Making love

“poor thing,” he coos. “you thought teasing me in front of your little friends was cute. brushing your ass against me while you poured drinks. running that filthy mouth like i wouldn’t do anything.”

you open your lips to say something—maybe to defend yourself, maybe to beg—but he cuts you off with a rough tug on his cock and a look that shuts you up faster than a slap.

“now look at you. can’t even talk. can’t even breathe right. all from this?”

he jerks it again, slower this time, wetter.

you nod before you realize you’re nodding, and that makes him laugh.

“fuckin’ knew it,” he mutters, half to himself. “you’re not sorry. you like this. like being punished. like being made to watch.”

and the worst part is—he’s right.

you do. because you’re so fucking desperate that even the smell of him makes you dizzy, even the sound of his breath catching when his hand slides over the head makes your clit throb like it’s trying to cry. he knows, and he’s enjoying it, and the more he strokes, the more you squirm, the more he tilts his head and moans soft just to taunt you, the more you realize you’re not being punished.

you’re being trained.

“don’t blink,” he purrs, voice syrupy. “you’ll miss the part where i cum thinking about how empty you are.”

and you do—you watch like it’s your job. like worship. like he’s gonna give you your reward if you just stare hard enough.

but he doesn’t. he finishes with a snarl, thick and hot over his stomach, muscles twitching, cock pulsing like he should be buried in you, and then—then he looks you dead in the eye, lifts his hand, and licks it off his knuckles.

“Not tonight,” you groan, sliding your hand down his hardened abdomen—abs cut into his skin from years of hard work, skin littered with tattoos and stick and pokes he’d experimented with on himself. “I’m in control.”

The serious expression you’re donning earns a genuine laugh from him, one he thinks is far too cute for someone wanting to assert control yet showing up to his apartment all dolled up in pink. “‘S that so? Alright, show me what you’ve got, baby.”

You’ve abandoned all efforts of power.

Geto, laid pretty with his hair forming a halo in his pillows, prompted you to ride him. The stretch on your way down his cock—thick and hard—had your eyes stinging with tears. You could barely grind even when you’d sunken to the hilt, squirming and squeezing his shoulders at his unbearable size.

“Gooddd girl. Keep it up, you got this,” he purred all sultry, head cocked and focused on your jiggling tits pressed up in your lacy rose bra.

You were a mess—every sound and every movement wrecked and staggered. It wasn’t your fault—Geto was just too pretty. Too handsome. Too perfect.

How could he expect you to do all the work when he made your knees weak?

“S-Sugu,” you mewl now, biting your cheek as you attempt to lift your hips, but whimpering when his tip nestles against that spot that makes your brain all fuzzy and eyes gloss over. “Need help.”

“Nuh uh,” he clicks his tongue, a sharp slap against your ass that punches a yelp from you. Blown amethyst irises stare back at you, absorbing the sexy view in front of him. “I was promised a show. No refunds after the preview, darling.”

You pout, lower lip jutting out, perspiration dotting your brow line and slick sweat sticking to you, sliding between your breasts. Your thighs are aching, and you’re not sure if another hundred grinds will allow you to hit your peak. “Pleaseeee,” you huff, chewing on your cheek. “S so much easier when you…”

“When I what, baby? Do this?”

Suddenly, he lifts his hips, pelvis smacking against your ass as he thrusts his cock deep inside you, his weeping tip meeting your cervix with clinical precision. You gasp, brain short-circuiting, before you nod fervently.

“Tsk tsk,” Geto gazes at you like you’re some pitiful creature, before you find yourself splayed on your back, positions flipped. “Might need to work on your top form,” he bites his lip, admiring the mess you’ve made of yourself already.

But you’ll be ruined by the time he’s done with you.

i like to maladaptively daydream about emoguru

in typical twenty-something fashion, some days feel longer than others. today is no exception. it’s hard to find your footing when you’re buried under midterm projects and still trying to maintain a social life without completely falling apart. when the semester first started, you were hopeful— happy, even. a fourth-year university student ready to finish strong and step into “real life.” but the days got harder before you could make it to the finish line.

the ride back to your apartment isn’t long, but traffic’s brutal after your shift at the convenience store. the bus drags through rush hour, same as always when you’re scheduled until 5pm. everybody’s trying to get home at once and even public transportation gets swallowed by the grind.

on the way back, you can’t stop thinking about everything that’s been wearing you down. midterms snuck up on you like they always do, and no amount of late-night studying could prepare you for the constant pressure of chasing grades in five different classes. the uneven weight of every test, the looming deadlines, the projects— it all feels like punishment.

you’ve barely seen your friends except in passing. you haven’t had time to breathe, let alone take care of yourself. no fun, no breaks, just surviving.

everything’s drained you. school, work, all of it. even suguru— your best friend— has started softening his edges around you, like he can feel how close you are to crumbling. the unread texts from him are piling up, and your absence in his life says enough. he knows school’s kicking your ass. and deep down, you know you’ll bounce back like always.

but right now? it just feels like it’s gonna take forever.

the first thing you do when you get home is peel off your clothes and toss them straight into the dirty hamper before stepping into the shower. the water’s hot enough to sting, washing away the grime and exhaustion clinging to your skin after a long day outside your bedroom. by the time you step out, your hair is clean, your skin soft and warm beneath your towel.

it takes more effort than it should to go through your skincare routine, patting products into your face while staring at your reflection like you’re trying to convince yourself you’re still holding it together. you force yourself to tidy up your room too, shoving stray clothes into drawers and stacking papers so the mess doesn’t feel as overwhelming as it looks. today sucked. there’s no point pretending otherwise.

eventually, the clock slips into a late hour. you’ve had dinner and even treated yourself to something sweet to make up for the long, painfully dull day. the week feels never-ending, and you’re clinging to the thought of the weekend— no shifts, no customers, no pretending to have energy you don’t have.

once you’re settled in bed with the television playing low in the background, you try to let your worries drift away and focus on what’s in front of you.

but whether the show is too boring or your mind is too restless, you’re not sure. the tv fades into background noise as you start scrolling through your phone instead.

your thighs press together absentmindedly. you clench around nothing as you log into the twitter account you never post on. it’s muscle memory at this point— the familiar username, the saved threads. this is where you keep your stash for nights when you need release. short videos, photos, bookmarked links— everything that reliably gets you off.

after a week like this, you just want one win. one small thing that feels good. maybe bringing yourself to orgasm will be enough to tip the scale.

you spread your legs beneath the covers and trail a finger up your slit over your panties, phone balanced in your other hand as your thumb scrolls through clip after clip. it’s about finding the right one. thick cocks, glossy, soaked folds— your breath starts to shallow as heat pools low in your stomach. the week begins to blur at the edges. that’s a good sign.

rubbing yourself through the thin fabric always makes you wet. you imagine someone else’s hand there instead, teasing exactly the way you like it, pretending you don’t have to move at all to fall apart. your fingers glide back and forth and you soak through the cotton quickly, slick spreading until your panties cling uncomfortably to you.

you scroll lazily, then finally hook your panties to the side just to feel how wet you are. a quiet moan slips out at the sensation of your fingers brushing your slick folds. you push one finger inside and sigh at the stretch, at the simple relief of it after such a tense week. you add a second. then a third. pumping them in and out with your legs bent toward your chest.

this should be easy.

it isn’t.

three fingers aren’t enough.

you’re not even sure how long you’ve been grinding your hips into your own hand, chasing something that won’t quite crest. when you pull your fingers out, the emptiness makes you wince. frustrated, you force yourself out of bed to search for your vibrator— the reliable fix for nights like this.

you dig through your drawers, heart pounding, only to realize it’s dead. uncharged. useless.

you’re too worked up to wait.

you crawl back into bed, irritation prickling under your skin, and open your bookmarks again. you try to sink back into that hazy, desperate state you were in before— but your mind won’t quiet. the stress, the exhaustion, the lingering weight of the week— it all clings to you, keeping you from fully letting go.

your room echoes with a groan of frustration when your eyes land on the photo sitting on your desk. it’s an old picture of you and suguru, the one gojo took when the three of you helped move into this apartment. boxes piled high, sweat on your skin, and suguru pressed up next to you at the tiny kitchen table while you all devoured greasy noodles from the shop across the street. his thigh was snug against yours— tight space, no room— but neither of you seemed to care.

that’s the thing. suguru’s never been shy about touching you. he’s the type girls naturally lean into, soft-voiced and slow-smiled, the kind of man that makes you feel safe with a single glance. and maybe it’s fucked up, but you’ve always envied the ease he carries— how people orbit around him without even realizing they’re caught in his gravity. girls want him. guys want to be him.

meanwhile, you stumble through every interaction like you're apologizing for existing. you’ve told suguru all your little heartbreak stories, every failed date and awkward lay, while he casually shrugs about girls who’ve cried for him in bed— multiple times.

he never brags, not really. but he doesn’t censor himself either. and why would he? you’ve known each other forever. he’s seen you ugly-cry through breakups, and you’ve seen him eat shit on a bike at twelve years old. sex isn’t a weird topic between you two, not when there’s no mystery left to preserve.

but still. some part of you wilts every time he talks about toe-curling head and girls riding him until they go dumb on his cock. because you don’t have stories like that. no memory worth stroking yourself to. no partner who’s ever made you unravel the way suguru describes so casually.

it’s not like you’re a virgin— just that nobody’s been good. not good enough to make you sweat thinking about them days later. it’s not fair how easy guys have it. half the time they don’t even try, and they still get off like it’s nothing.

and fuck, suguru’s stories leave you soaking sometimes. not even on purpose— just the sound of his voice, low and lazy while he talks about the mess he made of someone else. he doesn’t even know he’s doing it to you. and you can’t bring yourself to tell him how badly your own stories pale in comparison.

you’re worked up, and it’s not just the porn or your stupid uncharged vibrator. it’s the whole day. the stress. the tension. the endless little inconveniences that built up into this boiling, frustrated edge. you can’t even come, and now you’re spiraling.

you open your texts with suguru— unread messages stacked between you— and scroll through the tiktoks and tweets he’s sent you without context. you laugh at a few, but mostly you just miss him.

you call him. he picks up after one ring.

“back from the dead, i see. what’s up?”

you sigh. “nothing.”

he laughs, and you hear the quiet click of his keyboard in the background.

“can’t be nothing,” suguru says smoothly. “you only call when there’s something you don’t want to type.”

“not true.”

he hums, unimpressed. “y/n. you hate long voice notes. you hate overexplaining through text. if you’re calling, it’s because you need my full attention.” there’s a faint smile in his voice. “so. what is it?”

you sigh. “i’m bored. happy?”

he lets out a quiet chuckle. you can practically see the way his eyes narrow when he smiles like that. “it’s cute that you think i don’t hear the attitude in your voice.” the clicking of his keyboard continues in the background. “i’m in the middle of a game with gojo and the others. you’re interrupting something important.”

“oh? no girl to ruin tonight?”

“not tonight,” he replies calmly. “i had a long day. didn’t feel like entertaining anyone.” a pause. “gojo’s being obnoxious, as usual. i’m tolerating it.”

you go quiet.

it hits you all at once— you’re naked except for a thin tank top and a pair of white socks, skin still warm from your shower, thighs sticky from earlier. he can’t see you, but the thought of him knowing makes your cheeks burn.

“you went silent,” suguru murmurs. the keyboard stops. “that’s unusual. especially when you start picking fights with me.”

you roll your eyes even though he can’t see it. “it’s unfair.”

“what is?”

“that all you have to do to get off is brush your hand against your dick like it’s nothing.”

there’s a pause. a slower inhale on the other end.

“that’s what this is about?” his tone shifts— quieter, more attentive. “you don’t usually bring up sex with me. are you alright?”

“it’s unfair,” you repeat, frustration bleeding into your voice. you can still hear faint clicking, he hasn’t fully stopped playing.

“y/n,” his voice drops a notch. “what’s going on?”

the way he says your name makes something inside you loosen. you tell him everything. always have. good, bad, humiliating. but this— this feels different. you’ve noticed how attractive suguru’s become over the years, how girls stare at him like he’s something divine. you’ve just never let yourself think about it while talking to him.

your voice barely carries through the line. “i can’t get myself off..”

the keyboard stops, completely.

“…what?”

“suguru—”

“no,” he says softly. “say it again.”

your stomach flips. you shouldn’t have called. this feels like stepping off a cliff.

“i can’t get myself off,” you whisper.

there’s a sharp exhale on the other end. you can practically hear him leaning back in his chair.

“you can’t?” he repeats, slower now. deliberate. “you’ve been trying?”

your frustration swells until it stings behind your eyes. “i just want to cum, suguru.” your voice wavers.

you don’t see him mute his mic or disconnect from the game entirely. you don’t see the way he takes his phone off speaker and presses it to his ear. but his voice changes— closer. heavier.

“have you been touching yourself?”

“yes. i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i can’t focus. nothing’s working.”

he exhales through his teeth. “explain.”

“my vibrator’s dead,” you admit, embarrassed. “and i was using three fingers but it’s not enough.”

silence. thick and charged.

“are you touching yourself right now?”

“no,” you sigh. “i’ve been at it for an hour. i can’t finish.”

another quiet curse under his breath.

“you must’ve been soaked,” he says, voice low— too low.

“not anymore,” you snap, irritated at your own body for cooling down.

a beat passes.

“start again.”

“…what?”

“you heard me.” his tone is calm, controlled. “put me on speaker. touch yourself.”

your pulse stutters. it’s alarming how much you like the way he says it.

you place your phone on the mattress beside you, switching to speaker, and let your hand drift between your legs again. your fingertips brush lightly over your slick folds.

you don’t know if it’s him, the risk, or the fact that you’ve already crossed some invisible line— but your spine tingles as your touch grows slower, more intentional. light as a feather.

“are you doing it?”

“y-yeah,” you breathe.

“mm. how’s it feel?”

“really good…”

his voice dips— velvet over gravel. “how good is really good?”

you swallow. “like… like someone else is doing it. if i close my eyes, i can pretend it’s not me.”

“but it’s not enough, is it?”

you exhale shakily. “no, sugu. i’m just— i’m so fucking frustrated.”

“yeah?” the softness in his voice makes it worse. “what’s got you like this, baby?”

“everything,” you admit. “school, work, my group project— no one’s doing shit. i feel like i’m carrying everything alone.”

“you’re not alone,” he says, and the way he says it makes your breath catch. “you’ve got me. always have.”

his voice is slow, measured, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. and he does— he hears every quiver in your words, every hitched breath. you know suguru. he listens too closely. talks too slow. makes you feel too seen.

your fingers move easier now, slick spreading across your folds as you rub slow circles over your clit. every ounce of shame is dissolving in the sound of his voice.

“when have i not been there for you?” he murmurs. “never. and i’m not starting now. even if what you need tonight is for me to help you cum.”

“s-suguru, don’t say that.”

“why not? it’s true.” you can hear the smirk behind the calm. “best friends help each other get off, don’t they?”

“how are you gonna do that?” you whisper.

silence.

a pause so long it makes your stomach twist. your heart drops, panic bleeding into your cheeks.

did you push it too far? did you just ruin everything?

and then—

“keep your fingers on your pussy,” he says, low and steady. “i’m coming over.”

your eyes go wide. “n-now?”

“yes, now. i live five minutes away. don’t pretend you didn’t think about this the second you called me.”

your entire body flushes. you press your fingers deeper, slick dripping down onto your thighs. it’s been so long since anyone touched you the right way— if they ever have at all.

“please hurry, sugu. my fingers are getting sore.”

he lets out the softest sound, something between a sigh and a groan. “i’ll be there in two. don’t hang up.”

“f-fuck,” you whimper, and the line picks it up— clear and soft in his ear. you hear the low rumble of his car engine turning on.

“god, you sound so good,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “i wanna hear those pretty moans while you touch yourself. you gonna let me?”

you rub faster, slick noises filling the room.

“yes, suguru. fuck, i’m so wet. this feels so good.”

“good girl,” he says. “now be a sweetheart and play with your clit for me. get her nice and swollen for my mouth.”

you do exactly what he tells you— fingertips circling your swollen clit, slow and needy, just like he said. your eyes slam shut the second that sharp jolt of pleasure hits, back arching clean off the mattress, breath catching in your throat before spilling into a sound that makes suguru hum. low. dark. satisfied.

“just like that,” he purrs. “fuck, you sound even better than i imagined.” a pause. “vocal little thing, aren’t you?”

“only when it feels really good.”

“yeah?” he teases. “and does it feel good right now?”

you bite your lip. “it’d feel better if you were here.”

he chuckles— low and knowing. “i’m here.” you hear the faint jingle of keys. “and i’ve got your spare. keep fucking yourself.”

the line goes dead.

you hear the door open almost immediately after.

for a split second, your brain screams at you to cover yourself— but then it passes. there’s no room for modesty now, not when you’re this soaked and you’ve been moaning for him like a bitch in heat.

his footsteps echo down the hall, and then he’s there— standing in the doorway like a sin made flesh, breath uneven, black hair hanging in his eyes like he ran the whole way up. he hesitates only a moment before stepping inside, and the second his eyes meet yours, you moan again— louder this time, shameless.

suguru drops to his knees.

he grabs your legs and yanks you to the edge of the bed without a word, his gaze locked between your thighs. your fingers are still wet with your own arousal, but he brushes them aside like they’re in his way— like you were just the warm-up act.

his breath ghosts over your pussy.

and then his mouth is on you.

he doesn’t ease into it— he devours. tongue buried deep, hands gripping your thighs to hold you open as he licks into you like he’s starved. the first stroke of his tongue knocks the air right out of your lungs.

it’s been so long since anyone touched you like this— wanted you like this. you cry out, legs twitching as he locks you in place, licking and sucking like he’s trying to ruin you from the inside out.

you’ve heard stories— girls whispering about suguru’s tongue, the way he eats like it’s the only thing he believes in. you always thought they were exaggerating. now? now you’re wondering why you never let him do this before.

he groans into your pussy, tongue dragging up through your slick before latching onto your clit, sucking hard enough to make your thighs jerk.

“fuck,” he mutters. “tasty little thing.”

your fingers find his hair, gripping tight for something— anything— to hold onto.

“how come you never told me you taste this sweet?”

“you never asked.”

he laughs against your cunt. the vibration alone has you seeing stars.

“still got that attitude, huh?”

you pant, lips curling. “what are you gonna do about it?”

he looks up at you, lips slick with your arousal, and grins. it’s slow. dangerous.

“if you were anyone else,” he says, voice calm like it’s not the filthiest threat you’ve ever heard, “i’d edge you until you sob. wouldn’t let you cum unless you begged me with tears in your eyes. i’d fuck your throat till you learned your manners.”

then he dips his head again— one slow, sinful lick from your hole to your clit— and slides two fingers inside you like he owns it.

your walls clench around him instantly.

“but you’re my best friend,” he murmurs, fingers curling deep, “and you’ve had a hard week.”

he kisses your inner thigh and grins when your hips jerk.

“so i’m gonna make you cum.”

if a thousand suns exploding feels anything like suguru’s mouth and fingers working you in tandem, then you hope to god you never forget this feeling. they move like they’ve done this before— separately, but in sync— his fingers stroking deep and slow against your g-spot while his tongue circles your clit like he’s coaxing the orgasm out of you with patience alone. every time you whine or mutter a desperate please, he presses a little firmer, like he’s rewarding you.

your brain barely registers the sounds leaving your own mouth— it’s too much. everything’s too loud in your ears. the slick squelch of his fingers, the wet drag of his tongue, the low hums of approval he makes when your thighs tremble around his face.

he’s fucking you with his fingers at a pace that rides the edge, somewhere between indulgent and ruthless. just enough pressure to knock every thought out of your head.

you squeeze your eyes shut when the coil in your belly starts to unravel. he feels it, of course he does. he groans when your hips twitch and your moans go breathless and choppy, his fingers curving just right, hitting that perfect spot while his mouth drinks from you like it’s the only thing he needs.

his head is buried so deep between your legs you can’t see him anymore, just feel him. your thighs clamp around his ears on instinct, and he lets you— until he needs to move again. he peels them apart slowly, like he’s reluctant to let go.

his hands grip your thighs tighter, keeping you spread for him as he licks up every drop, every twitch, every wave of your orgasm until your chest collapses against the mattress and your cunt pulses around nothing.

he wipes the slick off his mouth with the back of his hand, then leans in and presses a kiss right to your overstimulated slit.

“you’re so fucking sexy when you cum.”

your voice is soft. dazed. “i can’t believe i let you do that.”

“why not?”

he crawls up your body slowly, slotted between your legs like he belongs there.

“because…”

“hm?” he dips his head to mouth at the corner of your lips. “because what?”

“you’re my best friend. we’ve seen each other through everything. don’t you think this is… i don’t know. weird?”

“not even a little.” he shakes his head and kisses the edge of your mouth. “honestly? i think we should’ve done this sooner.”

you frown. “i’m not trying to be someone on your roster, suguru. you can keep that shit to yourself. thanks for making me cum, though.”

he laughs against your lips— quiet, amused. but when he speaks again, there’s a subtle shift.

“if we fuck, there won’t be anyone else.” his voice is low, serious. “i’m not some cold bastard. if it’s just sex, the girls i fuck know that. but you—” his eyes flick down to your lips. “you’re different. you matter.”

“…so this would be, what— friends with benefits?”

“semantics.” he shrugs, brushing his lips against yours. “we can talk about definitions later.”

when you don’t pull away, he kisses you fully— deep and slow, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up. your lips part under his, and the taste of your own cum on his tongue has you clenching around nothing, heat spiking low in your belly again.

your mouths make soft, filthy sounds in the quiet of your room.

and somehow, it doesn’t feel weird. it doesn’t feel wrong. it feels right, as if this was always meant to happen. his hands are gentle but firm, holding your body close, anchoring you.

for once, you don’t feel like an afterthought.

your mind’s a little foggy, but you know one thing: you don’t want him to stop.

“…this isn’t gonna make things weird, is it?”

“no, baby.” his voice is warm. final. “you could’ve asked me to drop the others at any point. i would’ve.”

you roll your eyes. “you sound like you’re in love with me, or something.”

he pulls back, smiling slow.

“yeah. or something.”

you try to ignore the way your heart flutters— until you feel the thick press of his bulge resting against your bare, soaked pussy.

“you’re hard,” you whisper, staring down where his cock presses hot and heavy against your thigh.

his mouth quirks. “so you’ve noticed.”

you pinch his bicep, tone teasing. “you get hard from eating pussy?”

“of course i do,” he says, like it’s obvious. “it’s pussy. your pussy.”

you start to reply, but he shuts you up with a kiss. slow. possessive. like he’s still savoring your taste on his tongue.

“are you satisfied now?” he murmurs against your lips. “now that i’ve made you cum?”

his words make your cheeks burn, suddenly shy under his gaze. he’s still suguru— your best friend who teases you for taking too long to order coffee and makes fun of your movie taste. nothing’s changed, and yet the way he’s looking at you has your stomach flipping.

you turn your face, voice soft. “you know what? actually… i don’t think i am.”

his grin is slow. wicked. he leans back, peels his shirt off like he’s in no rush, every inch of sculpted muscle revealed for your eyes alone. then he grabs your hand, presses it flat to his abs.

“oh yeah?” his tone is mockingly sweet. “what else do you need from me, princess?”

your nails trail down his torso, feeling the flex of muscle beneath your fingertips.

“i think i need you inside me.”

his eyes darken, smile sharpening. “my mouth and fingers weren’t enough for you?”

you shake your head.

“mm. spoiled.”

he slips off the bed and shoves his pants and briefs down in one motion, cock springing free— long, thick, glistening with precum. your pussy clenches just from the sight of him, and your breath hitches.

he crawls back up, one knee at a time, grabbing your hips like you’re weightless and positioning you just how he wants. your legs spread open, shameless and eager, and he strokes himself slowly before tapping the flushed head of his cock against your clit.

“need this cock, baby?”

“yes, yes!”

“who would’ve guessed my best friend has the tightest fucking pussy,” he mutters, voice low with disbelief. “makes me wonder why i even wasted time on anyone else.”

you whimper. your hips twitch.

he slides the tip inside— just an inch— then another. slow, careful. lets you feel every goddamn ridge as he sinks halfway in and pauses, letting you adjust while your walls clamp down hard.

“fuck, listen to her,” he groans. “she’s gonna make me blow just from the way she’s squeezing me.”

he grips your legs, opens you wider, and pushes in the rest of the way— slow and punishing. the stretch is perfect. painful in that addictive way. he’s throbbing deep inside you with every grind of his hips. you gasp, clutching your own tits for some kind of grounding. it turns him on more than you expect— he huffs, leans forward, and folds you in half.

“don’t hide,” he says, voice rough now. “i want all of you.”

he thrusts. again. deeper. sharper.

you moan shamelessly at the way he hits your cervix with every stroke. he sits back on his heels, grabbing your thighs and fucking you deeper, angling just right until it feels like he’s rearranging something inside you.

“look at this pussy,” he growls, eyes locked on where he disappears into you. “so wet. so fucking fuckable.”

“fuck me,” you gasp, barely coherent.

he laughs— breathy, strained. “i am fucking you.”

but then he leans closer, voice taunting.

“you want more?”

you nod frantically. “please, suguru. fuck me.”

“how hard, baby?”

you hesitate, cheeks hot.

his hand slaps your clit lightly— just enough to make you jolt.

“i said, how hard?”

you sob. “so hard i feel you in my stomach.”

his grin returns, slow and mean. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

he pulls out. flips you over.

“hands and knees, arch that back for me.”

your body moves on instinct. you barely get into position before he plants his feet on the mattress, angles himself behind you and then shoves back in. his cock slides through your mess, coating him in the aftermath of your orgasm before starting all over again.

he fucks into you with his mouth parted, brows furrowed like the pleasure’s almost too much to bear. suguru’s grip on your waist is bruising, both hands squeezing tight to keep you steady while he drives into you, jaw slack as your pussy drags around him every time he pulls out. your eyes roll back when his balls slap against your soaked folds, the heavy sound echoing in the room as your fingers dig into the sheets.

“your balls,” you manage, breath catching, “they’re hitting my pussy— feels so fucking good.”

he groans when he feels you clench, adjusting his angle and fucking you harder, deeper, until the wet slap of skin makes your ears ring.

“yeah?” he pants, voice low and teasing. “you like when they hit your clit like that?”

“so good, fuck—!”

his pace picks up, and the more his cock nudges your g-spot, the louder your moans get. he sounds just as wrecked— his voice a growl against your skin, his thrusts purposeful and deep.

“you gonna cum for me, baby?” he rasps. “wanna feel you make a mess on my cock. you’ve earned it, haven’t you? all week— being good, holding it together. let go for me.”

you sob into the mattress.

“fuck, fuck, i’m cumming, sugu— i’m fucking cumming—”

“that’s it,” he groans. “that’s it, baby. fuck, you’re doing so good— creaming all over me like that. let it out.”

your body locks up as you cum, orgasm rolling through you like a tidal wave— blissful, toe-curling, like you’ve finally let go of every weight on your shoulders. your thighs tremble, your pussy pulses around his cock, and your brain finally goes quiet.

it’s relief. it’s freedom. it’s your best friend buried deep inside you like he was meant to be there.

he fucks you through it, chasing his own high with tight, relentless thrusts.

suguru looks down at the mess between your thighs, groaning at the sight of his cock slick and white with your release.

you’re perfect. warm, tight, fucked-out— his.

“your pussy’s gonna make me cum,” he grits out, voice tight. “can’t believe how good you feel. fuck, baby, i’m gonna—”

he pulls out just enough to grind his tip against your folds and spills hot against you, thick ropes of cum painting your pussy as his hips twitch and jerk. his fingers dig into your hips, holding you still while he paints you exactly how he wants.

you twitch at the warmth, overstimulated and pliant.

he leans back on his heels, spreading your ass with both hands, admiring his work.

“would you look at that…”

“stop looking,” you mumble, face flushed.

he chuckles, deep and unbothered. “why, baby? she’s so fuckin’ pretty with my cum on her.”

you glance back at him, dazed. “…yeah?”

“oh yeah.”

he leans over, grabbing tissues from your nightstand, and gently cleans you up first, then himself. it’s surprisingly tender, the way he takes care of you.

by the time you’re tucked under the covers, your body is heavy with exhaustion, limbs loose and sated. suguru tosses the tissues and turns back to see you curled up, blanket tucked under your chin.

“looks like you just needed one good fuck to unwind, huh?”

you blush. “shut up.”

“not happening, sweetheart.”

“i…” you hesitate.

he leans down, brushing hair from your face. “you what?”

“…i liked when you called me baby.”

his smile softens. “yeah?” he brushes his thumb along your cheek. “i can do that.”

you bite your lip. “are you gonna go home?”

he raises an eyebrow. “not if you’ll let me stay.”

you don’t answer. just lift the blanket.

he slides in beside you, boxers on, arms open.

“c’mere,” he says, and you go without hesitation, settling against his chest.

his heartbeat is slow and steady beneath your ear.

and it lulls you right to sleep.

He’s been good for almost an hour. Almost.

Leaning back in that bar chair like he’s perfectly composed, nursing his drink with those long fingers, smiling politely at whatever story is being told. But every ten minutes you feel his eyes slide back to you—heavy, deliberate, hungry.

And every time you brush his knee under the table? Game over. He’s gone.

You don’t even realize he’s hit his limit until his hand wraps around your wrist under the table — gentle, but final.

“Come.” Soft. Low. Like a warning he’s barely holding together.

You blink at him. “...Suguru? We just got—”

He leans in, lips almost brushing your ear, voice velvet-dark:

“I’ve tried. I’ve really tried to behave for you.” A slow exhale against your neck. “But you keep looking at me like you want me to ruin you right here.”

Your stomach drops. Your friends are right there.

“Sugu— we can’t just—”

He laughs under his breath. It’s quiet. Dangerous. The kind of sound that means he’s already made the decision.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your pulse, “if I stay in this room another minute, I’m going to embarrass us both.”

You swear your knees weaken.

Then he stands, slides your empty glass a few inches toward the center of the table, and says— calm, polite, like he’s just stepping out to take a phone call:

“We’ll be right back.”

Your friends barely glance up.

But as soon as you’re out of sight, he’s crowding you against the wall in the hallway, breath shaking, hands firm on your waist.

“Forty-five minutes,” he mutters, jaw tight. “Forty-five minutes I’ve sat there trying not to drag you out of your chair.”

His forehead drops to yours, breathing you in:

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

The door barely closes before he’s got one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip hard enough to make you gasp. You're squeezed into his lap in the backseat of his car.

He looks wrecked. Beautifully, infuriatingly wrecked.

“You think I’m patient,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “I’m not. Not when it comes to you.”

Your breath stutters. “Sugu, someone could—”

“Let them.” No hesitation. A quiet, reverent threat. “You’re not walking back in there until I take the edge off.”

His mouth crashes into yours in that slow-deep, starving way that only Suguru can pull off — like he’s devouring you but savoring every second.

One hand cups your jaw, tilting your head exactly how he wants it, thumb brushing your cheekbone with that maddening mix of gentle + possessive. The other grips your waist and drags you onto his lap like the world owes him your body.

You can’t help the little sound you make. And that’s what breaks him.

His breath shudders against your mouth. His fingers dig in.

“There it is,” he murmurs against your lips, voice low and wrecked. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for.”

You move against him — desperately, blindly — and his jaw clenches so hard you feel it.

He drops his head into the curve of your neck, breath hot and shaking.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers, almost laughing because he’s that gone. “I’ve wanted you all night— and now you’re doing this? Right here?”

You can barely form words; you’re half-moaning, half-panting, clutching at his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And that tips him over the edge.

He drags his mouth back up to yours, kissing you like he’s trying to swallow every breath you’ve ever taken.

Your hips roll again — instinct, need, pure desperation — and he groans into your mouth, a low, broken sound you’ve never heard from him before.

“Sweet girl…” Soft. Ruined. “If you keep grinding on me like that, I’m going to lose it.”

You whimper something that might be please. You don’t even know.

His fingers tighten brutally on your hips.

“Tell me what you want,” he orders quietly. Voice wrecked. Voice trembling. Voice way less composed than he wants you to notice.

You try — you really do — but the words fall apart on your tongue.

“S-Suguru… I— I need— just—”

He lifts your chin, forces your eyes to meet his, pupils blown wide, breathing harsh against your lips.

“You’re begging and you can’t even say it?”

You nod helplessly.

He swears under his breath — low, reverent, dangerous.

“God… you’re gone.” A kiss to your cheek. Another to your jaw. His voice hot on your skin: “I did that to you.”

Your thighs tighten around him.

He loses it.

“Okay,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, voice shaking as he guides your hips again. “Okay— I’ve got you. No more waiting.”

He shifts you in his lap with a grip so decisive it steals your breath — and you can feel in every movement that he’s officially done pretending he can control himself.

“Come here,” he growls, soft but firm, “I’m not teasing you anymore.”

You both knew that was a lie

Suguru’s hands are almost too slow as he unbuttons his pants, watching you struggle for a moment with how shaky you are. It’s almost cute how desperate you looks, fumbling with his belt, your fingers trembling as if you can’t quite believe how badly you wants it.

“You really are this needy, huh?” His voice is a smooth drawl, dripping with amusement, though there’s something darker behind it, something more primal.

He takes control, pulling your hands away from his belt, his fingers working faster than your own, his movements confident, practiced. “I’m the one who has to finish this, aren’t I?” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, enjoying the way you're practically vibrating with need.

The second your panties are pushed aside, and he enters you, he can’t stop the low groan that slips out. Fuck, this is exactly what he’s been craving — seeing you like this, needy, wanting, barely even able to think straight. But he doesn’t let you rest; no, he’s not finished yet.

“Look at you…” Suguru mutters as he pulls you closer, his hips grinding against your needy ones. “You were so confident earlier. Now look at you, just shaking for me.”

His hands hold your hips firmly, guiding you as you rides him, but it’s clear you've already lost most of your coordination. your movements are desperate, erratic.

“You don’t even know what to do with yourself, do you?” He chuckles softly, one hand moving up to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he leans in, lips brushing against your ear. “You can’t even undo my pants properly, can’t even touch me right… but you’re already so fucking gone.” His voice drops lower, a mocking edge creeping in. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Can’t keep up with me now?”

Your breath catches in your throat as he moves faster, forcing you to feel the intensity of his thrusts, his control. “Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me how badly you need it. You’re so fucked out already, I bet you can barely remember your own name" your moans like music to his ears, but he wants more. He always does.

Suguru grins, his gaze dark as he watches you fall apart beneath him, your hands scrambling, nails digging into his skin like you're trying to hold on to something — anything.

“Go on,” he purrs, voice rich with taunting pleasure. “Tell me how bad you need it. Tell me you want me to fuck you harder. Because you know I will.”

Your fingers grip his shoulders, the desperate need pulling you closer, and when you try to move on your own, he slows just enough to make you desperate for more, teasing you with the control he has. “You’re not done yet, not even close.”

Suguru presses into you even deeper, just to hear you choke on your breath. “You're just begging for it now, huh? Is that it? You think you deserve it now that you’ve finally stopped pretending? I knew you were this needy, but I didn’t think you’d be so pathetic.”

His lips curl into a smirk as he watches your body fight to keep up with his rhythm. He’s enjoying every second of this.

“You’re so fucking cute when you’re like this,” Suguru murmurs, voice thick with lust, his restraint slipping. “But don’t forget who’s in charge here.”

With one final thrust, he feels you tightening around him, unable to hold on much longer. your body is trembling, on the edge. But not yet. Not until he decides.

Suguru’s movements are relentless now, his control slipping with every desperate thrust. He can feel you so close, and it drives him insane. His breath is heavy, coming out in short gasps as his hands grip you tighter, forcing you down harder against him. He’s not even thinking anymore, just reacting to how good you feel, to how badly he needs to see you fall apart beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re so close, aren’t you?” he groans, his voice strained as he thrusts up into you again, his hands moving to grab your waist, holding you there as he drives into you harder. “I can feel you, you’re so fucking tight, so close. Don’t you dare hold back now.”

His words are raw, desperate, and he can’t stop the way he’s losing himself. He feels himself getting closer too, but the thought of watching you first—of seeing you break completely—makes him thrust even harder.

Your breath is a mess of moans and gasps, your hands slipping, desperately clutching at his chest, nails digging into his skin. your head falls back as your body tightens around him, the desperation on your face making his heart race.

“Come on,” Suguru urges, voice rougher now, almost pleading, “I know you’re close. I can feel it, don’t hold back.”

His movements become more frantic, his thrusts deep and fast, as if he can’t control himself anymore, not with you like this. The friction between you is almost too much to bear, and it’s getting harder to hold onto whatever little restraint he has left.

“Please… please, Suguru,” you gasp, barely able to keep your voice steady, your words coming out in fragmented sentences.

His eyes are half-lidded, his focus solely on the way you're clenching around him, your body trembling with need. He can feel you getting even closer, your body winding tighter and tighter, and he’s so close to losing it himself. But he’s not finished yet, not until you're completely gone, and he can see you break beneath him. He’s so fucking close, and that’s what makes this all the sweeter.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you breathes, your voice barely above a whisper, and that’s all it takes. your body shudders, hips bucking relentlessly as you finally let go, your breath stuttering as you cum all over his cock, your body tensing, your back arching. Suguru grins, watching you fall apart, his own release just a hair’s breadth away.

With a growl, Suguru grips you tighter, pressing you even harder into him, and it’s almost too much. youre still trembling from your own climax, but Suguru doesn’t care. He needs to see you come undone, needs to feel it.

“You’re mine, you got that?” he growls, thrusting into you one last time as his body gives way, his own climax crashing over him in one deep, guttural moan.

you both collapse, breathing hard, still tangled up in each other. Suguru’s hands move lazily over your body, but his breath is still erratic, his whole body shaking from the intensity of it.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your ear as he pulls you closer. “You’re insane, you know that?”

"Says the guy who just dragged me to the car for a quickie" you respond, only to be greeted with a chuckle.

Suguru’s hand is on your back, his fingers trailing lightly down your spine as he leads you through the dark alleyway back toward the bar. His pace is steady, but his eyes — dark, almost smirking — keep flicking to you as if he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

You try to act like everything is fine, like you didn't just get fucked senseless behind a car, like you’re not still feeling him inside you, still dripping from what just happened.

But there’s no hiding it, and Suguru knows it. His grin widens, and his hand tightens around your waist, pulling you a little closer. “You good, baby? Still feel me inside you?” he murmurs low, just for you to hear.

You don’t even trust yourself to speak, only giving him a sheepish look, but that’s all he needs. He chuckles, the sound rich with self-satisfaction, his voice playful but edged with the satisfaction of having completely undone you.

“Yeah, I can tell,” he teases, and you swear you can feel his smugness radiating off of him as his fingers trace over your skin, just light enough to make you shiver. “You still dripping, aren’t you?”

You blush, trying to hide it, but it’s impossible. You just came so hard you can barely think, and now Suguru’s leading you back, all casual, like nothing’s happened, like you’re just any normal couple.

“Better keep your cool, though,” he continues, his voice low but teasing, like he’s trying not to crack a grin. “Wouldn’t want anyone to know you’re all fucked out from me, huh?”

You want to respond, but your mind is still too hazy. He looks at you again, and this time the corner of his mouth tugs into a satisfied smile. “No need to hide it, sweetheart,” he says casually, as if it’s no big deal. “You look damn good all fucked out, just like that.”

The bar comes into view, and he pats you on the back, giving you one last playful nudge, like everything’s perfectly normal. “Let’s go back in. Don’t wanna make it too obvious you’re gonna need a little time to recover from me.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a spark of satisfaction in your chest, knowing exactly what just happened between you two.

He never came back and you never heard from him again. Yes, you tried missing person reports and all sorts of things in that nature but, alas, no results.

Which brings you back to now as you sit here asking Google very important questions like, "Do vampires cum to the taste of blood?"

While that does sound like a strange thing to be typing into your search bar, it’s October—kinktober if you’re on the right side of the internet—these questions are of utmost importance! Last year, you did a search or two on werewolves and how they work…

Reeling back into the present though, your fingers are tapping away at the keys of your laptop, scrolling and clicking on all sorts of links to find your answer. These are the kinds of activities that keep you well distracted from just how lonely you’ve found yourself feeling lately.

The rest of your house is cold, lacking the warmth of another body, quiet in a way that’d make some people lose their minds, and almost eerily still in some parts. There are rooms you haven’t been inside of in months since those are the rooms Gojo used to frequent most often and you fear that if you walk inside them, the ghost of his charming and brightening presence would still be lingering.

Even sleeping in your bed is hard without him sometimes. It’s the same bed the two of you used to share, after all. The same bed he’s comforted you in with those big arms you swear you could still feel wrapped around you to this day. Everything about Gojo just… lingers around your house.

Sometimes you think you can still smell his cologne in the fabrics of just about everything, which is why you took it upon yourself to bake like crazy on nights like this—hoping that the scent of fresh cookies and pies would flush his scent out of your nose for good.

That only ever worked for so long though. As soon as everything got cold, you’d walk past the chair he’d claimed as his own and feel like you were literally passing his ghost again. You didn’t even know if he was dead and yet it felt like it.

You tried to get over it via distractions like tonight but—like everything else—that never lasted long, if even at all. He was always dancing around in the back of your mind. You’d even find yourself glancing over to your front door, hoping that one day he’d just appear. It was a pipe dream for you at this point, considering he’s been gone a whole year now.

The two of you had even been on the road to getting engaged. You unfortunately found that out when you were cleaning out your previously shared bedroom and stumbled upon a ring he oh-so-poorly hid beneath the bed in some box he thought you’d never get to. Now that? Oh, you were a mess when you found that ring.

It was by far the prettiest piece of jewelry you’d ever seen in your life. So pretty that you have it displayed on your nightstand now as some kind of ghastly reminder of what your life could have been if Gojo hadn’t gone missing.

Sometimes you wonder if he ran off with that best friend of his… Y’know, the one who you only saw at night and always seemed a little too close to your boyfriend? After all, it's not like you could locate him after Gojo’s disappearance either. Maybe they’d run off together.

That was one of the last things you told yourself before really trying to move on. Now your home was more of a mere house than a place of comfort. Every day felt like something was missing and you knew what it was but you continued to distract yourself. Gojo wasn’t coming back and you knew that.

Or at least, you thought you did.

——

About thirty minutes into your very intense Google searching, your oven chimes with a soft ding! that captures your attention, letting you know your pie is done. 

You slip out of your chair and pace over to the appliance, soon opening it and taking your freshly baked delicacy out with oven mittened hands. The warmth seeps past the fabric against your palms before you place the desert onto your counter and something deep in your heart twinges at it.

Satoru loved sweets.

You hated that your only distraction from thinking about him did nothing but pound the memory of him right back into your mind. Sometimes, when your longing gets really bad—like now, for example—you could feel his presence against you.

The way his hands used to trail around your waist, squeezing whatever skin he could before hugging you from behind, and then muttering into your neck about how much he loved you was a burning memory for you. Followed by this was always him tipping your chin up and then pulling your face back to kiss you. The way he’d always smile against your lips still lingers to this day.

It’s been a year and yet all it took was taking one measly pie out of the oven for the tears to start welling up again. You should be over him now, truly. Yeah, you two were together for years but… you have to move on at some point, right?

The task seems impossible though. You’ve tried going on dates and meeting other people but none of them were him. No one talked to you like he did, teased you like he used to, barked out bright laughter and a series of giggles that’d fill up a room just as he did, and—most importantly—no one loved you like he did.

No one could love you the way Gojo did. It was impossible when he was the kinda man who’d give his life up if it meant saving you.

In came the waterworks as your own brain fucked you over. You snatched those mittens off your hands and flung them to the other side of the counter, your body leaning against its edge as droplets of sadness coated the clean surface below.

Just as quickly as you’d wipe them away, they came rushing back twice as hard—just like the fragments of your time with him did.

Your sobs end with you bunched up on the floor a few minutes later, hugging your knees tightly as your back pressed against one of your lower kitchen cabinets. The worst thing about Gojo’s disappearance was the fact that you didn’t know what happened to him.

You didn’t know if he was kidnapped, ran away, or even dead somewhere… Which left a burning hole of unknown in your heart that ached so thrummingly it’d make your chest cave in and leave you numb with a sense of nothingness.

Simply “missing” him was a severe understatement in regards to how you truly felt. His life had been far too entangled with what was once your own that without him, a necessary part of your very being was violently ripped away from you.

Silly Google searches kept your mind at bay for what, an hour or two? Then it was right back to the depressive air that’d made home in the space around your body.

Now you sit alone on your kitchen floor, craving the presence of someone who’d vanished out of your life. 

At every waking hour of the day, everything reminded you of that man. Working, trips to the grocery store, the rare outings with your friends—who found it difficult to spend time with you these days since you were too wrapped in your mourning—and even simple things like watching movies or going on walks.

The distant sound of pattering rain could be heard against the windows of your home and that only fueled the mood swirling about the air. That, and it also leaves you to think about how Gojo would always make light of situations like this.

He’d tell you how beautiful the rain outside was and make you appreciate nature’s natural occurrences more than you ever would on your own. You specifically remember how both of you got each other sick because you’d stupidly run outside in the rain and goofed around together like two love-sick fools.

The following week after may have been filled with nasally sniffles and hoarse coughs but, you mostly remember the cuddles and the warmth that came with taking care of one another.

For the nth time in your life, you miss times like that so dearly.

It takes you a while to push yourself up from the floor and the only real reason you got up was because you’d heard a knock on your front door. You dragged yourself over to it and when you unlocked the door and pried it open slowly, you were met with nothing.

Nothing stood in front of you aside from increasing rain and distant thunder. Your eyes survey your front porch before you step out only halfway to make sure you haven’t received a late-night package or anything of the sort.

When you continue to find nothing there for you, a sigh fogs past your lips and then you enter your home again with a soft shut of your door.

You steadily return to your seat, the scent of baked goods still dotting your house’s atmosphere. The rain outside gradually grows heavier and heavier as the minutes drag on, the sound of agitated water beating against your windowpanes in unrhythmic waves. 

The little candle you’ve got sitting inside your happily carved pumpkin glows and flickers its light faintly against your mostly clear kitchen counter—its softness a complete contrast to the way you were feeling now. While you lug your laptop closer, trying to dive back into those absurd searches, you end up making your way to Reddit and skimming over vampire biology. 

It was kinda funny how you could go from balling your eyes out one moment and then reading shit about vampiric ejaculation the next. But you suppose that’s how a lot of your days have been; sobs one second and something to distract you the next.

Your mouse whirs around your screen for a moment before you hear a clean, gentle set of knocks against your front door again. This time you freeze, barely turning back to stare at the door. It wasn’t as hesitant or faint as the first few knocks had been but, perhaps you were too tangled in your sadness to realize the first time.

It takes you a minute to move. Your mind is still a mess but, you wonder if it’s one of your neighbors' kids messing with you again. After all, ever since Gojo disappeared, the kids who’d grown quite fond of him beforehand do try their best to stop by and check on you. There’d been nights like this all throughout October as well where they’d knock on your door and then run off as soon as you opened it.

You knew they meant no harm by it so it never angered you. Hell, this time they were probably trying to get some early Halloween candy…

Chuckling wearily, you rise from your chair—pulse thumping in your fingertips all weirdly from the flush of mixed emotions swirling around inside you—and make your way to the door. Due to your slow walking, there’s another set of knocking and you sense the impatience oozing off of whoever stood outside, as if they knew you were stalling or something…

You press on your best, fake smile, expecting three kids—Yuji, Nobora, and Megumi—to be standing on the other side of the door eager for some sweets. You had plenty of pie and cookies to share anyway so, them stopping by unexpectedly like this wouldn’t be so bad.

Hand on the doorknob, twisting and steadily pulling it open with your eyes fixated downward, “You guys know Halloween isn’t for another two weeks,” You start off playfully, noticing only one pair of feet below before you begin to crane your gaze upwards, “R-Right…?” Your voice dies out in your throat and the world feels as though it stops.

Your footing shifts back against the floor and your hand leaves the doorknob to come up over your mouth and conceal the gasp that’s stolen from your lungs.

There he was.

Standing soaking wet on your porch as if he’d only been gone a day or two instead of a year, hair a shaggier shade of white from the rain—moist strands clinging to his forehead—and face a soft-set expression of somber. Those familiar blue eyes you only ever knew as sparkling and radiant seemed wracked with guilt and shadows of regret. 

Everything had felt so still in the moment. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe as you gaped all wide-eyed and unmoving at who-, or rather, what stood in front of you. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

Surely someone was playing a trick on you. Perhaps some really fucked-up prank? 

“S.. Satoru…?” His name, unuttered from your lips for oh so long prior to this moment, comes out as a cracked whine of syllables.

Your gaze doesn’t miss a beat, catching the way his throat adjusts to swallow something down, the same jaw you’d traced your fingertips over in the past now taut with tension. Then his lips part and a soft, “Hey,” works out of him, voice a tinge unlike the tone you remember fondly.

The single word has something inside your chest clenching.

Your top lashes are meeting your bottom ones with quick, uncontrollable flutters as your vision begins to blur all over again, this time too much to fight off. “You-,” Words choke in your throat and your head is shaking, “How are-, I thought you were…”

Making up for the words you can’t seem to say just yet, he creeps forward, just a little. “I know,” Gojo whispers tenderly, hand twitching at his sides to reach out for you. “I know, sweetheart. I–”

“D-Don’t call me that,” Everything was trembling; your voice, your hands, hell, even the clouds seemed to shudder with tears just as you were. Those words stung him just as much as they left your tongue with a harsh sting of reality.

That raw grief and anger that you’ve been harboring for months is consuming you entirely now, spilling into your words, “You disappeared!” You’re shouting, voice echoing out into the rainy night air. “No calls, no texts, no… no anything. Do you have any idea what that did to me? I thought-,” You catch yourself holding back on saying it for a moment but your sentiments get the better of you shortly after, “I thought you were fucking dead!”

Sarcasm presses against his lips as they distantly twitch, the gesture so faint you almost miss it. Even unspoken, you knew Gojo wanted to say how it was obvious he wasn’t dead seeing as he’s standing right in front of you, alive and well. You understood him better than he understood himself sometimes—even after a whole year—so what was unsaid still clung to your ears.

He steps forward again and you inch back, the heavy droplets of rain from his body wetting up your porch as he moves. It’s then that you notice how pale he is. Your porch lights catch him just right and your head tilts a bit, noticing the lack of warmth in his skin tone that felt… completely void of light or… as if the moon engraved itself into his very flesh.

And his eyes—having been darkened from just a few seconds ago—now seem to glint with something deeper and almost uncanny with a crystalline blue that shimmers beneath his white lashes.

Shaking off your overanalyzation of the man, you tell yourself it was nothing more than your grief playing tricks on your mind and making you see things that weren’t really there.

Your eyes were telling you that this was the same man you loved—Gojo Satoru—but somewhere deep in your tethered soul, you knew otherwise. A hallowed shell of the man you once knew couldn’t be standing before you or anything crazy like that, right?

That sounded ridiculous but even with a few words exchanged, something felt off.

“I-I know,” Gojo murmurs finally, gaze drooping down to the floor. Even angsty and wet, his tall frame still managed to tower over your very being in a way that was once endearing but now felt haunting. “And I’m sorry,” He continued slowly.

It was all so sooo sluggish. Every word dragged away from his mouth as if he were stretching each second out to make the rekindling moment with you last longer than it actually was.

He stumbles a bit closer and this time you don’t move back. Then his hand comes up to the frame of your door as his lanky body leans against it and his head flips up, hair flicking water all over the place before slicking back all messily. Then he weighs his head to the side in a way that has you… mesmerized?

Voice lowering into something coiled with desire, “Just… let me in, and I’ll explain everything,” He promises. Though, there’s a twang inside you that’s telling you not to make things that easy for him—not after the year of heartbreak you just endured.

Your brows pinch together, “What? Do you know how torturous this past year has been for me? How… How painful? A-And you think I’m just gonna let you waltz back into my house after a single apology and acknowledgement of your own faults?” You scoff, arms crossing under your chest and eyes rolling elsewhere. “Fuck that, and fuck you. I want an explanation now.”

A brief smile flickers over his unfairly angelic features, “You mean our house, right?” He asks half-jokingly, as if now was the time for such a thing. You could tell your claim over a home that you two once shared struck a nerve, seeing as he’d breezed over everything you just said for a second. Gojo’s forehead rests against the back of his hand a bit, “I’ll give you an explanation and more if you just let me in. C’mon baby, I.. I’m cold.” He says carefully.

Your tears have sunken into your skin by now, halfway dried up and replaced with heated frustration. “So was I for the past twelve months,” You spat, “Y’know, seeing as you abandoned me. If you want to come inside so badly, just–”

“Do you want me to beg?” He interrupts to offer, not waiting for a response. You stand there and watch the way his body gradually lowers and he slides down to his knees, now staring up at you with a gorgeous apologetic look in his eyes. All puppy-like and doleful, his gaze never leaves yours, “Please, let me in, sweetheart. Hah, I can’t explain everything while m’out here, it’s too cold—I’ll freeze to death.”

It was weirdly comforting to hear he still had his dramatic sense of humor despite ghosting you for a year…

Rolling your eyes again, “Gojo–”

He suddenly utters your name, all longingly like a prayer on his tongue. Then you feel a connection somewhere below, looking down to see he’s managed to pinch a fraction of your sweatpants in between his long fingers. “Please? I want to explain, I really do, but you’ve gotta let me inside first,” He insists with a slight tug.

You stumble forward, your body exiting the warmth of your home as you stand an inch past your doorframe. And before you could argue or send any more curses his way, he’s wrapping his arms around your legs and nuzzling his face into your thighs.

“I missed you,” Gojo has the nerve to utter so lovingly that it has your mind raging wars again. After which you feel his nails—that seem as though they haven’t been clipped in forever—slightly sinking into the back of your thighs to hold you closer to him. “Please let me come in,” He repeats like a broken record before looking up at you again, cheek mushed against your leg, “Let me come home.”

The way he says that almost makes you want to burst into another fit of tears but you don’t. You inhale sharply and steel your emotions before glancing off with glossy eyes.

Muttering something you hopefully won’t regret, “F-Fine.”

At the end of the day, he was the love of your life. You couldn’t deny him no matter how much you lied to yourself.

“Say it,” His tone is harsh like some sort of command and it makes you flinch slightly.

You’re confused but, you sigh anyway, “You… You can come inside, Gojo.”

You’d think your recent search history would’ve given you some insight as to why that may not have been the best idea….

——

After a slight groan exited his throat, you could barely register what was happening before he tightened his hold on you and then stood up, throwing your body over his shoulder as if you were weightless.

It’s not like Gojo couldn’t do such a thing before—he used to pick you up all the time—but something about this was a little too seamless. It was rather supernatural the way your body hauled up over his shoulder as he walked into the house and then kicked the door shut behind him with a slight slam.

Not that you questioned that either.

You were far too busy carousing in the fact that Gojo, your ex, had just walked into your house again. It felt different, especially with a million questions unanswered. But, something in you was on the path toward healing.

Gojo’s damp clothes brush against your skin and begin to wet you up slightly in the process of carrying you. Every step he takes only drips rainwater onto your floors and although you probably should, you don’t find room in your mind to care. His breathing is scarily quiet and evened, like having your weight on his shoulder truly did nothing to his body.

By the time he reaches your kitchen, the lingering thick scent of your pie hits his nostrils and brings that domestic comfort back into his body. The way he set you down on the counter and settles his body in between your legs to stand close and meet eyes with you is painfully familiar. You’d been in this position with the man thousands of times before, all for different reasons but always eye to eye with him no matter.

Gojo’s palms rest against the cool of the counter outside your thighs, keeping you caged by his imminent frame. He’s close, too close. You notice the way his eyes are searching your face as if to recommit every detail to memory whilst he struggles for where to begin.

“Gojo,” You hum, voice wavering with more exhaustion than fear or concern. “I didn’t let you in just to stare at me. Start talking—”

“First off,” Your ex cuts off rudely, eyes boring into yours hungrily. “Don’t treat me like a stranger. You know me. Say my name.” He commands.

You blink at him as the audacity of his words leaves your jaw tense. Scoffing in his face, “You’ve been gone for a year. Get over yourself. I’ll call you whatever the hell I want.”

He jeers under his breath, plush lips twisting up slightly in the same way you remember it to before an argument—something of which was pretty rare between you two, “Yeah? So that’s the game we’re playing here? You’re gonna sit here and pretend to be mad at me?”

A humorless laugh escapes you, “You really don’t think I’m mad at you?” You question rhetorically with a slight cock of your brow, “You were gone for a year, Gojo. A year.”

“And I said I’m sorry for that.” He replies blankly.

You couldn't believe his audacity, acting as if you owed him forgiveness. “Yeah, because that makes up for it—”

“Okay, okay, listen,” He sighs interruptingly, shoulders sagging, “I got into some… stuff.”

You hated how vague he was being, your brows knitting together and your voice pointed, “What kinda ‘stuff’? Don’t beat around the bush, just tell me.”

“It’s uh,” His hand lifts from the counter and meets the back of his neck to scratch, “It’s kinda hard to do that…”

This was driving you insane-, he was driving you insane. Gone for a year just to come back and do nothing but confuse you even more? The number of scoffs that’d left your lips by this point was almost concerning, yet expected. “Why?” You ask him, hoping he’ll stop dragging this out.

Unfortunately for you, Gojo can’t even help himself. His pupils travel your face—so full of hurt and perplexity—and he carefully takes in your every shift in expression. He’d watched your face change from sadness to anger, and now confusion in only a matter of ten to twenty minutes. And to top it all off? His body was betraying him.

He was anything but focused on the conversation at hand, his gaze dipping down to your neck and then your collarbone area. Fuck, his mouth was salivating before he could control it. Then his ears were thrumming, the sound of your blood flowing beneath your soft flesh ringing throughout his senses and dazing his brain. 

Almost possessed, “I’m a bit distracted….” He tells you in a voice so light you almost miss it, like he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

You narrow your eyes, “By what?”

Gojo leans down suddenly, so close that his breath ghosts your skin. His nose grazes your neck and your pulse stutters. “Your… scent,” He mutters, almost moaning the word. His voice is a pitch lower now, breathier, and you feel the heat of it sliding down your skin along with the drips of water from his body.

Your hands shoot up to his chest, the wet fabric cold beneath your palms, ready to push him away—but he doesn’t stop. You cling to his soaked shirt, a familiar care flashing in your mind as you consider escorting him back to the bedroom you used to share so he could change out of these rain-filled fabrics and avoid sickness.

Despite the cold water coating his body, his breath is warm against your neck while something starved rumbles at the center of his throat, “Fuck, I uh—hahh… I can’t really think about anything else…” He mumbles randomly before adding a faint, “God, you’re dizzying…”

You blink, “W-What? Gojo, what’s wrong with y—”

“Say my fucking name,” He grunts, voice pleading and raw all of a sudden. Then a whine laces in, and his teeth are sharpening, “Please?”

You hesitate. His back and forth between something commanding and something utterly desperate was gonna give you a headache sooner or later. “…Satoru,” His first name on your tongue has him purring like a stray cat before you thread your fingers into his wet hair and then force him to meet your gaze. The moment your eyes lock with one another, you flinch. The azure in his gaze were so unfocused and glassy, completely drunken with something you couldn't quite put your finger on. “Are you okay??” You finally ask.

He shakes his head no indistinctly, lips pulling into a soft pout, “M’thirsty, sweetheart. So goddamn thirsty…”

You blink, confused, and then snort with a half-smile forcing itself onto your features at his bizarre acts, “D-Do you want some water?”

Your voice was making his body throb. Every part of your lips and subtle adjustment of your figure only amplified the sound of your blood running beneath your veins and he felt like he was seconds away from either passing out or doing something he’d regret for the rest of his immortal life.

An actual whine threads out of his lips this time, completely broken as his eyelids seal shut like he’s in pain, “Shiiit, I shouldn’t’ve come here yet…”

Colored completely confused, you just stare. You hardly know what to say, much less what to do now, “Satoru, can you please tell me what’s going on with—”

“For fuck’s sake,” He snaps abruptly, and when his eyes open again, they’re impossibly hued with an inhumane glint, “I’m a vampire,” He finally, finally admits to you, “I’ve been gone for a year because I was turned, and if I immediately came back to you, I would’ve accidentally killed you trying to quench my insatiable thirst.”

His explanation hits you like a truck, leaving you frozen.

Your ex-boyfriend’s a vampire now? And he’s standing right in front of you after a year of avoiding you because he didn’t want to kill you?

Wait, more importantly…

You let him into your house not knowing this? 

So much for all that research…

The air between you both is thickened all over again and his voice breaks out along with him slipping away from your hold on his hair, face sliding back down toward your neck again, “God, that’s so shitty of me, isn’t it?” Gojo whispers tenderly. “Leavin’ for a year and then coming back with that as an explanation…”

As he speaks, his head steadily angles against your neck and you find yourself instinctively making room for him. Your fingers still run through his hair like second nature and you notice how, despite him being quite soaked, there isn’t a single shiver exuding from his body.

Perhaps he wasn’t lying. He really was a vampire.

“You probably hate me now,” He’s murmuring still, lips on your skin now. Then they part and you feel his teeth graze you for half a second before he grunts and shuts his mouth. “…Shit, I-I’m sorry.” Even as his apology exits him, you feel his hands slide up so that his fingers could curl against your waist—claws digging into you.

To which you flinch and shoot a hand down to his wrist, “Fuck, Satoru, that hurts..” You wince softly.

He frowns at your neck, “M’sorry..” Then the other hand you’ve got in his hair grips tighter before you yank his head away from your neck. Gojo moans shamelessly at your aggressiveness and his eyes are low with the desire to please coating them. “W-Wait, wait,” He huffs, as if drawing him away from your neck would very well kill him any moment now. “I just… I need a taste, sweetheart.”

You’re staring at him blankly but something faint in your expression twitches. You were never good at refusing Gojo’s begging. That was always your weakness. Even more now that he looks as though he’d drop dead if he didn’t get some sort of nutrients on his tongue.

As you finally consider your recent research, you do know a bit more about vampires now than you did a couple hours ago. You know it’s difficult for them to communicate when their thirst is clawing at their insides and driving them insane. With that in mind, you couldn’t possibly expect to have a proper conversation with Gojo when he’s like this.

So, your grip on his hair finally loosens and you sigh, “Okay… What do you want me to do?”

His pupils dilate as your words hit his ears and there’s a twitch from his cock already. You were so perfect, just as perfect as he remembered you to be.

Treating this situation like a delicacy wrapped in some sort of blessing, Gojo’s careful with the way he draws his hands up and takes your face into his palms. He then leans forward and you blink as his lips touch your forehead—a motion of silent thanks before he redirects his touch to your waist and drags your body closer to the counter’s edge.

Your legs are nearly wrapped around him now but neither of you seems to care too much. Gojo hears the bumping of your heart growing faster as the distance lessens and the sound only makes his teeth ache to bare fangs. There’s a noise simpering somewhere deep in his throat but you can’t really make it out and you’re too distracted by how he makes his way to your neck.

Gracefully, he lifts a finger to your chin to tip it up and then angles it off so he has room. The chill that’s induced from his breath on your tense skin is prominent. He hasn’t even answered your question verbally and yet you felt beyond nervous.

He should be able to quench his thirst without harming you, right? He wouldn’t drain you completely, would he? What if it hurts too much? What if—

“I can hear your thoughts, you know,” Gojo says all of a sudden, the words felt at your neck. “I’d never ask to do something like this if I didn’t know what I was doing.”

You gulp. “…You can hear my thoughts?”

“Every last one is like a dreamt sonnet to my mind,” He voices thickly before wrapping his arms around you as if to keep your nerve-racked body steady against him. Then his tongue darts out and he laps over the area he plans to sink his sharpening fangs into, “No matter how insignificant… or remarkable, I cling to every word in that pretty head of yours.”

Before you can comment on his rather poetic way of saying he now possesses some type of telepathic ability, the warm spread of his lips followed by something honed is grazing your flesh. Your hands have found his shirt to clutch onto and that grasp grows tighter.

Gojo lets the two tips of his fangs prick your skin before he whispers, “This will only hurt for a moment, then you will feel pleasure. I promise.”

Your brows furrow. Pleasure? From getting blood sucked out of you? That doesn’t even sound righ—

His teeth pierce through your neck before you could even finish that thought of yours. Your eyes widen and you yelp out in pain whilst his hands soothe over your waist with gently rubbing thumbs as if to coax you through it. 

The pain is rivaling something excruciating but because it’s him, because it’s someone you still believe to be the love of your life, it’s a sensation you can almost ignore. Not completely, of course. You could still feel the very structure of his fangs lodged past the layer of flesh on your neck so that blood could pour out past them and travel to his taste buds. The initial bite has you holding onto Gojo for dear life and you swear it lasts forever.

Then those fangs retract and you feel his mouth cup the area, a slosh of blood and saliva coating that part of your neck before his tongue laps out at you. The skin there is tender given the wound he’d just created but a strange noise slips out of you the moment he begins to suck.

It’s an eccentric sensation to feel someone suckling your blood into their mouth. The feeling can hardly be described at first outside of something strictly painful. But, just as he’d told you, pleasure soon follows like the calm after a wild storm. Perhaps it was because of how his tongue navigated around the open wound as if he’d mapped the region out time and time again.

And hey, technically speaking, he had mapped that area out thousands of times before this. Y’know, back when he was a human…

Reeling back into this moment, Gojo takes a while to quench his thirst and through every second you could feel your body responding in ways you weren’t quite expecting. You didn’t even realize you were coddling his head closer to your neck and where he was sucking until he groaned at the way your nails faintly scraped his scalp.

He tries to pull away for a moment to breathe but each time he does, a slim stream of your blood begins to trickle down and threatens to stain your shirt. To which he’d dive back in and lick the sweet flavor back onto his tongue.

When he was a freshly-turned vampire, he’d been told how the blood of a lover is sweeter than anything else on this earth and yet, he never quite expected it to be like this. “Mmnh,” Gojo moans unintentionally against you.

Every time he thought he was done, he just went right back in for more, beyond addicted to the thick liquid gushing out onto his tongue. The vampire only ever knew of one other thing to be sweeter than this.

But he hadn’t quite made his way down to that yet…

You think he’s satisfied his thirst at some point but you’re quickly distracted when you feel his lips traveling up, bloodied kisses decorating the side of your neck as he peppers them into your skin. One of his hands dives into his pocket—as if prepared for this—and he quickly pulls out a bandaid for the wound. Your grip on his hair steadily loosens and you should’ve said something about how he started kissing you as if he earned the right to do so but, instead your head is tipping back as he makes his way to your jaw.

The bandaid he pulled out is pressed over your open wound and his hands then find the thick of your hips so he can force your body to be completely flush with his. Right then, you gasp out into the air with the way his cock is felt poking up against your clothed cunt. There are multiple layers in between the two of you but that matters little with the way he starts marking your neck with dark love bites and grinding up against you.

Gojo solely plucks away from your throat for one thing and one thing only.

As his head flies up and your eyes meet his, neither of you spares the other a word nor do you think before you’re doing what’s so severely natural. You know you shouldn’t be giving into him this easily, you know you should still be yelling at him about how hurt you are but when his lips are slotting onto yours and his tongue is transferring the taste of your blood into your mouth—you can’t fathom a single thought outside of this moment.

Your face twists up at the metallic taste and he catches it, biting back a smile at your rather endearing reaction before pulling away—just barely—and clasping your chin in between his fingers to whisper, “It’s not as sweet for you, is it?” He whispers. You shake your head in response and he hums, “Figured… There’s an easy fix for that though, just spit in my mouth,” He breathes out suddenly.

Almost instantly, you’re taken out of whatever trance you’d just been stuck in and blink, “W-What?”

Gojo smiles faintly before letting his tongue lull out, “Cleanse me, sweetheart.”

As if possessed, you hardly know why you do just as he’s asked and let a thick droplet of your saliva coat his blood-stained tongue within the next second. Then you watch the way he swirls his tongue around in his mouth, as if the liquid from your mouth truly absolved the taste of your blood and replaced it with something even sweeter.

Not many seconds after that pass before your lips are colliding against one another again and your bodies are moving in unison—physically proving the deep and utterly natural craving you both harbored for one another. Everything is sensual and desperate. It’s a wet ‘n messy glide of need through the act of making out that collides oh so heavily. Gojo’s now clinging onto your hips again as if he were afraid he’d be snatched away from you again, his body unable to avoid creating more friction just to earn those pretty whines he’d missed so much.

And the moment you start moaning as if you missed him just as much as he missed you? 

Oh, he can’t even control his own body before he’s scooping you back up into his arms and carrying you off into the living room, tossing you down gently on the couch. You try to gasp but he doesn’t even give you time to do that, his lips are crashing down into yours again and this time he’s got your thigh against his palm and is tugging your leg up to rest at his hip while he grinds down into you achingly.

“S-Satoru,” You’re attempting to pull him back into reality and remind him that you’re not his girlfriend anymore and that he still has a shit ton of explaining to do!

Groaning to let you know he heard that, “S’that so? You’re not my girlfriend anymore?” Gojo mumbles against your mouth, tongue still darting out to swipe over your bottom lip.

Your eyes are half-lidded and your body is hot all over, even with his wet clothing mashing against you and soaking you up. “It’s been a year,” You huff, “You can’t just show up at my house–”

“Our,” He corrects testingly yet again.

Rolling your eyes, “Whatever, our house, suck my blood, and then try to fuck me like you haven’t been gone,” You scold seriously with your hands at his chest, pushing his body up to create some sort of distance. “I don’t even know what happened to you yet-, or, how you became a vampire...”

“And yet you let me kiss you,” He points out. “We can get into the details later, sweets. Right now all I wanna do is—”

“You don’t get to leave me emotionally wrecked for a year and then come back into my life trying to fix it with your dick,” You say with finality.

That seems to strike the right nerve.

“Tch, fine,” He moves his hands to the bottom of his shirt and slowly lifts it up all slut-like to reveal his marred body, one thick painful-looking scar stretching out across his abdomen as if his body had once been split in half or something like that. “S’This what you want, huh?” He asks meanly, as if he was trying to hide the shame he felt from his tethered body beneath anger, “Want me to tell you how some seven foot, four-armed freak ripped me to shreds? How it was Suguru—who I know you never liked—that found me at the last inch of my life and then saved me?”

Your gaze trails down his figure and even though it’s clear by the aggression in his outburst that he’s ashamed of what he’s showing you, you can’t help but gawk at the man presented to you. Even with nasty battle scars all over his skin you still found him as attractive as ever—if not more so now than you did before.

You gulp and let out a soft scoff, “Jesus, Satoru…”

Then he flings his shirt across the room and his palms relax against the couch at the sides of your head, caging you under him, “Is that what you wanted to hear? Does that satisfy you?” Gojo asks in a voice threading onto something broken, “Or… do you also need to hear how I only stayed away for a year because I was too much of a coward to come back to you like this?”

When you finally meet eyes with him again, you notice his are coated with tears and the sight immediately makes your heart lurch in your chest as your expression falters. You couldn’t bear to see the love of your life looking at you as if he was wrapped in a disgusting cloud of something shameful and hideous. Gojo Satoru, of all people, looming over you now with a look on his face that said he was abashed to show himself to you like this.

Your hands instinctively shoot up to his face, cupping his cheeks into your palms and pulling him closer to you so that your thumbs could wipe his lower lashline where the fluid had welt up. It wasn’t water, no. It was yet another reminder that the man before you was no longer human as a reddened liquid pricked the corners of his eyes.

And yet, despite it all, he was still as beautiful as an angel before you.

The thought fluttering around in your head makes his lips twitch up into a saddened smile, “You can’t… You can’t yell at me, think such pretty things about me, and then expect me not to crave you the way I do.” He mutters.

Still wiping his bloody tears away, “And you can’t come home to me acting as though I wouldn’t have accepted you exactly as you are. I’m not mad that you’re a vampire, Satoru—you know that. I’m upset because you left me to think you were dead. I mourned you.”

“I know,” He whispers for the nth time, turning his face into your palm and kissing it delicately, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m unsure how many different ways I can say that but I mean it, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you anything.” Gojo expresses in that breathy voice of his. Then his gaze trails elsewhere, “I tried to, honestly. The first thing I wanted to do when I was turned was run back to you but… if I’d done that, I could’ve accidentally killed you. I had new powers I couldn’t control a-and… I can’t even begin to imagine a life without you, sweetheart. I only exist where you do.”

Your heart aches and his words are starting to feel like a cursed apology, “I…”

His hands come to your wrists for a second before he pulls his face out of your hold and leans all the way up. 

In his mind, he’s cursing at himself for not coming home sooner. He’s been in control of his powers for months. Hell, he’s even been lingering outside the house on multiple occasions. All those times you felt as though his ghost was haunting you? He was actually there, somewhere off in the distance connecting with you via silent entries on your mind.

“If this is too much,” Gojo begins whilst looking off to the front door. He was going to do it again, run away and avoid facing you as he is. “I can leave. If you can’t handle or accept all this now then just say the word and I’ll—”

You cut him off sharply, your voice trembling through gritted teeth, and a hand of yours coming up to tug him back down to you, “Satoru, if you ever leave me again, I’ll drag you out into the sunlight and let your ashes decorate our lawn.”

“Well, shit… t-that’s a bit of an oxymoron, don’t you think?” He chuckles nervously in response. When he notices you find humor in that too, and your lips twitch to fight off a smile, his head tilts dotingly, “Did you miss me that much, sweetheart?”

You glare at him, “You can read my mind, you know the answer to that already.”

In reaction, Gojo eases his way down to you again and his mouth ghosts yours, “Does this mean I can kiss you again?”

“Just once more,” You lie so obviously through the same lips that are meeting him within the next second.

This time the connection is softened with all the desperation of two people who’ve been starving for a year. His body is slow to sandwich down against yours again and it’s as though the depressive weight on your shoulder was finally lifted again.

Gojo’s lips are tentative and loving now as opposed to the messy, desperate movements from before. His grunts are lighter at his throat and your tongues dance in and out of one another’s mouths in a familiar rhythm. You were finally feeling whole again.

Your other half had returned to you and although he was different and although the two of you should probably be taking this a lot slower than you were, one year without any sort of stimulation mixed with grief really does something to the human body.

You don’t even know when your legs wrapped around Gojo’s waist or when he started grinding his hard cock down against your clothed cunt again but you do know it feels better now than it did a few minutes ago. Perhaps it’s because most of the tears and heartfelt confessions were out of the way.

Or, maybe it was because the movement of his body against yours was something you accepted now.

Not that this means you won’t tease him in between kisses to cover up the worked-up noises at your throat. “I still hate you, y’know,” You’d whisper, though Gojo heard the baselessness in your words.

“Yeah?” He snickers, smiling softly against your lips before the shape of his cock pressed right up between your steadily drooling folds and slicked panties, “Want me to suck your clit as an apology next?” He offers.

You gasp at his crudeness, “Satoru!”

To which he only grins and tilts his head a little, eyes low on yours, “You’re laughing but m’serious…”

“I’m not letting you fuck me that easily…” Your hand readjusts across his chest and you push him away enough to look down at his scars again, “You just got back.”

Gojo groans and lets his eyes roll at your claims, “And we’ve so much lost time to make up for.” He protests, hand coming up over yours as he whorishly guides it down his chest, “Plus… I’m a lot stronger now.”

You cock a brow as your gaze flicks back and forth between the sharp abs against your palm and his gradually blushing expression, “So?”

A snarky grin spreads out across his rose tinted lips, “Don’t you wanna test out this new strength of mine? C’mon, you were just wondering how vampire bodies work and now you’ve got one right in front of you—willing to do anything to heal what he’s broken.”

You grit your teeth and he stops your hand right against his pelvis, letting your fingers tease the veins that trail down to the same cock rubbing against your cunt through many tiresome layers of clothes. 

It doesn’t take much more for you to give in, “I hate it when you sweet talk me…”

“You love it,” He argues.

Your hand slips down all of a sudden—catching him off guard—and snags onto the waistline of his pants, fingertips teasing beneath the fabric. The sound of his breath hitching doesn’t go unnoticed and when you look up, you feel yourself throb at his reaction.

Gojo’s jaw has fallen open slightly and you see him fighting with his fangs as if to keep them at bay. They keep sharpening slightly and then retracting in tandem with his fluttering white lashes as if he were fighting his own lust.

Smirking, “Hey, Satoru…” The moment your voice hits his ears, you watch his fangs uncontrollably elongate in raw reaction to the sound. “Why do your teeth keep doing that?” You ask with faux innocence.

Gojo lets out a long and heavy breath of air before swiping his tongue over his teeth and clicking his tongue, “Think of it like a vampiric boner…”

You snort, “What? That’s a thing?”

“Obviously,” He replies sassily. “And I can’t even control it, every time you touch me, I—“

You purposefully start peeling his pants down to reveal more of his carved V-line to your greedy eyes and earn an aroused hiss from the man. It’s not until you pull the fabric down enough to expose a sliver of his needy cock that Gojo snatches your hand away and pins it up above your head.

Low and heavy, “...Is this your way of saying you’re ready to make up for lost time or what?” He sears, eyes glinting with a primal desire for you, who’s laid all too prettily beneath him.

A slip of drool decorates his bottom lip and his fangs seem almost sharper than they did before, bared with another low hiss exiting his throat as you answer him with one shy nod of your head.

———

And approximately six minutes later he’s in between your legs.

What can you say, you’re an easy woman when it comes to your ex-boyfriend Gojo. That, and it’s been a whole year since you’ve had sex! Do you know how crazy that drives a person?

Well, when your ex began kissing downwards and rubbing his thumbs greedily against your inner thighs before spreading them out, you just couldn’t help but give in entirely. 

“Goddd, I missed my girl,” Gojo’s moaning now, “Look at her, just as sloppy ‘n wet as I remember. Mwah,” He presses a nasty kiss to your soaked pussy lips, a glistening mess of slick stringing in between the connection as he continues running his mouth. “Mmnh, did you miss me, baby? Yeah? Y’missed ‘Toru, didn’t you?”

Then he’s expertly tonguing his words deeper into your cunt as if to prove a point, the lathering licks from the pink muscle echoing all throughout the living room. You wanted to hate how easily you sprawled your legs out for him but, he was your boyfriend after all—at one point, anyway.

Plus, he’s unfairly good with his tongue.

Back arching up and mouth left agape, “S-Satoru… I hated when you-, mmgh! T-Talked to my pussy then, hah.. what makes you think I like it n-now?” You ask in between breathy moans.

There’s a constant thump from his hips as he humps his hard cock against the couch, aching for some type of friction again whilst he suckles your clit into his mouth with wanting fervor. 

Sloppy and uncaring of how debauched he is, “I dunno, maybe the way she’s suckin’ my fingers in like the slutty girl I remember her to be,” Gojo husks out in that arousend ‘n raspy baritone of his before prying his mouth away and replacing it with two thrusting fingers that waste no time stimulating your g-spot, “Ain’t that right, pretty?” He snickers, watching your pussy gush out more aroused slick against his skin, “Ohhh, there’s the spot, huh? Yeah, I still remember.”

“P-Please shut up,” You moan as your eyes cross a little. You’ve got a hand flying down to his wrist as if to guide his fingers where you want them but your light grasp is futile since he seems to remember every tender spot inside your honeyed walls, “Fuck-, you’re so embarrassing…”

“You can’t say that while you’re cumming on my fingers,” Gojo points out as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Sad thing is, you didn't even realize the gluey mess that was quickly decorating his fingers in thick uncontrollable globs. “Kinda’ hypocritical if you ask me..” He adds with a cheeky smile on his face.

Then his two digits are hastily scissoring your insides to prepare you for what’s to come as he knows you haven’t been with anyone else since he’s left and although your insides are exactly as he remembers them to be, he almost feels as though you’re squeezing his fingers tighter than you ever have before.

And the way your gorgeous slick spurts out at his every word has him smiling way too proudly, “All that arguing and yelling ‘n yet all you needed was a couple of fingers to get you to act right again, huh?” Gojo says cockily.

You groan through gritted teeth as your soft walls clamp around him and your legs twitch to shut and run away from the pleasure you were receiving, “Y-You know, mmgh, damn well you’re the one who was actin’ wrong,” You argue back, hips steadily reeling away from him.

Scoffing at the cute attempt, Gojo quickly brings his other hand up to your hip and snags your body right back towards him as he dives his mouth back down against your clit and signs the letters of his name out around your clit in what feels like cursive. Drooling against the twitching bud profusely as if every drop of your taste was coaxing him towards something premature.

And it was, Gojo felt his plumped cockhead jumping in between his constant humps against the couch, smearing precum all over his boxers and leaving a sticky mess of need that he knew he’d probably be embarrassed about later. Especially since it only takes fingering you to one more orgasm for his own to come crashing over him like a tidal wave, creamy cum soiling his crotch awkwardly.

Then it gets worse because you notice, you see how his eyes gloss over and watch the way he starts crying at how blissfully good it feels—as if he’d been holding it in for a while prior to now. Broken mutters of, “Fuck that feels s’good,” Tiptoing past his slobbed lips before he plucks his fingers out of you.

You’re a mess yourself but he’s definitely far worse. Staring up at you with tear-stained cheeks, Gojo merely takes it a step further and lets you ogle the way he sucks your taste off of his fingers and rolls his eyes back in the midst of doing so.

After which he’s operating like a male beyond possessed and steered by his own lust. It’s been way too long since he’d been inside you and if you thought his cock would soften after one pathetic orgasm then you clearly underestimated a few things about him.

Now, sex with Gojo as a human was one thing in itself but sex with Gojo as a vampire makes you feel dirty.

Minutes later and he’s got his cum lathered dick sprung out and slapping against his abdomen, smearing his own mess against his skin whilst he takes one hand and uses it to pry your thighs apart again—his other set of fingers wrapping around his heavy girth and giving himself a couple of needed and lazy strokes.

His body was on fire and he felt as though if he didn’t stuff himself past the twitching spread of your pussylips any second now, he would die of a different kind of thirst that wasn’t exactly vampiric…

When he starts angling himself up against your cunt, mushroomy tip scribbling his milky seed against your folds, his fangs begin to sharpen again. “I missed you s-so fuckin’ much,” Gojo groaned as his cock finally began to slide past that stubborn ring of resistance he’s sure missed him just as much.

The way your glossy folds stretch around his blushing head is enough to make his eyes glint with that burning hunger of his again and—one more—you’ve never felt like a slut more than you did right now. 

“Did you miss me? Huh? Tell me,” Gojo would whisper out. Of course, you can’t tell if that’s to you or pussy, who’s he’s busy caressing messy rubbings against as if that would ease how difficult it was to take him in. It felt as though he got even bigger than you remembered him to be and hell, maybe he did. “I need to hear it, please…”

You nod hurriedly and your body is itching to pull away for a moment to breathe, “Y-Yes, I missed you, Satoru… ohm-mygodd, I missed you s’muuch,” You whine out into the air convincingly enough to urge his hips into suddenly snapping forward.

The two of you choke out the same moan in sync and his head falls back, “Ohh f-fuuck,” Gojo voices hotly. Then he rolls his head so that his eyes could fall down on you and make sure you weren’t struggling to take his cock too badly,  “Yeah, I missed you too… “ He coos, “Thought about you everyday, sweetheart...”

Between the breaths he was unintentionally fucking out of your lungs, you manage a breathess, “Did you? Or d-did you just think about… hahh-, fucking me?” 

He smiles almost wickedly, “Both, my love.” Then he’s down against your ear in the next second, fangs grazing your skin, “I only dreamt of being inside you like this again. Hah, look at youuu.” He purrs whilst glancing down and watching the way his dick glides almost all the way out of you so unfairly gorgeously. Then, Gojo snickers, “Missed me s’much you won’t even let me go, how cute…” He comments, tip still poking against your entrance.

“Satoruuuu,” You begin to whine at the lack of him inside you and he doesn’t waste any time making it up by taking your legs into his hands.

“I hear you sweetheart, relaax. M’not pulling out, just wanna..” He palms the underside your thighs and pushes them up, up, up so that your legs are sandwiched snuggly to your chest, “Theree we go, now I can fuck this pussy properly,” He accentuated with a simple, yet brutal push into you again.

His long cock snags deep against the plush insides of your enveloping pussy and the way he’s got your body pinned to the couch and completely unable to lift or even move a muscle to escape his thrusting has your moans coming out in stammered breaths.

Gojo’s length is greedy ‘n one big, messy mess against your insides, hitting that spot to make you see streaks of blinding white stars in seconds. The constant slap of his heavy balls against your skin plows throughout the room and you were being stuffed to the brim with him up until you couldn’t even think about anything else.

The only time you get some type of break is when he hauls your left leg up and starts pumping his veiny girth at a new angle, his head turning and lips meeting your calf. Then Gojo starts licking the skin there, one leg wrapped around tightly as his hips hammer forward and your body jerks in tandem.

“J-Just one more taste, sweetheart. Please,” He whines suddenly, trailing his eyes over to your cockdrunken state, “I won’t make a mess this time, promise…”

You could hardly make out what he was saying considering how dumb he’d fucked you on his cock so, all you do is give him one messy nod of your head and the next thing you feel his im driving his fangs into your leg.

The pain is nowhere near excruciating this time. If anything it feels good, so good that you’re squirting around his shaft with that translucent liquid before you even realize it. Your moan is loud enough to fill every hallway of your house and Gojo’s losing his mind all the same.

Smiling into the wound he’s actively creating, “You’re so sweet,” He praises, his other hand moving from your thigh and over to where his cock is pumping in and out of you so that he can press down. “Fuckin’ delicious… Does that feel good, baby?” He asks in between his slovenly laps, ”A-Am I still makin’ my girl feel good, huh?”

“Y-Yes ‘Toru,” Your voice is hardly there but even if you’d thought those pretty words out, he would’ve reacted all the same.

Groaning, “Fuuck, I missed that nickname.” Then your gummy walls start squeezing around him again and he feels his cock trembling for release, “Aah, b-baby… m’gonna cum,” He whines honestly, “You feel too-, fuck, n-no.. you taste too good, I’m…” He finally stops sucking and lets himself gulp your blood down his throat, eyes widening in sheer bliss before he looks down at you carnally. Voice many pitches deeper, “Sweetheart, you gotta let me cum inside you.” Gojo huffs.

You finally break out a smile as your mind makes enough space to think about your searches from earlier in the night and your hand grips onto the couch a little tighter, “Mmgh, ahh… y-you need my permission to do that, huh?”

“Fuck, don’t tease,” He whines again, eyes glossing over again whilst his thrusts grow erratic, “P-Please don’t fuckin’ tease me… J-Just say I can… fuuuck… baby, please.. please?”

“You could always-, mmnh, pull out,” You giggle cockdrunkenly.

Gojo groans as if you just cursed at him and his hips snap forward with more vigor, fucking a drooling head of curses into you hard enough to have your vision numbed with stars again, “You really think I can-, hahh… go a year without bein’ inside this pussy and-, fuck.. not breed her when I get back?” He asks, mind barely even present in this conversation.

All he can think about at this point is filling you with his seed and fucking something dangerous into you. Perhaps if he’d done that a year ago, he would’ve never taken so long to return…

“S’toru,” You babble as drool trickles down to your chin and he starts repositioning slightly again.

“Let me cum inside,” Gojo huffs whilst folding you back into the meanest mating press, “Sweetheart, let me fuck my cum into you, please…” His voice cracks into something beyond submissive as his eyes fight a crossing, “I-I can’t… pleasepleaseplease—“

“Satoru!” You gasp out instead of saying what he wants to hear.

To which he takes a slightly different approach and comes up to your ear again, “I’ve been a good boy for you haven’t I?” He asks so abruptly that it catches you entirely off guard.

“W-What?” You stammer cutely.

“Reward me,” Gojo demands in return, leaning up just a little to look you dead in the eyes with want pouring out of their blued haze, “Let me breed this pussy again… I-I’ve earned it, yeah?” He questions adorably. To which you shake your head and his body shudders. Making him grumble, “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

A smile breaks out across your face and you chuckle breathlessly, “I-I know..”

Gojo moves suddenly and his hands snake under your entire frame, grabbing at the fats of your ass before he steadies himself on the couch and starts pulling your body up to meet his bruising thrusts, the couch beginning to shake and even shake violently as he does so.

You’re a mess of drool and faint tears as he does that, the feeling of his thick cock prodding at the syrupy hilt of your pussy in a French-kissing manner has you gasping for air and clawing at his back hard enough to leave more scars. “‘Toru-, ohmygod,” You cry out, “O-Okay, fuuck.. you can cum inside me…”

“Uh-uh, you can say it better than that,” He opposes. You hate the way he always manages to get precisely what he wants out of you, “Tell me what I wanna hear, what exactly do you want me to do, huuh?”

“You’re s-so fuckin’… shit-, a-annoying,” You mumble before finally, finally giving in, “I want you to breed me, ‘Toru.”

“Thereee she is,” And then it’s instantaneous the way his cum flushes out into your cum, each drop fucked deeper and deeper into your tight cavern to make sure it takes. “Never gonna leave you again,” Gojo whispers lovingly to contrast the carnal movement of his hips whilst his cock thrashes against your womb.

Your fingernails are still lightly lodged into his back but you manage out one heavy breath of, “You better not…”

Which lets you know that, apparently, the random Reddit thread you scrolled through was wrong…

Vampires do, in fact, need permission to cum inside you after all!

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