how lucky she was. God, maybe you did hate her.
“Be havin’ a damn better time when I don’t have to look at that car again, swear your dad buys the stupidest shit going,” he scoffed before opening the fridge and pulling out two beers, eyeing up the cheap brand your father had purchased. Joel then turned towards you, “Looks like something’s on your mind - “ he paused before the slight graze of a smirk morphed on his luscious face. “Or someone?”
It was your turn to scoff, only yours came out uncomfortably loud. “N’ what’s that meant to mean?”
“C’mon, charmin’ girl like you must have someone by now,” Joel questioned, an eyebrow arched as he stared over at you. Was he moving closer to you? No, it was your imagination. “Not seen ya’ with anyone since that lil boy you had back when you were twenty, what a fool he turned out to be.”
Yeah, a fool indeed. What a waste of time he turned out to be.
“Tell me about it.”
“Nobody then?” Joel was definitely closer. Could your laundry please hurry up?
You took a quick look at him briefly before smiling and shaking your head. You turned back towards the window, your back to him now. “We all ain’t lucky to be loved up like you, Joel. Boys my age, well…”
“What’s wrong with 'em’, sweetheart? That guy turned you off men completely, huh?”
“Well, they just ain’t my type, Mr. Miller…” You trailed off, you hadn’t called him that in many years. “I like men that are a bit older, ya know?”
As soon as you finished your sentence, you felt Joel's presence behind you.
This is what happened between the two of you. Nothing out of turn was ever said but there was a tension, an indescribable sends-you-crazy in the middle of the night, tension. You were adamant it was just you being delusional. You were twenty-years younger than Joel, he would never have any interest in you that way. Plus, your parents were his best friends. Oh, and he was married.
Were you some infatuated young woman who just couldn’t stop fantasising about her dad’s hot best friend? This was more than a fantasy though, this had been going on years. You’d spent endless nights with your hand tucked in between your thighs as you thought dirty things about him. Had mastered every excuse going as to why you couldn’t attend any of the Miller’s functions that Charlotte insisted on throwing.
“Older?” Joel leaned across you to grab the bottle opener. Of all the places for your father to have left it, why did you have to be in front of it? You got a whiff of his aftershave and almost fell to your knees there. “What makes you like older men so much, huh?”
“Just somethin’ about them, somethin’ special, somethin’ that makes me feel a lil’ bit naughty, you know?” What were you doing? Words came out of your mouth before you could even process what you were going to say. Joel being behind you, his arm brushing past your waist as he brought the bottle opener towards him. It was all too much, you couldn’t stop rambling but he looked so good, black t-shirt so tight and jeans fitting in all the right places. Did she tell him how good he looked all the time? “They got more experience, more knowledge, and know how to treat a lady right. Boys my age, they don’t know what they doin’. Boys at college showed me that, that’s why i’m wantin’ an older man, ya know? Want someone who ain’t gonna mess me around or throw me to side when someone prettier comes along.”
“These city boys stupid if they throwin’ you to the side baby,” Joel purred, his breath hot on your neck. He looked down at you from where he stood, trying his hardest not to stare down your shirt. You always made it so difficult for him. “You have many boys in college?”
Joel moved to your side and faced away from the window. He stared straight ahead as he placed one of the beer bottles down and brought the other to his lips. You stared directly at his wife as you tried not to imagine her husband bending you over the counter, dropping to his knees and using his mouth to eat your pussy from the back. She had no idea as she giggled alongside your mother, had no idea of the thoughts that had ruined your brain since hormones came to play.
“They wanted me, I didn’t always give them the same attention back.”
You took a step back at the sound of the dryer beeping, finally. You grabbed the washing basket you had discarded to the side and lowered yourself to both knees as you emptied your load of dry, clean washing into it. Maybe this wasn’t the best position to be in considering you only had to glance slightly to your right and make eye contact with Joel’s bulge. You weren't straining your back for no-one though.
You felt your heart drop as Joel crouched down to your level besides you. The two of you were no longer in view of the window, nor the front door if anyone was to walk in. This felt wildly inappropriate, you loved it. You just silently prayed that Joel felt the same gravitational pull as you did.
It all seemed different. You’d had these conversations before, sometimes there had been flirtatious comments but Joel was a tease, could flirt with a lamp post if he really tried hard enough. There was something about the way he was looking at you now, almost as if there was resistance there. Like he was trying to resist you.
“Older men won’t always treat you well,” he rasped, training his eyes to stay level with yours and not fall below your neckline. Your little white tank top doing nothing to hide your chest, it seemed you had skipped wearing anything underneath. Such a tease, he thought. “Young pretty thing like you wanting a bit of them? C’mon now, you can’t handle no-one your own age, let alone someone twenty years older than you.”
There was a taunting smile on his face. Your heart began to thump under the thin material of your vest as you looked at him, not paying attention to the clothing in your hands. His head tilted to the side slightly as he eyed you up, waiting for you to respond.
“You are twenty years older than me,” you whispered out loud before you could stop yourself. “Do you think I couldn’t handle ya?”
Joel shook his head and sniggered slightly. “I know you couldn’t handle me baby, ain’t no shame in that.”
“Why don’t you give me the chance to prove you - “
“I’ll have these.” The words were spoken and an item of clothing was stolen from your hands before you could finish your sentence . You suddenly felt tiny as Joel stood up. You looked up at him, eyes wide and mouth open as you watched him hold your pink, lace panties in his hand. “I’d prefer them used but this will do.” You kneeled with your mouth open, unable to make any argument back. Joel looked down at you before he bent over slightly to grab your jaw. You whimpered pathetically at the action and a wide shit-eating grin was on Joel’s within seconds of you making the sound. “Goodbye sweet girl.”
“Joel - “
“Goodbye sweet girl,” he repeated sternly, his eyes lingering on yours as he stood up straight and walked out of the kitchen, your panties stuffed in his back pocket and both bottles of beer in his hands.
----
You were a fool. A big fool.
As soon as Joel had gone, you were running upstairs into your room where you slammed the door shut and threw yourself down on the bed. It had never gone that far before. He’d taken your panties - your favourite but you’d let that slide. Your mind was clogged with thoughts of him with your panties wrapped around his cock as he edged himself over and over again. His hand pressed against the locked door of the bathroom he shared with his wife. He wouldn’t be thinking about her though, no, his mind would be flooded with filthy images of you doing the stuff his wife wouldn’t do for him, you bent over wherever he wanted, his cock stuffed wherever he wanted, your mouth wide open and pussy sopping for him. You wanted them back, covered in his cum and filth, his scent embedded in the material. He was making you feral, the panties you were currently wearing already so soaked.
He wanted them used? Well, he’d get them used.
“Fuck,” you breathed out, your right index and middle finger slowly massaging your clit.
It was the same routine almost nightly. The moment your fingers touched your clit, dirty thoughts of Joel would arise in your brain. You wanted every inch of him, wanted his fingers rubbing delicate circles on your clit rather than your own, wanted his tongue lapping you up as he slowly slipped his large fingers inside of you, slowly but surely bringing you to the edge over and over and over again.
You felt restricted by the panties you were wearing but you needed them soaked. Needed Joel to have one smell of the fabric and go mad with lust, unable to control himself to the point he tugs his cock out wherever he is and strokes and strokes until he’s coming so hard that the only thing he can purr is your name over and over again. You were so mad for this man, you needed him to be the same back.
This is what you were put on this planet for. You were made to make Joel miller go crazy at the scent of a younger woman.
You rubbed your clit harder as you arched your back, mumbling his name repeatedly until it was the only thing you could do. Your legs spread wider as your eyes fluttered open and shut, the room blurring as you felt the pressure grow in your lower abdomen.
You always came quick when you thought of Joel but this, this was humiliating.
As your orgasm washed through you, all you could do was concentrate on Joel’s voice. I know you couldn’t handle me, baby. You could, you knew you could. You could hear the disgustingly beautiful words that he would speak to you as he thrusted his cock in and out of you, the delicious stretch as he split you open and opened your legs wider than you ever could yourself.
“Oh fuck, Joel, Joel - “ you stuttered shakily, your orgasm sending shockwaves through your body. You tightened your legs around your hand that was still rubbing your clit and your back arched off the bed, the sound of his name on the tip of your tongue as you slowly came down.
You needed him. You were going to have him.
You spent the next few moments trying to gather your thoughts and talk yourself out of making a bad decision. This could ruin your life and your relationship with your parents but most importantly, it could ruin everything with Joel. Not just the sexual stuff either. Being able to have someone to call in the middle of the night when you were stranded at a party and too frightened to call your mother, the memory of having your first sip of alcohol with Joel when you were eighteen, the way that he would smile sweetly to you whenever he saw you unloading groceries from your mothers car. It would all be ruined, gone. A new, uncertain, dangerous territory would arise and you would be stuck there, unable to go back on what you have done. But you wanted this more than anything, had dreamed about this endless time. If you could only have him for one night, then one night it would be.
Before you could talk yourself out of anything, you jumped off the bed and ignored the pulsing feeling in your pussy. You reached over to the freshly washed laundry and grabbed a hoodie and a pair of leggings. As tempting as it was to walk down the stairs in nothing but your soaked underwear and an oversized t-shirt, have Joel peel them from your body before taking you over to the dining room table and fucking you, you had to have some class about you.
The sound of your parents and Charlotte could be heard from your bedroom, they must have come in at some point but you were sure they hadn’t heard you. You listened out for Joel’s voice or laughter but heard nothing.. A part of you hoped he’d rushed off home to fuck himself with your panties. You bounded down the stairs with a skip in your step, excited for what was to come.
“Where’s Joel?” you asked as you came into the kitchen, voice laced with fake innocence as you smiled sweetly at the three of them around the dining room table. Your used panties hidden in the pocket of your hoodie.
“Garage,” Charlotte answered. “Everything okay? Anything I can help you with?”
Absolutely not.
“Yeah, I just need to ask him something about Sarah.”
“Before you go,” your mother started, stopping you as you made a rush for the front door. She showed you her laptop screen, a stunning spa resort on the screen. Nice. “Me and Charlotte were thinking about booking a weekend away at the end of summer, are you interested in coming?”
“You really should,” Charlotte answered, not giving you a chance to oppose the situation. “I could always see if Sarah is free to come along with us so you’re not stuck with us the whole time.”
You shrugged your shoulders and glanced towards the garage door through the kitchen window. Could you really be in close proximity to Charlotte for a full weekend? Especially considering what you were about to do.
“I’ll think about it,” you answered with a smile, hoping it would be enough to satisfy them. “Anyways, bye.”
You rushed out the front door and over to the garage before they could say anything else. As you reached the door, you caught a glimpse of Joel around the corner, your heart skipping a beat as you stared at him. He was so pretty, years of labour engrained on his face but he wore it so well. His hair was messy after spending hours running his fingers through it, most likely at annoyance towards your father for buying another car that didn’t run. His beard was unruly and all you could picture was the feeling of the coarse hair running along the inside of your thighs and leaving red marks in its wake.
You coughed loudly and caught his attention. He turned around slowly, already trying to fight an erection at the sight of you and a seductive smile. “I want my panties back, Joel,” you began. You wanted to move closer, run your hand up his chest and grab the curls at the back of his neck but you maintain your dignity, for now. “They’re my favourite pair.”
Joel tutted and shook his head.“Not happenin’, darlin. They are mine now.” He threw the rag he had in his hand on the work bench behind him, eyes not leaving yours for even the briefest of seconds.
“But what if I give you something better?” You slowly stalked over to Joel and pressed your body up close towards him and fought the urge to not stare up at him. “Somethin’ so much better.”
Joel watched with hooded eyes as you reached in between your bodies, your hand accidentally grazing his lower belly. He took in a deep breath and clenched his fists. He was struggling as much as you and you loved every moment.
“You filthy girl,” Joel chuckled darkly, the sight of your panties having his cock rock hard against the rough denim material of his jeans. He was fucked. He took them from your hand and admired them with a glimmer of humour in his eyes but there was something darker there, almost worrying. He fondled with the material, his rough finger moving along the crotch and he audibly moaned when he felt the wetness. “These are still wet, baby. What you been doin’ up those stairs, huh?”
You tilted your head to the side and grinned. “You wanna’ know?” You asked, so sweet and sexy that the way you spoke went straight to Joel’s cock. You ran your hand up Joel’s chest and over his neck before pressing the two fingers you’d used to get yourself off against his plump lips. “You can have a taste if you wanna’.”
“Pretty girl - “ he purred, unable to finish his sentence as you pressed your fingers into his mouth. “Dirty girl,” he finished, his mouth enclosing around your fingers as he took in the faint taste of your previous orgasm. His large hand wrapped around your wrist, keeping you in place whilst he stared down at you with a fire in his eyes that you’d never seen before. He popped your fingers out of his mouth, “Always knew you were a fuckin’ slut for me.”
You stood up on your tippy-toes as you attempted to capture Joel’s mouth with your own but he pushed you back, enough to make you stumble back into the bonnet of the car that Joel and your father had been working on.
“Please, Joel,” you whimpered, sounding more pathetic than you normally did when you were around him - you wanted something to happen when you passed him your wet panties but this, well this was something else. You watched him as he walked over to you, an internal battle playing out in his head but he knew which side of him would win. You reached out for him as he got closer but he gently slapped your hands away. “I’m not a slut, i - “
“Ya think I don’t notice the way you suddenly become a slut whenever I’m around? How I’ll walk into your house and you’ll be dressed in jeans and a shirt and within five minutes, suddenly you’ve got on them lil’ pyjama shorts with the frills on the bottom and an even littler tank top that you should be fuckin’ ashamed to be wearing around your parents,” he spat. He stood directly in front of you, one large hand reaching out to lay flat against your stomach as he pushed you further against the bonnet until you were practically laid flat against it, your elbows the only thing keeping you slightly sat up. “But you ain’t ashamed. You fuckin’ love it. Love knowing that my cock’s damn near bustin’ out my jeans all night, don’t ya?”
“I didn’t know, Joel - “ You knew.
“Didn’t know? See, you’re a liar as well as fuckin’ slut. You think you deserve my cock?”
“Yes, please,” you moaned loudly without any shame. No concern for the three people not that fat from you. You were fucked if anyone was to come into the garden. Due to the placement of the work bench, you were thankfully out of sight of the house.
“Why?” he asked, his hand running up and down your stomach delicately.
“I’ve been so patient, Joel. It’s been torture, knowin’ you going back to her and fuckin’ her when it should be me you fuckin’,” you cried out, your eyes watering with desperation. “Don’t you think I deserve ya cock? I’ve been good, I promise. I gave ya’ my used panties. Made myself come whilst wearin’ them, just for you, thought of you, I promise.”
Before you could begin to process your actions, you grabbed Joel’s hand and moved it further down so it was situated in between your thighs. You had ‘forgotten’ panties and with your previous encounter with Joel, your orgasm and this current situation, you were dripping all the way down to the seam of your leggings.
“Can you feel it, Joel?” you asked, voice soft and quiet. “Can ya’ feel how wet I am for you?”
Joel moaned lowly as he slowly moved his fingers along your clothed pussy, the material from the leggings adding an extra layer of pleasure. You were already so sensitive still from your previous orgasm but you weren't going to back out of this.
“I feel it, baby,” he grunted. “Fuck, ya’ so beautiful, so wet, I ain’t got no choice but to fuck ya’, have I?” Removing his hand, Joel placed both of his hands on each side of your inner thigh and split your legs apart so you were fully spread out for him. The action caused you to fall flat onto your back and you attempted to open your legs even wider for him. “That’s it, good girl.”
Joel took one large step until he was situated between your thighs. His hands reached up to grab your waist and he moved your body down until you were pressed against his bulge, his hard cock pressing directly onto your clothed pussy. His hands tightened around you as he slowly rubbed his cock against you, his eyes fluttering shut with ecstasy.
Joel felt so wrong. If someone was to walk into the garage and see the scene in front of them then Joel would be leaving yours with a black eye but how was he able to resist such a beautiful woman who was equally as desperate as him? He’d tried so hard to resist you, spent the last few years trying to purposely avoid you but there were times when he couldn’t, and he couldn’t even count the amount of times on one hand that he had to rush off to your parent’s bathroom and stroke his cock until he finally saw sense. This was his best friend's daughter, this was you. Not some random girl in a club that just wanted a quick fuck. This was quiet, pretty, sweet you. He didn’t even want to think about his wife who was blissfully unaware of his sinful thoughts, especially didn’t want to think about her when your hips were moving and creating more pressure on his cock.
“Want more, Joel,” you whispered, eyes shut as you continued to grind along his cock. You definitely looked a mess but Joel didn’t seem to care, not when his hands left your waist and he let you take control. “Cock feels so big, bet it feels even bigger deep inside of me.”
Within seconds, you were flung around so you were now bent over the bonnet, your legs dangling over the edge. Joel’s hands were on your waist again as dragged you back so your back was perfectly arched for him and arse up in the air for him to admire. His cock pressed against you as he shamelessly rutted his hips into you, allowing the sensation to go straight to his cock - and head.
“Pretty fuckin girl’, told you earlier that you wouldn’t be able to handle my cock,” he moaned, one hand moving down to squeeze the flesh of your ass. There was nothing delicate about the touch, you didn’t mind. “But like I said, gonna have to fuck ya’, aren’t I? Wouldn't be fair of me to let you carry on like this, so desperate and horny for an old man’s cock that you gotta’ stuff your fingers inside your pussy every goddamn time I’ve been in the same room as ya’.”
You’ve never seen Joel this desperate, all fury and hormones as he rubbed himself against your ass, almost as if you weren't there. You could do nothing but grind your hips up against him, waiting and anticipating and his animalistic nature took over. He messily fucked his cock against you, whispering sweet nothings out loud as the usual authoritative Joel slips away. His eyebrows dipped as his orgasm approached and suddenly, he felt like an eighteen year old boy again. He was no better than those college boys you bitched about. He wasn’t going to come in his pants at the feeling of your ass pressed against his cock and he certainly wasn’t going to sit next to his wife on the drive home and pretend that he didn’t just get himself off using your body.
“No, no, no, where you goin’, Joel?” you whimpered as you felt the loss of his body against yours. You turned your head around and reached for him, only for him to shake his head as a warning. If you touched him, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “Want you to come, need you to come, please, I’m so desperate, please. Can fuck my throat, please - “
“Shut up,” Joel snapped, taking a few steps back as he eyed you down like you were his prey. “If I only get to fuck you once, then it ain’t being like this, you understand? Plus baby, your parent’s are in the house, my fuckin’ wife is in the house. Need to be careful if we gonna’ do this, shouldn’t even be doin’ it but fuck, you right girl, you waited long enough, ain’t ya’?”
You nodded pathetically as you stood up straight. “So long.” You were no longer the woman that walked into the garage and made Joel suck on her fingers. You were weak, desperate and a horny pathetic mess. Frankly, you didn’t care slightly about the people inside the house, not when you could see how hard his cock was.
“I need to go by my office tonight and pick up some paperwork.” Joel stated, not looking anywhere else but at you. His cock was throbbing in his briefs, begging to be released and forced inside your tight, warm pussy but Joel needed to wait. He couldn’t do this here - couldn’t risk his wife or your parent’s walking in despite how badly he wanted to bend you over the stupid car. “You’ll be there, won’t ya’?”
Again, you nodded pathetically. “I’ll be there.”
“Wear a pretty dress, or skirt, yeah?” The sound of Charlotte's voice reached both of you at the same time and you took note of the way Joel grimaced - he wasn’t ready for this to be over yet. He was already counting down the hours until he could help you get over your need for his cock. “No panties either and I’m keeping these.”
----
When you had woken up that morning, you hadn’t expected that this is where you would be but here you were, standing outside Joel’s office feeling like nothing but an idiot. You looked down at the dress you’d put on just for him, a pretty pink off-the-shoulder flowery summer dress, you looked cute, irresistible.
You stepped inside, knowing the way to go from your previous visits with your father. Those times had been innocent, you’d sat in Joel’s office whilst him and your dad discussed whatever business they needed to talk about. This time was different. You felt so anxious as you approached the office door - not bothering to knock as it was already slightly open. You had a plan to open the door slowly and say something that would have him dragging you over to the desk but you didn’t get a chance. Before you could say anything, his voice was ringing through the room.
“Take your dress off for me.”
You stood still in the doorway to his shared office with Tommy as silence occupied the room you were in. Not even a hello, straight to the point. Joel faced away from you as he flicked through some paperwork that was untidily placed over the desk, could he feel how desperate you were for him?
“What if I say no?” you fire back, your tone of voice playful.
Despite your voice showing some confidence, you could feel yourself getting smaller under the harsh gaze of Joel as he turned back to look at you briefly. The glance only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to let you know he wasn’t down to play your games anymore. Joel turned back towards the paperwork and sighed loudly enough for you to hear it from the other side of the room. Was his cock aching at the thought of having you?
“Ya’ think you’re so cute, don’t you?” Joel asked rhetorically. “Did you listen to what I said earlier on? Did you wear your panties or nah?”
You shook your head even though he couldn’t see you. “I listened to what you said, Joel. Behaved myself. I’m not wearing anything underneath this dress.”
“So do as you're told and take that dress off before I have to come over there and do something about it, understood?” Tempting. You watched as Joel strolled casually over to a sofa besides his desk. He looked at you properly for the first time and his cock hardened at the sight of you. “We shouldn’t be doing this, you know that.”
“I know,” you said softly with a shrug of your shoulders. “But I kinda’ don’t care.”
Joel stifled a laugh. “Me neither, baby.” He raised one eyebrow and nodded towards your dress, encouraging you to finally free yourself of the loose clothing which felt like it was stuck to your body.
Standing at a distance from Joel, you allowed the dress to slip from your body until it fell lightly to the floor. You were completely naked for him, body bare and on show. Goosebumps arose on your skin as you watched him take every inch of you in, his eyes slowly trailing over your collarbones, down to your breasts where the nipples had peaked due to the cool air, down your soft belly which was gagging to be covered in his kisses, and finally your pussy. If he was any closer, he would be able to see the glistening in between your legs.
“You think she’s ready for me?”
“She?” you asked with a confused expression etched onto your face.
“Your pussy, baby,” Joel cooed, his voice soft and loving. “God, you can be so innocent when you wanna’ be. Come over here, wanna see all of you.”
You gulped as you walked over to him slowly, suddenly feeling anxious at the feeling of his eyes roaming over your body. He looked so hungry for you with his right hand rubbing against the growing bulge in his jeans. So pretty, you thought to yourself.
When you finally stood in front of him, you looked everywhere but down at the fact that had ruined your dreams since you could remember. Maybe this was wrong but it felt so right at the moment.
“I can see she’s ready, she’s so wet for me already,” Joel said, his large palms coming to lay on the back of your thighs. You shuffled forward slightly until his face was in direct view with your soft belly. Joel leaned slightly forward and placed one chaste kiss directly above your belly button. As you looked down, Joel looked up and the two of you were silent for a brief moment, just staring at each other and waiting for one to back out but when neither of you spoke out against what you were about to do, Joel continued on. “When we got this office, Tommy brought some dumb shit for it. Told him we’d never need a sofa in here but I’m starting to think that maybe it wasn’t a bad purchase at all.”
“Why’s that, Joel?”
“Because imma’ eat your pussy on it.” He said the words so casually that you almost fell to your knees there. “Bet you’d look so pretty with your thighs on either side of my face.”
“Joel,” you hummed, hands automatically coming out to thread in his thick hair. A soft moan came through Joel at the action.
“What do you want, pretty girl?”
“Please.”
Joel gracefully pulled you down so you were straddling his lap, his large hands roaming along the skin on your back as he admired you. “So beautiful,” he mumbled, mouth pressed along the base of your neck. “Wanna mark you up so bad. Fuck if you were ten years older, not my bestfriends daughter and I weren’t married, I’d do such bad things to you, fuck you full of my cum till I was leaking outta’ ya’ for days.”
“Can’t, I wish you could, more than you’ll ever know,” you whined, fingers gripping his head as the flurry of kisses along your neck went straight to the fire in your loins. “But you can do what ya’ said before.”
“Tell me what you want me to do, wanna’ hear them dirty words come from that sweet mouth of yours.”
“Want you to eat my pussy, Joel. Please.”
Joel grunted before taking a hold of your body and shuffling you around on the sofa until he was laid flat and you were straddling his waist. Joel looked as desperate as you as he thrusted his hips up, shuffling you slightly along his body.
“Come on then, I’m waiting for her. Been waitin’ on her for far too long.”
Joel grinned widely, excited at the prospect of having his best friend's daughter come all over his tongue. Joel was obviously lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about this before but they were just taboo thoughts that he had, nothing serious, everyone fantasised, right? He almost felt ashamed when he left your parents house only hours before, cock still hard and leaking in his boxers as he pictured you spread across your fathers car. He tried to make conversation with Charlotte on the way back home but it was physically impossible, his mind clouded with the memory of you bent over your dads precious project with your ass in the air, basically inviting him in. But he felt no shame now. Not with you, straddling him and looking down at him with an anxious, but compliant, smile on your face - he was completely and utterly fucked.
“Happily, Mr. Miller.”
You sensually moved your body further up his, pausing briefly to place your thumb against Joel’s mouth. You dragged his bottom lip down as you smiled down at him sweetly, the memories of your fingers in Joel’s mouth as he sucked them clean had you throbbing onto his t-shirt, sure to leave a stain in its wake. Before you could go any further, Joel gently wrapped a hand around your wrist.
“Up here, now. You know what to do, doll.”
Smiling, you placed both of your hands against the arm of the sofa that was behind Joel’s head and lifted your body up so that you could move until you were hovering above his face. You’d never done this before. Sure, you’d had someone go down on you but never like this, never so intimate and never whilst you had been this wet. Joel was in no rush though as you hesitated above him. He would never force you to do anything that you didn’t want to do and he understood that you were most likely nervous - you was fucking your father’s best friend after all. The sight he had wasn’t too bad either, your pussy soaking and dripping just for him. So close to his mouth. After some hesitation, Joel came to the conclusion that he couldn’t look at your sweet cunt for any longer and do nothing about it.
Both of his strong hands gripped onto your thighs as he brought you down to his face and delved in, a moan coming from both of you as his tongue immediately started to lick along your clit in a teasing manner. You lurched forward at the sensation, your hands gripping onto the sofa with a tighter grip.
“Oh, that feels so good,” you cried out, one hand leaving the sofa to grab his locks. “Don’t stop, please, please don’t stop.”
Joel wrapped his mouth around your clit as he gently moved his head from side-to-side, he would keep you on top of his face for the rest of his life if it was possible. You looked down at the sight of him, so beautiful and sensual that you couldn’t help but moan just from that. Your thighs squeezed against the side of his face as you felt yourself relax into him, allowing yourself the chance to roll your hips and meet the stroke of his tongue. His hands grabbed both of your thighs as a sign of encouragement.
“You taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he purred before placing small flicks against your clits, starting slowly but becoming more distressed as your moans became louder and more frequent. “She’s so fuckin pretty, girl. Such a pretty pussy, so wet and all for me.”
“For you, Joel,” you breathed out as your eyes squeezed shut and you stuttered forwards. Joel’s actions were becoming more ferocious on your cunt, his tongue having no limits as he continuously brought you to the edge.
You could barely speak, only the filthiest of moans coming from your timid body as you continued to grind along Joel’s face. Worries about harming him were gone, all you could focus on was the unmeasurable amount of pleasure that he was bringing you. If his tongue alone could do this, what could his cock do?
Joel didn’t need to hear you speak though. The moans and whimpers that blessed his ears was enough to tell him everything that he needed to know. You were gone when it came to him, would allow him to do whatever he wanted and just the feel of his cock against your ass and his tongue on your clit had done that to you. He wanted to ruin you so bad it almost hurt him.
As you looked down at Joel again, your eyes flickering open for the briefest of moments, you noticed the cockiness that glimmered behind his eyes.
“I’d do this every day of my life if I could,” he said as he lifted you up briefly. You whimpered at the loss of contact but also at the sight of him. His face glistened with your wetness, his beard drenched and lips swollen as he stared up at you. Darkness had clouded his eyes.
You can. You can. You can. You wanted to scream at him. But he couldn’t. He was married.
“Just shut up,” you mewled before reaching down, grabbing his hair and planting yourself firmly on his face. An animalistic growl came from Joel as he returned his heavenly lips to your core. His moans and whimpers vibrated against your clit as you tugged harder on his hair with every action of his tongue.
You found a rhythm that had Joel’s eyes slightly widening but he didn’t once stop as you rode his face, his tongue and lips drinking in every drop you released. His tongue went from moving leisurely swirls along your clit to rough, mixing the rhythm up and having you yearning for more.
His cock was so hard it was painful. He wanted nothing more but to flip you over and fuck you from the back, have you keening and arching your back for him as you screamed his name over and over again, legs shaking and orgasm so strong you black out but he needed this just as much. Wanted to have you flood his mouth with your arousal, he needed to struggle to breath as you put all your weight on his face and took what you needed, deserved.
Your head was thrown back as you chanted his name like a prayer, your voice becoming embarrassingly higher. Small flicks that he left against your clit were becoming more distressed and the thrust of your hips was almost making it hard for Joel to breath but he would die happily if it meant dying in between your legs with his tongue pressing against your enterance.
“I’m so close,” you whimpered out loud, your cunt clenching around his tongue as he behaved like a frenzied woman between your thighs. His tongue was everywhere all at once and you could feel yourself start to build up, the excitement of the release making you tug on his hair harder as fucked yourself harder on his face.
Joel pulled back for air, his breath laboured and eyes glossy. He gave himself a few seconds to collect himself as you made stared at each other, both so fucked out your brains it was ridiculous.
“You gonna come for me, pretty girl? Gonna coat my face?” Joel asked, his words broken up due to being unable to tear his mouth away from your clit for more than a few seconds. “Answer me baby, tell me how good I’m making you feel - “ Joel cut himself off with a long, drawn-out moan as your hands returned back to his hair. “Keep tugging my hair.”
Tugging harder and putting most of your weight onto Joel’s face was the only response you could give him. Your moans and whimpers matched Joel’s as he continued his tortuous assault on your cunt and you weaved your fingers throughout his hair, your fingernails digging slightly into his scalp causing a delicious burn.
The burn in your lower stomach grew stronger with every movement of Joel’s tongue and your legs started to shake around his head. “Come, pretty girl,” he growled against your clit. “Come so hard on my tongue I can taste you for days.”
You dissolved into pleasure as you felt your orgasm rush through your body, every part of you in utter bliss as lowly moaned out Joel’s name. His own cries of pleasures were adding to the orgasm, the vibrations rippling through you. His hands grabbed you tighter as he held you down, surely not able to breathe but frankly, not caring in the slightest. This was heaven to him. Being able to feel your thighs shake and stutter, your whole body clench up and the taste of your wetness gushing out of you and onto his tongue, drinking up every inch of you like he was a man dying - he was done for. This was perfection. This is what he had been craving for so long.
It felt as if everything had stopped as you gently moved your cunt across his mouth, the last of your orgasm sizzling out. You attempted to move off Joel and give him a chance to catch a breath but he pulled you back down, using his tongue to clean up the evidence of your orgasm. It was only when the pleasure became too much that you pulled him back with another pull of his hair, earning an almost silent whimper from him.
“You did so well, baby,” he whispered as he moved you down to his lap and sat himself up. Joel’s hand moved to your face as he brushed some of the hair out of the way. You looked so good, so blissful and angelic. He looked even better though, completely fucked out as he tried to labour his breathing.
You nodded slowly and pressed your forehead against his. “So good. Thank you, thank you so much.”
Joel gulped and hesitated before speaking, “We can do this again,” he started, ignoring the voice in his head screaming at him to shut up. This was so wildly inappropriate but how was he meant to resist you after you’d just sat on his face and ridden him to high heavens? His heart clenched at the hopeful smile on your face. “Our secret though, baby. Can’t tell no-one, ya’ get that?”
“Our secret.” You leaned back on Joel’s lap, expecting to feel his hard cock pressing into your sensitive core but instead, you just felt his soft bulge and a hint of disappointment hit you. “You not get hard for me, Joel?” you asked sadly.
There was a devilish smile on his face as he watched you shuffle back until you rested on his lower thighs, your eyebrows pressed together. You undid the buttons of his jeans and slid your hand inside of his briefs so you could cup his bulge - he had wanted you so bad before, what had happened?
Joel continued to watch you with a smile as your mouth formed into the perfect ‘o’ shape at the realisation of what had happened.
“For me?” you asked sweetly as you removed your hand from Joel’s boxers, the remnants of his come on your finger tips.
“For you,” he answered with a faint blush to his cheeks. “Made me come untouched, girl. All from those pretty fuckin’ hands of yours in my hair and the way you rode my face…” he trailed off and grabbed your ass, pulling you against him. “Suck ya’fingers baby, taste me.”
You did as told, maintaining eye contact as you slipped your digits into your mouth and tasted him on your tongue. Fuck, he was delicious.
“Funny,” you moaned around your fingers before letting them pop out your mouth. You leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to the side of Joel’s mouth, ignoring his look of confusion. “Told me I couldn’t handle an older man but it looks to me like you can’t handle a bit of younger pussy.”
Joel chuckled as his fingers started to trail along the inside of your thigh. “I’m not finished with you yet, darlin’. Fuck, I ain’t even started yet.”
holy fucking shit I binged watched all of gangs of london in one day and a realised that I’m still in love with joe Cole as much as I was when I was like thirteen n I need help
holy fucking shit I binged watched all of gangs of london in one day and a realised that I’m still in love with joe Cole as much as I was when I was like thirteen n I need help
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ok so it’s been a really, really shit day but hopefully tomorrow will be better, might try and do some writing but i can’t promise anything bc im at the seaside with my family. however, will try and do some writing in the car
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When people make fun of the UK during heat waves I don’t think they truly understand why we complain/struggle so much.
Our temperatures have jumped from an average of 5-12°c to 35°c.
WE ARE NO ACCLIMATISED TO THE HEAT IN ANY WAY
NO WHERE IS AIR CONDITIONED…Our schools, our hospitals, our transport, OUR HOMES are not air conditioned because they normally don’t have to be and its usually a waste of money.
No where has sprinklers and its causing our green spaces to die at rapid rates
It is an extremely dry heat, there is NO humidity at all and if you cannot afford water, and some people can’t (they use public water taps), they are in danger of extreme dehydration
There is no breeze it is a still heat, no movement within the temperature
There is a fan shortage at shops such as argos and even then they are extremely expensive.
Our cities don’t usually have pools due to lack of funding they have been closed
There is an evident lack of shade in central especially where there is shelter from rain but it does not compete with the sun
A lot of London, for example, is built in glass/double glazing BUILT TO KEEP IN THE HEAT but is now purely reflecting the sun and absorbing the heat
This is an extremely serious issue for our country and its only gonna get worse. It’s not that we ‘can’t handle it lol’ it’s that we don’t have the facilities to.
