aeri

Chapter 1: The Masquerade Court

The Hall of Mirrors shimmered like a frozen wave, candlelight flickering along every polished surface til each noble’s mask became a thousand faces-watching, whispering, lying. The Princess of Caerthwyn stood motionless beneath a towering arch of stained glass, her own mask-silver, feathered, expressionless-hiding not just her identity, but her unease.

She hated these gatherings

Beneath the swirl of violins and perfumed air, tension coiled like a waiting viper. Each toast carried a threat. Each dance step etched unspoken treaties. Five kingdoms. One brittle peace. And tonight, the court wore beauty like armor, veiling the fractures beneath.

Across the floor, a jester cartwheeled into the crowd.

His garb was a storm of mismatched color, bells at his sleeves like stars caught in cloth. His mask bore a painted grin and hollow eyes. He moved with uncanny grace—not a fool, but something pretending to be the one. As he tossed a copper coin high, it spun and caught fire in the chandeliers, landed neatly on the shoulder of an ambassador from Draventh. Laughter followed. So did narrowed glances.

Then came his tale.

A dragon asleep in a mirror. A queen who stole shadows. A world stitched together by lies. Rhyme and rhythm wove nonsense into spectacle. But something else pulsed beneath the words—a pattern, buried like a heartbeat in stone. 

The princess felt it. Noticed it. It gnawed at her composure.

Sliding through silk and whispers, she reached the shadows by the dais. From her sleeve, she drew a slim note and began to write, catching each line.

“Truth in jest, so they say,” came a voice beside her.

She startled.

The jester stood there, untouched by sweat or effort. His eyes, dark and gleaming, studied her with unsettling clarity. His painted smile didn’t move.

“You heard it,” he said. “Didn’t you?”

She said nothing. The weight of her mask felt heavier than before.

“You’re not like them.” He bowed with an elegance that mocked royalty. “I am Corwin. Fool by profession. Curse by inheritance.”

And just like that, he vanished, swallowed by music and motion.

Her fingers shook. She looked down at her notes—symbols where rhymes should be. Not a nonsense. Language. Fragments.

Caerthwyn’s ancient script. Ysalwen’s flowing curves. Even the harsh, runic marks of Tarkh-amun.

It wasn’t just a performance. It was a warning. A message.

The Aethervault Covenant. A name unspoken in generations.

She stared out at the sea of masks, her breath shallow, her heartbeat ragged. The court spun on, blind and beautiful. But the air had shifted.

And then, from somewhere behind a marble pillar, his voice again:

“Shall we meet again, Princess…?”

She turned, but the hall had already swallowed him whole.

For the first time in years, the princess of Caerthwyn felt afraid.

And for the first time ever—she felt thrilled.

She didn’t return to the dance.

Instead, the princess slipped deeper into the architecture of the palace, into corridors meant for servants and shadowed dignitaries. The music grew softer, distant, like a dream receding at dawn. Her steps quickened not with panic, but urgency—as though something long-dormant had stirred within her.

A pattern.

It hadn’t been mere theater. Corwin’s tale, laced in rhyme and farce, held buried references too precise to ignore. “A dragon asleep in a mirror” was not just a metaphor; it was nearly a word-for-word match for a lost Caerthwynian legend, one she had found etched into a broken tablet three summers ago.

She passed beneath a series of arched alcoves until she found her private chamber of study—a place even the palace guards often forgot. Books lined the walls like silent sentries, and a faded map of the Five Realms spread across the far desk, it’s ink smudged by time and sleepless fingers.

She set her notes down, comparing the strange marks to ancient lexicons.

Calenmir. The Shard of Remembrance.

It was only a name, but it radiated with the weight of her lineage. The fragment of the Aethervault Covenant said to be held in Caerthwyn had long been dismissed as myth. A ceremonial relic. Nothing more. But the phrase in Corwin’s story—”echoes locked in glass, where memory sleeps”—was too close to the old translations of Calenmir’s purpose: to bind memory in light.

Could he know that?

She thought of his eyes. Too observant. Too knowing. Not the eyes of a jester. A spy, perhaps. Or worse—a believer!

Then she heard it.

A soft tap… tap… tap.

She froze. The sound came from the window—three stories above the courtyard. A trickle of cold air slipped in before she dared approach. Drawing the curtain aside, she found nothing. No rope. No ladder.

Only a copper coin.

Balanced on the sill, edge-down. Impossible. Unmoving.

She reached for it, and as her fingers brushed the metal, a chill stabbed her palm. Symbols flared—just for an instant—along it’s edge. Her breath caught.

She looked again.

Gone. Just a coin.

But her fate had already changed.

That night, she didn’t sleep. Not from fear, not entirely.

She read until candlelight blurred, her thoughts tangled in prophecy and deception, in ancient names and modern lies. Corwin’s words looped in her mind like a cursed lullaby. Not because she feared the story—but because she understood it.

And because part of her, the part she had buried under silk and ceremony, wanted to hear more.

Her name was Caoimhe, though few spoke it without title. Fewer still understood the burden it carried. To be Princess of Caerthwyn was to embody restraint, to wield grace like a blade she could never draw. She had been taught to command in whispers, to bend without seeming to yield, to dance around truth as if it were fire. And yet, tonight—with that coin still burning in her thoughts and Corwin’s voice still clinging to her skin—the truths she had tiptoed around her entire life surged like a tide within her.

Duty. Blood. Legacy. She had been raised to revere them. But what if the very roots of her kingdom—of herself—were built on silenced truths? Forgotten covenants?

And what if this jester, this masked madman with ancient knowledge in his tongue, had cracked something open that could never be closed?

For the first time, Caoimhe feared what she might become if she followed that thread.

But more than that, she feared what she would remain if she didn’t.

Tap… tap… tap.

But not at the window.

This time, from the stone hallway outside her sanctuary door.

Caoimhe froze.

The study was deep within the palace’s eastern wing, a place even servants rarely passed unless summoned. She had extinguished her candles minutes ago, but the coin still lay warm in her palm, it’s edges etched into her skin like a forgotten oath.

She set it down quietly, her fingers trembling more than she liked. The sound had been light, deliberate. Not the erratic shuffle of a wandering courtier, nor the heavy stride of a guard.

Another knock. Softer.

She stepped silently toward the door. No shoes. No sound. The light behind her flickered as if retreating.

Her hand hovered above the latch.

She shouldn’t open it.

Every part of her training screamed that. Her tutors had drilled her in protocol, in discretion, in the subtleties of perception. A princess did not yield to curiosity. A princess, above all, maintained control.

And yet, her heart beat louder than the knocks.

She pressed her ear to the wood.

Silence. Then—the sound of fabric brushing stone. A retreating footstep. Another.

Then nothing.

Caoimhe waited. Counted to thirty. Then another thirty.

When she finally opened the door, the corridor was empty.

No shadows out of place. No breath of motion. Only the faint scent of something dry and strange—like old parchment left in the sun.

Her eyes fell to the floor.

A folded slip of paper.

She stooped and picked it up with care, as though the message might burn her fingers. The parchment was smooth, unblemished, but it’s fold was sharp.

Intentional.

Three words.

“You must choose.”

Her breath caught.

No seal. No signature. Just that.

The moment lengthened, stretching between heartbeats.

Confusion came first—sharp and immediate. Choose what? Between whom? Then dread crept in, quite and cold. Someone had entered her world without permission. Someone who knew where to find her, who she was, what she was already thinking.

Anger flickered beneath her chest, but it could not take root—not with fear gripping her back. Not fear of violence. Fear of implication. Of meaning.

Her thumb traced the edge of the paper again and again, as if the curve of it could answer the questions clawing through her mind.

But underneath it all—beneath the fear, the disbelief, even the anger—was something she could not name. A thrill she did not want. A hope she dared not speak.

What if this was what she’d been waiting for all along?

Behind her, the study no longer felt safe. The books loomed. The walls seemed to listen. She closed the door slowly, the way one might close a tomb.

Then, in the far window—the one facing the courtyard below—a flicker of movement.

She turned fast enough to send her candle skittering off the desk. It rolled and extinguished.

She stood alone in the dark.

Not quite afraid. Not yet.

But very, very aware that she was no longer unseen.

The darkness settled around her like velvet soaked in ink. Caoimhe stood still, the extinguished candle at her feet and the slip of parchment clutched tightly in one hand. For a moment, she thought it might have been her imagination—the flicker, the presence. Perhaps a trick of nerves and shadow.

But then she saw it.

A shape beyond the glass.

The window overlooked the lower courtyard garden—a place that should have been silent. Yet now, in the silvery haze of moonlight, a figure stood among the hedgerows.

No torch. No motion. Just watching.

Her pulse quickened.

She moved to the sill slowly, cautiously, unsure whether she meant to confront or hide. The air had chilled as if the watcher’s presence had reached up to touch her skin.

The figure wore a cloak dark as midnight. A mask covered the face, glinting faintly in the light. Not gaudy like the masquerade’s theater of elegance—this mask was plain, smooth, expressionless. Purposeful. The kind worn not to entertain, but to erase.  

And though the distance between them was great, she felt the gaze meet hers with terrifying precision.

She lifted her hand slowly.

The figure tilted it’s head.

Not in threat.

In recognition.

Then, in one fluid motion, the stranger turned and vanished into the hedge maze below, as if swallowed by the garden itself.

Caoimhe didn’t breathe for several seconds. Her heart pounded a rhythm that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with change. With unraveling.

She had lived her entire life behind masks—the dutiful daughter, the poised princess, the future queen of Caerthwyn.

But she had never seen a mask like that. One that didn’t pretend to be anything at all.

She stepped back from the window, note still in her hand. Her world had not broken.

Not yet.

But it had bent. And she was already leaning with it.

Downstairs, in the dark, the garden waited.

And so did the watcher.

Caoimhe didn’t hesitate.

She threw on her cloak—velvet, midnight-blue, with a silver clasp shaped like a tree in winter—and slipped through the servant’s door behind her study. She moved fast, silent, her slippers barely whispering against the stone. The palace walls echoed faintly, but she knew their secrets. She had spent her youth learning every passage the way others learned dance.

The cold air met her like a gasp.

She stepped into the garden. The hedges loomed in the dark like slumbering giants, their tangled forms hiding everything but the moon. The watcher was nowhere in sight.

For a heartbeat she faltered.

Then she spotted it—the briefest shimmer—dew disturbed on a branch. A path taken. She followed.

The maze had been planted a century ago for royal amusement. Now, under moonlight, it felt like something older. Something hungrier.

She moved deeper.

The silence grew heavier. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears. Every turn felt like a decision, every corner a question. She knew she should have called for her guard. Told someone. Done anything but this.

But she had read the note. You must choose.

And somehow, without knowing how or why, she had already chosen.

Then she saw him.

At the heart of the maze. Standing beneath the lone yew tree that bent like a question mark above a crumbling marble bench.

The mask still covered his face.

She stopped several paces away. Not out of fear—but because the air between them felt taut. Like a string pulled tight between meanings.

“I saw you,” she said. “At the window.”

The watcher tilted his head again. Slowly.

“I don’t know who you are. But you left the note.”

Still, no answer.

She stepped closer. One pace. Two.

“Do you work for someone?” she asked. “Draventh? Are you here to threaten me or help me?”

The mask moved. He reached into his cloak and let out something small—round and familiar.

A copper coin.

He flicked it.

It spun through the air, glittering once before landing in her palm.

This one bore no symbols. Just one word, etched deep across it’s face:

“Soon.”

And when she looked up—the watcher was gone.

Caoimhe stood alone beneath the yew tree, the coin pressed flat in her palm.

Soon.

The word burned with too many meanings. A warning. A promise. A clock already ticking. her breath steamed in the cold, but she barely felt it. Her thoughts spun faster than the coin had fallen.

She slipped the coin into a hidden pocket at her sleeve and turned from the maze’s heart. As she retraced her steps through the hedgerows, a plan began to take shaped—not fully formed, but sharp enough to follow.

She could not speak of this. Not yet.

The court would not believe her, or worse, they would pretend to and twist it. Her father’s council had long grown fat on protocol and illusion. And her stepmother—so polished, so placid—would offer a poisoned smile and suggest she rest. “You’ve always been so imaginative, my dear.”

No. Caoimhe would not be dismissed.

The masked figure, the coins, the story beneath Corwin’s jest—they all pointed to something buried, something ancient. Something forbidden.

She would begin with the texts.

Not the ones the scribes copied for display, but the ones hidden in the sealed archive beneath the palace library. She still had access—technically. A forgotten privilege from her years of study, quietly renewed every season by a sympathetic archivist.

If there were any records left of the Aethervault Covenant, they would be there. Or at least, the pieces are too dangerous to burn.

Then there was Corwin.

The jester who wasn’t a jester. His performance had not been for the court. It had been for her.

She would find him. Not through the official channels—they would only lie about his whereabouts, or keep him from her. No. She would find him the way he had found her.

Through misdirection. Through masks.

Back in her chambers, she lit a single candle and retrieved her old satchel from the back of her wardrobe. Inside: scraps of translation notes, broken sigils, an iron stylus wrapped in faded velvet, and a small cracked slate tablet that still hummed faintly when held.

The remnants of who she had been before politics swallowed her.

Caoimhe exhaled.

The plan would be slow. Careful. Threaded in silences and half-truths. She would become what the court had trained her to be.

Invisible where it mattered the most.

But when the moment came, she would not hesitate.

She would choose.

And the world would shift.

Beneath the marble and gold, a different mask moved through shadow.

A theater—not the grand, polished kind reserved for nobles, but a cavernous space of rusted rigging and dust-choked velvet, tucked beneath the west wing like a forgotten lung. Here, silence breathed heavy, and the flicker of old oil lamps threw shadows that danced for no one.

Corwin moved across the floor with soundless grace, weaving through discarded backdrops and torn banners. The mask was gone now, tucked inside his satchel beside a deck of cards he never played and a strip of cloth dyed in the five kingdom colors.

He wasn’t alone.

“You pushed too far,” came a voice from the balcony above. It was flat, dispassionate. Female.

Corwin didn’t look up.

“I needed her to feel it,” he said, kneeling beside the hollowed stage trapdoor. He pried up a board, revealing a journal wrapped in oilskin. “She’s not one of them.”

“She’s still a princess.”

“For now.”

He unwrapped the journal carefully, the pages brittle but alive with scrawled ink and strange diagrams. Symbols of the Aethervault Covenant. Ciphered tongues. He flipped to a marked page.

The Calenmir. The Shard of Remembrance.

“She saw it,” he murmured, half to himself. “In the rhyme. She didn’t look away.”

From above, the woman stepped forward into the light. A mask of her own, this one bone-white and carved with six tiny notches—each representing a choice made, or perhaps a life lost.

“You risk awakening it too early,” she said. “There are still threads yet to pull.”

Corwin stood. “And what would you have me do? Dance longer? Juggle secrets while Draventh circles the border and Zhaurim whispers about waking steel?”

She said nothing. Her silence answered enough.

Corwin exhaled, closing the journal.

“I’ve seen enough prophecy to know when it bends,” he said. “And she’s bending it.”

He walked into the wings, where shadows welcomed him like old friends.

“I won’t stop now.”

The woman’s voice followed him into the dark. “Then may the mask choose wisely.”

Corwin did not turn back.

He only smiled.

And somewhere in the rafters, a bell jingled softly with every step.

While the jester vanished into whispers, the princess followed a thread of her own.

Caoimhe paused at the threshold of the archive’s lower gate—a blackened arch carved from volcanic stone, nearly forgotten beneath the east tower. No guards stood watch here. No torches lit the stairwell. The only light came from the glowstone she carried in her palm, it’s dull radiance barely touching the steps that spiraled downward into secrecy.

She knew the risks. She had measured them in silence.

Though she bore a key of access, if she were found here without cause or escort, she would face questions she could not safely answer. The court would whisper treason, madness, or worse—ambition. And ambition in a princess was not a virtue in Caerthwyn. It was a threat.

The Aethervault Covenant was not a tale told lightly. It had vanished from formal texts, erased in careful revisions. Whatever remained would not have been left intact. There might be traps in the language itself—wards of confusion, or ink soaked in alchemical fear. Knowing fragments could open doors better left sealed.

She had spent her life being told who she was. She had perfected the role—the perfect mask for the perfect heir. But knowledge changed people. And if she pulled too hard at the thread of her own history, she feared what else might unravel.

What if she wasn’t meant to lead?

What if she wasn’t even meant to belong?

A chill traced her spine.

Still, she stepped inside.

Because not knowing was it’s own kind of death—and tonight, ignorance felt far more dangerous than truth.

The stairs swallowed her.

Each step echoed like a secret spoken aloud, and the glowstone cast her shadow long against the spiral walls. The air thickened the deeper she went, not with dust, but with memory. This place remembered every footstep, every betrayal, every silence.

Caoimhe reached the bottom and paused before the iron gate. It bore no lock, only a sigil etched into the center—a faded crest of Caerthwyn, but older, sharper in design. She touched it with two fingers. The stone beneath her feet trembled.

The door sighed open. 

Inside, the archive was little more than a vault.

Stone shelves lined the walls, some empty, others crowded with scrolls bound in cracked leather or wrapped in waxed cloth. One corner of the room held a reading desk, low and circular, with a sunken lamp long extinguished. The silence was absolute.

She moved carefully, brushing her fingers along titles written in ancient scripts. Most were unreadable, too faded or encoded. But one caught her eye.

A fragment scroll, sealed with three bands of silver thread.

She recognized the script—not Caerthwyn, but Ysalwen's old tongue. The flowing glyphs shimmered faintly as her glowstone passed over them.

She sat at the desk and cut the threads.

The scroll unfurled slowly, revealing a single page—and a symbol in its center.

A spiral within a star. The sigil of the Verdant Tear.

Her breath hitched. The fragment from Ysalwen. Sylquarien.

And beneath it, written in multiple languages:

"The Shard Remembers. The Tear Endures. The Dream Sleeps. Do not gather the seals. Do not speak the whole."

A warning.

Or an invitation.

Caoimhe traced the spiral with a fingertip.

The ink pulsed.

And then, in the corners of the room—a faint hum.

He casually knocks over a pencil, and it clatters to the floor down by your little black pumps, you are so absorbed in writing something down it takes you just a moment to notice. You hear it, feel Gojo near you suddenly, and he smirks when he sees your knees pressing together.

"Teach, you dropped this," your student Satoru Gojo bends down right in front of you where you sit, his breath hot against your thighs.

You don’t acknowledge what being near him does, you absolutely refuse.

He looks up with brilliant blue eyes and a little smile, your heart thuds quicker and quicker in your chest. You haven't gotten used to those eyes and the myriad of shades in the couple of months you've taught this class. You try not to look into them, to focus on your work, but Satoru stared directly at you always.

His eyes flit down your body briefly, you wonder if you're imagining that look, maybe he's just the type that makes too much eye contact, you yourself learned a long time ago that doing so was important. But no matter, he certainly was not more than a student, and anything else were thoughts shoved deep.

You could never be that way.

Being thirty and a professor made you more relatable in ways to the students you taught - mainly Juniors and Seniors in college, but in other ways, it made things harder. Not taking you as seriously, at times you come off a little too laid back and friendly, but never was it more of an issue than with Satoru Gojo putting a hand on your thigh.

He uses it to stand, his fingers long and thick, resting tight above your knee, when he does stand straight with a smile. He has thin wired glasses propped on the bridge of his straight nose, a contradiction to his letterman jacket from football. He did have the top grades in college, and was an easy student to teach, yet his frat was rather notorious for being troublesome.

Satoru Gojo came from the family that practically owned this university, the halls were named ‘Gojo’ so of course he made sure to never get involved in any of that trouble. Despite the little glint in his eyes behind the lenses, and the way his lips quirk up in a knowing little smirk, he was ultimately a perfect student.

A student, that's it.

You were not about to end up on the news as the professor who got with the Gojo family’s son and lost her career. Fuck it was nonsense to think about.

"Thank you, Gojo." He tenses a bit, looking down at you, so tall your face is right in front of his lap damn near, making the images churn in his heated mind.

Imagine tugging your hair out of that little twist, letting it fall across your face before he pulled it, making you cry out while he fucked you throat. He can't help but smirk as he pictures it, leaning a little too close now, hand on the desk while your lips part just a bit, and your eyes dilate behind those glasses.

"You have something…" Satoru's fingers brush against your collarbone, making your breath catch. "Here, got it."

"Oh, um," goosebumps rise where he'd just brushed, you stand quickly, clearing your throat. “Thanks.”

“Hah, was just a hair, don’t worry,” he teases, standing too fucking close to you.

“Right, I'll see you next week, bright and early!” You put on a pretty smile while you start to gather your things.

"Ah, of course you will, you're my favorite professor, you know," Satoru's grin is charming, but there's just something lurking, something that makes you tense up.

Surely, it's your imagination.

"Am I? Not Coach Yaga?" you tease, he picks up a few things for you and helps you slip them in your bag. He usually stays and helps you push in the chairs, or helps you grade papers, so it's not uncommon for you both to be alone, it just feels… different today.

You really need to go get laid, and stop binging love island on your couch with your cat.

"Nah, no way, definitely you," he watches color dance on your cheeks, you can't avoid that no matter how much you try. Satoru can damn near feel the heat between your thighs when you go to move past him, clutching those books to your chest. "Maybe I could get some tutoring this week, if you don’t mind?"

"You should tutor me," he laughs again, moving out of your way so he can watch your ass twitch underneath your modest little pencil skirt, one he can't wait to slip up your hips. "You're good at every subject, top of your class."

"All thanks to you."

"Gojo, you're ridiculous, how much extra credit do you want? You have an A already," you tease, the two of you walking out of your class room, you lock the door, turning and suddenly get too close to him, almost bumping into his chest.

"You could call me Satoru, teach." He draws out those words, you hastily look down for a moment, collecting yourself.

"You should call me Miss," he smiles, murmuring your last name with the Miss title, and it just does too fucking much to you. "If you want, I will be on campus Saturday, but I doubt you want to come here on the weekends. Don't you have your Sigma Alpha whatever parties?"

Satoru chuckles at that, walking through the empty halls side by side, towards the front of the building, holding the door open for you. "I am not that interested in the frat parties, no. Maybe back in Freshman year."

"You're still young, you should have fun on weekends before life really gets you, not coming over to be bored with your teacher."

He can't wait to show you how much fun you could have, tie you up and keep you. He sighs, the sun is reflecting off your pretty face, your hair glimmering just a bit. He can’t wait till he can brush the little tendrils back that have escaped your bun. "You're young too, stop acting like you’re not."

"Mmm, I remember there being no netflix, so I'd say I'm not that young," Satoru laughs again at that, brushing his silvery hair back a bit. 

“You’re right, that’s ancient.”

“Hey!” You laugh a bit with him, tension eased while he slips his hands in his pockets, leaning against the building. "All right I'll be here Saturday at noon, feel free to come in and we'll go over some things for the test, but I’m really only well versed in English and History."

"No, that’ll be perfect," he leans too close, far too close, his snowy lashes lowering over cerulean eyes that catch light and reflect into even more pretty shades of blue. "Have a good night, professor. Drive safe."

"Yes, you too," you can finally take a breath when he walks off, slipping into your volvo, trembling just a bit.

You shut your eyes, shaking it off.

You need some wine tonight.

Satoru lets you drive a little before he follows you, he has to make sure his future girl gets home safe. Isn't that what a good future boyfriend does?

Good future boyfriends make sure their pretty professor gets in safely, and make sure to sit in their cars and observe them just a bit. How else was a future boyfriend to know what she likes? Satoru wants to make sure he has you figured out in every way he can, like how the curtains don’t fully hide the silhouette of your body in the evening.

He’d have to fix that, once you’re his, the way people could catch a glimpse of your pretty body, one that ultimately is his. The swell of a breast, or the hint of your hips, and between those curtains he catches little glimpses of what you wear – he already knows your favorite type of panty, he eyes them any time you uncross your legs while you’re doing a lecture.

Normal cotton ones, when he’d deck you out in delicate blue lace, rope your body so he could feast on you without any interruptions or protests. The thought, along with the silhouette of you makes him hard all over again, god but when isn’t Satoru Gojo hard for his professor?

He releases his thick cock, resting his head back against the seat and moaning your name softly – practicing it against his lips while he spits down, a trail of saliva dripping onto his reddened tip. Precum leaks out of the little hole there, beading at the center, he can’t help but imagine pressing it across your slit, sinking into your cunt and stretching you out.

He knows you’re alone every day, he knows by studying your socials that your last exes weren’t anything, you’ve gotta be so needy, but that’s all right. Satoru has been saving up so much for you – he doesn’t even fuck anyone at this point, it would just be disloyal, and he has no issue waiting.

Picturing how you’ll cry out when he fucks you makes him stroke himself, twists of his hand in circles, eyes fluttering shut while he’s hidden with the dark tint of those windows in his sports car. He’s stroking faster, thick veiny cock leaking so much pre, like it’s ready to fill you up, and fuck he would. He’d fuck you so good you couldn’t leave his bed.

You would never leave.

“Professor, f-fuck, so tight,” he murmurs, it’s a devotion to you really, sitting outside your home, cumming just for you. “That’s it, you can take me.”

He’s whimpering ever so slightly, wondering how good it’ll feel to bottom out inside your perfect cunt, hit your cervix till you drool, make sure you remember his shape and no one else’s. Your name keeps dancing on his lips while he strokes faster and faster, more spit mixing with his precum, the sounds wet and filthy echoing in the little car.

“That’s it, you want it all, don’t you sweetheart, hah – I’ll give it to you,” Satoru Gojo gasps out when he pictures your face, mouth wide open, eyes rolled back, and thinks of how he’ll pump your eager cunt so full. White ropes pouring across his big hands, he can’t help but think how you’ll clean him up, eagerly. “Such a good girl for me.”

After cleaning up, he grins at the sight of you on that couch with your glass of wine and your cat through your living room window. You’re nothing if not consistent, like you’re just waiting for him, surely you feel it too – the connection, the aching need to be constantly near you.

He can’t wait until you realize how badly you need him – you’re not there quite yet, but he can wait for you.  

*****

It’s Saturday morning, you’re stopping by your favorite coffee shop right next to campus, just to run nearly into Satoru Gojo’s chest. You pause and gasp, bracing your hands on it for a moment, he catches you with an arm around the waist with practiced ease, steadying you. He watches you get flustered, not pulling back as quickly as you should have.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he teases, before he grabs the two cups he ordered off the counter. “Here, I was bringing you this anyway.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet! You sure?” He shrugs and hands money to the girl at the counter, she’s swooning over him but he doesn’t seem to pay much attention.

You suppose he just gets that constantly, and why wouldn’t he? If he wasn’t your student, and you just ran into him – you’re sure you’d be too shy and nervous to even talk to him at first. Because you are his professor, it opens up a bit to see him in a different way, not as the gorgeous, tall man he is but as someone intellectually challenging and enjoyable.

You imagine he likely doesn’t have people realize just how smart he is, which is a shame. As the Gojo family practically bought their way into the school, people would assume Satoru didn’t earn his way, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. No one has test scores like him.

“You don’t have on your glasses today,” he murmurs then, walking outside where it’s starting to patter rain lightly. “Why not?”

“I got contacts recently, I thought I’d see how I like them… you don’t have yours on either.”

“I really just need them to read,” it’s too easy to talk to him, it’s too easy to walk next to him. The comfortable yet completely nervous way you feel, heart hammering when he tugs you close. “Careful.”

You realize you almost stepped right into a huge crack in the sidewalk. “Oh god, thanks, I’m clumsy.”

“I noticed that,” he notices everything. The scent you’re wearing today is a different one, a little more floral, it fills his senses while his hand reluctantly drops, and he eyes the sky. “Did you walk from campus?”

“I did, shit…” he knows you did, Satoru made sure to fuck with your car before he got here, while you were still in your class.

“Come with me then,” you hesitate, then slip into his sports car, while the rain starts falling a little more, parts of the sky still blue as his eyes, the others darkening slightly. You hold onto your coffee cup carefully, studying the rim while he makes the quick trip. “You’re quiet.”

“Am I?” He nods a bit, you peer over to find him looking at you in a way he should not. “I’m a little tired.”

“Didn’t sleep well last night?” he turns the steering wheel, parking right across from your car.

“I guess I didn’t, but this coffee will help. Mnh, and it’s yummy,” you take a sip, a little foam on your lips. He leans forward and runs a thumb across them, making you jerk back. “Gojo…”

“Sorry, foam,” he smiles and brings the frothy concoction to his own lips, ruining your fucking brain. No twenty two year old man should be doing that, actually, no one should. Especially Gojo. “Yummy.”

Fuck.

Why are you ovulating this week!?

Focus – studying.

“Let’s run in!” You hop out of the car and dart before he can stop you, scent lingering in the air of his car, he can’t stop his soft little whine at having been that close to you.

He runs after in just a moment, umbrella above him, he shakes it out. “You don’t use one, do you?”

“That would be smart, I’m afraid I always leave mine at home,” you’re a little breathless, blouse slightly damp from the water – white and thin. He can see the delicate design of your bra that’s cupping your tits, a little trail of rain dancing across your chest. “You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

You lead him up to your class, the campus is mostly empty save for a few weekend classes, and your building doesn’t have very many. Maybe five students pass that all say your name, you smile at them all, making light conversation, making Satoru irritated, fist clenching the hook of his umbrella.

“Oh, thanks, I’m so glad!” You say to one of the boys there, who makes eyes at you.

Satoru wants to gouge them the fuck out.

Even the girl there makes eyes, he’s used to it, you’re the pretty new professor, but they all need to stop looking at you, girl or not. Satoru barely composes himself enough to feign the ease he needs to, smiling at you when you open your classroom door, flicking on the lights.

Soon you all are going over every question, open text book as you sit side by side with each other. Of course Satoru nails every question, you expected no less really, you’re not sure why he’d want to study more aside from high expectations. You know his family is pretty ridiculous with them.

It’s been almost an hour, when he’s just a little more relaxed, and his fingers trace patterns along the delicate skin of the back of your hand that rests on the desk when you’re reciting something. Your heart races, his casual touch seemingly natural, as if he wasn't intentionally fucking with your brain. Making you think the most inappropriate things.

“Bet I can guess your favorite Poe quote,” he murmurs, looking at you with a smirk that makes your tummy flip. You pull back your hand, pressing it between your thighs along with your other. “Something wrong, teach?”

“No, you think you can guess it huh?” You plaster on a smile. “Go for it.”

Satoru turns a little, resting his chin on his fist, elbow on the desk, he takes so much space with his long limbs, like he's taking your desk over. His knee brushes your thigh, they  press together, practically trembling when he licks his lower lip and smirks just a bit. 

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” You falter, he spits the words that have been your favorite since middle school out with ease.

Surely you've read that to them, but to know it's your favorite?

“What,” he chuckles and sits up, leaning back in the chair. “Did I get it wrong?”

“No, it is my favorite… but how could…” your eyes lock with unspoken questions, Satoru leans far too close, cupping your chin. “How could you know?”

“I told you I'm pretty observant, I saw how your eyes lit up as you read it, how your lips moved…” Worse than desire would be feelings, of being seen for the first time, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

Fuck.

You quickly stand, ignoring the need pulsing hot through your body, images that should not be there. Imagine ending your career, you have to keep playing that in your mind, never being able to teach because you couldn't keep it together.

“I um… I have to go,” you manage, when he stands so damn tall over you, grabbing some of his books and slipping them in his bag. “We can study more later, but you're already so good at it all.”

“You gotta go, have any plans?” 

You better not. 

He almost had you - kissable lips just begging for his mouth. That heat spent close, your entire body is warm as he looks down at you, smiling with ease and watching you just fall apart.

It was really all according to his plan, to make you needy, weak and wanting, to let your control slip. God how do you unleash when you drop this goody good act, and let your every desire come forth? When your back will arch as you ride his cock, begging for his cum.

You're flustered, not meeting his eyes.

“No plans, I'm kind of… a homebody.”

“Are you?” You nod shyly, and he is feigning surprise like he doesn't know every night you're at home. “I'm surprised, so many people love you.”

“I guess my social battery taps out after work,” you clear your throat, tossing both empty coffee cups in the trash. “Thank you again for that. You know, that is what I always order.”

“Really,” of course he knows your order. What sort of man would he be if he didn't learn everything about the woman he loves?

“It is!”

“Good guess then.”

“Very,” you lead him out, locking the doors behind you both. It's pattering again outside, he's getting his umbrella out. “I'll see you in class Monday?”

Before he can answer you've darted over to your car with a quick wave, he smiles as he pops the umbrella up, knowing you're not going anywhere. But you try, and it's pretty cute, as the rain starts drizzling, you're shivering a bit, opening your hood.

He notices you use some stick to hold it up, frowning at the entire state of your car. He'll make sure you never have to drive again, you can ride in the back of a limo, or next to him in one of his cars. This is purely unacceptable.

“Need help?” You gasp and turn, the rain pattering the umbrella, but he already can see the dampness of your white blouse, your glaringly apparent nipples. “Why are you using a branch to hold this up?”

“The thing broke,” you mumble, sighing then. “It may be the starter going out, sometimes I have to drop the thing into neutral to start it.”

“How long has that been going on?” Satoru hands you the umbrella to hold, you watch him bend over and peer at your car. In a polo, sweater and khakis, he looks too country club to ever do that, yet he has no problem.

“Like six months?”

Satoru peers at you and raises a brow. “You just let it… stay that way?”

“I mean it’s fine! Sometimes the battery gets corroded too, but I pour coke on it.”

“What now?”

“It works!” He sighs then, shaking his head at you.

“I'll try something but if not you'll have to tow it to a shop.”

“Shit, okay…”

“Go sit in the seat and start it when I tell you.”

You do quickly, but it's of no use, the car just won't switch over. You sigh, covering your face when he comes over, polo drizzled with water droplets, some have clung to his silky white locks. His umbrella shields you both from the now pouring rain, so loud he almost has to shout.

“You should let me take you home, I can get your car fixed tomorrow and bring you.”

“No. That's too much! I can call a tow and…” you sigh, realizing your phone has no bars. “Shit, it must be a bad storm…”

“Come on, before we get soaked,” he holds out his hand, you hesitate, even as the rain starts pounding, and the lightning goes off in the sky. It illuminates his tall, imposing frame, those blue eyes darkening. “You'll get sick in that car waiting, especially with no heat.”

“All right,” you take his hand carefully, sighing a bit. He rushes you over to his sports car, opening the door for you. “Thanks, Gojo.”

He slides in beside you then, the windshield wipers quickly turning on and flicking water side to side, the slow hum of his engine softly purring underneath you. You’re shivering a bit from the chill of the rain that’s soaked into your skin, his own hair flicking little clear droplets when he runs a hand through it.

That’s when he looks at you.

You were in his car earlier, but somehow the rain makes it even more intimate, trapping the two of you together, his heated gaze drifting across your body ever so slowly. There is no smirk or little smile, he’s quiet then – his pretty lips parted – you shouldn’t think like that!?

‘Pretty lips’ isn’t what your brain should concoct, especially when his snowy lashes lower and you realize exactly where he’s looking. You gasp a bit when you look down, seeing the thin white material cloying to your figure, showing the lacy little bra you’d bought yourself last week, the first time you’ve worn it.

“Oh god I’m sorry…” You murmur, covering your chest with crossed arms and turning away.

“For what?”

“For…” You curse internally, still shivering. “I’m so cold.”

“Let me turn on the heat,” he leans over, arm brushing against yours, turning it on quickly. “I have a couple shirts if you wanna put one on.”

“No!?”

He chuckles then, raising a brow at you. “No? Wanna get sick?”

“Yes… no… I can’t just get dressed!?” You feel so nervous, as if he’s the experienced thirty year old, and you’re the hopeless twenty two year old obsessed with her teacher.

Something about him makes you feel too much.

“All right then,” he continues easily, starting to drive, his veiny forearm far too pronounced with that dusting of snowy hair dancing across it. You swallow, arms falling a bit, now fiddling with your books, just a little damp from the rain. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just embarrassing you saw…” You can’t even finish the words, his hand slips to your bare thigh, the contact heating your core up, you eye it carefully, knowing you should move it, yet you don’t.

It feels good on your skin.

Satoru can feel your thigh tense under his touch, see the goosebumps rise on your skin, it’s quiet save from the pulse racing in his ears, and your little sound from the back of your throat. He knows if he slips his hand up just a bit that you’ll let him slide your panties to the side, you’ll let him thrust his fingers deep.

He can’t stop his visions of your throat stretched around his cock, he’d chuckle while you’re just so hoarse in the voice at your lectures – maybe the class would think you had a cold, but he’d know that it was all from him. You’re not there yet, but he knows how desperate you will be for that soon, begging to swallow all his cum like the good little professor you are.

“Embarrased about what?” He asks softly, thumb running in circles, you all come to a red light, barely visible in the storming gray view.

“That you saw me like that.”

“Saw your pretty tits, those nipples? That lacy little bra you’re wearing?” You gasp at that, until now it’s been Satoru teasing you, he’s not fully said even a hint of what he wants yet. “Hmm, don’t be.”

“You… just said… I…” You scowl at him now, earning his snarky little chuckle. “You can’t say that!”

“I can’t say they look pretty?”

“No!” His throaty, full laugh undoes your resolve, while you cross your arms again. “Surely, I misheard you.”

“No, you didn’t, but I can say it again if you want, does it get you excited, professor?” His fingers slip higher, the car starting to drive again, you grip his wrist to stop its trek, but still don’t let it go. “From what I see, at least, you can show me them fully if you want my expert opinion.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you realize you don’t even know where Satoru is currently taking you, his grip tightens under your hold as he turns smoothly with one hand on the steering wheel. “How do you even know where to take me?”

He pauses just a moment, you’re nothing if not smart, but a couple brushes of his thumb on your inner thigh changes that, your lips parted as if they’re waiting for something to suck. He’d give it to you soon, what you so desperately want without admitting it, what he knows you need.

He can’t say he comes to your house every day, can he?

“You mentioned your neighborhood in class, so I figured I’d head in that direction, but you’ll have to let me know exactly where it is.”

You wrack your brain for a moment, perhaps you did share that. “Oh… of course, I think I remember. Do you have friends there?”

“I do have a couple.”

“Girlfriends?”

He smirks over at you. “No.”

“Why not? Look at you - I mean!?”

He’s laughing again, leaning over a bit when he turns the car to the left, like he knows exactly where to go without thinking. “Hmm, look at me, do you?”

“Of course not, it’s just I see… the girls are always giving you so much attention. Even at the coffee shop. I figured you had a little harem.”

“A harem?” He laughs again. “No, I’m afraid I’m a one woman type of guy, but I’m not currently interested in any of the students there.”

“Ah. Well, you’re young, all the time to find someone,” your eyes shut when his fingers start dancing across the little lace garters you put on.

What a day to try to feel sexy, stuck in a car with off limits Satoru Gojo while you’re ovulating. You finally had a date tonight, but your car has made that one have to get cancelled. So now your mind is rushing, his touch feels too good, his scent is too intoxicating, some cologne that’s likely a hundred dollar a spray. Even his car smells too good, it’s too clean, too put together – like him.

When you’re falling apart.

Focus, you’re almost home.

“Do you date anyone?” He asks softly, your lips part in protest, then he raises a brow. “You asked me.”

“Right… um no, I broke up with someone I’d been with for a year a few months ago. I was going on a date tonight but…”

“The car.”

“Yeah. Um but I don’t know him, my friends are all determined to hook me up with him.”

Satoru wouldn’t let you hang out with these ‘friends’.

His jaw tenses at the thought of you with someone, even he did not know about that. Imagine, seeing the woman that’s his in the arms of some loser? Someone who wouldn’t deserve you – only Satoru deserves to have any part of you, your body, your laugh, your pretty eyes looking up at him.

Soon enough it will all be him.

He looks down at you when you're at a red light, the soft red casting a glow on his face, shadowing it in that color. You swallow nervously when he is leaning close – he’s too close, hand moving higher, until he feels your heat, that trickle of slick the telltale sign how ready you are.

He wonders if the change of lingerie style is purely for ‘your date’, but no one would see these but him. He moans softly as he pictures it, seeing your body fully. You look at him then, eyes almost black with how blown out your pupils are. “Y-you shouldn't do that.”

“No?” You nod quickly, when the light goes green, he turns his gaze to the road, the tension so palpable you can hardly breathe. “Why not?’

“Why not, well for one, I’m older than you,” he laughs at that. “I am, you’re young.”

“You’re barely older than me.”

“Eight years.”

“You look twenty two,” you heat up, he notices, eyeing you from the corner of his gaze, watching your flushed cheeks. “I don’t want someone my age, unless it was you I guess.”

“You should, and should stop that,” you shove his hand down, but it slips right back up, this time higher. You feel dizzy from how wet and needy you are, the heat blasting and giving you this fuzzy, heady feeling. “Fine, we aren’t that different in age, but I’m your teacher.”

“My favorite teacher,” he murmurs softly. “Who’s soaking wet.”

“Gojo!”

“You want me to touch you, to tell you how pretty you are.”

“I don’t,” you bite back a cry when his thumb hits the inner part of your thigh, right where your cunt is, so close you can’t take it, eyelashes fluttering.

“You don’t want it, huh?”

“I can’t,” you finish softly, the car is too small, you’re too close, it’s suffocating his presence, filling your every sense. “You can’t.”

“Why can’t I?”

“You just can’t,” his fingers tighten a bit, he feels you press your thighs together, hears your little whine, his thumb finally brushing the soaked material of your panties. 

“Why don’t you take my hand off, if you don’t want it?” You can’t come up with a good fucking reason, other than you’re thinking with your cunt, your ovaries, your muddled feelings rather than your damn brain.

This isn’t you.

You’re cautious, you’re careful, you’re the girl who has always played by the rules. Never got in trouble her entire life, a good girl for all intents and purposes, one who even in relationships has been picky, careful. You can count the men you’ve been with in your thirty years alive with one hand, and they were all established relationships, built over time.

You didn’t just fuck in cars with your damn students.

“You’re not acting appropriately, Gojo,” he grins, his teeth white and glinting, touch lifting so that his fingers get sticky with you. “You’re forgetting I’m your teacher, clearly, a lapse of judgement.”

“Oh, I’m not forgetting you’re my teacher at all,” you take his hand off finally, that took far too long because you want him to.

Fuck.

That self loathing fills your damn brain, surely you can act correctly, but every sound makes your tummy flip. It’s been too long, cunt just drooling against the cotton on the gusset of your panties. Yeah, it’s been forever, and yeah, your sex life was not something to write home about – but there’s not an excuse.

Who would you be if you let your twenty-two year old student just finger you? What would that make you?

“Where exactly is your house, we’re close I think.”

“Oh,” you blink and try to focus, it’s hard to see still with the way that rain is pounding. “Turn right here.”

Satoru lets you guide him, acting like he has no clue that he’s not constantly staring at you for weeks now, parking right in front of your little house – it’s cute and quaint, but just wait till he gets back to his mansion. He’ll make sure you have a staff that’ll take care of everything for you, and if you ever want to go work, he’ll give you so many kids to occupy your time.

You have such a nurturing instinct, really, it’s more than the fact that he wants to fill you with cum, fuck it back into you, and then put more inside. More than he wants to see how flexible you can be, what you look like folded in a mating press under him – and more than the Gojo family line.

It’s because you’d be so happy.

Truly, it’s all for you.

“Here we are,” you manage a shaky smile, gathering up your things hastily, hands trembling. He takes one carefully, undoing your seat belt, fingers brushing your skin. “You should wait a few minutes, let the rain ease up, hmm?”

Satoru murmurs your first name then, ever so softly, a hand cupping your cheek and feeling the heat seep through. “You shouldn’t call me that.”

“No? Aren’t we pretty close though, sweetheart?” You bite down on your lip, he gently tugs it out of the grip of your teeth. “Can I not call you that either?”

You shake your head, not trusting any words at this point, whose to say you don’t beg him to fuck you then and there? His eyes slip down like a caress, across the blouse that still shows too much. The rain is pounding that windshield, bouncing off the glass, enshrouding you two in darkness, the sound of the hard drops hitting mixing with distant thunder.

It feels like you’re completely secluded, and you suppose you are, like this car doesn’t exist in typical space of time, no it’s something inexplicable. His hand on your cheek is cool and firm, big hands with long fingers that just ruin your mind more, picturing how they feel, then cursing yourself for doing so. Satoru clicks those wipers off, letting you both further descend into this car all alone, cut off from everything.

“Question professor, if I may?” He asks, taking your hand and pressing a little brush of his lips on the back of it. All you can do is nod, unable to speak anymore, feeling drawn more and more with every breath you take. “If you met me somewhere, say some book fair you went to, would you kiss me then? If we were just two people, and I wasn’t your student?”

You can’t answer, it’s so glaringly obvious, all you can bring yourself to do is pull back from his grip, looking away. “Don’t ask me that.”

“Sweetheart,” he turns your chin, gripping it tightly, and your eyes still won’t meet his. Satoru runs a hand to the back of your hair, gripping it at the nape, earning your little gasp. “Need you to focus. Can you do that?”

He shouldn’t talk like that, look like that.

“I need to go.”

“Ah-ah, focus,” he forces you to meet his gaze, taking over your body with how big he is everywhere. “Answer me, pretty professor.”

“So what if I would, it changes nothing.”

“Answer, then.”

You scoff, blinking rapidly, his hand slips out of your hair, trailing down your spine. “You shouldn’t want me, you’re-”

“Excuse me?” He glares now, arm wrapping your waist, tugging you against his hard body. Your nipples press out against his chest, it feels far too good. “The fuck you say?”

“I’m older, and… I’m boring, all right? You should want someone younger, exciting, not some teacher who just… stop looking at me like that, Gojo.”

“Like what? Like you’re the prettiest fucking woman I’ve seen?”

“No,” you shake your head quickly, tears pricking your eyes, some mix of desire and frustration. “It’s not true.”

“You know what I’d do, if I got you to myself?”

You just look down, at his jaw, his lips. “What?”

“Fuck every insecurity out of that head, if one round didn’t work, well I’d eat your pretty pussy till you’re ready for another,” you gasp, eyes darting up, his own are so bright they’re impossible to focus on, shaking in his hold. “Then if you had any left, I suppose I’d fuck you till you passed out, cock drunk and fucked out.”

“Satoru Gojo!”

“Mmm, yes… call me that,” his lips are just a breath from yours, you taste sweet mocha from earlier, breasts pressing together even more with his chest. “I like when you use my full name, professor.”

“You can’t know that it’s all pretty or-”

“I’m sure every part of you is,” he slips that skirt up your thighs, ever so slowly, material brushing your skin, you should stop him, but you can’t, especially when long fingers find you over your panties. “Fuck, you’re soaked, I haven’t even touched you yet. Tsk, are you so easy? If I say how pretty you are, you’ll drown me with your cunt?”

“You’re ridiculous,” your thighs spread, making his smirk widen, there’s no willpower, like the heat and Satoru have sapped it. “You can’t say it.”

“But you love to hear it,” you shake your head. “I can tell you every part of you that’s pretty while I worship your body.”

“While you… Gojo,” you push him back gently, but he doesn’t budge, hands gripping the material of his shirt then. Your breaths come in quick pants, lost in the feeling of his fingertips on your slit. “Even if I want it, we can’t.”

“Why can’t we?”

“Ethics- ah!”

“Mmm,” he’s grinning now, pressing that material closer and snugger against your eager cunt. “Ethics makes you wetter, huh?”

You don’t answer, the squelching wetness filling the car speaks enough, you just spread your thighs a little more, for his fingers to slip under your waist band and find your slick heat. That’s when you don’t hold back the little moan, sweet and filling his ears, earning his once he finally gets to touch you, slipping down till he’s right against your hole.

“Gojo…”

“Satoru,” his name comes out breathy. He presses his fingertip inside you teasingly, feeling how tight you clench it, groaning softly, his head resting on yours. “You’re so tight.”

“We can’t, you can’t - ah!” He slips a finger in a little further, leaning over you, your back pressed in that seat.

“Feel her grippin’ me,” he huffs in wonder, he’s never felt anything like you. He’s been with women before you, many back then – but once he saw you it was over, he knew he needed you, and you feel this good? “Could you even take my cock? Cunt is so fuckin’ small.”

“You’re… crazy y’know that, you – mnh!” He’s got it fully in, just that your cunt struggles to take, his fingers longer and thicker than the men you’ve been with. You feel so full and needy, his plump lips trailing across your jaw.

“Let me make you feel good, hmm?” He asks, the windows fogging with your breaths and the heat surrounding you, sucking your breath away while he curls that finger meanly in your walls.

“You can’t,” you’re rocking your hips, head tilting to allow him more access, while he pictures stretching your tiny little hole out, he’s so thick he bets he’ll barely get it in, but he’ll make it fit. “Ah!”

“You work so hard, don’t you sweetheart? You’re always so…” he curls that finger up again, tongue lapping at your skin, the flavor even sweeter than he could ever imagine. “So stressed, so tired, let me take care of you.”

“Gojo-”

“Satoru, when you cum f’me, huh?” You’re blinking rapidly then, dizzy and falling into the madness that’s your batshit crazy student with stupid long fingers, pulling one out and then teasing another. “Can you even take two, your cunt is so pathetic, have you never been stretched out?”

His free hand yanks down your top, still clinging to your skin, bending down to lap at your nipple over the lace, trails of saliva seeping in. Your back arches at the sensation, his fingers barely able to penetrate with just how thick they are. He pulls more of your slick out, eliciting a pornographic sound you’ve never fucking made, gushing down him.

“Let’s see how pretty they are,” he whispers, looking up at you with glossed lips and fucked out eyes already, like he’s just as fucked as you. He slips your nipple out, moaning softly when the bud tightens, his mouth sucking it in. Your hands grip his hair, not pushing him off - no you’re tugging him in.

“This is c-crazy, we can’t,” your words don’t meet your actions, not when his two long fingers press this spot you haven’t even felt, making you see stars. “Oh my fuck.”

“Teach, you have a bad mouth,” he pouts, looking up from where he’s left a round, glossy mark on your tit that’ll bruise. Strings of spit dissolve from where he’d hungrily been sucking on your tit, he moans and gently smacks it, smirking when you jump a bit. “Your tits are as pretty as I could have imagined.”

He’s… sweet, oddly?

“They’ll look so pretty with my cum drippin’ on ‘em.”

Never mind.

“Satoru!” You glare, but that image burns in your fucking brain with his wicked grin, moving his fingers deeper now, until you swear they hit your cervix. “So deep…”

“You can take it, just for me though, okay?” You shake your head, but he’s lost in you, sucking your other nipple, starting to pump into your cunt. “She was waiting, just wanted my touch.”

You’ve never felt whatever the fuck he’s doing to you, cunt squelching and messy, louder with every thrust, so much pressure in your tummy you almost can’t take it. His mouth trails up your skin, across your neck, lapping it up while his fingers wreck your senses. That arousal drips down his hand, making every stroke easier.

Gojo can feel how good you'll squeeze his cock soon, how those gummy walls will just grip him, your cries making him so hard it hurts. He almost cums just touching you, just looking at your pretty face, lost and hidden in the torrential downpour surrounding you both. Your eyes are lidded, when you’re close – and fuck, he can feel how close you are.

“You’re so loud, professor,” he taunts, your brows drawing together while your lashes flutter. “Your cunt, it’s so needy, so desperate f’me, huh?”

You shake your head, he chuckles even while he’s pulsing and leaking pre against those boxers, dying to drag you right down his length. You try to glare, it’s honestly adorable, the lightning flashing and illuminating the car, showing the expanse of smooth skin and your pretty breasts.

You cling to his forearm, whining out. “It’s too much.”

“No, it’s not, you can do it,” you shake your head, feeling his muscles tense with every movement.

He moves that middle and ring finger up and down faster and faster, exhaling against your lips as he watches you. “S’too much pressure, mnh!”

The lightning flashes and hits his pretty face, he looks psychotic in that moment, beautiful and insane, he grabs the back of your neck, tongue lapping a filthy trail up to your ear. “Oh, you’ve never really cum before, have you?”

“I h-have! You’re doing too much and – can’t take it, ngh!” Satoru’s soft laugh tickles your neck before he sinks his teeth, sharp and painful.

“You’ve never really cum before, but don’t worry, I can teach you, hmm?” He pulls back, seeing you sniffling, tears in your pretty eyes, barely able to cling to his shoulders, thigh propped right up on that dash so he can get deeper. “Fuck you’re so pretty like this.” 

That’s when whatever was holding you back the slightest snaps.

You should regret your next actions, dragging him down for a kiss, he’s kissed your tits and neck but not your mouth, and you fucking need it. Need his desperate whimpers against your lips, his tongue delving into your mouth and swirling. Satoru loses it right with you, whatever control he kept.

He presses you back against that leather seat, storm rattling the little car as it pounds heavier, his knee propped on the seat, tongue hungry and desperate. You’ve never felt anything like kissing him, like his messy, sticky fingers coated in your creamy essence, and you feel that knot in your tummy about to release.

“Cum,” he orders softly, kissing you again, biting at your lower lip. “Cum pretty professor, lemme feel you.”

Satoru exhales and eases back, watching the woman he’s dreamt of fall apart under his touch, cunt just gripping him like a vise, watching you begin to shatter under him, lit up just in moments as lighting dances across the street. Your moans are just a bit deafened, but your face, fuck he couldn’t have pictured that.

“Waited so long f’you,” he whispers it so soft you don’t hear, you’re too lost in the pleasure he’s eliciting, so much you panic as you begin to pulse, tightening. “Ah- ah, let go, come on sweetheart, you can make me messy yeah?”

“Satoru,” he moans at that, you crying out his name as you begin squirting all over his fingers, nails digging into his shoulders, he hisses at the pain, looking down at where the clear streams of liquid pour. “Oh my god… I… that’s…”

“Fuck,” he stares in wonder for a moment, before smiling just a bit. “Look at you, huh? You listened to me, now I need you to cum one more time.”

“C-can’t - mnh!” Satoru eases his fingers out with a pop, rubbing your poor neglected clit, so sensitive as you clench around nothing.

“You can, look you did so perfect for me, look at you,” he cups your face as his eyes turn black, just a ring of blue left, before gripping under your chin. “One more time, be a good girl, would you?”

Good girl.

His audacity knows no bounds, but you’re embarrassingly quick to cum again, he moans and pulls back, sucking you off him then, eyes fluttering shut. You gasp at the action, thighs shaking violently, heart racing when he smiles just a bit.

“Open.”

“Open!?”

“Listen for me, would you?” You do it, you don’t know why, maybe you’re too fucked out, but you open wide for Satoru Gojo – your fucking student – to spit in your open mouth. You gasp, but he grips your face tightly, shutting your jaw close. “Swallow it.”

You do that, earning his filthy little moan, making the sweetness of your cunt dance across both of your mouths. Tears spill down your eyes at the release, at what he’d just done to you, which you can hardly comprehend. No amount of that rose vibrator and smut was doing anything like this psychotic student grinning down at you.

“Did I make you feel so good, hmm pretty?” You just nod in a jerky motion, still tasting your own arousal and his spit in your mouth. “You listened so well, and you told me what you felt, you’re just such a good little professor, aren’t you?”

He kisses you again, stroking your hair almost gently. “Satoru…”

“Shh, don’t worry,” he adjusts your panties, your blouse, your skirt so sweetly, like he hadn’t just taunted you, spit in your mouth, fingered you till you were embarrassingly gushing all over. “I’ll bring you to school, and fix that car, yeah?”

You blink rapidly, the rain slowly dying off to a patter, as it all fucking syncs in of what you just did. “We can’t do this,” you hastily try to button your blouse, but he moves your hands away. “We can’t.”

“You need me to help, don’t you? Your fingers are too shaky,” he adores that look on your face, the fear and the tears, you’re realizing you’re all his, and he can’t help but enjoy this moment, smiling with bright blue eyes. “There.”

“Can’t again,” he ignores that, just being so bright, chuckling a bit as he kisses your lips. “Satoru.”

“I love when you call me that,” he murmurs your name, just to fuck you up further, with a lidded gaze. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

He watches you rush out with a dopey grin on his face – he’d masturbate, but he already came when he sucked your juices off, so he instead just cleans up quickly, sighing. He makes sure you get in safe, of course, that’s part of being your everything – but he knows that he’ll have to act unaffected.

You’re not seeing the vision just yet.

*****

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks since Satoru casually showed up with your favorite coffee, grinning big at you. He’d already had your car fixed, thoughtful and kind, just being friendly like he was before – and nothing else. You suppose you should be thankful he’s listened to you, that he knows that can’t happen again, or it’ll lead to more, and the consequences for you would be heavy.

He’d even joked about it on the way back to campus – ‘So worried I’ll tell everyone our little secret, huh? Nah, no way.’

He’d been completely normal since, aside from little touches, little brushes against your skin in the hallway, being everywhere and anywhere at the same fucking time. Every time you turned, Satoru was there for you to bump into, or he was around to look at you, and you could feel that gaze like a physical touch.

You should be glad he didn’t say anything, that it’s over, that you came sure but nothing you can’t get back from. You’re not having some affair with your student, the namesake of the fucking University. Having to meet his stuck up, distant parents last week was hell enough.

You couldn’t stand them, truth be told.

They’re neglectful, they’re terrible, they don’t seem to give a fuck about Satoru aside from his name, his accomplishments, and worse than desire was the affection you felt when his jaw tensed during that conversation. The way you could see he so clearly felt ignored by the people who should love him.

You can’t feel this.

Yet with every mere brush of his fingers, you’re losing your mind, losing all the caution – fucking throwing it to the wind all for a moment like that again. You touch yourself at night, not to the thought of him, but then he seeps into your mind, you can’t get him out, fingering your hole desperately with no results.

It’s like only he can make you feel that way.

Class is over, and everyone’s saying good bye to you, Satoru lingers like he always does – always sits in the back, observing you with a knowing smirk. You sit there, waiting for him to descend, and you hate yourself for what you do next… or, you should hate yourself.

Satoru’s getting up to walk by, the rest of the class is filing right out, he gives you that little smile, like he wasn’t the man spitting in your mouth two weeks ago, having you squirt for the first time in your life. Like he wasn’t the one biting your lip, tugging at your hair, kissing down your breast – no, it’s as if everything is perfectly normal.

Isn’t that what you asked him to do? To forget it ever happened, because it damn sure cannot happen? Yet you casually knock your pen off with a little flick of your hand, letting it clatter down to the floor in a click that echoes in the room. The door is shut with a resounding, heavy sound, when Satoru pauses, looking down at your bare legs, setting his bag down on your desk.

“You dropped your pen, Professor,” he murmurs, leaning down and kneeling on the floor, his breath right against your inner thigh. His eyelashes lower, when his hands slip up them torturously slowly. You know it’s insane, wrong, but you can’t hold back a soft whine at how good it feels. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“N-no, nothing’s wrong,” Satoru spreads your thighs, inhaling you practically, seeing you’re wearing lacy panties today, a first. They’re darkening as his head dips, spinning you in the chair ever so slightly. “You shouldn’t call me that, Satoru.”

“You shouldn’t be this soaked from your student,” you bite down on your lip, he slips up that dress and sighs at the sight. “I can smell how turned on you are.”

“Get my pen, Satoru,” you whisper, thighs trembling when he chuckles a bit, face damn near right against your cunt, but not touching, nose a centimeter away.

“Right, your pen…” he picks it up, when your hand entangles in his white locks, his lips get glossy when he licks them. He drifts the pen up, the cool metal tip slipping up your skin. “Professor, you’ve got something there.”

“Do I?” You shouldn’t fucking do it, you know better, when the pen slips your panties aside for the briefest of moments. “Ah!”

Satoru wants to devour that pretty, slick cunt he didn’t get to see properly before, he knows you want it, sliding that pen down those panties, and watching slick drool out of your little hole. His cock is aching to be inside you, but you’re not quite desperate enough, not quite needy enough yet. You still seem to think you have the upper hand, and though he’s desperate, he also is patient.

He can wait until you realize you need him.

For much more than making you cum, you’ll need him for everything in time, to take care of you, to hold you, to keep you locked up in his home – well, it’ll belong to both of you. Kids, in time, the Gojo family line being remade from the pretty cunt that’s begging for his touch, his mouth, his cock.

“Satoru…” you’re so pretty like this, your brows together, your cheeks flushed, he just pulls the pen back and adjusts your panties with his fingers, just enough to get them coated in your arousal.

“Here you go, teach,” he smiles easily, standing and leaving you on edge, slipping your dress back down. “You all right?”

“Y-yes,” you’re hastily standing, taking several breaths, cursing yourself internally for fucking acting that way. “I’m… um, sorry I dropped that.”

“No worries,” he brushes your hair back behind your ear, leaning low over you, so tall and imposing, yet his touch is incredibly soft. His thumb brushes along your jawline delicately. “I’ll see you in history tomorrow.”

“You’re… taking history too?” You ask, voice a breathy squeak damn near. Seeing him once a week with those vivid memories was torture enough, but twice a week!?

“I sure am, I can’t wait to…” he leans down and his lips brush against your ear, making you tremble, sending shivers down your spine. “Learn lessons from you. You’re just my favorite, you know?”

You can’t talk, when he pulls back to smirk at you, when you realize you damn near were begging for your college student to eat you out. Pathetic, the most unethical thing in the world, and he’s acting nonchalant, like nothing is even bothering him. You’re as embarrassed as you are soaking wet, as self loathing as you’re willing to say fuck everything and give in.

You can’t do it.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you, Gojo.” He frowns a bit at the use of his last name, as you try to gather your wits. “Class is at ten.”

“I’ll be there, teach.” You both walk out of those heavy doors, eyeing each other for just a moment. His gaze slips across your ass when you turn, darting up to the delicate curves and lines of your body.

He’ll give you what you need soon, but not until he’s much more than relief, or something to cum to.

He needs to be your everything, and he’ll make sure it happens.

After all, isn’t that what good future husbands do?

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine - it motivates the smut!🍷

He casually knocks over a pencil, and it clatters to the floor down by your little black pumps, you are so absorbed in writing something down it takes you just a moment to notice. You hear it, feel Gojo near you suddenly, and he smirks when he sees your knees pressing together.

"Teach, you dropped this," your student Satoru Gojo bends down right in front of you where you sit, his breath hot against your thighs.

You don’t acknowledge what being near him does, you absolutely refuse.

He looks up with brilliant blue eyes and a little smile, your heart thuds quicker and quicker in your chest. You haven't gotten used to those eyes and the myriad of shades in the couple of months you've taught this class. You try not to look into them, to focus on your work, but Satoru stared directly at you always.

His eyes flit down your body briefly, you wonder if you're imagining that look, maybe he's just the type that makes too much eye contact, you yourself learned a long time ago that doing so was important. But no matter, he certainly was not more than a student, and anything else were thoughts shoved deep.

You could never be that way.

Being thirty and a professor made you more relatable in ways to the students you taught - mainly Juniors and Seniors in college, but in other ways, it made things harder. Not taking you as seriously, at times you come off a little too laid back and friendly, but never was it more of an issue than with Satoru Gojo putting a hand on your thigh.

He uses it to stand, his fingers long and thick, resting tight above your knee, when he does stand straight with a smile. He has thin wired glasses propped on the bridge of his straight nose, a contradiction to his letterman jacket from football. He did have the top grades in college, and was an easy student to teach, yet his frat was rather notorious for being troublesome.

Satoru Gojo came from the family that practically owned this university, the halls were named ‘Gojo’ so of course he made sure to never get involved in any of that trouble. Despite the little glint in his eyes behind the lenses, and the way his lips quirk up in a knowing little smirk, he was ultimately a perfect student.

A student, that's it.

You were not about to end up on the news as the professor who got with the Gojo family’s son and lost her career. Fuck it was nonsense to think about.

"Thank you, Gojo." He tenses a bit, looking down at you, so tall your face is right in front of his lap damn near, making the images churn in his heated mind.

Imagine tugging your hair out of that little twist, letting it fall across your face before he pulled it, making you cry out while he fucked you throat. He can't help but smirk as he pictures it, leaning a little too close now, hand on the desk while your lips part just a bit, and your eyes dilate behind those glasses.

"You have something…" Satoru's fingers brush against your collarbone, making your breath catch. "Here, got it."

"Oh, um," goosebumps rise where he'd just brushed, you stand quickly, clearing your throat. “Thanks.”

“Hah, was just a hair, don’t worry,” he teases, standing too fucking close to you.

“Right, I'll see you next week, bright and early!” You put on a pretty smile while you start to gather your things.

"Ah, of course you will, you're my favorite professor, you know," Satoru's grin is charming, but there's just something lurking, something that makes you tense up.

Surely, it's your imagination.

"Am I? Not Coach Yaga?" you tease, he picks up a few things for you and helps you slip them in your bag. He usually stays and helps you push in the chairs, or helps you grade papers, so it's not uncommon for you both to be alone, it just feels… different today.

You really need to go get laid, and stop binging love island on your couch with your cat.

"Nah, no way, definitely you," he watches color dance on your cheeks, you can't avoid that no matter how much you try. Satoru can damn near feel the heat between your thighs when you go to move past him, clutching those books to your chest. "Maybe I could get some tutoring this week, if you don’t mind?"

"You should tutor me," he laughs again, moving out of your way so he can watch your ass twitch underneath your modest little pencil skirt, one he can't wait to slip up your hips. "You're good at every subject, top of your class."

"All thanks to you."

"Gojo, you're ridiculous, how much extra credit do you want? You have an A already," you tease, the two of you walking out of your class room, you lock the door, turning and suddenly get too close to him, almost bumping into his chest.

"You could call me Satoru, teach." He draws out those words, you hastily look down for a moment, collecting yourself.

"You should call me Miss," he smiles, murmuring your last name with the Miss title, and it just does too fucking much to you. "If you want, I will be on campus Saturday, but I doubt you want to come here on the weekends. Don't you have your Sigma Alpha whatever parties?"

Satoru chuckles at that, walking through the empty halls side by side, towards the front of the building, holding the door open for you. "I am not that interested in the frat parties, no. Maybe back in Freshman year."

"You're still young, you should have fun on weekends before life really gets you, not coming over to be bored with your teacher."

He can't wait to show you how much fun you could have, tie you up and keep you. He sighs, the sun is reflecting off your pretty face, your hair glimmering just a bit. He can’t wait till he can brush the little tendrils back that have escaped your bun. "You're young too, stop acting like you’re not."

"Mmm, I remember there being no netflix, so I'd say I'm not that young," Satoru laughs again at that, brushing his silvery hair back a bit. 

“You’re right, that’s ancient.”

“Hey!” You laugh a bit with him, tension eased while he slips his hands in his pockets, leaning against the building. "All right I'll be here Saturday at noon, feel free to come in and we'll go over some things for the test, but I’m really only well versed in English and History."

"No, that’ll be perfect," he leans too close, far too close, his snowy lashes lowering over cerulean eyes that catch light and reflect into even more pretty shades of blue. "Have a good night, professor. Drive safe."

"Yes, you too," you can finally take a breath when he walks off, slipping into your volvo, trembling just a bit.

You shut your eyes, shaking it off.

You need some wine tonight.

Satoru lets you drive a little before he follows you, he has to make sure his future girl gets home safe. Isn't that what a good future boyfriend does?

Good future boyfriends make sure their pretty professor gets in safely, and make sure to sit in their cars and observe them just a bit. How else was a future boyfriend to know what she likes? Satoru wants to make sure he has you figured out in every way he can, like how the curtains don’t fully hide the silhouette of your body in the evening.

He’d have to fix that, once you’re his, the way people could catch a glimpse of your pretty body, one that ultimately is his. The swell of a breast, or the hint of your hips, and between those curtains he catches little glimpses of what you wear – he already knows your favorite type of panty, he eyes them any time you uncross your legs while you’re doing a lecture.

Normal cotton ones, when he’d deck you out in delicate blue lace, rope your body so he could feast on you without any interruptions or protests. The thought, along with the silhouette of you makes him hard all over again, god but when isn’t Satoru Gojo hard for his professor?

He releases his thick cock, resting his head back against the seat and moaning your name softly – practicing it against his lips while he spits down, a trail of saliva dripping onto his reddened tip. Precum leaks out of the little hole there, beading at the center, he can’t help but imagine pressing it across your slit, sinking into your cunt and stretching you out.

He knows you’re alone every day, he knows by studying your socials that your last exes weren’t anything, you’ve gotta be so needy, but that’s all right. Satoru has been saving up so much for you – he doesn’t even fuck anyone at this point, it would just be disloyal, and he has no issue waiting.

Picturing how you’ll cry out when he fucks you makes him stroke himself, twists of his hand in circles, eyes fluttering shut while he’s hidden with the dark tint of those windows in his sports car. He’s stroking faster, thick veiny cock leaking so much pre, like it’s ready to fill you up, and fuck he would. He’d fuck you so good you couldn’t leave his bed.

You would never leave.

“Professor, f-fuck, so tight,” he murmurs, it’s a devotion to you really, sitting outside your home, cumming just for you. “That’s it, you can take me.”

He’s whimpering ever so slightly, wondering how good it’ll feel to bottom out inside your perfect cunt, hit your cervix till you drool, make sure you remember his shape and no one else’s. Your name keeps dancing on his lips while he strokes faster and faster, more spit mixing with his precum, the sounds wet and filthy echoing in the little car.

“That’s it, you want it all, don’t you sweetheart, hah – I’ll give it to you,” Satoru Gojo gasps out when he pictures your face, mouth wide open, eyes rolled back, and thinks of how he’ll pump your eager cunt so full. White ropes pouring across his big hands, he can’t help but think how you’ll clean him up, eagerly. “Such a good girl for me.”

After cleaning up, he grins at the sight of you on that couch with your glass of wine and your cat through your living room window. You’re nothing if not consistent, like you’re just waiting for him, surely you feel it too – the connection, the aching need to be constantly near you.

He can’t wait until you realize how badly you need him – you’re not there quite yet, but he can wait for you.  

*****

It’s Saturday morning, you’re stopping by your favorite coffee shop right next to campus, just to run nearly into Satoru Gojo’s chest. You pause and gasp, bracing your hands on it for a moment, he catches you with an arm around the waist with practiced ease, steadying you. He watches you get flustered, not pulling back as quickly as you should have.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he teases, before he grabs the two cups he ordered off the counter. “Here, I was bringing you this anyway.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet! You sure?” He shrugs and hands money to the girl at the counter, she’s swooning over him but he doesn’t seem to pay much attention.

You suppose he just gets that constantly, and why wouldn’t he? If he wasn’t your student, and you just ran into him – you’re sure you’d be too shy and nervous to even talk to him at first. Because you are his professor, it opens up a bit to see him in a different way, not as the gorgeous, tall man he is but as someone intellectually challenging and enjoyable.

You imagine he likely doesn’t have people realize just how smart he is, which is a shame. As the Gojo family practically bought their way into the school, people would assume Satoru didn’t earn his way, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. No one has test scores like him.

“You don’t have on your glasses today,” he murmurs then, walking outside where it’s starting to patter rain lightly. “Why not?”

“I got contacts recently, I thought I’d see how I like them… you don’t have yours on either.”

“I really just need them to read,” it’s too easy to talk to him, it’s too easy to walk next to him. The comfortable yet completely nervous way you feel, heart hammering when he tugs you close. “Careful.”

You realize you almost stepped right into a huge crack in the sidewalk. “Oh god, thanks, I’m clumsy.”

“I noticed that,” he notices everything. The scent you’re wearing today is a different one, a little more floral, it fills his senses while his hand reluctantly drops, and he eyes the sky. “Did you walk from campus?”

“I did, shit…” he knows you did, Satoru made sure to fuck with your car before he got here, while you were still in your class.

“Come with me then,” you hesitate, then slip into his sports car, while the rain starts falling a little more, parts of the sky still blue as his eyes, the others darkening slightly. You hold onto your coffee cup carefully, studying the rim while he makes the quick trip. “You’re quiet.”

“Am I?” He nods a bit, you peer over to find him looking at you in a way he should not. “I’m a little tired.”

“Didn’t sleep well last night?” he turns the steering wheel, parking right across from your car.

“I guess I didn’t, but this coffee will help. Mnh, and it’s yummy,” you take a sip, a little foam on your lips. He leans forward and runs a thumb across them, making you jerk back. “Gojo…”

“Sorry, foam,” he smiles and brings the frothy concoction to his own lips, ruining your fucking brain. No twenty two year old man should be doing that, actually, no one should. Especially Gojo. “Yummy.”

Fuck.

Why are you ovulating this week!?

Focus – studying.

“Let’s run in!” You hop out of the car and dart before he can stop you, scent lingering in the air of his car, he can’t stop his soft little whine at having been that close to you.

He runs after in just a moment, umbrella above him, he shakes it out. “You don’t use one, do you?”

“That would be smart, I’m afraid I always leave mine at home,” you’re a little breathless, blouse slightly damp from the water – white and thin. He can see the delicate design of your bra that’s cupping your tits, a little trail of rain dancing across your chest. “You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

You lead him up to your class, the campus is mostly empty save for a few weekend classes, and your building doesn’t have very many. Maybe five students pass that all say your name, you smile at them all, making light conversation, making Satoru irritated, fist clenching the hook of his umbrella.

“Oh, thanks, I’m so glad!” You say to one of the boys there, who makes eyes at you.

Satoru wants to gouge them the fuck out.

Even the girl there makes eyes, he’s used to it, you’re the pretty new professor, but they all need to stop looking at you, girl or not. Satoru barely composes himself enough to feign the ease he needs to, smiling at you when you open your classroom door, flicking on the lights.

Soon you all are going over every question, open text book as you sit side by side with each other. Of course Satoru nails every question, you expected no less really, you’re not sure why he’d want to study more aside from high expectations. You know his family is pretty ridiculous with them.

It’s been almost an hour, when he’s just a little more relaxed, and his fingers trace patterns along the delicate skin of the back of your hand that rests on the desk when you’re reciting something. Your heart races, his casual touch seemingly natural, as if he wasn't intentionally fucking with your brain. Making you think the most inappropriate things.

“Bet I can guess your favorite Poe quote,” he murmurs, looking at you with a smirk that makes your tummy flip. You pull back your hand, pressing it between your thighs along with your other. “Something wrong, teach?”

“No, you think you can guess it huh?” You plaster on a smile. “Go for it.”

Satoru turns a little, resting his chin on his fist, elbow on the desk, he takes so much space with his long limbs, like he's taking your desk over. His knee brushes your thigh, they  press together, practically trembling when he licks his lower lip and smirks just a bit. 

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” You falter, he spits the words that have been your favorite since middle school out with ease.

Surely you've read that to them, but to know it's your favorite?

“What,” he chuckles and sits up, leaning back in the chair. “Did I get it wrong?”

“No, it is my favorite… but how could…” your eyes lock with unspoken questions, Satoru leans far too close, cupping your chin. “How could you know?”

“I told you I'm pretty observant, I saw how your eyes lit up as you read it, how your lips moved…” Worse than desire would be feelings, of being seen for the first time, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

Fuck.

You quickly stand, ignoring the need pulsing hot through your body, images that should not be there. Imagine ending your career, you have to keep playing that in your mind, never being able to teach because you couldn't keep it together.

“I um… I have to go,” you manage, when he stands so damn tall over you, grabbing some of his books and slipping them in his bag. “We can study more later, but you're already so good at it all.”

“You gotta go, have any plans?” 

You better not. 

He almost had you - kissable lips just begging for his mouth. That heat spent close, your entire body is warm as he looks down at you, smiling with ease and watching you just fall apart.

It was really all according to his plan, to make you needy, weak and wanting, to let your control slip. God how do you unleash when you drop this goody good act, and let your every desire come forth? When your back will arch as you ride his cock, begging for his cum.

You're flustered, not meeting his eyes.

“No plans, I'm kind of… a homebody.”

“Are you?” You nod shyly, and he is feigning surprise like he doesn't know every night you're at home. “I'm surprised, so many people love you.”

“I guess my social battery taps out after work,” you clear your throat, tossing both empty coffee cups in the trash. “Thank you again for that. You know, that is what I always order.”

“Really,” of course he knows your order. What sort of man would he be if he didn't learn everything about the woman he loves?

“It is!”

“Good guess then.”

“Very,” you lead him out, locking the doors behind you both. It's pattering again outside, he's getting his umbrella out. “I'll see you in class Monday?”

Before he can answer you've darted over to your car with a quick wave, he smiles as he pops the umbrella up, knowing you're not going anywhere. But you try, and it's pretty cute, as the rain starts drizzling, you're shivering a bit, opening your hood.

He notices you use some stick to hold it up, frowning at the entire state of your car. He'll make sure you never have to drive again, you can ride in the back of a limo, or next to him in one of his cars. This is purely unacceptable.

“Need help?” You gasp and turn, the rain pattering the umbrella, but he already can see the dampness of your white blouse, your glaringly apparent nipples. “Why are you using a branch to hold this up?”

“The thing broke,” you mumble, sighing then. “It may be the starter going out, sometimes I have to drop the thing into neutral to start it.”

“How long has that been going on?” Satoru hands you the umbrella to hold, you watch him bend over and peer at your car. In a polo, sweater and khakis, he looks too country club to ever do that, yet he has no problem.

“Like six months?”

Satoru peers at you and raises a brow. “You just let it… stay that way?”

“I mean it’s fine! Sometimes the battery gets corroded too, but I pour coke on it.”

“What now?”

“It works!” He sighs then, shaking his head at you.

“I'll try something but if not you'll have to tow it to a shop.”

“Shit, okay…”

“Go sit in the seat and start it when I tell you.”

You do quickly, but it's of no use, the car just won't switch over. You sigh, covering your face when he comes over, polo drizzled with water droplets, some have clung to his silky white locks. His umbrella shields you both from the now pouring rain, so loud he almost has to shout.

“You should let me take you home, I can get your car fixed tomorrow and bring you.”

“No. That's too much! I can call a tow and…” you sigh, realizing your phone has no bars. “Shit, it must be a bad storm…”

“Come on, before we get soaked,” he holds out his hand, you hesitate, even as the rain starts pounding, and the lightning goes off in the sky. It illuminates his tall, imposing frame, those blue eyes darkening. “You'll get sick in that car waiting, especially with no heat.”

“All right,” you take his hand carefully, sighing a bit. He rushes you over to his sports car, opening the door for you. “Thanks, Gojo.”

He slides in beside you then, the windshield wipers quickly turning on and flicking water side to side, the slow hum of his engine softly purring underneath you. You’re shivering a bit from the chill of the rain that’s soaked into your skin, his own hair flicking little clear droplets when he runs a hand through it.

That’s when he looks at you.

You were in his car earlier, but somehow the rain makes it even more intimate, trapping the two of you together, his heated gaze drifting across your body ever so slowly. There is no smirk or little smile, he’s quiet then – his pretty lips parted – you shouldn’t think like that!?

‘Pretty lips’ isn’t what your brain should concoct, especially when his snowy lashes lower and you realize exactly where he’s looking. You gasp a bit when you look down, seeing the thin white material cloying to your figure, showing the lacy little bra you’d bought yourself last week, the first time you’ve worn it.

“Oh god I’m sorry…” You murmur, covering your chest with crossed arms and turning away.

“For what?”

“For…” You curse internally, still shivering. “I’m so cold.”

“Let me turn on the heat,” he leans over, arm brushing against yours, turning it on quickly. “I have a couple shirts if you wanna put one on.”

“No!?”

He chuckles then, raising a brow at you. “No? Wanna get sick?”

“Yes… no… I can’t just get dressed!?” You feel so nervous, as if he’s the experienced thirty year old, and you’re the hopeless twenty two year old obsessed with her teacher.

Something about him makes you feel too much.

“All right then,” he continues easily, starting to drive, his veiny forearm far too pronounced with that dusting of snowy hair dancing across it. You swallow, arms falling a bit, now fiddling with your books, just a little damp from the rain. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just embarrassing you saw…” You can’t even finish the words, his hand slips to your bare thigh, the contact heating your core up, you eye it carefully, knowing you should move it, yet you don’t.

It feels good on your skin.

Satoru can feel your thigh tense under his touch, see the goosebumps rise on your skin, it’s quiet save from the pulse racing in his ears, and your little sound from the back of your throat. He knows if he slips his hand up just a bit that you’ll let him slide your panties to the side, you’ll let him thrust his fingers deep.

He can’t stop his visions of your throat stretched around his cock, he’d chuckle while you’re just so hoarse in the voice at your lectures – maybe the class would think you had a cold, but he’d know that it was all from him. You’re not there yet, but he knows how desperate you will be for that soon, begging to swallow all his cum like the good little professor you are.

“Embarrased about what?” He asks softly, thumb running in circles, you all come to a red light, barely visible in the storming gray view.

“That you saw me like that.”

“Saw your pretty tits, those nipples? That lacy little bra you’re wearing?” You gasp at that, until now it’s been Satoru teasing you, he’s not fully said even a hint of what he wants yet. “Hmm, don’t be.”

“You… just said… I…” You scowl at him now, earning his snarky little chuckle. “You can’t say that!”

“I can’t say they look pretty?”

“No!” His throaty, full laugh undoes your resolve, while you cross your arms again. “Surely, I misheard you.”

“No, you didn’t, but I can say it again if you want, does it get you excited, professor?” His fingers slip higher, the car starting to drive again, you grip his wrist to stop its trek, but still don’t let it go. “From what I see, at least, you can show me them fully if you want my expert opinion.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you realize you don’t even know where Satoru is currently taking you, his grip tightens under your hold as he turns smoothly with one hand on the steering wheel. “How do you even know where to take me?”

He pauses just a moment, you’re nothing if not smart, but a couple brushes of his thumb on your inner thigh changes that, your lips parted as if they’re waiting for something to suck. He’d give it to you soon, what you so desperately want without admitting it, what he knows you need.

He can’t say he comes to your house every day, can he?

“You mentioned your neighborhood in class, so I figured I’d head in that direction, but you’ll have to let me know exactly where it is.”

You wrack your brain for a moment, perhaps you did share that. “Oh… of course, I think I remember. Do you have friends there?”

“I do have a couple.”

“Girlfriends?”

He smirks over at you. “No.”

“Why not? Look at you - I mean!?”

He’s laughing again, leaning over a bit when he turns the car to the left, like he knows exactly where to go without thinking. “Hmm, look at me, do you?”

“Of course not, it’s just I see… the girls are always giving you so much attention. Even at the coffee shop. I figured you had a little harem.”

“A harem?” He laughs again. “No, I’m afraid I’m a one woman type of guy, but I’m not currently interested in any of the students there.”

“Ah. Well, you’re young, all the time to find someone,” your eyes shut when his fingers start dancing across the little lace garters you put on.

What a day to try to feel sexy, stuck in a car with off limits Satoru Gojo while you’re ovulating. You finally had a date tonight, but your car has made that one have to get cancelled. So now your mind is rushing, his touch feels too good, his scent is too intoxicating, some cologne that’s likely a hundred dollar a spray. Even his car smells too good, it’s too clean, too put together – like him.

When you’re falling apart.

Focus, you’re almost home.

“Do you date anyone?” He asks softly, your lips part in protest, then he raises a brow. “You asked me.”

“Right… um no, I broke up with someone I’d been with for a year a few months ago. I was going on a date tonight but…”

“The car.”

“Yeah. Um but I don’t know him, my friends are all determined to hook me up with him.”

Satoru wouldn’t let you hang out with these ‘friends’.

His jaw tenses at the thought of you with someone, even he did not know about that. Imagine, seeing the woman that’s his in the arms of some loser? Someone who wouldn’t deserve you – only Satoru deserves to have any part of you, your body, your laugh, your pretty eyes looking up at him.

Soon enough it will all be him.

He looks down at you when you're at a red light, the soft red casting a glow on his face, shadowing it in that color. You swallow nervously when he is leaning close – he’s too close, hand moving higher, until he feels your heat, that trickle of slick the telltale sign how ready you are.

He wonders if the change of lingerie style is purely for ‘your date’, but no one would see these but him. He moans softly as he pictures it, seeing your body fully. You look at him then, eyes almost black with how blown out your pupils are. “Y-you shouldn't do that.”

“No?” You nod quickly, when the light goes green, he turns his gaze to the road, the tension so palpable you can hardly breathe. “Why not?’

“Why not, well for one, I’m older than you,” he laughs at that. “I am, you’re young.”

“You’re barely older than me.”

“Eight years.”

“You look twenty two,” you heat up, he notices, eyeing you from the corner of his gaze, watching your flushed cheeks. “I don’t want someone my age, unless it was you I guess.”

“You should, and should stop that,” you shove his hand down, but it slips right back up, this time higher. You feel dizzy from how wet and needy you are, the heat blasting and giving you this fuzzy, heady feeling. “Fine, we aren’t that different in age, but I’m your teacher.”

“My favorite teacher,” he murmurs softly. “Who’s soaking wet.”

“Gojo!”

“You want me to touch you, to tell you how pretty you are.”

“I don’t,” you bite back a cry when his thumb hits the inner part of your thigh, right where your cunt is, so close you can’t take it, eyelashes fluttering.

“You don’t want it, huh?”

“I can’t,” you finish softly, the car is too small, you’re too close, it’s suffocating his presence, filling your every sense. “You can’t.”

“Why can’t I?”

“You just can’t,” his fingers tighten a bit, he feels you press your thighs together, hears your little whine, his thumb finally brushing the soaked material of your panties. 

“Why don’t you take my hand off, if you don’t want it?” You can’t come up with a good fucking reason, other than you’re thinking with your cunt, your ovaries, your muddled feelings rather than your damn brain.

This isn’t you.

You’re cautious, you’re careful, you’re the girl who has always played by the rules. Never got in trouble her entire life, a good girl for all intents and purposes, one who even in relationships has been picky, careful. You can count the men you’ve been with in your thirty years alive with one hand, and they were all established relationships, built over time.

You didn’t just fuck in cars with your damn students.

“You’re not acting appropriately, Gojo,” he grins, his teeth white and glinting, touch lifting so that his fingers get sticky with you. “You’re forgetting I’m your teacher, clearly, a lapse of judgement.”

“Oh, I’m not forgetting you’re my teacher at all,” you take his hand off finally, that took far too long because you want him to.

Fuck.

That self loathing fills your damn brain, surely you can act correctly, but every sound makes your tummy flip. It’s been too long, cunt just drooling against the cotton on the gusset of your panties. Yeah, it’s been forever, and yeah, your sex life was not something to write home about – but there’s not an excuse.

Who would you be if you let your twenty-two year old student just finger you? What would that make you?

“Where exactly is your house, we’re close I think.”

“Oh,” you blink and try to focus, it’s hard to see still with the way that rain is pounding. “Turn right here.”

Satoru lets you guide him, acting like he has no clue that he’s not constantly staring at you for weeks now, parking right in front of your little house – it’s cute and quaint, but just wait till he gets back to his mansion. He’ll make sure you have a staff that’ll take care of everything for you, and if you ever want to go work, he’ll give you so many kids to occupy your time.

You have such a nurturing instinct, really, it’s more than the fact that he wants to fill you with cum, fuck it back into you, and then put more inside. More than he wants to see how flexible you can be, what you look like folded in a mating press under him – and more than the Gojo family line.

It’s because you’d be so happy.

Truly, it’s all for you.

“Here we are,” you manage a shaky smile, gathering up your things hastily, hands trembling. He takes one carefully, undoing your seat belt, fingers brushing your skin. “You should wait a few minutes, let the rain ease up, hmm?”

Satoru murmurs your first name then, ever so softly, a hand cupping your cheek and feeling the heat seep through. “You shouldn’t call me that.”

“No? Aren’t we pretty close though, sweetheart?” You bite down on your lip, he gently tugs it out of the grip of your teeth. “Can I not call you that either?”

You shake your head, not trusting any words at this point, whose to say you don’t beg him to fuck you then and there? His eyes slip down like a caress, across the blouse that still shows too much. The rain is pounding that windshield, bouncing off the glass, enshrouding you two in darkness, the sound of the hard drops hitting mixing with distant thunder.

It feels like you’re completely secluded, and you suppose you are, like this car doesn’t exist in typical space of time, no it’s something inexplicable. His hand on your cheek is cool and firm, big hands with long fingers that just ruin your mind more, picturing how they feel, then cursing yourself for doing so. Satoru clicks those wipers off, letting you both further descend into this car all alone, cut off from everything.

“Question professor, if I may?” He asks, taking your hand and pressing a little brush of his lips on the back of it. All you can do is nod, unable to speak anymore, feeling drawn more and more with every breath you take. “If you met me somewhere, say some book fair you went to, would you kiss me then? If we were just two people, and I wasn’t your student?”

You can’t answer, it’s so glaringly obvious, all you can bring yourself to do is pull back from his grip, looking away. “Don’t ask me that.”

“Sweetheart,” he turns your chin, gripping it tightly, and your eyes still won’t meet his. Satoru runs a hand to the back of your hair, gripping it at the nape, earning your little gasp. “Need you to focus. Can you do that?”

He shouldn’t talk like that, look like that.

“I need to go.”

“Ah-ah, focus,” he forces you to meet his gaze, taking over your body with how big he is everywhere. “Answer me, pretty professor.”

“So what if I would, it changes nothing.”

“Answer, then.”

You scoff, blinking rapidly, his hand slips out of your hair, trailing down your spine. “You shouldn’t want me, you’re-”

“Excuse me?” He glares now, arm wrapping your waist, tugging you against his hard body. Your nipples press out against his chest, it feels far too good. “The fuck you say?”

“I’m older, and… I’m boring, all right? You should want someone younger, exciting, not some teacher who just… stop looking at me like that, Gojo.”

“Like what? Like you’re the prettiest fucking woman I’ve seen?”

“No,” you shake your head quickly, tears pricking your eyes, some mix of desire and frustration. “It’s not true.”

“You know what I’d do, if I got you to myself?”

You just look down, at his jaw, his lips. “What?”

“Fuck every insecurity out of that head, if one round didn’t work, well I’d eat your pretty pussy till you’re ready for another,” you gasp, eyes darting up, his own are so bright they’re impossible to focus on, shaking in his hold. “Then if you had any left, I suppose I’d fuck you till you passed out, cock drunk and fucked out.”

“Satoru Gojo!”

“Mmm, yes… call me that,” his lips are just a breath from yours, you taste sweet mocha from earlier, breasts pressing together even more with his chest. “I like when you use my full name, professor.”

“You can’t know that it’s all pretty or-”

“I’m sure every part of you is,” he slips that skirt up your thighs, ever so slowly, material brushing your skin, you should stop him, but you can’t, especially when long fingers find you over your panties. “Fuck, you’re soaked, I haven’t even touched you yet. Tsk, are you so easy? If I say how pretty you are, you’ll drown me with your cunt?”

“You’re ridiculous,” your thighs spread, making his smirk widen, there’s no willpower, like the heat and Satoru have sapped it. “You can’t say it.”

“But you love to hear it,” you shake your head. “I can tell you every part of you that’s pretty while I worship your body.”

“While you… Gojo,” you push him back gently, but he doesn’t budge, hands gripping the material of his shirt then. Your breaths come in quick pants, lost in the feeling of his fingertips on your slit. “Even if I want it, we can’t.”

“Why can’t we?”

“Ethics- ah!”

“Mmm,” he’s grinning now, pressing that material closer and snugger against your eager cunt. “Ethics makes you wetter, huh?”

You don’t answer, the squelching wetness filling the car speaks enough, you just spread your thighs a little more, for his fingers to slip under your waist band and find your slick heat. That’s when you don’t hold back the little moan, sweet and filling his ears, earning his once he finally gets to touch you, slipping down till he’s right against your hole.

“Gojo…”

“Satoru,” his name comes out breathy. He presses his fingertip inside you teasingly, feeling how tight you clench it, groaning softly, his head resting on yours. “You’re so tight.”

“We can’t, you can’t - ah!” He slips a finger in a little further, leaning over you, your back pressed in that seat.

“Feel her grippin’ me,” he huffs in wonder, he’s never felt anything like you. He’s been with women before you, many back then – but once he saw you it was over, he knew he needed you, and you feel this good? “Could you even take my cock? Cunt is so fuckin’ small.”

“You’re… crazy y’know that, you – mnh!” He’s got it fully in, just that your cunt struggles to take, his fingers longer and thicker than the men you’ve been with. You feel so full and needy, his plump lips trailing across your jaw.

“Let me make you feel good, hmm?” He asks, the windows fogging with your breaths and the heat surrounding you, sucking your breath away while he curls that finger meanly in your walls.

“You can’t,” you’re rocking your hips, head tilting to allow him more access, while he pictures stretching your tiny little hole out, he’s so thick he bets he’ll barely get it in, but he’ll make it fit. “Ah!”

“You work so hard, don’t you sweetheart? You’re always so…” he curls that finger up again, tongue lapping at your skin, the flavor even sweeter than he could ever imagine. “So stressed, so tired, let me take care of you.”

“Gojo-”

“Satoru, when you cum f’me, huh?” You’re blinking rapidly then, dizzy and falling into the madness that’s your batshit crazy student with stupid long fingers, pulling one out and then teasing another. “Can you even take two, your cunt is so pathetic, have you never been stretched out?”

His free hand yanks down your top, still clinging to your skin, bending down to lap at your nipple over the lace, trails of saliva seeping in. Your back arches at the sensation, his fingers barely able to penetrate with just how thick they are. He pulls more of your slick out, eliciting a pornographic sound you’ve never fucking made, gushing down him.

“Let’s see how pretty they are,” he whispers, looking up at you with glossed lips and fucked out eyes already, like he’s just as fucked as you. He slips your nipple out, moaning softly when the bud tightens, his mouth sucking it in. Your hands grip his hair, not pushing him off - no you’re tugging him in.

“This is c-crazy, we can’t,” your words don’t meet your actions, not when his two long fingers press this spot you haven’t even felt, making you see stars. “Oh my fuck.”

“Teach, you have a bad mouth,” he pouts, looking up from where he’s left a round, glossy mark on your tit that’ll bruise. Strings of spit dissolve from where he’d hungrily been sucking on your tit, he moans and gently smacks it, smirking when you jump a bit. “Your tits are as pretty as I could have imagined.”

He’s… sweet, oddly?

“They’ll look so pretty with my cum drippin’ on ‘em.”

Never mind.

“Satoru!” You glare, but that image burns in your fucking brain with his wicked grin, moving his fingers deeper now, until you swear they hit your cervix. “So deep…”

“You can take it, just for me though, okay?” You shake your head, but he’s lost in you, sucking your other nipple, starting to pump into your cunt. “She was waiting, just wanted my touch.”

You’ve never felt whatever the fuck he’s doing to you, cunt squelching and messy, louder with every thrust, so much pressure in your tummy you almost can’t take it. His mouth trails up your skin, across your neck, lapping it up while his fingers wreck your senses. That arousal drips down his hand, making every stroke easier.

Gojo can feel how good you'll squeeze his cock soon, how those gummy walls will just grip him, your cries making him so hard it hurts. He almost cums just touching you, just looking at your pretty face, lost and hidden in the torrential downpour surrounding you both. Your eyes are lidded, when you’re close – and fuck, he can feel how close you are.

“You’re so loud, professor,” he taunts, your brows drawing together while your lashes flutter. “Your cunt, it’s so needy, so desperate f’me, huh?”

You shake your head, he chuckles even while he’s pulsing and leaking pre against those boxers, dying to drag you right down his length. You try to glare, it’s honestly adorable, the lightning flashing and illuminating the car, showing the expanse of smooth skin and your pretty breasts.

You cling to his forearm, whining out. “It’s too much.”

“No, it’s not, you can do it,” you shake your head, feeling his muscles tense with every movement.

He moves that middle and ring finger up and down faster and faster, exhaling against your lips as he watches you. “S’too much pressure, mnh!”

The lightning flashes and hits his pretty face, he looks psychotic in that moment, beautiful and insane, he grabs the back of your neck, tongue lapping a filthy trail up to your ear. “Oh, you’ve never really cum before, have you?”

“I h-have! You’re doing too much and – can’t take it, ngh!” Satoru’s soft laugh tickles your neck before he sinks his teeth, sharp and painful.

“You’ve never really cum before, but don’t worry, I can teach you, hmm?” He pulls back, seeing you sniffling, tears in your pretty eyes, barely able to cling to his shoulders, thigh propped right up on that dash so he can get deeper. “Fuck you’re so pretty like this.” 

That’s when whatever was holding you back the slightest snaps.

You should regret your next actions, dragging him down for a kiss, he’s kissed your tits and neck but not your mouth, and you fucking need it. Need his desperate whimpers against your lips, his tongue delving into your mouth and swirling. Satoru loses it right with you, whatever control he kept.

He presses you back against that leather seat, storm rattling the little car as it pounds heavier, his knee propped on the seat, tongue hungry and desperate. You’ve never felt anything like kissing him, like his messy, sticky fingers coated in your creamy essence, and you feel that knot in your tummy about to release.

“Cum,” he orders softly, kissing you again, biting at your lower lip. “Cum pretty professor, lemme feel you.”

Satoru exhales and eases back, watching the woman he’s dreamt of fall apart under his touch, cunt just gripping him like a vise, watching you begin to shatter under him, lit up just in moments as lighting dances across the street. Your moans are just a bit deafened, but your face, fuck he couldn’t have pictured that.

“Waited so long f’you,” he whispers it so soft you don’t hear, you’re too lost in the pleasure he’s eliciting, so much you panic as you begin to pulse, tightening. “Ah- ah, let go, come on sweetheart, you can make me messy yeah?”

“Satoru,” he moans at that, you crying out his name as you begin squirting all over his fingers, nails digging into his shoulders, he hisses at the pain, looking down at where the clear streams of liquid pour. “Oh my god… I… that’s…”

“Fuck,” he stares in wonder for a moment, before smiling just a bit. “Look at you, huh? You listened to me, now I need you to cum one more time.”

“C-can’t - mnh!” Satoru eases his fingers out with a pop, rubbing your poor neglected clit, so sensitive as you clench around nothing.

“You can, look you did so perfect for me, look at you,” he cups your face as his eyes turn black, just a ring of blue left, before gripping under your chin. “One more time, be a good girl, would you?”

Good girl.

His audacity knows no bounds, but you’re embarrassingly quick to cum again, he moans and pulls back, sucking you off him then, eyes fluttering shut. You gasp at the action, thighs shaking violently, heart racing when he smiles just a bit.

“Open.”

“Open!?”

“Listen for me, would you?” You do it, you don’t know why, maybe you’re too fucked out, but you open wide for Satoru Gojo – your fucking student – to spit in your open mouth. You gasp, but he grips your face tightly, shutting your jaw close. “Swallow it.”

You do that, earning his filthy little moan, making the sweetness of your cunt dance across both of your mouths. Tears spill down your eyes at the release, at what he’d just done to you, which you can hardly comprehend. No amount of that rose vibrator and smut was doing anything like this psychotic student grinning down at you.

“Did I make you feel so good, hmm pretty?” You just nod in a jerky motion, still tasting your own arousal and his spit in your mouth. “You listened so well, and you told me what you felt, you’re just such a good little professor, aren’t you?”

He kisses you again, stroking your hair almost gently. “Satoru…”

“Shh, don’t worry,” he adjusts your panties, your blouse, your skirt so sweetly, like he hadn’t just taunted you, spit in your mouth, fingered you till you were embarrassingly gushing all over. “I’ll bring you to school, and fix that car, yeah?”

You blink rapidly, the rain slowly dying off to a patter, as it all fucking syncs in of what you just did. “We can’t do this,” you hastily try to button your blouse, but he moves your hands away. “We can’t.”

“You need me to help, don’t you? Your fingers are too shaky,” he adores that look on your face, the fear and the tears, you’re realizing you’re all his, and he can’t help but enjoy this moment, smiling with bright blue eyes. “There.”

“Can’t again,” he ignores that, just being so bright, chuckling a bit as he kisses your lips. “Satoru.”

“I love when you call me that,” he murmurs your name, just to fuck you up further, with a lidded gaze. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

He watches you rush out with a dopey grin on his face – he’d masturbate, but he already came when he sucked your juices off, so he instead just cleans up quickly, sighing. He makes sure you get in safe, of course, that’s part of being your everything – but he knows that he’ll have to act unaffected.

You’re not seeing the vision just yet.

*****

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks since Satoru casually showed up with your favorite coffee, grinning big at you. He’d already had your car fixed, thoughtful and kind, just being friendly like he was before – and nothing else. You suppose you should be thankful he’s listened to you, that he knows that can’t happen again, or it’ll lead to more, and the consequences for you would be heavy.

He’d even joked about it on the way back to campus – ‘So worried I’ll tell everyone our little secret, huh? Nah, no way.’

He’d been completely normal since, aside from little touches, little brushes against your skin in the hallway, being everywhere and anywhere at the same fucking time. Every time you turned, Satoru was there for you to bump into, or he was around to look at you, and you could feel that gaze like a physical touch.

You should be glad he didn’t say anything, that it’s over, that you came sure but nothing you can’t get back from. You’re not having some affair with your student, the namesake of the fucking University. Having to meet his stuck up, distant parents last week was hell enough.

You couldn’t stand them, truth be told.

They’re neglectful, they’re terrible, they don’t seem to give a fuck about Satoru aside from his name, his accomplishments, and worse than desire was the affection you felt when his jaw tensed during that conversation. The way you could see he so clearly felt ignored by the people who should love him.

You can’t feel this.

Yet with every mere brush of his fingers, you’re losing your mind, losing all the caution – fucking throwing it to the wind all for a moment like that again. You touch yourself at night, not to the thought of him, but then he seeps into your mind, you can’t get him out, fingering your hole desperately with no results.

It’s like only he can make you feel that way.

Class is over, and everyone’s saying good bye to you, Satoru lingers like he always does – always sits in the back, observing you with a knowing smirk. You sit there, waiting for him to descend, and you hate yourself for what you do next… or, you should hate yourself.

Satoru’s getting up to walk by, the rest of the class is filing right out, he gives you that little smile, like he wasn’t the man spitting in your mouth two weeks ago, having you squirt for the first time in your life. Like he wasn’t the one biting your lip, tugging at your hair, kissing down your breast – no, it’s as if everything is perfectly normal.

Isn’t that what you asked him to do? To forget it ever happened, because it damn sure cannot happen? Yet you casually knock your pen off with a little flick of your hand, letting it clatter down to the floor in a click that echoes in the room. The door is shut with a resounding, heavy sound, when Satoru pauses, looking down at your bare legs, setting his bag down on your desk.

“You dropped your pen, Professor,” he murmurs, leaning down and kneeling on the floor, his breath right against your inner thigh. His eyelashes lower, when his hands slip up them torturously slowly. You know it’s insane, wrong, but you can’t hold back a soft whine at how good it feels. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“N-no, nothing’s wrong,” Satoru spreads your thighs, inhaling you practically, seeing you’re wearing lacy panties today, a first. They’re darkening as his head dips, spinning you in the chair ever so slightly. “You shouldn’t call me that, Satoru.”

“You shouldn’t be this soaked from your student,” you bite down on your lip, he slips up that dress and sighs at the sight. “I can smell how turned on you are.”

“Get my pen, Satoru,” you whisper, thighs trembling when he chuckles a bit, face damn near right against your cunt, but not touching, nose a centimeter away.

“Right, your pen…” he picks it up, when your hand entangles in his white locks, his lips get glossy when he licks them. He drifts the pen up, the cool metal tip slipping up your skin. “Professor, you’ve got something there.”

“Do I?” You shouldn’t fucking do it, you know better, when the pen slips your panties aside for the briefest of moments. “Ah!”

Satoru wants to devour that pretty, slick cunt he didn’t get to see properly before, he knows you want it, sliding that pen down those panties, and watching slick drool out of your little hole. His cock is aching to be inside you, but you’re not quite desperate enough, not quite needy enough yet. You still seem to think you have the upper hand, and though he’s desperate, he also is patient.

He can wait until you realize you need him.

For much more than making you cum, you’ll need him for everything in time, to take care of you, to hold you, to keep you locked up in his home – well, it’ll belong to both of you. Kids, in time, the Gojo family line being remade from the pretty cunt that’s begging for his touch, his mouth, his cock.

“Satoru…” you’re so pretty like this, your brows together, your cheeks flushed, he just pulls the pen back and adjusts your panties with his fingers, just enough to get them coated in your arousal.

“Here you go, teach,” he smiles easily, standing and leaving you on edge, slipping your dress back down. “You all right?”

“Y-yes,” you’re hastily standing, taking several breaths, cursing yourself internally for fucking acting that way. “I’m… um, sorry I dropped that.”

“No worries,” he brushes your hair back behind your ear, leaning low over you, so tall and imposing, yet his touch is incredibly soft. His thumb brushes along your jawline delicately. “I’ll see you in history tomorrow.”

“You’re… taking history too?” You ask, voice a breathy squeak damn near. Seeing him once a week with those vivid memories was torture enough, but twice a week!?

“I sure am, I can’t wait to…” he leans down and his lips brush against your ear, making you tremble, sending shivers down your spine. “Learn lessons from you. You’re just my favorite, you know?”

You can’t talk, when he pulls back to smirk at you, when you realize you damn near were begging for your college student to eat you out. Pathetic, the most unethical thing in the world, and he’s acting nonchalant, like nothing is even bothering him. You’re as embarrassed as you are soaking wet, as self loathing as you’re willing to say fuck everything and give in.

You can’t do it.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you, Gojo.” He frowns a bit at the use of his last name, as you try to gather your wits. “Class is at ten.”

“I’ll be there, teach.” You both walk out of those heavy doors, eyeing each other for just a moment. His gaze slips across your ass when you turn, darting up to the delicate curves and lines of your body.

He’ll give you what you need soon, but not until he’s much more than relief, or something to cum to.

He needs to be your everything, and he’ll make sure it happens.

After all, isn’t that what good future husbands do?

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine - it motivates the smut!🍷

When you shuffle to the breakfast table with Satoru, Shoko’s eyes glint over the rim of her mug.

Out of all his friends, she feels the hardest to read. Aloof. Neutral. And dangerously observant — like she’s already written your character analysis in her head. You try not to squirm under the weight of it.

“Good morning!” Yuji chirps, scooting over and patting the floor cushion beside him. “C’mon, sit. Nanami made pancakes. It’ll get cold.”

But Yuji’s kindness?

Effortless.

It’s like he’s already decided you belong, no questions asked. His warmth is instinct, not something you have to deserve.

God. You’re not sure if that makes you feel better… or worse.

“I—uh, thank you.” You offer a sheepish smile, taking a seat as Nanami sets down a plate in front of you with surgical precision.

“Eat,” he commands, wiping his hands on his apron. “You’ll need the energy. The time change is brutal,” and he sits across from you with a sigh. “Plus, being around Satoru is exhausting enough.”

“Excuse you?!”

Satoru flops onto the cushion beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him — but not close enough to touch.

“I’m a delight. A gift. A national treasure,” And with zero shame, he snags a piece of bacon off Nanami’s plate like it’s his god-given right.

“Itadakimaaaasu~”

You smile, because you’re supposed to. Because last night you cried into the snow, and this morning you’re apparently someone’s girlfriend.

“Oh, hey!” Satoru grins, mouth full. “What’s the occasion, Kento? Pancakes?? Shit. Must be my lucky day – you never make my favorite.”

“That’s because you never clean up after yourself,” Nanami deadpans.

But Satoru shrugs, completely unabashed, diving in.

“The pancakes were Yuji’s idea,” Megumi mutters around a bite. “He thought it would be right to do something special.”

“Yup!” Yuji beams, nudging the syrup your way. “Had to commemorate the occasion! Right?! Welcome to Japan!”

You blink.

Ugh…

It’s sweet. Too sweet. And that’s the problem.

Because the more comfortable they make you feel, the worse it feels to lie.

But… lying’s what Satoru does best, isn’t it?

Your chest tightens as you plaster on a tight smile. This trip wasn’t what you’d thought it would be. And that… hurts. You wish things were different.

As you reach for the syrup, Satoru does as well, making your fingers brush. The contact is brief, nothing like the way you woke up tangled together. And as that memory floods back, your cheeks burn and—

“S-Sorry…” you murmur, pulling back. “Oh… s’fine,” he says softly, eyes on his plate.

Shoko’s gaze flicks between you and Satoru — once, twice — like she’s clocking something invisible.

Fuck.

Now you’ve made it weirder. Perfect. You’re really not a good liar. Not since you were six and tried to convince your mom the fucking cat ate your homework — even then, you burst into tears before you finished the sentence.

But you’re already in it now. And Yuji, at least, is still oblivious.

“Man… this is great!!” he beams, gesturing at you both with a fork. “It’s not every day Satoru is honest in the romance department!”

Satoru chokes on a strawberry. You hold back a snort.

Honest?

Now that is comedy. Because if this is honesty? You’d hate to see what he calls lying.

Though, hearing that… kind of intrigues you. The petty part of you wants to ask — what exactly has he lied about before?

You can’t help yourself. Glancing up sweetly, you slide your fork through syrup-slick pancake.

“Oh, really?” you ask smugly, trying not to smile. “Aww… that’s so sweet. Honesty is so important in our relationship. Isn’t that right, ‘toru?”

Satoru clears his throat. “Obviously,” he says, forcing a crooked smile. “With you? I’m honest to a fault. Ask anyone.”

“Oh, totally,” Yuji snorts. “The Gabumon scarf told me everything I needed to know.” He grins at you, shoving in another bite.

And you tilt your head while Megumi adds, “Yup. Only, like… four people on the planet even know he’s a closeted nerd. He wouldn’t tell just anyone.”

…

Huh?

Your brows pinch as you glance over at Satoru. His gaze is fixed on his plate, rearranging his strawberries like it’s a fucking art project. He doesn’t say a word.

Weird…

Because the Satoru you know? The one who texted you memes and rambled about Digimon lore at 2 a.m.? He’d be bragging right now. Insisting Gabumon is S-tier, end of discussion.

Wait, wait, wait…

Now that you think about it, Satoru has always been proudly nerdy in your chats. Him being a nerd is like… the only thing you believe to be true. Hell, he once sent you a ten-minute voice memo breaking down Naruto filler arcs. He ranked Pokémon gym leaders with scary precision. He’s got takes on the Star Wars prequels that would get him cancelled on Twitter.

And now Yuji’s calling him closeted?

“Anyways,” Yuji continues, breaking your thoughts, “m’sorry if Sukuna came off kinda intense last night. Hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable—”

“Wait—WHAT?” Satoru snaps, so fast you jump. “The fuck did he do this time?” And his head whips toward you, eyes narrowing. “He say something to you, sweetheart?”

The heat behind his tone makes you blink. There’s a sharpness you’ve never heard. Not the typical teasing cadence, where you could hear his lopsided grin. No. It’s just a raw, immediate protectiveness. One that doesn’t feel like a lie.

You’re not sure why you feel the need to reassure him but—

“O-Oh! No, it’s really not a big deal,” you rush out, waving a hand. “He didn’t make me uncomfortable. He just… caught me off guard, is all.”

But Satoru’s already scanning the estate, not buying it.

“Where is that asshole, anyway…” his jaw clenches. “Swear to god, he—"

“Relax,” Shoko drawls. “He had an early shift. Where else? Otherwise, he’d be here being loud as hell.”

“The idiot works mornings and still parties like he’s nineteen?” Nanami mutters, cutting into his pancakes. “Unbelievable…”

“Yeah…” Yuji chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck before glancing at you. “Sukuna’s my brother, by the way. I know he can be… a lot. But he means well. Usually.”

“Debatable,” Satoru mutters, stabbing his pancake like it insulted his mother.

And you glance between them, unsure what to say.

Because even on the phone, Satoru’s rants were more dramatic than serious. Hell, even last night, after everything you said to him —the names, the accusations — he’d stayed gentle. Apologetic.

But now, he looks… angry? Bitter?

The silence stretches thin. Cutlery clinks. A throat clears.

Awkward.

Then, Yuji’s phone buzzes. He pulls it out, thumbs a quick reply.

“Oh hey! Guess what?” he brightens, turning the screen toward you. “Sukuna said he convinced his boss to let him leave. Wants to celebrate you coming! Isn’t that great?!”

Satoru stiffens.

“Oh—um, really?” You blink at the unreadable kanji, offering a polite smile. “That’s nice of him. I’m sure he—”

Before you can finish, Satoru’s on it.

“Hey, uh. Babe!” he blurts, snapping his fingers like he just remembered something vital. “Didn’t I… uh. Promise you a tour today?”

“O-Oh!” You stammer, thrown off by the sudden shift. “Um… tour?”

“Y-Yeah! Don’t you remember?” He’s already in motion, steamrolling ahead like he’s speed running an escape room. “Our big, romantic tour! Let’s see… spiritual enlightenment. Scenic views. Tourist traps. Maybe a cat café?”

His hands are flailing through the air, ticking off imaginary bullet points, and you scramble to catch up.

“R-Right! Of course! Our tour!” You echo. “How could I forget?!”

Fucking hell. It feels like a bad improv scene. No script. No direction. Just panic. And everyone at the table is frozen, stoned face. Clearly not buying this bullshit. But then, Satoru’s fingers curl around yours — warm, unyielding — and you hate the way it makes your heart flutter.

…because it’s the same hand that held you steady when you were falling apart.

“This has been so much fun, guys,” he says with fake cheer, tugging you upright. “But I promised her the best of Japan. And if we stay, Nanami’s gonna make us scrub dishes like it’s team-building.”

He’s ushering you away, and Nanami scowls.

“Satoru Gojo,” he scolds, setting his cutlery down with a disapproving glare. “You will be doing the dishes when you return.”

“Huh?” Satoru calls, already halfway down the hall. “Can’t hear you Nanamin~ Bye-bye~”

You watch Satoru’s back as he tugs you, like he’s dragging you out of a fire he doesn’t know he started.

“What was that about?” you stumble, trying to keep up with his pace. “I mean, seriously Satoru… what the hell. That was a disaster. A tour?”

You’re still dazed, still reeling — still pretending this isn’t the weirdest day of your goddamn life. And your fingers tingle where his hand is wrapped around yours, like your body hasn’t gotten the memo that you’re supposed to hate him now.

No. Instead, your heart is doing something traitorous — twisting, fluttering, reaching. And you can’t stop thinking about how protective he got at the mention of Sukuna.

Does… he not want you near him? Does he hate his guts? Or is it something else?

Jealousy?

Possessiveness?

You don’t want to think it. But you do.

And worse — some foolish part of you wants it to be true. Because some aching piece of you is starving for proof. That he felt it too. That this—whatever this strange, tangled thing is—wasn’t just some elaborate game to him. That he didn’t just play with your heart and leave it out in the cold.

But then, he drops your hand, shoving both into the pockets of his hoodie like nothing happened.

“Yeeeah… um. Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he drops his gaze. “That was just an excuse to get you out of there.”

Your chest tightens.

“…really?”

There’s a softness in your voice, a hitch. And god, you hate it. Hate how hopeful is sounds, how obvious. He must hear it too – because his gaze flickers toward you, then away.

“Yeah. I—I mean…” he fumbles, exhaling through his nose, almost like he’s scolding himself. “A deal’s a deal, right? I was gonna introduce you to Suguru today. Needed an excuse to get you away from them.”

Oh...

Right. Of course that’s it. Of course that’s all it was. If he wanted you, he wouldn’t be setting you up with someone else. If he wanted you… he wouldn’t have lied.

“Great… sounds good.”

You look away, blinking hard. Your hand is still tingling.

Stupid.

Why would it be anything else?

With that, you’re layered up in silence — scarf, gloves, coat zipped to your chin — trailing after Satoru as he leads you through Kyoto’s backstreets.

He parks near a quiet plaza, and you shuffle through the snow, winding between shrines and vending machines, until you reach some weathered wooden storefront. A noren flutters gently in the winter air, painted with kanji you can’t decipher.

When he pulls the curtain back, you blink. “Is this a bakery?” you ask, stepping in. And he grins. “Yup! Only the best one in the city.”

Shelves glisten with sweets behind polished glass, and the scent of sugar hugs the air, blanketing you in warmth. You can’t help but think of all those late-night calls where he’d ramble about dessert with the passion of a food critic.

It makes you snort. “Typical,” you huff, unwrapping your scarf with a shake of your head. “I should’ve known you’d bring me to a bakery of all places.”

The playfulness in your tone slips out, like muscle memory. And he grins, crooked and charming.

“Uh—excuse you little missy?” he gasps, hand to chest. “What’s that supposed to mean? This isn’t your typical bakery. It’s life-altering, okay? I should be charging you for the honor, brat.”

You scoff. “Charging me? Nah, I think I paid my dues hearing you whine on the phone about craving mochi at 3 a.m.”

“Wow.” He points a dramatic finger. “That was a genuine crisis, thank you very much.” And suddenly, his whole face is lighting up, boyish and bright. “But seriously, the shikifuku mochi here? It ruins you. Nothing else compares. The outer layer’s perfectly chewy, and the inside—god, don’t even get me started—”

Too late.

He’s started, and you can’t help but grin as he spins around to face you, walking backward as he launches into full rant mode.

“It’s this stupid good black sesame filling that just melts on your tongue,” he says, animated and unfiltered. “I used to hoard, like, six at a time. Honestly though? Could’ve eaten like, twenty. Easy.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re gonna die of a sugar overdose and I’m not dragging your dramatic ass to the hospital.”

“Pshhh. Worth it.”

For a second? It’s like nothing’s changed.

“I’m tellin’ you,” he says, nudging your shoulder lightly. “I know sweets aren’t usually your thing, miss salty girl. But… I think you’d love it.”

“…yeah?” your smile softens. And he matches yours, humming, “Mhm! I mean… I used to come here all the time with Suguru and—"

That’s all it takes.

Stopping himself, you see it; the hitch in his breath, the way his mouth stills like it’s said too much. Like something warm and instinctive slipped out before he could rein it back in.

“O-Oh… um. I mean…” He’s clearing his throat, suddenly distant. “Suguru’s always loved this place…” he mumbles, gaze sliding away as he gestures toward an empty table. “Anyways. C’mon. Take a seat.”

And just like that, the moment collapses while both of you remember why you’re here. And it shouldn’t hurt — but it does. Worse than if he’d never let himself soften at all. Because it’s one thing to miss what you had. It’s another to glimpse it before he pulls away like it never meant anything.

This isn’t a date. Not with Satoru.

“Right…” you slide into the corner booth, unzipping your coat. “So… is he here then?” you murmur.

“Nah… but he’ll show up. Probably,” and he’s striding toward the counter, shouting. “Just stay put, kay? I’ll be right back!”

You frown.

…Probably?

What does that even mean?

And while his back drifts father away, you try to get it together. But your breath is uneven as you tug your sleeves over your hands.

It’s stupid. You don’t know why you’re nervous. This whole damn trip’s already gone off the rails. You’ve already been lied to, catfished, humiliated, and now? Emotionally whiplashed. What’s one more twist in this sitcom from hell?

Still…

When you glance toward the counter — at Satoru’s silhouette, laughing softly in Japanese as he chats with the barista — something in you twists. Because… you used to talk about everything.

Favorite books that wrecked you. Childhood dreams you forgot you had. The ache in your chest when certain songs came on. Hell, even the reason you haven’t spoken to your dad in three years.

And now?

The silence between you is unbearable — swollen with all the things your heart still aches to say, but knows it wouldn’t survive hearing spoken out loud. Why bother? You’ve humiliated yourself enough. And he’s a damn good liar, unlike you.

He’s playing you. No other reason makes sense. Because someone that good looking, wouldn’t need to catfish you.

What other reason is there?

You’re still stewing in that thought when—

“Alrighty then…” Satoru saunters over, carrying two drinks and a plate stacked with mochi. “—told ya I’d be right back!”

You blink, startled out of your spiral, while he sets one glass down in front of you with far too much flair. A drink you certainly didn’t request. And wouldn’t. Because it’s murky. Pale greenish-brown. Completely unappetizing.

“…what is this?” you ask, nudging it like it might grow legs. And he grins, smug. “Trust me,” he says, sliding into the booth like he settling in for a show. “It’s Suguru’s favorite. He comes here almost every morning.”

Your brow creases. “So… it’s for him?”

“Nope.” He sighs, reclining like it’s some elaborate plan. “It’s for you, sweetheart.”

Your frown deepens. “Okay. I’m confused.” And he pops a mochi into his mouth, chewing like a man with a mission. “Here’s the thing,” he says, voice muffled, propping an elbow on the table like you’re about to get educated.

“Suguru’s, like… really into fate. Like, weirdly into it. Thinks the universe talks to him through coincidences.”

You blink. “You’re joking.”

“Oh, I wish,” he huffs, holding up a finger mid-chew. “Same music? Cosmic. Same drink order? Boom. Soulmates.” His head tilts. “Oh! Bonus points if you share hobbies. Maybe you surf too?”

“…what? No.”

He frowns.

“…but you’re from California.”

“And?”

He deadpans. “Doesn’t everyone surf there?”

You roll your eyes, lifting the drink to your lips; and against your better judgement, you take a sip.

Only to immediately gag.

“Oh my god—” you choke, pushing the glass away like it’s radioactive. “What the fuck?” And Satoru is already snickering, nearly spitting out his drink.

“Awww, what’s wrong? Not a fan?!”

You cough wheezing. “No!” And you’re smiling now, because his laughter is contagious. “God, why the hell would anyone voluntarily drink this? It tastes like… expired matcha and regret had a lovechild.”

“Yup.” He sighs dreamily, smug as ever. “That’s the one~”

But it’s not long before he’s stiffening. His eyes flick toward the entrance, past the hanging noren, and the playfulness drains from his face.

“Shit,” he mutters, straightening. “Okay. Showtime. He’s here.”

And you blink, still catching your breath. “Wait—what?” But before you can look over, Satoru’s already rising. “Stay here,” he says. “I’m gonna act like we ran into each other. Then I’ll bring him over.”

What he’s saying doesn’t make any sense, and the nerves instantly return.

Panic spikes through you. “Satoru—wait, wait—” you grip his sleeve before he leaves. “He doesn’t know he’s meeting me?! I-I thought you were setting us up!”

“This is me setting you up.” He flashes a grin that’s equal parts charming and chaotic. “I told you—the guy’s obsessed with fate. So? We’re giving him fate.”

Your stomach twists. Fuck.

That definitely doesn’t help your nerves.

Lying more?

When he tries to leave, you pull him again.

“S-Satoru…”

Your expression is pleading, and his smile softens.

“Shhh. Relax, sweetheart.” He pats your hand, before backing toward the entrance. “Just remember—you love that drink, you love surfing, and you definitely love hiking. Act natural.”

Act natural?

That’s not you. That’s not natural!

And as he slips toward his ex-best friend, you take one last sip of the abomination he calls a drink — and try not to choke on the taste of your own bad decisions.

Suguru Geto.

Not the name you saw popping up on your phone, but the face of the man you’ve been imagining every time it did.

And god, he’s beautiful.

But not in the same way Satoru is… it’s something quieter. Like someone carved out of calm, with long raven hair pulled into a low bun, a few loose strands brushing his cheekbones.

You’re already staring.

And you know you shouldn’t be — fuck, you’re supposed to be acting natural, remember?

“え？久しぶりだな、傑。” (Eh? It’s been a long time, Suguru.)

Satoru steps forward, and a small smile curves Suguru’s lips.

“悟…久しいな。元気だったか？” (Satoru… it has, huh? You been well?)

Satoru chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“まあね。” (More or less.)

You watch, curiously, as they fall into the rhythm of people who once moved in sync, with just enough distance to let silence rest without tension. You can’t understand a lick of what they’re saying, but there appears to be no coldness, no edge. Just a gentle, unspoken awareness of shared history.

You’re trying not to gag on the world’s worst drink, until suddenly, Satoru glances over at you. When his eyes meet yours, something about the way he smirks makes your stomach twist worse than the drink itself.

Fuckfuckfuck.

They’re headed this way.

“Suguru, I wanna introduce you to someone,” Satoru says, in English now. They stop at the table, and Satoru shoves his hands in his pockets, grinning. “This is my cousin, from the States. She’s visiting for the holidays.”

Cousin?

Fucking hell. More lies? How are you going to keep track of them?

Those violet eyes shift to you, and suddenly, you’re holding your breath. “H-Hi,” you manage, trying to smile while your hands wrap around the glass, hoping it’ll save you from drowning. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he says with a soft smile. “Welcome to Japan. Hope you enjoy your—” but then his gaze flicks down to your drink, and his eyes widen. “Wait… is that—” he gestures toward your glass. “Matcha shōga tonic?”

You blink down at it. “Oh. Um… yeah?”

And for the first time since he walked in, Suguru genuinely lights up.

“What?! No way!!” he huffs in awe, lips curling in pure delight. “That’s awesome! It’s my all-time favorite! Though I haven’t met anyone else who orders it, because most people can’t handle it.”

Yeah. No shit. You’d rather drink battery acid. But somehow, you force a smile so wide it borders on manic and raise the glass in a toast.

“What can I say?” you chirp, lying through your damn teeth. “It’s soooo good.”

And somehow, miraculously, that works. He brightens even more — like you just passed some kind of obscure test.

“That’s really cool…” he murmurs. “Dude, what the hell?” he glances at Satoru, but his eyes keep drifting back to you like candy. “You never mentioned you had a cousin from the States?”

“Huh… I didn’t?” Satoru shrugs innocently as he flops into the seat across from you. “Weird. Thought I did. She just got in a few days ago from California.”

Satoru lies so easily; you almost believe it.

“California?!” Suguru repeats, lighting up all over again. “No way. I’ve always wanted to go. You guys have everything there—beaches, cliffs, trails. I’ve heard the climbing out there is supposed to be insane.”

“Oh, totally,” you say, swirling your drink like it’ll whisper instructions. “Yosemite’s a classic. And, uh, Joshua Tree—real… gritty stone. So many… rocks.”

Wow. Great job. Your description is so vivid.

But to your surprise, Suguru’s somehow more intrigued.

“Yeah?” His brows lift. “So do you rock-climb then?”

Your brain is blue-screening, but you barrel on. “Oh. Yeah. For sure!!” you say way too fast. “I’m a huge climber. Big… rock person. Love the rocks. Boulders. I mean, obviously. When I’m not trail running. Or—y’know—surfing. Chasing the waves. Being one with the ocean. And chillin’ with the sharks, I guess, but like—spiritually.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

You sound like a walking Sporting Goods catalog had a stroke. What’s next? Saying you love sitting in LA traffic because it gives you “time to reflect”?

But Suguru’s interest only grows.

“Wow… surfing too?”

“Mhm!”

Your pitch jumps, and before your brain can pull the emergency brake, you take another brave sip of the drink, just to sell the lie.

Instant regret.

“I—” you wheeze, half-choking, blinking through the burn. “I surf. I hike. I’ll… climb anything that moves!”

Why.

Why would you say that.

Why are you like this.

You want to melt into the floor. You want to slide under the table and never return. But to your shock? He’s…

Laughing.

It’s a gentle, genuine laugh that’s almost…

Charmed?

“You’re really funny,” he says, grinning as he pulls out his phone. “Hey, can I get your number? There’s a climbing spot I’ve been dying to check out. Was thinking of going tomorrow—if you’re free?”

You blink.

He’s kidding, right?

But he’s not. He’s smiling. He’s hot. And he’s asking for your number like this is normal. Like you’re normal.

“Oh—yeah! Totally!” you say, nearly knocking your drink over as you fumble for your phone. “Let me just—yep, here—there you go!”

And with that, numbers are exchanged. Smiles, too.

“Cool,” he says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Anyways… uh. It was nice seeing you, Satoru.” He lifts two fingers in a casual wave, then turns back to you with a warm, lopsided smile. “I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. I’ll text you, yeah?”

“Sounds… rockin’.” You blurt. “I’ll, uh… climb ya later then!”

…oh no.

Please. Please stop talking.

“…climb you later?” Satoru echoed, deadpan. “What the fuck was that?”

This? This is why you don’t lie.

You don’t know what’s worse: the mortifying words that came out of your mouth… or the fact that now you actually have to follow through on them. Because you can’t actually climb. Not the wall, not a rope, not even a pull-up bar without getting a little dizzy and needing to sit down with your head between your knees.

Satoru, to his credit, didn’t laugh at you. You’re not sure why.

“Don’t worry…” he assured. “I’ll teach you.”

And he did.

Immediately after meeting Suguru, he dragged you to an indoor climbing gym.

So now you’re here — at the base of a thirty-foot climbing wall with your shoes too tight, your palms too sweaty, and your dignity hanging by a carabiner. Pretending your harness isn’t the only thing holding you together.

Across from you, Satoru’s in his gym clothes, strapping himself in like he’s done it a hundred times. Confident. Casual. Chatting with the instructor in Japanese, when you glance over and—

Oh…

As he adjusts the waist strap, his shirt rides up, and you pause, because—are those…

Abs?!

You promptly forget how to breathe as you take sight of the sharp lines, carved into his torso like it has no fucking business on a man who once earnestly debated which is better, Pokémon or Digimon, for twenty minutes.

His sleeves are shoved up, too, and you’re blinking, face growing hot as you admire his forearms flexing while he tightens his buckle. How can you be normal about this? How is he normal?! He’s just casually fiddling with his harness like his body isn’t actively lighting your brain on fire – like you’re not staring.

Which you are.

Fuck. You definitely are.

“Hey.” His voice cuts in. “C’mere.”

You blink, face burning like you’ve been caught red-handed.

Shit. Get it together.

He’s a liar. A catfish. You’re not here to ogle the subtle definition in his shoulders or wonder how his voice would sound against your neck while his hands are your hips and he—

“Oh, sweetheart?” he hums, clearly entertained now, crooking two fingers at you. “I said c’mere. What’s the deal? Don’t make me beg. Gotta check your harness, yeah?”

Oh, fuck you.

“R-Right!” You stammer, stepping forward. And when you’re in front of him, his fingers are already on you. Warm, gentle hands… tugging at your straps, checking for tension.

“Jus’ a little more…” he murmurs, more to himself.

You catch sight of a pink little tongue, peaking out the side of his lips, and those pale lashes are low behind his glasses. But when they flick up briefly, checking in while his fingers tug the buckle, you catch sight of that blue.

Soft. Startling. Stupidly beautiful, it steals the breath out of your chest.

“There,” he breathes. “It’s… not to tight, is it?”

His voice is quiet, and he’s close, too close. Warm breath fanning your skin.

“Mm-mm…” you mumble, shaking your head, unable to hold his gaze. He’s not tugging anymore… but his hands linger on your waist.

“You… um,” he whispers. “Nervous?”

You are.

Of the wall. Of falling. Of the way your chest feels like it’s come loose from its hinges, fluttering wildly at his touch — like something has come unfastened, and it sure as hell isn’t the harness.

You’re nervous of the fact that this man is starting to feel like a goddamn contradiction. Dangerous and safe… in the same breath.

But instead?

“Oh… nope.”

You lie. Again.

Satoru gives the rope a gentle tug, testing the tension.

“Alright! Let’s show ‘em what you’ve got, California girl.”

The second your foot leaves the ground, regret sets in. Your balance is questionable at best, and your fingers tremble while you grasp the first hold. Satoru stands below, spotting you with that infuriatingly cheerful tone.

“Thaaaat’s it,” he calls. “Niiice and slow… don’t overthink it, ‘kay?”

Easy for him to say.

He’s not the one whose legs already feel like they’re vibrating out of sheer spite.

You push yourself higher, one shaky hold at a time. And to your surprise, you make some impressive distance. But by the time you’re fifteen feet up, everything starts to blur — your sense of control, your breathing, your grip on reality.

Perhaps the altitude is messing with your head. So naturally? You look down.

Big mistake.

“Ohmygod—shitshitshit,” you gasp, clinging tightly to a red handhold as your foot scrapes, slipping just enough to send your heart into freefall.

“Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. I can’t do this. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna—”

“Hey—hey,” he cuts in quickly, voice gentling. “Stop that. You’re okay, you hear me? I’m right here.”

Shutting your eyes, your breath stutters, too fast, too shallow. Your heartbeat is trying to climb out of your ribs and your palms are sweating.

You’re not built for this. You’re built for flat, horizontal surfaces.

“I’m… really high,” you whimper. “Like… alarmingly high, Satoru.”

You hear him sigh below; not annoyed, not exasperated, but soft and laced with quiet concern. Like he’s trying to mask how much he wants to climb up there and carry you down himself.

“Okay, well—just… don’t look down, yeah?” he says gently, like you’re negotiating a minor inconvenience instead of impending doom. “Let’s just… look at the wall. Or better yet—talk to me.”

You close your eyes, pressing your forehead to the plastic. “About what?”

“Anything,” he says. “Distract yourself. I’m all ears.”

“I—I…”

You try. You really do. But your thoughts scatter the second you reach for them — your breath coming too fast, your chest too tight, panic slipping through you like water through your fingers.

“I can’t—” your voice cracks, eyes building with tears. “I can’t do this. Ohmygod, I—"

“Okay, okay—counterpoint,” he jumps in smoothly. “Did you know they released a Digimon Tamagotchi in 1997? And the only way to evolve your Greymon into SkullGreymon was to neglect him?”

Your eyes snap open.

“W-What?”

And before you know it, he’s racing ahead of your spiral.

“Yeah… shame I couldn’t get my hands on one,” he huffs, mock offended. “Like… you had to mistreat your virtual pet to get the cool, edgy one. No care. No affection. Just emotional abandonment.” He hums thoughtfully. “Isn’t that fucked up?”

The absurdity of it punches the breath out of your lungs — and this time, not from fear.

You choke on a laugh. “S-Satoru—” and your body trembles in relief. “I… ugh. I can’t with you,” you manage, giggling through sobs as you sag against the wall, head shaking with something dangerously close to affection. “You’re seriously doing this right now?!”

“What?” he calls back innocently, like this is a totally appropriate moment for virtual pet lore. “It’s injustice! SkullGreymon literally got abandoned, and became metal. Talk about childhood trauma, y’know?”

Huffing another laugh, you press your forehead briefly to the wall, before lifting your head up again. Your grip has changed without noticing. Less white-knuckled desperation, more… trust. A foothold.

Suddenly?

The top doesn’t feel so impossibly far.

You’re moving again, and sure – your arms burn, your legs tremble, but each hold comes after the other. Because for the first time since leaving the ground—

You can breathe.

“Okaaayyy—there we go! Look at you?!” he laughs, pride unmistakable now. “Atta girl. Didn’t I tell you? Keep going—juuuuust like that.”

When your fingers curl the top, victory has never tasted so sweet. You pull yourself up, chest heaving, heart pounding — but smiling.

“I—I made it,” you breathe, disbelief flooding your voice. “Look, Satoru! I—”

But when you straighten? The bottom is all you see.

The gym tilts. The wall drops away. Your knees buckle as your vision blurs — and the last thing you hear is Satoru shouting your name.

Satoru doesn’t remember climbing. He scaled that wall like it owed him answers. Like it had stolen you. Because one moment, you were standing at the edge, blinking too long, and the next? Dropped back like a puppet.

“Hey—shit—hold on, I-I’m coming!” he calls up, fingers scrambling against holds. “Sweetheart?? You there? You okay?”

When he finally hauls himself over the ledge, relief hits him so hard it almost knocks him over. You’re on your back, limbs slack, staring up at the ceiling lights like they’re stars. But you’re conscious. Breathing.

Alive.

“Oh—thank fuck,” he groans, voice cracking as his knees hit the mat.

Adrenaline is screaming through his veins while he stumbles over, dropping both hands to brace beside your head, while his legs cage you beneath him – needing to be close, needing to shield you from whatever just stole your strength from within.

“H-Hey…” he pants, hovering. “There she is… look at me, yeah? You with me?”

“Oh…” Your gaze drifts for a moment, unfocused — before finally settling on him. You blink. His glasses are fogged, blue eyes blinking wildly, with snowy white hair, curtaining your face.

“…hi.”

Your whisper is so quiet, so casual. Like nothing just happened. And his chest tightens painfully.

“Hi?” he breathes out a shaky laugh, frayed at the edges. “Hi yourself. You scared the absolute shit outta me,” he mutters. “Don’t… don’t ever do that again. Ever.”

His admission is playful, but you can hear the underlying concern underneath. And your lips twitch faintly, like you’re trying to smile, but haven’t quite found the strength.

“Sorry…” you whisper. “Everything just went… weird.”

Satoru swallows. Because… yeah. It did. Hell—it is.

You’re here, under him. Real. Warm. Close enough that he feels your breath mingling with his, close enough that it would take just one stupid tilt of his head to—

“U-Um… okay,” he murmurs, forcing himself back into focus. “How’re you feelin’ right now? Dizzy? Nauseous?” He pulls back a bit. “Think you can stand? We still gotta get you down…”

“…don’t wanna” you mumble, wrinkling your nose as you let your head fall sideways against the mat. “Jus’… abandon me here,” you sigh, closing your eyes. “This is the end for me.”

He huffs something between a laugh and a groan.

“Wow…” he rolls his eyes, because your pout is too cute. “And here I thought I was dramatic. You trying to one up me?”

Your lips twitch into the faintest smirk, and before he can stop himself, his hand lifts, brushing the stray wisps of hair from your face.

Your breath hitches, eyes flicking back to his before you exhale.

“Yeah… well. If I’m lucky,” you murmur, the grin returning — lazy, a little loopy, but bright. “Maybe this is how I finally evolve. Am I metal yet?”

And the words shake Satoru to his core. He’s blinking in awe, because how? How are you still smiling up at him, dazed and soft and teasing through the aftermath, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to meet him beat for beat.

It’s not fair — he’s so stupidly fond of you it almost scares him.

Because despite everything, despite this entire ridiculous day, despite literally being on your back, motionless, you continue to speak his language; never calling him childish, never making him feel like he’s gotta grow up and out of the things that kept him alive when the world started hurting.

Why are you so perfect? He wants to kiss you so badly it almost hurts.

“I always knew you had it in you,” he huffs softly, trying to match your grin. “You’re definitely digivolving.”

You hum. “Yeah?” and he chuckles. “Yup… probably’ll get lasers or a missile chest, or somethin’ real badass. Trust me.”

With fluttering lashes, your lips part, and Satoru can feel the tension so thick now, he’s holding his breath. But when you murmur—

“Trust you…” with a lilt, soft and teasing as you snort innocently. “Mmm… mmkay. Trust the guy who catfished me, huh?”

It’s like reality slams him straight in the chest. There’s no cruelty to your words, but still… they burn. Burn with the reminder of what he’s done, how really, you wanted Suguru. Not him. And he knows this is for the best, because he has no right to have you.

“Yeah…” he murmurs, smile faltering as he nods, eyes dropping. “Yeah… but c’mon. We should head back.”

And his hands slip away from your sides as he pushes himself up.

“It’s getting late,” he says. “And… you’ve got a date to catch.”

Your journey home is quiet — the kind of quiet that doesn’t settle, but smolders. Like Satoru’s pulled back from you entirely.

Not that you blame him. You’re the one who said it — that dumb little joke that knocked all the air out of the moment. It just slipped out. You didn’t mean it to land like that. You didn’t mean to hurt him. But now… he won’t even look at you.

And as the silence between you thickens, you can’t decide what’s worse — the guilt for hurting him, or the fact that you want to apologize for something he did.

What is wrong with you?

Always saying the wrong things. Feeling the wrong things. Twisting yourself into shapes for people who never ask — and still managing to fall short. Perhaps, it’s like some part of you still thinks love is a trick mirror — one wrong move and you’re the joke again.

Because sometimes, he gives you this look — like he’s not sure he’s allowed to enjoy your company. And you… you’re not sure you’re allowed to want him.

Now, as the streetlights blur past the car windows, all you can do is sit in the wreckage of almost, trying to breathe through the ache of what was never supposed to happen.

Because love is messy.

Love is slow.

Love is… hard.

a/n. okay... don’t hate me for ending on an angsty note 🥲 i promise pt. 3 will deliver the happy, fluffy, smutty payoff you deserve, hehe 😉 you'll see that this is where i will begin to shift from the movie a bit - bc the movie fully leans into the chaos of the plot, and i want to focus more on the characters and their dynamics, simplifying the storyline so i can really dig into the emotional beats i love most. i hope you all enjoy my rendition of this story, and tysm for reading and for all the love on pt 1. every single comment has filled my heart sm 💖 kisses! part 3 >>>

so when your professor pairs everyone up for a presentation project, he’s over the moon when the two of you end up getting paired together. maybe always sitting in the seat next to yours and asking you for clarification on parts of the lectures finally paid off.

and when he invited you to his off-campus apartment because it’s “quieter with no distractions” (he doesn’t want you looking at any of the other frat guys), you were surprised, to say the least.

not because he invited you over rather than meeting at the campus cafe, but because of the digimon posters strewn on his bedroom walls and a shelf nailed into the wall above his desk filled with shounen manga. and below that, on the wall that his desk is pushed against, is a physics-related poster.

he watches your eyes curiously flick over all the dorky merch and decorations, and he brings a hand up to scratch the back of his head. people might think that he doesn’t care about what they think of him, but he desperately wants to know the thoughts going through your mind right now.

you half-expected to see a digimon plush on his bed but instead you find a neatly made bed with navy blue sheets.

is this the same gojo satoru that you know? the heartthrob of the campus? the cool and charming fratboy?

“what’s up?” he asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. “you’re looking at my room like it’s a murder scene.”

you snort softly, shaking your head. “nothing. just… didn’t take you for a digimon guy.”

he chuckles and plops down on his bed, leaning back on his palms and manspreading. “ah. well, the secret is out. promise you won’t tell and ruin my reputation?” he jokes, smile widening when your lips curve up softly.

he takes a moment to admire you outside of a class setting. the way you stand by his desk, fingers laced together and your shoulders slightly stiff as you rock back and forth on your heels like you’re unsure where to sit and what to do.

a soft smile tugs at his lips, dimples revealing themselves. completely different to the blinding grins he blesses everyone else with. a calm blue in his eyes despite his heart hammering behind his ribs.

standing up from the edge of his bed, he pulls out his wheeled desk chair and gestures for you to take a seat.

“sit down. i’ll get us some snacks. any preferences?”

“anything, as long as it isn’t those sugary atrocities you call food.”

his head tips back with laughter, his eyes sparkling with amusement when he looks at you again. “if it isn’t food, there wouldn’t be any nutritional value on the label,” he says matter-of-factly, though jokingly, and you can’t help but huff out a laugh.

he’s grinning to himself as he leaves his room and goes to the kitchen to scour some snacks. he can’t ignore the fluttering of his heart nor the warmth creeping onto his cheeks. and he has to mentally keep himself in check.

it takes him a few minutes to grab snacks, solely because he’s trying to remember what you like to eat. trying to remember the glimpses of seeing you have lunch under the oak tree, a book in your lap while you eat. you always look so peaceful and content, even if he wanted to go up to you to talk, he could never bring himself to pop that little bubble of peace.

when satoru finally comes back to his room, where you’re scrolling on your laptop that you propped up on his desk, black frames are sitting on his pretty face. opting to switch from his round sunglasses because his contacts were drying his eyes out.

you look up from the screen and take a double look, surprised to see him wearing glasses - you didn’t even know that he needed them. and you can’t help but admire him subtly as he places a bowl of crisps on the desk next to you, along with a packet of strawberry laces, a bar of chocolate, and two cans of cola.

“… you look cute with glasses,” you murmur, keeping your eyes on your laptop, scrolling purposelessly now to avoid making eye contact.

a grin immediately jumps onto his face like that was the first compliment he’s ever received as he sits back down on the edge of his bed, propping his elbow on his knee and resting his chin in his palm. his blue eyes lock onto you as he feels a flutter in his chest and an unfamiliar churn in his stomach.

“yeah? does that mean i finally have your attention?” his tone is velvety and teasing, but he’s internally filled with giddiness. he swears he feels like he’s floating.

you turn away from your laptop to glance at him curiously. “what do you mean?”

“well, sometimes you act like i’m invisible,” he huffs, pushing his glasses up his nose. “you’re the one person who looks at me like i’m… normal.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you are normal. you’re human, not some god.”

he chuckles at your bluntness, head tilting to the side and his pearly hair follows his movement, falling to the side gracefully like it was scripted. “i like how honest you are. makes you genuine, you know.”

“what, compared to the people who kiss your ass?” you ask, rolling your eyes at the thought.

amusement crinkles the corners of his eyes. “yeah, exactly that. this is… nice,” he admits softly.

it’s a nice change from being with the other fratboys and the people who flock to him. despite his heart beating rapidly each time you look at him or smile, he feels relaxed in your presence. like he doesn’t have to play a role or act a certain way.

you examine him again, trying to read him, trying to solve him like the many equations you’re able to crack.

“is this really you? or is this a new tactic of yours to try and get me in your bed?”

he chokes on his own spit at your direct question, the apples of his cheeks and tips of his ears turning red like he’s a prude. which, clearly, he’s the opposite of. sliding his way into hearts with his smooth words and wooing girls with a smile that lives on his mouth like it pays rent there.

but when it comes to you, it’s like all his charm flies out the window. like he doesn’t know how to flirt without becoming nervous.

“no!” he exclaims, before clearing his throat. “no, i’m not trying anything, i promise.”

and from his flustered reaction, you can assume he’s telling the truth.

“hm… why do you put on that persona, then? the popular one. assuming that it is a persona.”

his body language suddenly changes and he sits straighter, something suddenly shifting in his expression and his eyes don’t give any hint to his thoughts.

“i thought we came here to work on a project, not analyse me,” he dismisses lightheartedly, a faint smile on his lips. he comes off as unbothered, but at the same time, he manages to swiftly change the subject like he wanted to.

you nod, choosing not to pry. you aren’t friends anyway. turning back to your laptop, you pick up a few crisps while you read a paper.

you hear the pop of him opening a can of the sugary drink and he takes a few sips before setting it back down on the desk, on a coaster that has a pattern subtly referencing an anime.

he grabs his own laptop, and you ask for his email to share the document with him so you can work on the project together. you both agree to do some research first and he sits back against the headboard of his bed, long legs stretched out and his ankles locked.

the packet of strawberry laces rustles slightly as he picks it up and offers you some before mindlessly chewing on them as he works on his laptop, occasionally fixing his glasses.

you’re surprised that he readily agreed to the equal split of work and didn’t waste time on getting started. when you got paired with him, you assumed that you’d have to nag him about it or that you’d end up having to do it all by yourself while he takes half the credit.

though, he can’t help but steal a few glances at you while you work. watching your concentrated face, the way you rhythmically tap your fingers on your laptop while you’re thinking, how you brush your fingers through your hair every so often when it falls into your vision.

he manages to do work for an hour straight before he itches to talk to you again about anything other than the project (he was already missing talking to you after twenty minutes).

“sooo… you like digimon?” he asks, trying to break the silence and make a small attempt at conversation with you, to get to know you.

you look up at him, and the way his hair frames his features makes him look… soft. almost boyish. his frosty eyelashes fluttering when he looks up from his laptop and towards you.

it’s like there’s a different satoru in front of you. one who suddenly doesn’t know how to flirt or make conversation, and somehow his voice is more honeyed when he speaks to you - uncertain and lacking confidence. a contradiction to the air of confidence that follows him everyday like a shadow, even with a mere turn of his head.

you’ll admit that this is somehow more charming. like he isn’t putting up a front or being someone who he isn’t. like this is him.

after a few moments of pondering the switch in his behaviour once more, you reply, “not really. i mean… i barely know the difference between digimon and pokemon.”

a scandalised look befalls his expression as his mouth falls open, halfway through eating a strawberry lace.

“you’re kidding, right?” he scoffs, unbelieving. “digimon is like ten times better in terms of the power system and the characters. it was way ahead of its time, and it’s so much more complex in terms of the world-building and the deeper themes, and--”

suddenly, he pauses. realising that he was rambling and he gives you an awkward smile.

“shit, sorry,” he mutters, scratching the back of his head again. “you probably don’t wanna hear about all that shit.”

“on the contrary, actually,” you say, having listened to his mini rant with contentment. “it’s cute and dorky.”

“i got called cute by you twice today. aren’t i lucky?” he grins, all teeth and dimples. a soft pink dusting over his cheeks. “have i wooed you yet?” he teases.

“i say ‘cute’ in the way that people would call a puppy cute. don’t inflate your ego more than it already has been.” you roll your eyes, though playfully.

his grin never falters. knowing that you find him cute in any way makes him feel like an overly excited puppy. and it sounds much better coming from you compared to anyone else.

“still cute,” he affirms. he leans forward, setting his laptop aside on his bed. “alright, for every hour of work we do, we watch one episode of digimon,” he decides, “you know, to keep up the motivation or whatever.”

a smile tugs at your lips and you consider his suggestion - it wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“and,” he continues, checking the time on the clock hanging on his bedroom wall, “we’ve already done one hour.”

he stands up from his bed, stretching his arms over his head as he looks down at you with a smile. you get a glimpse of the ridges of his abs before he lowers his arms, his smile turning mischievous when he notices your eyes flicker downwards.

but he decides not to tease. instead he waits for your answer, hopeful that you’ll say yes.

“alright, just one episode,” you agree, and he beams.

three episodes later, neither of you realise that another hour has gone by; this time, without a shred of work being done. when you glance at the clock and realise the time, you sit up straight on his sofa.

“gojo, we said one episode,” you huff, confused as to how you let the time slip past you. yeah, you probably got distracted by his quiet explanations throughout the episodes and his humming to the soundtrack, but you still don’t know how you let it happen.

when you reach for the remote, he turns to you with a pout. “wait, wait, we have plenty of time to get the assignment done.”

“well, i prefer to stick to a schedule and not waste time.”

“well, you’ll have to get used to being a little more chill, stickler,” he argues childishly, watching you pause the episode and you give him a firm look. “fiiineeeuuhh, i guess we’ll do some work.”

he drags his feet going back to his room and getting back to the project, lazily sprawled on his bed with his laptop while you sit at his desk again. he’s slightly more distracted this time around like he’s itching to do anything else. and it wasn’t the desire to watch more digimon, but to spend more time with you outside of a class or project setting.

you had left a distance between the two of you while you were sitting on his sofa watching digimon, but having you sit close to him made him feel a type of fuzziness that he’s never felt before. he thinks about having your body warmth so close to his, the way you seemed relaxed and were enjoying watching it. he can’t help but want more moments like that with you.

satoru doesn’t realise that he ended up zoning out, pretty eyes on you, glassed over with a deep yearning and a delicate blush on his cheeks.

“… gojo?” you call quietly, a concerned lilt in your voice when you notice him stuck in a trance.

“satoru.”

“huh?”

“call me satoru,” he clarifies, now back to reality and smiling at you softly.

“oh… okay, satoru,” you say, tasting his name on your tongue and the way it rolls off so sweetly.

his heart lurches. he wants to memorise your voice and how you say his name. he wants to bottle up each smile and gaze you give him. he wants to cherish every moment with you. and he can’t help the words that he says next from tumbling out.

“do you wanna go out with me?” he asks, before immediately waving his hands as if to defend himself. “i mean… not as a date, unless you want that. but like-- fuck… i just want to get to know you. if that’s okay with you. i get it if not--”

your light laugh cuts him off from his nervous rambling, and he looks at you with puzzlement and surprise and awe. his palms feel clammy and his heart thumps in his chest it’s as if he can hear it pounding in his ears.

is this what it’s like to have a crush? god, i just made myself look like a fucking loser. but she’s so cute when she laughs i can’t even be upset.

“sure.”

“yeah, whatever, that’s okay. i didn’t think you’d want to-- wait, what?” he looks stunned, like he was prepared for you to turn him down. or at least hesitate before saying yes. maybe he would’ve had to wait for a few more of these sessions before you agreed.

“i said sure. although, i wouldn’t want to term it as a date. not yet, at least. getting to know each other sounds nice if you bring along this you, not the other you.”

his mouth parts slightly, his mind racing with thoughts. “… this me? you like this version of me?” he asks, sounding shocked. and here he thought he was making a fool out of himself.

you nod, giving him a sweet smile that makes his heart trip over itself. “the real you, right?”

“fuck, if i had known that you like this… nevermind, it doesn’t matter now. okay. okay, i’ll plan something for us.” he can’t bite back the smile of pure giddiness, and he feels like a lovesick schoolgirl, internally swinging his legs back and forth. a rush of ideas already come to him - the hard part will be choosing a single plan.

“i look forward to it, satoru,” you say, and he clings onto every word. “but we do still have our project to do.”

he doesn’t deflate like he did before at the mention of the assignment. because this time he has something to keep him motivated. and at least he knows that this won’t be the only reason you guys hang out. if anything, he’s more eager.

“yes, ma’am, whatever you say.”

you were new to the school, family just moving to a new town for your dads work- better paying job or something; you didn't pay much mind to it.

you had moved a lot over the years, which you very well believed contributed into why you were so shy- anytime you would think you were making a friend, a move would happen.

it didn't finally slow until you turned 18 and your parents decided to make this move the last one. the permanent move.

it was lunch hour when you decided to walk into the library instead of sitting next to a bunch of girls and the jocks who just wanted another body added onto their roster. pigs. they were all pigs.

but he wasn't.

you were sitting criss-cross applesauce on the rough carpet of the library, each torn fray scratching on your leg with your back hunched over in search of one of your favorite books when it landed right into your lap, literally.

then came his voice with no face.

"did that hit you?!" his voice was smooth, with a layer of panic before you heard quick footsteps shuffling around to the other side where you sat.

his face. oh he was pretty- too pretty.

his blue eyes were framed with those plastic rectangular frames, his white hair that looked as soft as clouds and his pale skin that mirrored the assumption that he rarely stepped outside for too long.

you blinked before looking away quickly- forcing yourself to look away with how hard your heart was pounding in your chest and down to the book in your lap- reading the cover 'The Catcher In The Rye by J.D. Salinger' again and again. anything to avoid those eyes.

"i didn't realize someone was over here," he rambled off, clueless to the fact that you were okay, "i should've been more careful."

everything flying out of his mouth except an apology, not that you cared. you found it funny over anything.

it was a different way to begin a friendship.

but it happened.

you learned quickly that his name was satoru gojo. he was the nerd of the school, picked on and bullied for always having his face shoved into a book instead of sneaking out and partying every weekend.

study sessions that ran long from debates turned into unplanned movie nights where gojo whispered commentary the entire time, unprovoked.

the back corner of the library unofficially became y'all's nook that nobody ever seemed to bother.

the long walks shared became a time where the two of you would spill your secrets out to one another- things nobody else would ever hear, confessions that strengthened your bond, the kind of secrets that either had you laughing breathlessly or wanting nothing more than to wrap each other up in a hug.

- high school graduation crept up faster than you expected. faster than either of you expected.

the past few months leading into the final weeks before graduation were filled with sending off applications to dream colleges, waiting for your cap and gown, final testing that had your hearts pounding and palms sweating.

it was tense- stressful and growing quiet.

you were in the library. yours and gojo's nook. your safe place.

your heart was in your stomach and a lump growing in your throat that you couldn't force back down.

the paper in your hands was shaking from the trembling you couldn't get rid of-

"thank you for your application to our college. after careful review of an exceptionally competitive pool of applicants, we deeply regret to inform you-"

the paper stains with the tears falling off your cheeks, words unreadable by the weight in your eyes.

this was the college that both you and gojo had applied to- in the hope that the two of you would be accepted and be somewhere new. but with each other.

your mother gave you the letter last night, eyes big and hopeful that you'd open it with her so she could see the look on her face. only to be disappointed when you told her-

"i'll open it with gojo tomorrow."

you had hope. excitement, even.

your grades were great, you had done so much volunteering, clubs, stacked your schedule with planned extracurricular - all in hopes that it would make your application stand out more.

just for them to be dwindled down to nothing in just a few words on cheap paper.

the only noises filling the air were the tissues crumpling under your fingertips and the sound of whispers and pages flipping down the aisles of books.

had you not done enough? were your grades not to their liking? your mind was filled with hurt, confusion and simmering anger beneath all of it.

you were so confident that you'd be accepted.

you were too lost in your thoughts to hear gojo's quick footsteps approaching the corner.

"hey! you get your letter yet?" excitement and anticipation lacing his tone.

before he could see, you shove the letter back inside your bag, blinking away the tears.

you couldn't tell him. this was embarrassing. you were ashamed, even when you knew that you did your best.

you finally turn to look at him, plastering your infamous fake smile onto your lips. "hm? oh. not yet, it might be in the mailbox when i get home." your voice came out steadier than how you felt.

"are we still going to open them with each other?" gojo asks. he moves to pull the chair out across from you. "because i got mine, but i can wait to open it until you get yours."

there's a beat of silence before you force yourself to speak. "what? no! don't wait for me, open it!"

gojo doesn't hesitate. a grin sliding onto his face, that easy confidence he always wore around you.

he tears the envelope open. that same exact one you received.

you focus on his hands holding the paper. watching for if they tighten around it, how they always do if he got good news. or if they'd tremble the same way yours did.

the silence is deafening while his eyes trace each line. taking each word in.

"holy-" he laughs under his breath, eyes widening as they flick back to the top of the page, making sure he wasn't hallucinating the words. "i got in!"

the words feel like they echo.

you swallow down the lump in your throat.

"that's- that's amazing!" you say quickly, too quickly. you hope he doesn't catch the way your words waver at the edges. "i knew you would!"

his eyes are still on the paper. that grin still plastered on his face. it makes your chest swell and clench at the same time.

you were happy for him, really you were. even when your letter shattered your heart and your hope. more thoughts consumed you in the silence.

would the two of you still be friends? would you two still talk? would he visit?

you clear your throat softly. "i'm gonna go to the bathroom then head to my next class." you watch as gojo's eyes finally lock onto you, there's a flicker in his eyes. he's reading you, like always.

"i'm so happy for you!" you add on quickly, hiding the way your hands began to tremble again with your backpack.

his mouth is already opening before you can walk away fast enough.

"do you want me to ride with you after school?" his grin faltering, just barely. "in-case you got your letter, you can open it with me?"

"gojo. i- " you debate telling him, his eyes are locked onto your face. waiting. "i think i just want to open mine with my mom."

he gives you a nod. "okay. will you let me know what it says, at least."

"yeah, of course." it was another lie and he probably knew it. "you'll be the first person i call."

you don't give him the chance to say anything else before your feet are carrying you towards the library doors.

each step feels heavier than the last. you didn't know how you were going to tell him. regardless, you knew he'd go anyways and you already got a college acceptance letter from the local one here.

the library doors push open with a soft creak, the noise sounds too loud in your ears. too final.

you can feel gojo's gaze on your back as you walk out and into the hall. you don't turn around. you can't break here.

the halls are packed with students, maneuvering their way to their next class. talks of college and the excitement in their whispers and shouts as they're telling their friends they got accepted into the college they wanted.

must be nice.

each one made your own hurt grow deeper and question yourself right over the edge.

you quickly make your way to your next class, drying the tears that slipped over the whispers on your sleeve. nobody you know, at least that well is in this class. it feels like a relief, it only lasts for second before your mind is going back to gojo.

the hurt that flickered across his blue eyes when you told him you'd just open the letter- the letter you already opened, with your mom. when you two promised to open them together. or the way his hand looked like it wanted to stop you from leaving.

you shouldn't have lied to him. he knew your smallest and darkest secrets and never failed to listen with no judgment and there was never pity in his eyes.

your heart clenches at the thought of him still in that library nook. alone and confused. if he was even still there, probably already heading to his next class. did he sense you were lying? is he going to be mad that you lied to him? disappointed in you for not getting in?

another tear is welling up before you can stop it. he'll be gone in no time, traveling to his new college and this is how you choose to spend the last few weeks with him. telling him lies that are bound to come out?

you shake your head quickly before refocusing your attention on your teacher who was going around the room with a pop quiz to end the school day off with. it wasn't what you were hoping for but maybe it would help take your mind off of everything.

a heavy hand lands on your shoulder and the quiz slides onto your desk. "try to focus, honey. it's the end of the year."

"yes, sir." your voice is a whisper. your teachers hand gives you a light squeeze before moving onto the next student.

you glance down at the quiz, eyes scanning the questions. it's questions you already know the answers to which makes it so much easier. you'll fly through this, no issue. then you can finally go home and sulk in peace.

a timer is set in the front of the room for 30 minutes.

"this is for a grade, don't panic about how you'll do." your teacher announces to the class, finger on the start button. "it's not a grade that will stop you from graduating. just wanna see how many of you have paid attention this year."

his chubby fingers smashes the start button in. "think of it as- if you fail, study harder because college is worse than me. good luck."

it probably wasn't a joke but it was enough to make you crack the slyest of smiles.

your pencil lands on the paper and immediately starts filling the little bubbles in. your mind was free of the college worries, your mind was too busy comprehending the questions to focus on the letter. or him.

the 30 minutes fly by. though, your paper was already done and flipped with 12 minutes to spare. you're confident you passed. confident enough not to trace back over your answers to double check anything.

you also couldn't find it in you to necessarily care either. it wouldn't stop you from graduating, your teacher said that himself and it's not like you were getting into your favorite college either.

- the day finished quickly after that. you were able to dart out of class, through the halls and squeezing through bodies to make it out to the bike rack. everything to avoid gojo.

or so you thought.

because there he was, right next to your bike and waiting with his. helmet in his hand, his fingers running over the ridges on the top, not noticing your presence yet.

"gojo" you call out. your voice carrying over the noise in lot. you didn't need to ask why he was here. he always put his bike right next to yours.

his attention snaps up. "hey! i know you said you were gonna open it with your mom but i figured i could still ride home with you."

you blink. mouth opening to try and find any words to talk him out of it-

"and if it's there then we can still open it together-"

"gojo, i didn't get in." it comes out before you can stop it. your tone snappier than you intended for it to be.

you're already taking your backpack off and quickly unzipping it before pulling out the letter. "i got it yesterday, i opened it in the library while i was waiting for you. i didn't get in, it's fine. so, drop it."

gojo takes the letter from your hand, scanning each line with his eyes. "i- i'm so sorry" gojo's voice is a whisper. "i can always apply for the college you do get into, you and i both know-"

"gojo." your voice slices through his words, you force your voice to be steady. your skin is already prickling with irritation. you should've known he'd say this. "it's fine, really. i'm sure i'll get into the local one here. college is college."

before he can say anything else, you're taking the letter back from his hand and placing it back into your bag. not caring if it's crumpled or not, you'd end up burning it anyways.

"you know we'll still be friends, right?" gojo's eyes are locked on you as you pull the wheel of your bike from the rack. "and i'll come visit and you can come visit me."

you sigh. plastering that fake smile onto your lips, trying your hardest to make it seem genuine. "i know, 'toru."

"i can apply to the local college here"

"i know."

"do you want me too?" gojo's voice is hesitant, careful.

there's a beat of silence. "are you pitying me right now?"

"what? no! i- i just know we both wanted to get into the same one, being.. friends and all."

there was a hesitant pull in his words. his gaze won't stay on you, eyes darting anywhere but your face - his bike tire, his helmet, other students walking by.

"yeah," you whisper. "it's unfortunate this is how our cards fell."

your heart is pounding in your chest, deepening the cracks with every pulse.

"we're still gonna talk." you force a smile. "it's okay. it's gonna be okay."

the afternoon sun is beating down on gojo and he's still not meeting your eyes.

and suddenly, you're noticing the things you never paid much attention to before..

like how the sun reflects onto gojo's hair like a halo, or how the sun glimmering in his eyes make them paler as they reflect the sky or how his skin almost glimmers like porcelain.

your breathe is catches in your throat before you can stop it. you blink, once, twice- like it might reset your brain. or your eyes.

you clear your throat softly, but it doesn't slow down the pounding in your chest. it's faster now as you notice the things about him that have always been there.. as you're losing him.

a faint cherry stain is covering your cheeks, something you hope he doesn't notice.

"i need to get home." you say softly. you pull your bike back, the tires scraping against the lot before swinging your leg over the seat and setting your helmet onto your head.

gojo's gaze finally snaps to you. "text me when you're home?"

the words land heavier than they should- hesitant in a way that makes it seem he wants to ask for more than just a mere text.

"of course, 'toru."

and with that, you're peddling off the lot. the tires sending sending a jostle through you with each crack and bump in the road, it grounds you, just barely as your mind still is still swimming with him. with the things you noticed that made your heart clench and swell.

- you didn't talk to gojo much after that interaction, besides sending him a quick text that you were home before showing your mom your rejection letter and crying into her arms. her hand was soft on your hair, stroking it like you were just her lap-sized child again.

her whispers brought you more calmness than anything. her voice drenched in the same warm tone she used to comfort you with when you scraped your knee or when you'd come home crying over mean children at school.

"how did gojo react? did you tell him?"

your heart squeezes painfully in your chest, the images of gojo's eyes filling your mind like venom wrapped in lace. "i snapped at him, told him i didn't get in." you whisper.

her hand pauses on your hair- her fingers resting on your scalp. then a sigh escapes her. "did you apologize?"

your mother knows better than anyone that you don't snap, you don't bite, you don't attack without reason. and you hate that she knows something is brewing. somewhere.

"why would i? i was. . .vulnerable, i don't know." you'd be lying to her and to yourself, if you said you didn't feel bad. "he gets it."

all you could see were his eyes. those electric blue eyes that fell dull, like a light turning off before he couldn't even meet your gaze. as if it were too painful to even look at you.

was it because you snapped? was it because he was disappointed in you for failing to get into the college you were both so excited about? was it something unspoken?

your hair pulls when you lift your head out of your moms lap, needing to go do something else. watch a movie, read a book. anything to take your mind off. . .everything before you break down into tears again.

you stand from the couch, slowly feeling your heart sink back into your stomach like a weight unseen. your knees ache from their bent positioning, you look back to take a glance at your mom- to thank her, to ask what was for dinner.

your eyes are begging more than you thought. pleading for the silence to be cut by her words. something filled with comfort, something warm, something that grounds you.

her eyes are locked onto your face when your eyes reach her. her eyes suddenly more serious, still filled with warmth but you know that look- the look she gives you before delivering the cold hard truth. the one you end up denying, fighting and fleeing from.

"the kind of relationship the two of you share," she starts, voice unwavering in its firmness. "you don't want to mess up, not now."

you blink. your heart pounds louder in your chest. what did she mean by that?

"the kind of relationship we have? we-we're friends." you stammer out. your fingers twitch unbidden, a heat crawling up your neck like a second skin. "what do you mean?"

a small grin pulls at her lips. "you two think y'all are still friends? just friends?"

her question makes your breath catch in your throat. had she seen things you never did? that you never caught? or things you ignored?

your mother stands from the couch, sparing you a glance before her legs are carrying her towards the kitchen. she pauses at the entryway before turning to look at you.

"friends. . .if that's what you two are content on calling each other, don't look at each other like that."

and with that, before you can even get another word out. she's gone and into the kitchen. the only sounds coming out were the hums your mother always hummed after making a point that she knew was right.

and you hated it.

you hated that it gave you a warm feeling in your chest.

you hated that everything came flooding in-

the moments you forgot; when you'd hand him something and his fingers would linger on yours, a silent plea to hold it longer or when you'd speak and he'd look at you with a glint in his eyes that cried out for more.

it slammed in like a tidal wave. all of it. everything you've overlooked. everything you've ignored.

and now, it was all too late.

graduation was right around the corner. days away.

gojo would be far away, probably little to no visits, making new friends, finding someone else, talks only through texts and phone calls, facetimes would probably grow less frequent with how busy your schedules would be.

you don't remember walking to your room, sitting at your desk or even moving your fingers until they grazed over gojo's contact name.

you wanted to text him again, call him, ask him to come over.

you stare at the last text you got from him. it was hours ago, he hadn't even replied. or read it.

you set your phone down before you can spiral further. you didn't understand all of these feelings flooding into your mind like waves.

the way your heart clenched at the thought of him being gone soon. your first true friend who you were terrified of losing. the warmness that filled your body when you remember the softness in his touch, the crow's feet that greeted his smile.

it was all too much.

- the days passed in a flurry- last minute school pictures, club photos, sporting events, and the final tests that would determine if you got to walk across the stage with that practiced bright smile and walk away with your diploma and into the doors of college.

you had seen gojo a handful of times, the feelings digging deeper into your soul each time you looked at him. you shoved each one away like it was a poison you couldn't ingest.

and it hurt each time.

you were currently walking through the hall, students passing you one by one, the excitement filled whispers that graduation was tomorrow met your ears. you were excited, actually excited. you found out you passed your final test with flying colors.

and on top of that, you received your acceptance letter from your local college. it wasn't the original plan but at least it was something. it would further your education, even if you weren't with your best friend.

"hey!" a voice called out from behind you, nearly swallowed from the crowd of students. "wait up!"

gojo.

you slow your steps, turning just enough to see that white blur of hair towering over the crowd.

you can already feel the heat creeping up your spine, your hand grips the strap of your backpack tighter. you quickly plaster a small grin on your face when the sound of his footsteps come faster, gathering beside you.

"gojo. hi, what's up?"

"hey," he sighs out, catching his breath from his short trot. "um- can i come over later? i just. . .want to talk to you."

your heart picks up speed. what could he want to talk to you about?

his voice was strained. like he was nervous, like he could back out if you hesitate too long on your answer.

"oh. uh, sure." you stammer out. "what about?"

"just.. something, i don't know. like a plan, a pact for the future."

his eyes are locked onto yours. even with the nerves shooting through his every vein. his nails are bitten when you look- a nervous tic he always did. you wouldn't question it further. not now.

"o-okay, yeah- we can walk to my place after school."

"good. i mean- yeah, good." there's a small smile on his lips. his eyes flicker once to your mouth before averting his gaze to a student walking by with his cap and gown.

"have you grabbed your cap and gown, yet?" you ask. spotting the same student and wanting to break the short silence before it could grow awkward.

"no, want to go there now together? then we can walk to your place?"

you make a triangle loop of your arm for him to slide his arm through. "let's go, we're gonna need them anyways."

the walk was short after gojo looped his arm through yours but the line was long. of course. every student, including gojo and you were professional procrastinators, why wouldn't you wait till last minute?

"oh!" gojo says. his looped arm tugging you just a little closer. close enough to feel his warm skin. "i leave for college. . .like next week."

you look up at him and blink. "next week? college doesn't start for another few months, right?"

you couldn't deny the way your heart clenched in your chest, his words pulled at your heart strings. he'd be leaving so soon?

"yeah. my parents want me out of the house a little sooner," gojo says. his tone is normal, like this doesn't bug him. "we're adults now and they want me to learn the place, got me an airbnb for a few months then i'll be in the dorm once college starts."

"next student!" the woman calls.

she already has two caps and gowns in her arms, just waiting for your name and student id.

"names?" she asks. eyes only on her clipboard.

you and gojo give your names and student id number before taking your assigned cap and gown from her arms and exchanging a quick thank you.

the two of you, still looped arm in arm walk away with your things. a new excitement and bubbling nerves coming up. you knew it was real. graduation. but it feels undeniable now when you look at the cap and gown in your arm.

"is that what you wanted to talk about? you leaving?" you ask gojo. weaving through the bodies of students.

gojo blinks, taking a quick glance down at you. "what?"

he laughs. forced, strained from the nerves.

"no, no. more serious than that, promise."

your stomach tightens at his words. you were an anxious person, impatient. a little nosey.

you catch yourself fidgeting with the sleeve of gojo's sweater- a frayed piece of fabric hanging on by a thread, finding yourself twisting it around your finger, dazed in your thoughts of what he could possibly be.

gojo catches it. the look in your eyes. your anxiousness.

he always does.

"fine," gojo says playfully. he takes ahold of your arm and drags you into an empty classroom. "i'll go ahead and tell you. c'mon."

the door closes gently behind the two of you. the smell of the room hits your nostrils- expo markers, paper, pencil sheddings hidden dumped in the mini can.

your heart is pounding in your chest when you turn to see gojo standing close enough- too close. a shred of paper couldn't even fit in between the two of you. you didn't even hear him moving.

"gojo," you breathe out. hoping and praying he can't hear how hard your heart is pounding in your chest. "what is it?"

he takes a step back. realizing how close he was actually standing to you.

he clears his throat softly. "we're both adults now. legally."

"yeah?"

"and. . .we're both-" the room feels tense. gojo stuttering over his words. "we haven't been with anyone."

there it is. kind of. not really.

"what do you mean? like. . .sleeping with people?" you ask. your nerves are in your throat, so thick. you're surprised it isn't choking you.

"y-yeah, that's it. i mean, we've never even kissed anyone."

oh. you did forget telling him that.

irritation starts bubbling deep in your chest, a mixture of the nerves clashing like blades.

"gojo, what's the point of this? can we- can you get to the point?" you didn't mean to snap. it just came out. much like the time when you snapped at him breaking the news.

gojo's eyes widen, barely. but noticeable.

he sighs. "we make a pact. deal, plan, i don't know. we're inexperienced."

gojo pauses, looking into your eyes with those electric blue ones that suddenly seem darker in the illuminated room.

"i'm going off to college, you're staying here. if by the time i come back for a visit, if we haven't slept with anyone. . .w-we do it, we sleep with- um, each other."

you blink. once. twice. your breathing has completely stopped. was it the shock? or is your body giving out?

the silence is deafening until a student a few classes over coughs. knocking you from your frozen state.

"w-what?" you ask. voice no larger than a mouses whiskers on the floor.

"if you don't want to then- then it's fine! it's just. . .we're so close, we know everything about each other, we trust each other. i-i think we could trust each other with that."

gojo's chest is falling and rising faster than your eyes can follow. you could probably see the wheels in his mind turning in a fire if you looked hard and deep enough.

your stomach is in knots.. but, he made a good point.

you would trust him with it. what would it do with your feelings though?

the things your mom had said. the things you had noticed and the complicated feelings you became overwhelmed with. would it ruin the friendship? would it build something?

"gojo-"

you're quickly cut off. "i'm sorry! i shouldn't have said anything-"

"gojo-"

and again. "it was a bad idea-"

"gojo!" you snap. "i- i'm not. . .against the idea."

you couldn't believe the words that came out of your mouth. but you meant them.

gojo's breath stutters. audibly. attached with a sigh, of relief?

"seriously?"

you blink. he's going to make you say it again?

"yeah. i'm serious. . .i mean, if you are." you whisper. sudden shyness creeping over you again.

your hand is suddenly the most interesting thing in the room- you pick at your nails, not being able to meet gojo's eyes. just knowing and feeling his eyes on you is enough to send a chill up your spine.

"want- want to shake on it?"

your hand extends before his does, a slight tremble that you barely notice until he larger and warmer hand grabs yours. steadying you. grounding you.

you let out a slight cough as your hands move up then back down. confirming. if the time comes. "and if we- if either of us want to back out, that's fine too."

"of course, of course. yeah, no- if you're uncomfortable, tell me."

that makes your heart ache. it goes both ways. "gojo, that means you too."

he still has your hand in his, thumb absentmindedly tracing over the scar on your knuckle. "i couldn't ever be uncomfortable with you."

- the deal was a secret. nobody knew of it. nobody ever would.

it had been months since that day in the empty classroom. coming up to the year mark. but it still felt fresh to you. you could still feel the touch of his soft hand in yours like he was still there, holding your hand. if you thought hard enough about it.

graduation came and went. parents throwing their kids parties, parents and family wiping their tears with tissues and cheering when their kid walked across the stage for their diploma.

gojo left, just as he said his plan was. his parents renting him an airbnb until college actually starts. learning the area, touring his new campus. exciting but nervewracking times. especially when you don't know anyone.

the goodbye was easier than you both expected. a shared tight hug and a few jokes. but not a single utter of the handshake just days prior.

the anticipation sat deep in your chest as each day passed. break was coming up. you knew he'd be coming for a visit. you two had talked about it over facetime. which was another positive, the two of you seemed to talk more now than you did when you were closer.

no questions were asked. nothing about sleeping with anyone. or parties. or even kissing. but there was something lingering in the wait. a shared glint in your eyes.

you hadn't met anyone. you hadn't shared anything intimate with a soul not because you didn't want to or because you were waiting on him. just nobody caught your eye. you were still that shy girl that had a library book land in her lap that time ago.

you'd be lying though if you sat here and said you didn't miss him. that you hadn't experimented with yourself to the thought of him. was it wrong?

you didn't think so. not when there was a literal agreement that you two shared.

you were at your parents place tonight to rummage their cabinets for food they hadn't touched in months for your own dorm. yeah, you lived in a dorm even still being in a local college. you wanted your own space.

and you adored your roommate, so nowhere to go wrong.

you were shoving cans of corn into your bag when your phone starts buzzing on the counter.

INCOMING CALL: SATORU GOJO

your hand hesitates on a can of corn. a burst of nerves ricochet throughout your body, eyes locked onto the glowing screen on the counter. it's still the same contact photo you gave him from the night you walked in the park and he got stuck in a baby swing.

your hand shoots out before the call can go to voicemail. dragging your finger across the answer button before the line crackles with background noise.

"hello?"

"hey!" gojo's voice comes through the line after a second. "i'm in town!"

your heart hammers in your chest. he wasn't supposed to come to town for another week or so. but you were happy regardless, you'd get to see your best friend again.

the boy you'd been thinking of daily for months. dreaming of running your hands through his hair. looking into his eyes again.

craving his touch. the touch that was never promised. the touch, if it came- the "maybe, one day" touch.

"are you there?" gojo asks, only hearing silence from the line.

you blink. gojo's voice snapping you clean from your thoughts.

"hu-yeah! i'm here, sorry." you say quickly. "how long are you here for?"

"just the weekend, i wanted to see you tonight. it's why i came sooner than the original plan."

"t-tonight?" your voice comes out shakier than expected, nerves bubbling up in your stomach.

at your dorm? you roommate would be there. she didn't leave for another few days.

"my roommate is still in town, we couldn't go there" you continue. "why tonight?"

there's a beat of silence. a shakey intake of breath from gojo before he's covering it with a cough.

"it- uh, do you remember our. . .handshake? the pact?

you answer before you can talk yourself out of it. "yes."

"i wanted to. .talk about it."

would it really be just talking? would this be the 'in' for the step you've been wanting?

you blink. "okay. my parents are out of town," you murmur into the phone. "you could come here, i still have my room here."

"i'll be there in an hour!" gojo's voice is excited. not a hint of nerves in his voice.

he's so oblivious to the lump in your throat. the pounding in your chest.

"okay, i'll see you soon, 'toru."

there were no 'byes'. there never were. what was the point in them? if someone knew the call was ending, why waste your breath?

you place your phone down on the counter before glancing down at yourself.

"at least i look okay." you whisper to yourself.

your dress, the black fabric that barely reached your mid thigh and hugged each curve like a hug. it was perfect. the first flimsy thing you threw on this morning to get out the door and your make-up covered your face in light shimmers. not too much and not too little.

but he did say just talking, right?- but that's always where it begins.

you didn't know what to do with your hands while you waited. you kept smoothing the hem of your dress, then tugging it down again like it might suddenly decide to behave. the house was too quiet—only the hum of the fridge and the faint tick of the clock in the hallway. every minute felt like ten.

when the doorbell finally rang, your stomach flipped so hard you almost dropped the glass of water you'd been pretending to drink.

you opened the door and there he was—satoru gojo, looking unfairly good under the porch light. his hair was a little longer now, curling at the ends, and the hoodie he wore hung loose on his frame but still showed the lean lines of his shoulders. those stupid blue eyes found yours immediately and softened.

"hey," he said, voice low and warm, like he'd been holding his breath the whole drive over.

you barely got out a "hi" before he stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. his arms wrapped around you tight, chin resting on top of your head, and for a second everything felt normal. safe. like nothing had changed.

except everything had.

"missed you so much," he mumbled into your hair.

you hugged him back harder than you meant to. "missed you too, 'toru."

he pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing your cheek like he couldn't help it. "you look. . .wow. that dress."

heat crawled up your neck. "it's just something i threw on."

"liar." his grin was crooked, boyish. "you knew i was coming."

you rolled your eyes but let him inside anyway. shoes off by the door like always. he followed you to the living room, dropping onto the couch with that easy sprawl of his, long legs stretched out. you sat beside him- close, but not touching. not yet.

the silence wasn't awkward. it was thick. expectant.

he rubbed the back of his neck. "so. . .about the pact."

your heart slammed against your ribs. "yeah."

he turned to face you fully, knee brushing yours. "i haven't been with anyone. not even close. college is... a lot. parties every weekend, girls everywhere, but i just- " he shrugged, looking almost sheepish. "couldn't. kept thinking about our deal. about you."

your breath caught. stupid, hopeful thing your heart did at that.

but then he kept going.

"there's this girl, though. utahime. she's in my lit seminar. super smart, kinda bossy in the cutest way. we've been talking a lot. hanging out. she. . .i think she wants to sleep together. soon."

the air left your lungs in a slow, painful leak.

"oh," you managed. your voice sounded far away. hoping it didn't reveal too much.

"yeah." he laughed once, short and nervous. "but i don't wanna be that guy who has no idea what he's doing. i want it to be good. for her. she's amazing and. . .you're the only person i trust enough to- you know. practice with. if you're still okay with it."

practice.

the word tasted like ash in your mouth.

he didn't know. he had no idea that every time you thought about him your chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with friendship anymore. he didn't know you'd touched yourself to the memory of his hands on your waist during movie nights, imagining them lower.

he didn't know this was going to ruin you.

but you smiled anyway. small. practiced.

"yeah," you said softly. "i'm still okay with it."

his eyes lit up. "seriously?"

you nodded. "if it'll help."

he exhaled like he'd been holding the breath for months. then he leaned in- slow, giving you time to pull away- and kissed you.

the talking was done for. already.

it started gentle. tentative. just lips brushing, testing. his hand found your cheek, thumb stroking soft, you melted into it. when you kissed back he made a quiet sound in his throat, almost a whine before the kiss turned deeper. hungrier.

his tongue slid against yours, heat pooling straight between your legs. you grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer causing him to groan softly into your mouth.

"do- do you want to go to the bedroom?" he rasped when you broke apart, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard.

"yeah."

you stood on shaky legs and led him upstairs. your heart was slowly, piece by piece falling apart with each step you took.

your childhood bedroom still smelled faintly of lavender from the candle you used to burn when you couldn't sleep. he closed the door behind you with a soft click.

then his hands were everywhere.

he kissed you again- harder this time, backing you toward the bed until your knees hit the mattress. you fell back together, him hovering over you, weight on his forearms so he didn't crush you. his mouth moved to your neck, sucking lightly, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

"fuck," he breathed against your skin. "you smell so good."

your fingers slid under his hoodie, pushing it up. he helped yank it off, then his shirt, tossing both somewhere behind him. pale skin stretched over lean muscle. you ran your hands down his chest, feeling him shiver.

"your turn," he murmured, fingers catching the hem of your dress.

you lifted your arms and he peeled it off slow, like he was unwrapping something precious. when it hit the floor he just... stared. eyes dark, pupils blown.

"goddamn," he whispered. "you're so fucking pretty."

you were so lost in your thoughts. he never used to talk like this. college had changed him. in small ways, but noticeable enough to hurt.

and the worst of it. you were practice. practice for another girl.

he reached behind you, tearing you from your thoughts. fumbling a little with the clasp of your bra before it came undone. he slid the straps down your shoulders, eyes locked on your chest like he'd never seen anything better.

then his mouth was there- hot and wet. closing over one nipple, tongue flicking, sucking gently while his hand cupped the other, thumb rolling slow circles.

you arched, whimpering his name. " 'toru- "

he hummed, the vibration shooting straight to your core. he switched sides, giving the other nipple the same attention, teeth grazing just enough to sting sweetly.

your hands were in his hair, tugging lightly. he groaned against you, hips rocking forward once, pressing the hard length of him against your thigh.

"need these off," he muttered, hooking his fingers in your panties.

you lifted your hips and he slid them down your legs, tossing them aside. then he settled between your thighs, broad shoulders spreading you open.

he looked up at you, eyes asking without words.

you nodded, breath hitching.

his first lick was slow- testing. his flat tongue dragging up your slit, tasting you. you moaned, loud and unfiltered. he did it again before focusing on your clit, circling with the tip of his tongue before sucking gently.

"oh fuck- " your hips bucked. he pressed a forearm across your stomach, holding you down while he ate you out like he was starving.

two fingers slid inside you- long, curling just right causing you to cry out, back arching off the bed. he pumped them slow at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of his tongue on your clit.

"you taste so fucking good," he groaned against you. "could do this all night."

you were shaking, thighs trembling around his head. " 'toru- i-i'm-"

"come for me," he murmured, sucking harder, fingers curling deeper. "wanna feel it."

you shattered. hard. vision whiting out, a broken moan tearing from your throat as you clenched around his fingers, pulsing on his tongue. he worked you through it, licking slower, softer, until you were whimpering from overstimulation.

he kissed up your body- stomach, ribs, between your breasts. until he reached your mouth again. you could taste yourself on him. your release slipping from the tip of his tongue.

"your turn," you whispered, pushing at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back.

you straddled his thighs, tugging his jeans and boxers down together. he kicked them off, cock springing free- thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip.

you wrapped your hand around him, stroking slow. he hissed, hips jerking up into your grip.

"fuck- baby- "

the pet name slipped out like he didn't mean to say it. it made your heart clench even as you leaned down. he'd never know how painful this would be for you.

you licked the tip first, tasting salt and him, before taking him into your mouth. slow. shallow at first, then deeper, tongue swirling around the head every time you pulled back.

his hand fisted in your hair- not pushing, just holding. "shit- your mouth- so fucking warm- "

you hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder, hand working the base in time with your mouth. he groaned your name like a prayer, hips twitching, trying not to thrust too deep.

"wait- wait- " he panted, tugging you off gently. "wanna come inside you. if that's okay."

you nodded, breathless. "yeah."

he grabbed a condom from his wallet- he came prepared. and rolled it on with shaking hands. then he pulled you back over him, hands on your hips.

"you sure?" he asked one last time, voice rough.

"yes."

you sank down slow.

the stretch burned sweetly- he was bigger than your fingers, bigger than your toys. you both groaned when you bottomed out, your hands braced on his chest.

"fuck," he breathed, eyes squeezed shut for a second. "you feel- so tight-"

you started moving- small rolls of your hips at first. testing. he groaned again, hands gripping your ass, helping guide you.

then he thrust up- sharp, deep- ripping a gasp from your throat.

"like that?" he rasped.

"yesyes! harder-"

he flipped you suddenly, pinning you beneath him, one of your legs hooked over his hip. the new angle let him go deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

"fuck-right there" you whimpered, nails digging into his back.

he fucked you harder, steady, relentless. skin slapping, bed creaking, both of you breathing ragged.

his hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles.

"come with me," he panted against your neck. "wanna feel you-"

you were already close. the pressure built fast, overwhelming.

" 'toru- i'm- "

you came with a sob, clenching hard around him. he groaned loud, thrusts stuttering, then buried himself deep and followed- shuddering, spilling into the condom with a broken moan of your name.

he collapsed on top of you, both of you sweaty and panting. his face tucked into your neck, lips brushing your skin in soft, lazy kisses.

for a minute, it was perfect. quiet. his heartbeat against yours.

then he spoke.

"that was. . .incredible." he lifted his head, smiling soft. "thank you. seriously. utahime's gonna- fuck, i think i'm actually ready now."

your chest caved in.

you forced a smile, small and brittle. "glad i could help."

he kissed your forehead- sweet, affectionate, like it didn't mean anything more than that.

"you're the best," he murmured, rolling off to dispose of the condom.

you stared at the ceiling while he cleaned up in the bathroom, the ache in your chest spreading like ink in water.

he didn't know. he didn't know you look at him like you can see the world in his eyes.

he never would.

and after the weekend he'd go back to her.

while you stayed here, holding the pieces of whatever this was, pretending it didn't hurt.

the bathroom door cracked open, revealing gojo again. now covered with a towel. looking more put together.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, too small for this moment.

you still haven’t moved from where he left you. used. broken.

you force that small smile. it’s perfect. “yeah, i’m okay.”

he doesn’t look convinced but he blinks, quickly wiping away any thoughts that linger behind his eyes.

he cracks a smile. “good, i didn’t want to hurt you”

too little too late for that. were you to blame? should you have mentioned something before he left a year ago?

“you could never, remember?” your eyes are locked on the ceiling. your heart is in pieces lingering on the mattress.

“friends still?” his eyes, unseen by you are latched onto your frame.

“always.” it was a lie. it always was.

Every night as you fail all cutely at playing with your pussy, Satoru is jerking it in tandem with you, watching you toss off those blankets in frustration, giving him a better view of your cunt on the cams. He smirks at how frustrated you get, how badly you fail, knowing you’ll need him more and more, every time he visits Fluffy and your sleeping form, he can’t help but spritz just a bit of his cologne in the air.

It’s cruel not seeing you fully naked yet, he’s seen bits and pieces on camera but fuck imagine you in reality, not just a tug at your top to show a pretty areola just beggin’ for his mouth, your pretty cunt and just a hint of the curve of your ass. What does all of you look like, not just the pieces?

Imagine taking his fucking time with you, not hastily fucking you on a desk rather than worshipping your pretty body, or devouring your pussy in a bathroom, when he wants so much more from you. He wants everything, every part of you to himself, worship you for fucking hours on end until you’re crying, sniffling your tears and begging him to put it in.

Take his goddamn time, have you at his place, not a car, a desk, a bathroom. You just deserve more, if you’d let him give it.

Even now his gaze traces to your tummy – wishing it was full of him, you’re such a stubborn brat. He knows you fucking want kids, why do you have to make him work so damn hard to give you what you need? But then… fuck, he loves that about you, he loves everything about you, including the independent ass streak you have, and the way you fight this.

You already were falling apart for him, you look at him and think he doesn’t see, shift in that seat with your thighs pressed together, so easy for him to read even as you struggle to hide it. Holding a perfectly normal class conversation while biting your lip, brushing your hair back in clear frustration.

Oh he’d fix it all if you just admitted it.

The class files out, and Satoru lingers – but this time he’s closer than usual, a breath away from you, hands barring you against the desk from behind. He brushes your hair off one shoulder, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, hearing the sharp suck in of your breath, feeling the curve of your ass pressed against his thighs, trembling in his hold as you pause there.

“You good, teach?”

“Am I good,” you laugh without humor shaking your head and turning then, pushing him out of your way, snatching up papers. “I’m great, how are you? You’re doing great as an assistant.”

“Aw, praise makes me leak pre sweetheart,” you blush furiously, glaring at his grinning face.

“You’re so ridiculous.”

“It does, though, especially from pretty teachers.”

“And are there other teachers you-” He grins wider and you curse, looking down at your hands, clutching pens and tossing them into a cupholder in your haste. “I didn’t say that.”

“Why be nervous about being jealous,” your eyes narrow. “It's hot.”

“Psh,” you are, you get jealous every time a girl comes to him, they all fucking flock and you’re a petty, immature woman for thinking anything like that. You’re a grown ass woman. “I am just curious if it’s a teacher fetish, not jealous.”

“When you lie you blush all over,” his fingertips brush your collar bone, you slap at his hand. “Even here. Wonder if your pretty tits blush?”

“They don’t, I’m hot in here…” He snorts, eyes darting down to your chest, suddenly too hit. “Are you going to that auction tonight?”

“Of course, my dad would lose his shit if I didn’t,” he leans back on your desk, crossing his ankles, hands in his pockets as he studies you. “Are you going?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He raises his brows. “What, so surprised?”

“Hmm, figured you’d be curled up with your cat on your couch, reading some Poe or something.”

You blink a bit then. “How’d you know I have a cat?”

“You seem like you do,” he taps your nose, watching it scrunch and smirking down at you. “Why so tense, ya mad I haven’t fucked you again?”

“No!? I’m not tense!” He snorts in laughter, you hastily start gathering your things into your arms, trying to ignore the desire clenching your stomach, the way you want him to take you, when he picks them up and sets them back down. “What are you doing?”

“Wanna go as my date?”

“You know I couldn’t,” your heart hammers in your chest until you’re dizzy, swallowing nervously when he tilts your chin up again, making you meet his eyes. “You like to tease me.”

“Oh I’d take you, sooner you end this career, the sooner you can have all my babies,” he’s chuckling like he’s talking about the goddamn sports show, fingers trailing down the side of your neck. “You just wanna prolong the inevitable.”

You swallow nervously, emotions filling your eyes suddenly, making them just a bit glassy. “You’ll outgrow me.”

Satoru glares now, hand pausing at your shoulder, before slipping down your arm, gripping it tightly. “Why do you say shit like that? It makes me wanna beat your bratty ass with one of your rulers.”

“Psycho,” you mumble, wishing you didn’t love it all so much. “Because you will. I figured you’d have a date anyway,” you try to act casual, he’s too fucking close, so much so you can’t breathe when he’s in this proximity to you. “So what’s it really matter if I go?”

“There’s only one person I want on my arm, one who won’t do it,” you shake your head, a hand now on your waist as he stands so damn tall, rising from where he’d leaned against the desk, making your breath catch. “And she’s currently being a brat about it.”

“Please Gojo, don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, but your protest is weak, your resolve crumbling under the onslaught of his breath against your lips, the way his eyes darken as they stare into yours. “I’m at work right now.”

“Yeah I know, my pretty professor,” he murmurs, stepping even closer, hands shaking when they cup your face. You swallow nervously, he hasn’t touched you all week, almost allowing you to be delusional enough to forget for just a bit of what his touch does. “She works so hard, and why, hmm?

“Because I… we…” Your eyes drop to his lips, feeling shivers run down your spine as his thumbs stroke your cheekbones in little circles. “We can’t do anything like that again.”

“And we haven’t,” he leans down, soft breaths back on your ear, you barely bite back a wanton little moan. “How have you been doing, without my fingers? My mouth? My cock?”

Fuck.

You back off then, bumping into the whiteboard, hands clenched into fists at your sides as you study him, this psychotic glint and a grin like you’ve challenged his insane ass somehow. Tall, broad shouldered, slutty waist, insane student… god, what did his body look like? How badly you want to see it, to feel him-

No, stop that!

“I’ve been good, I’ve kept my distance,” he breathes out those words, closing in on you, your head falls back as his hands slip up underneath the thin material of your little blouse, leaving a network of goosebumps all over your skin. “But I’ve thought about this mouth every single second, thought of biting that lip so you stop gnawing on it, drinking those soft moans you think I can’t hear.”

He runs a thumb over that lip, over the soft little teeth indentations, his breaths coming faster. “W-we can’t do it again, no matter if I liked it or not.”

“If you don’t want to, I won’t,” he tilts his head now as he puts a hand on the other side of your head on that board, using his size to corner you in that maddening way he always does, until you can’t escape the truth. “Tell me not to, that you don’t want me. Then I’ll leave.”

You wish you could, but when Satoru Gojo wants your kisses, you want to give them to him, want to be looked at the way he is right now, like you’re all there is in the world. Heady, dizzying, addictive, licking that lip and tasting just the hint of his skin that had been on your mouth, breaths making your chest rise and fall.

“Say it – ‘Satoru, I don’t want it’.”

You can’t say that, you instead just tilt your head back just a bit, biting that lip until he tugs it right out of your grip – and that’s when his lips crash down on yours, hungry and desperate, his lips taking you over. Your sigh drank by his mouth hungry and greedy, taking you over in the way that only Satoru Gojo can.

He loses himself in it, fueled by a week of forced restraint when all he’s wanted to be was buried inside you. He was going to tease you a bit, but everything takes over, when he feels your lips on his, your body pressed against him, the way you gasp, every bit of holding back and ‘teasing’ or making you come to him is over – all he can think of is how to get you closer.

Every flick of his tongue against yours, lips pressing and moving, hands trying to touch any part of you he could before you thought better, before your little morals got in the way. He loves that about you too – you’re so sweet and try so hard to be a ‘good person’ when you should just focus on him. <3

You wish you could say you held it together, that you pulled back away from the long pink tongue that’s claiming your mouth like he owns it, and maybe he does, if you admit it to yourself. Maybe you love the push and pull, the tension, the games you know he’s playing – maybe your tongue meets his stroke for stroke, and your hands tremble at your sides, aching to card through his silky hair.

Kissing Satoru was like a drug, like a shot of pure ecstacy in your veins when his mouth ruins you. One of his hands slides down your back, pressing you flush against him, letting you feel the hard, thick length straining against his pants, pressing right against your tummy, earning your soft little whine that just makes him lose it further.

Satoru groans in your mouth, hands bruising on your hips, lifting you up like it’s nothing, having your thighs press around his hips as he holds you against that board, cock even harder against you, throbbing near your heat. You barely catch a breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into broad shoulders as he holds you, moaning your name when he pulls back.

“You’re insane,” you whisper softly against his lips, glossy from your kisses. He smiles just a bit, nuzzling your noses like he’s a cute angel and not a sexual deviant. “Put me down.”

“Give me a minute, fuck haven’t I left you alone long enough?” Your mouth is captured again by his, this time you give up any pretenses, kissing him back desperately, hand finally sinking into the soft white strands, tugging and making him twitch against that heat. “Mmph, Professor has claws.”

“Shh,” you whisper, letting yourself lose it in that moment, grinding and earning his whimper, the one that makes you want to suck him dry. “Crazy…”

“Beautiful,” you shake your head and he glares. “You are, I’m so tired of you being this way, should I tell you when I fuck you dumb how pretty you are? Replace it like some good conditioning?”

“Gojo,” you giggle despite yourself, before blinking and hearing people walk by, remembering where you are. Quieting a bit, hands pressing into the fabric of his shoulders, pressing another kiss to his lips. “You’ll condition me, huh? Like some experiment?”

“If it fixes that self esteem, too pretty to be that way,” you hate how deep your feelings run, the feeling of never wanting to not be with him. “Smack you every time you say some shit, maybe I’ll teach you.”

Yes, he’s insane.

Yes, he’s your student.

Yet he makes you feel so damn special, getting so lost in him, where nothing else seemingly matters, but how good it feels, the high of him. You’re tired of fighting it, even as you ask him to let you down, tensing just a bit.

He laughs softly, easing you down. “Nervous we’ll get caught?”

“Very,” you whisper, sighing when your pussy just throbs around nothing. “It may be fun to you, but I have to think of my career.”

“I’ll compromise,” his teeth nip your ear, hand on the small of your back tugging you close against his chest. “I’ll let you do some online teaching, as long as you’re at my house.”

“So generous,” you laugh softly, as if he’s kidding, but then it turns into a soft whine once those teeth nip your earlobe.

“I can’t wait to see what you wear tonight,” his words are hot against your neck, where his plush lips press. “I can’t wait to see how pretty it’ll look on my floor.”

“On your…” You swallow nervously, eyes fluttering shut when his lips trace the column of your neck, hot, messy kisses that drag all across your skin. 

“Mmm, will you wear my lipstick?” He asks softly, pulling back and leaving you feeling cold suddenly without him, he brushes your hair behind your ear, tilting his head to study you.

“Maybe,” your words are soft, a little breathless, Satoru kisses you once more, snowy lashes fluttering shut as he savors your every little taste.

“Admit it, you wanted me all week.”

“N-no,” he snorts at that, shaking his head and stepping back, you are barely able to gain your bearings when he walks toward the door, turning and looking you up and down, as if he can tell your cunt is wet, that your nipples are hard.

“Guess I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.”

******

“Oh Gojo, you know about…” Satoru is sure these girls are talking but he’s so fucking bored he can’t listen, just humming along a bit, sipping the champagne that’s offered and looking over the rim of the glass, scanning the crowd.

That’s when he sees you.

You’re so fucking beautiful for a moment he can’t speak.

The shit they write in books, the things he always thought were nonsense, it all starts to make sense when you walk into the crowded auction, alone and clutching your dress tightly, he can see the tense set of your shoulders, the whitening of your knuckles as you try to hold your composure, clearly you feel out of place.

You are out of place in the best way possible – these pretentious, arrogant old rich fucks are the literal opposit of everything Satoru Gojo ever hopes to be. Then there is you, genuine, sweet and caring, you’re not born with that silver spoon in your mouth. Your eyes stop on his and he can feel your own gaze drifting as his slips to your pretty breasts, hints of them displayed in that gown.

He’s the only one who should see them, only one who should see any of you. If he could lock you the fuck away he gladly would, keep you so busy having his babies you’d never get silly thoughts of independence again. The way you walk toward him, while he’s ignoring the fresh set of annoying heiresses around him has his heart racing.

Only you can do that.

You eye them then, pausing and looking down, and he instantly sees it, the nagging insecurities you have no fucking business having. If only you could see how he saw you – how beautiful and perfect you are to him, he’d spend all of tonight kissing every part of your body until you did. The thoughts have his cock twitching behind his slacks, hand tightening on the glass.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he gives the girls a friendly smile that they giggle at, walking right over to you, fuck he can damn near inhale your scent when he’s still feet away, spot you in a room without his eyes open.

Vanilla, something sweet, like a cupcake he wants to devour, he does have a sweettooth, after all.

“Satoru,” you look at him now, you’ve been calling him that lately, you haven’t been saying ‘Gojo’. Fuck he loves hearing it from your pretty lips. “You look um… you look so handsome and… fuck me…”

You cover your face and he takes your hand in his, sliding it off, you’re a flustered little mess of a girl trying to act all stern and put together. He smiles at your little act, pressing his lips to the back of your knuckles. “You think I look handsome?”

“You always do,” he should smirk, gloat, anything but the genuine look he’s giving you that has you melting, feeling his soft lips on your knuckle again.

It’s like he’s read every book you’ve ever had, the little moment of long ago when a man did things like that, him in his tux tonight, his glasses even match the color of his tie, those blue eyes so bright behind them you get lost. You almost act as if this is some normal date, a normal thing to happen, and not what it was.

Your student who was inside you.

“You look beautiful,” you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, his hand reluctantly lets yours go. “Gonna argue about it? Should I take you to the bathroom tonight too, remember last time?”

“Diabolical,” your mumble has him laughing then, and you can’t stop your damn lips from twitching. “Thank you.”

“She took a compliment, hmm,” you roll your eyes.

He does make you feel so beautiful, and you’re sad for the day it inevitably has to end, more than you’ll admit.

“Good girl.”

“Don’t say that,” you almost hiss, pushing at him as he just laughs, before his mother comes up, and you pull your hand back. “Mrs. Gojo.”

“Ah, the girl everyone talks about,” she tosses her silvery locks and smiles meanly at you. You’re used to his dad, but she’s even worse. “Gojo, what are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be mingling with the candidates?”

“Candidates?” You blink curiously, feeling Satoru tense next to you.

“I don’t want to lose any more braincells talking to them, if I hear one more-”

“Gojo,” she says it more firmly now, clearing her throat as his fists clench. “You hear me, go mingle, they’re lovely ladies, and all of high standing.”

Your heart hurts more for him then, as you see the clear reluctance in his stature, the pressure must be insurmountable. “Yeah I think you’re wasting their time, and mine.”

“No indeed, I’ll find more if they’re not to your liking,” she looks at you again, smiling. “You should go mingle with the fellow professors, I’ll guide you.”

You look at Satoru now, seeing the clear anger that almost frightens you, it’s as if he’s just one step away from losing it.

The tiny part of you that keeps thinking this could be something is screaming at you, when he is forced to talk to women, and when you’re forced to talk to colleagues. A guy that’s cute hits on you and asks you to dance, you can’t stand it, another hand on your back, being in anyone else’s arms.

You can’t stand seeing Satoru like that either, all the ‘girl’s girl’ in you has turned into a petty, jealous bitch, and you hate it. You hate that you just want him to hold you, to dance with you, it’s all you can think, being back in his arms, as his parents are speaking to you and the auction is starting, you can hardly focus.

What’s wrong with you?

“Well when will you start your new position?” Satoru’s dad asks, while Satoru comes up to stand next to you, handing you a champagne flute. You take it eagerly, and both parents scowl when he places his hand on the small of your back.

Part of you wants to tell him - don’t. The other?

You feel a thrill rush down your spine, stepping a little closer, looking up at him, something unspoken between you both. “I’m having a lovely time, are you Satoru?”

“I am, Professor,” his hand curves possessively around your waist, smirking up at his parents now. “Such a lovely time.”

“And now,” the auctioneer announces, “A private collection here, this one is a first-edition of the Complete Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe from 1867.”

“Poe? How pedantic,” Satoru’s mom says, tittering behind her hand. Your jaw sets now, teeth clicking together. “Oh sorry, do you enjoy Poe, professor?”

“My favorite,” you murmur, his parents and everyone around them laugh just a little bit. “What’s wrong with Poe?”

“Nothing, it’s fine for more… simple people.”

“Simple?” Satoru cuts in now, you practically feel how tense he is. “She’s as far from fucking simple as it gets. She knows more than anyone in this fucking room when it comes to poetry and writing.”

“You are a very big fan of hers,” Satoru’s dad mentions, stepping closer. “Go ahead and bid for it, professor. It’s one you could probably afford with the extra I sent, everything else will be too expensive for… you.”

The insult was so casual, you already felt so fucking weird here in a room full of rich people when you’re just a normal, middle class person. You felt the heat rush to your face, a humiliating blush that you couldn’t control, hand clutching your glass. You open your mouth, then close it, anything you said would only make it worse, and you need your job.

Satoru’s hand vanishes from your back, you suddenly feel the absence of his touch, looking at his parents now, realizing just a bit of what Satoru must have gone through being raised like this.

“It’s cute that Gojo loves you so much,” his mom says, leaning close now. “However I wonder if you two are too close?”

“He is my favorite student,” you smile now, something overtaking you. “You should be so proud of him, you know?”

“We are indeed. Do you need another advance to make an offer? I’m sure your income is-”

“Five thousand.”

“Five thousand starting off, do we have six?”

“Ten thousand.” That’s Satoru, you gasp, running up to him then, gripping your dress in your palms.

“Satoru you can’t! That’s too much!” He smiles down at you then, breaking your fucking heart.

If only it was just sexual.

If only it was just infatuation.

Not what this is, in that moment where he’s bidding ridiculous amounts of money for your favorite book, right in front of everyone. Your heart hammers in your chest so violently you think it will burst, struggling through your tears, burning your eyes and swimming in your vision. The inevitable truth that you’re falling for the most off limits man there is – the one who you thought was insane.

Well, he is insane, but you see it then, all that shit he says? He means it.

“Please don’t spend all that,” you whisper now, touching his shoulder. “I’ll feel so bad if you do. We can ebay it for way less.”

“Charity auctions are for paying stupid rates, yeah? It’ll go to something good,” he whispers, tilting your chin up, uncaring who saw you both. “Let me do something for you, it’s Poe.”

“It is Poe,” you whisper, lips trembling, stepping closer. “Don’t go higher.”

“Fifteen thousand.”

“Satoru!”

“You called me Satoru, I love that,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “Will you read these poems to me while I drink your pretty cunt? Brush my hair back?”

“You’re so insane,” you whisper, core heating up.

This is crazy and dangerous but…

You nod.

Satoru grins, pushing up his glasses. “Just as a um… thank you.”

“I’ll spend anything for that sweetheart,” the bidding war was short, Satoru didn’t flinch at any number, just raising the price until the other bidder concedes.

“Sold! To the young mister Gojo.”

A smattering of polite applause goes around. Satoru goes to pick up the books, when his mother corners you. “You think I can’t tell what’s happening? You act as if you’ll have any chance at the Gojo name.”

“I don’t want that,” you whisper, seeing Satoru picking up the ridiculously expensive books now. “You don’t know me, and you don’t know him. I have no intentions of hurting-”

“I am talking about the Gojo name, not him,” you scoff now, glaring at the woman in front of you. “You’re a commoner. He has women lined up of high class.”

“Yeah guess what, I’m not trying to marry or be with anyone, first off, I’m just his teacher.”

“Are you?”

“Second off,” you continue. “Gojo is a grown man and should make his own decisions of who he will marry.”

“You’re an insolent girl, you’re lucky everyone loves you so much,” you smile meanly.

“They sure do. Everyone.” Satoru snatches your hand up now, handing you the beautiful collection, your heart hammers when you take the old books in your hands, inhaling them. “They smell so good.”

You’re so pretty like this, hugging the books to your chest and smiling, eyes fluttering shut.

It’s as if you’re the only woman in the room.

Then again, of course you are. it's always been only you.

“Need a ride?” He asks softly, his mother has stomped off, going to gather some of the girls he’s supposed to ‘dance with’ tonight. “I want to avoid them.”

“Then let’s go,” you whisper, he raises his brows in surprise. “You’re still a psycho and this is a fucking mess, but I…”

“You what?” He asks softly, stepping close and leaning down, brushing your hair back gently.

“I don’t want those girls on you,” you glare, and he grins. “Don’t look so pleased, insane ass boy.”

“I like you jealous, fuck it’s hot.”

“Just… let’s go,” you mumble, acting as if every fiber of your being doesn't already feel too much. You're constantly terrified Satoru will move on, though you don't even know how to begin to describe it.

Having him and losing him could break you.

Satoru's hand grips yours tightly, his own large one swallowing yours, guiding you until you're in the back of his limo. You – a simple girl. A teacher in the back of this extravagant limo, next to Satoru in a tux, you in this beautiful dress. You almost feel like an imposter in this luxury, but Satoru's arm around you makes everything feel so real.

It's mere moments before you're shamelessly straddling your student's lap – well, he’s your T.A. now too, just to add to your academic dishonesty – his glasses smacking against yours with the eagerness of your kisses. Him so sure, you so nervous, but he lets you rock your hips, lets that heat grind on him, moaning softly and urging you with hands firmly on your hips.

“Mmm, you didn’t have to do that,” you finally whisper, your voice barely audible as the rain starts pelting the limo.

Why is it always rain with you two?

“Yes,” Satoru leans back, hands trailing up the nip of your waist, insistent cock nudging between your thighs. “I did. Look how happy it made you, hmm?”

You giggle then at his little smirk, shaking your head. “Tonight let's just…”

“Put babies in you?”

“No!?” He snorts again as you lean forward, cupping his face in your hands. “You're batshit.”

“I know," Satoru’s lips brush against your nose, almost adorably like he's not actively trying to baby trap you. “Tonight what?”

“I want to forget what we are in the real world for just a bit,” you brush back his hair, fluffy underneath your fingers.

“What we'll be in the real world is married with six kids.”

“Six? I swear to-” he's dragging you back in for a kiss. “I almost believe you're this insane.”

“Oh, I am baby,” he glides you to rock on his cock over his slacks, eyes flickering up to yours. “Have you ever been full of cum?”

You heat up, blushing and shaking your head. “I've never… no one has came inside.”

Oh fuck.

His cock leaks at the thought of that – filling his pretty professor up, being the only one to do so.

“Then I’ll be the first,” he whispers, dragging you down and letting you rock your hips, no pattern or rhythm, just moving and gliding your heated cunt as Satoru’s lips trail across your tits, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses. “I’ll fill you up so much, just like you need.”

“I’m s-still gonna take the pill,” he chuckles at that, looking up under his snowy lashes at you, lip quirking up. “Two.”

“Sure you will sweetheart,” he leans up and kisses you again, breathing your scent in and sighing. “Your place or mine?”

“I’ll feel so nervous in your big ass mansion,” you admit shyly, he cups your face, nodding just a bit like he understands. “This is insane, isn’t it?”

“You’re asking me what’s normal?” You laugh again.

It’s too fucking easy.

He’s so beautifully open in his psychotic ass nature, somehow he’s adorable as much as he is terrifying, this goofy boyish grin as his thumb and forefinger pluck your nipple. Your head falls back, eyes fluttering in pleasure, feeling the slick mess you’re making him through your panties.

“Your place, then.”

You know he’s seen the outside of your quaint little home, but having him in here was different, he’s just so damn… big, how he takes it over, bending just a bit when he encounters your ceiling fan. You giggle at that, as he loosens his tie, stepping close to you.

“Your house isn’t made for me,” he says, pulling you close. “You need to live in a mansion, sweetheart.”

“Crazy,” you pause when Fluffy starts purring, running between your legs and Satoru’s. “Oh! She hates people, hang on let me put her up-”

Satoru bends down, picking up Fluffy like it’s nothing, holding her close and grinning at her, brushing her soft white fur as she purrs so loud you can hear it. You blink in shock, lips open, he smiles just a bit, his blue eyes unreadable – fuck he almost looks like Fluffy with the eyes and the soft white hair. You’re at a loss, mouth opening and closing, looking at the cat in confusion.

“She’s never liked anyone but me,” he shrugs a shoulder, brushing her hair back before setting her down, she rubs happily on his legs.

“Animals love me,” he says with ease, like this is normal. “All of them.”

“I um… guess they do…”

“Or,” he trails off, tugging you against him. “It’s a sign, meant to be, and all that, hmm?”

“Oh is it?” He picks you up in his arms, you’re hanging on to his neck, guiding you straight to your bedroom. “Um… how do you know-”

“Easy floor plan,” he sets you down and smiles apologetically at Fluffy. “Mama will come back in just a little bit, okay?”

Fluffy happily meows and runs off !?

Who is Satoru?

He sinks to his knees now, what a sight that is, looking up at you when you brush his soft hair back, earning a pleased little sound escaping his throat, nuzzling your palm just a bit, sighing. He presses a little kiss to it, pressing your back against the wall, before ever so achingly slow taking your heels off.

Just that is perhaps the most intimate thing you’ve had done, and everything is so quiet, your heart pounding in your ears, breath rapidly quickening as everything hits. Not the taboo of the classroom, the thrill of the bathroom, the quietness of the car in front of your home that first time – no, Satoru Gojo is in your house, guiding your stockings down next, thumbing the little garters that hold them up and exhaling.

“Fuck these are hot,” for a moment he does sound like the twenty two year old he is, you smile softly at that, his boyish little smirk when he presses a kiss to your thighs. “You’re just beggin’ for me to put babies in you.”

Never mind, he’s still insane.

“You wish,” he grins.

“I do,” soft lips press your inner thigh, your head falls forward, lashes fluttering shut when his breath tickles your skin, leaving goosebumps all over your skin. “I can’t wait to fold you in a mating press.”

“A what?”

“Mmm,” he’s adjusting his cock, the one you’ve been teasing since this morning in the classroom, looking up at your pretty flushed face when he has your legs bared for him. “A mating press, haven’t you read that in one of your books?”

“N-no,” you admit, tensing just a bit when his teeth scrape your skin. “Mating… some breed… thing?”

“Yeah, some breed thing,” he’s chuckling, standing slowly, turning you to face the mirror on your dresser, and you see him behind you. Feel him pressing so hard against you, making you ache for more. “You’re so cute, innocent little thing.”

“I’ve done things,” you have barely done shit, but you’re not a thirty year old virgin either. “Just not freaky things like you.”

“What a waste, I wish I met you four years ago.”

“I would not even then!”

“No?” You shake your head, he smirks. “Why not?”

“I’m already cougar enough,” he snorts, kissing across your shoulder, guiding the strap down with his teeth ever so slowly, you shiver just a bit.

“You’re young, stop acting that way,” he slowly unzips your dress, the sound echoing in the quietness of your room. “I don’t want anyone but you. How clear should I make it?”

Your eyes shut now, leaning forward when he presses you just a bit, guiding the zipper down until the dress falls off your shoulders. “I know I’m like the ‘hot teacher’ for you all, I’m not clueless to it. But-”

“One more ‘but’ and I won’t let you cum,” you laugh again, shaking your head and holding the dress up, his hands tug at your wrists gently. “No sweetheart, I’ve been obsessed since I saw you walk through the hall, thought you were gonna be in one of my classes. Then I found out you were teaching it? Not gonna lie it did make it hotter though.”

“Freak,” you smile at him though, letting your dress fall to a pool around your ankles, suddenly nervous. You do look young – you are still young  – but you’re not perky as you were at twenty two, gravity has chilled just a little of that. Your hips aren’t as narrow as they were, the signs of being a woman now.

But his exhale says everything.

He walks around you, ever so slowly, brushing your hair back off your shoulders to reveal your pretty frame to his vision, his hands slip down the curves of your breasts, leaving goosebumps, your nipples hardening and begging for his mouth. Satoru’s seen you more than you know he has, but nothing really got him like that moment, where you make him nervous.

It takes a lot to make Satoru Gojo nervous, but suddenly he is, swallowing just a bit as he runs them down the nip of your waist, thumb brushing over a little freckle here, a little mark there. Things he couldn’t see before, things he wants to kiss and savor like the texture of your skin, how soft it is everywhere under his touch, down to the curve of your hips, pressing thumbs against your pelvis.

Your hands clutch at the lapels of his jacket, your chest rising and falling as you look up at him with dilated eyes, your lips parted ever so slightly. “Relax,” he murmurs softly. “You’re perfect.”

Whatever hopes you had of ethics and morals leave your body when Satoru kisses you, and for a moment he’s not the psycho that wants to control your life and make you have his heirs – he’s sweet, careful even despite you feeling his muscles tense, as if he’s trying not to fuck you right there. Easing you back until the backs of your thighs hit your bed.

Your hands tremble as you fumble with his buttons, he goes to help and you stop him. “I wanna do it myself.”

“There’s the bratty attitude,” you laugh again, shaking your head. It’s too easy to be like this, despite your nerves, he lets you undo his tie, slipping it over his head, finishing the buttons until you shrug him out of his jacket and dress shirt in one go. Your tummy flutters then, seeing his body for the first time, fingers tracing down strong muscles that flex underneath your touch.

You had felt his strength when he picked you up the way he did, but seeing him made your throat go dry, pussy clenching around nothing still in those panties, the only material left on your body. Your fingers dip lower, to his belly button and the white strip of hair leading to his cock, veins and cut muscles on either side of it, he moans softly when you touch them.

“You’re um… you’re so…” He cuts you off with a kiss, this one filthy and messy, no longer taking it easy, lifting you until you’re on the center of the bed and climbing on top of you. “Didn’t let me finish.”

“You’ll finish,” you snort, shaking your head when he slips off both of your glasses, slipping them on the nightstand, you tug him close and he smirks at you. “Gonna tell me one more time?”

“You know this is doomed to fail,” you frown then, caressing his jaw. “You’re Satoru Gojo.”

“And you’re my slutty little professor,” you bite down on your lower lip, his beautiful eyes even more intense without at least those glasses on, taking you over as he drinks you in, one hand braced by your head, the other slipping across your chest, then lower. “I’ll let you say once all you want, but you know you’ll never have anyone but me.”

“Satoru…”

“No one,” he shoves you up the bed, last bit of his gentleness done with, shoving your thighs back until you’re bent in half, gasping. “When I fuck you like this? That will be a mating press.”

“It w-will?” You’re so fucking cute, blinking up at him, he chuckles and lets your thighs down a bit, slipping your panties down your thighs, spreading them for him, baring your glistening cunt.

“It’s how you’ll keep all that cum inside,” you’re a flustered mess, his mouth kissing down your body. “I wanted to take my time then, but I got too… excited. Your fault.”

“Was it now?” You roll your eyes as he kisses lower, even though he’s done it before it’s even more intimate in your room, on your bed, the way he somehow owns it just existing here.

“I didn’t wanna just bury my cock right away,” he pouts a bit, kissing a little stretch mark on your inner thigh, sighing. “Cute.”

“They’re so not cute,” you feel cute though, when he kisses another little mark, then higher, right where your pussy is begging. Your hands grip his hair tightly, hips arching. “You’re cute, for a psycho who wants me pregnant.”

“Aww thanks teach,” he grins, before he laps his tongue all around your puffy lips, not giving you what you need, making you whine out in frustration. “I wanted you so ready you begged for it, not a quick fuck on your desk – though after the first time, I would have done that anyway.”

“Y-yeah?” He looks up under his snowy lashes, pressing another kiss to your bare cunt, breath tickling your twitchy, neglected clit.

“You’ve been rubbing her too much, tsk,” he parts those folds and smirks, eyes dark with need, already pussy drunk from just your scent. “She’s puffy, are you failing when you masturbate to me?”

“I don’t…” He kisses your cunt again. “Will you… just do that thing with your mouth please?”

“When you admit it,” you roll your eyes but soon they roll back, when Satoru’s tongue circles around your clit and then he blows teasingly. “You play with this pretty pussy thinking of your student.”

“You’re so slutty,” you grumble, tugging at his hair and arching. “You wanted me like this, now you’re teasing?”

“Edging is the term teach,” he flicks your clit again, humming.

“Gen Z… you’re such a… ah! Satoru, fuck, please!”

“I’ll get there,” he runs his fingers down your slit, gathering the juices pouring there. “Everyone knows what edging is, you’re just a little innocent thing.”

“Mmm, I’ve fucked okay,” he shoves two fingers in, stretching you so much you hiss. “Ah!”

“Barely,” he eases them back now, moaning softly at the sight of your arousal coating his fingers in a gloss, lapping it up with his tongue – lewd and fucking obscene, wrecking your damn ovaries. “Never got fucked good before me, did you? Never came before with anyone?”

“No, psycho,” he grins and slides his fingers back in, curling up until he hits that soft, spongy spot in your quivering walls. “Mnghhh, that thing, that thing!”

“Fucking adorable,” he leans back over you, pressing a kiss on your lips so you taste yourself, as he rocks them up and down, faster and faster, watching drool spill from your mouth. “Aww you’re so messy, I’m just starting.”

“Get in me now, t-terrible student,” he kisses you once more as his fingers wreck you, your hands gripping his biceps, feeling the muscles flex and move underneath your grip. “Insubordinate.”

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum, can’t waste it when I need to knock my pretty teacher up,” you don’t even care what he’s saying anymore, you’re too lost in every rock of his fingers, every press up that has you close to falling apart in moments. “You love it that I jerk off to you, hmm?”

You shake your head, an utter lie and he knows it, pulling his fingers out right before you cum to slip them to your lips.

“Suck, little liar,” you obey, so ready for his cock you can’t even summon a coherent argument, sucking his fingers to the knuckles and bobbing your head up and down. He moans at the sight, cock twitching inside his slacks, exhaling and kissing you all over again, leaving your pussy throbbing. “Poor little cunt, she wants it huh?”

“I swear to god – just put it in and – mnh!” He’s shoved your thighs again, staring at the drool slipping down your hole, moaning at the sight of it, the way it winks right at him, arousal pouring. “Satoru!”

“So needy, so bratty, tsk…” He leans back down, tongue swiping from your messy hole to your twitchy clit, coating his tastebuds in you. “Mmm, I’m gonna take my time miss – it’s only once.”

You both know you’re full of it.

When Satoru’s mouth devours you he drinks you up, desperate and rutting the bed, grinding his aching cock with every gulp of your messy cunt, smacking it with a loud echo and your sharp gasp. He grins at the sight, smacking it again, looking up at you and licking his lips, hitting right over your clit.

“You love it, slutty professor,” he hums and smacks it again, before spitting right on it, watching it slip between those lips onto your little clit, you jerk at it.

“It’s wet enough!?”

“I know,” he spits again, swirling it all around with those long fingers, pressing back in as he watches you.

“Freak,” his lips curve as he crookes his fingers, massaging your inner walls, pressure building in your core, he leans over you now.

“I spit in your mouth our first date, remember?”

“Th-that wasn’t a date, you j-just… oh my god…” He’s tilting his head, eyes flicking down to your mouth, his free hand gripping your chin.

“Rude, that was our first date, remember? I got you your favorite coffee,” he talks casual as he slips his thumb between your lips, his other hand fucking your hole faster, the squelching obscene as you get so wet you pour and drip down your bed. “Then we read Poe, then I took you home. Hah, romantic wasn’t it?”

“Mmm,” your eyes roll back, he gently smacks your cheek, earning your cute little glare.

“Eyes on me,” his words are desperate, but he can’t help it, not when he’s got you where he’s wanted, and he’s determined to never let you go. “All mine, gonna stay mine, aren’t you? Let me fuck your pretty holes any time, just get on my knees and lick you under your desk every day.”

“Mnh,” he’s going faster now, you’re trying to focus, hands gripping the sheets tightly. “Toru…”

“Aw, a nickname? I love that, baby…” You’re so close, so achingly close to cumming, struggling as you try to keep eye contact with him, so intense the way he studies you, watches you, the wet sounds echoing even louder. “You only cum for me, hmm? Say yes, be a good girl.”

“Y-yes,” fuck you want to have some sense about you, but the obsessive way he stares, talks, works you? It’s pushing you even closer, breasts heaving up and down as the sounds get louder, messier. “Please.”

“You’re so pretty like this, beggin’ to cum,” he kisses you again, smiling against your lips when your walls clamp down on him. “Go ahead, you’ve been so good sweetheart. Cum.”

“Ngh!” You scream out when the orgasm washes over you, pleasure shooting out from that core, drooling from your cunt and your mouth as he works you faster, clicking sounds as his fingers rush through your wetness.

“That’s it, make a mess,” he’s fingering you through it, leaning down between your thighs to flick his tongue over your clit. “Cum again, then I’ll give you my cock, all my cum, pump you so full. What you deserve, bein’ s’good.”

Satoru’s words slur when he latches to your clit and sucks the tiny little thing in his mouth, humming then, you’re pushed over again, cumming so quickly it’s almost embarrassing – cumming so much it should be mortifying, but not when he’s slurping it all up, filthy gulps as his mouth catches every bit that gushes down. He moans as he drinks you up, lashes fluttering shut with pleasure.

“In me, in me,” you tug at his head, so oversensitive you’re shaking, struggling to cling to any sense of reality when he finally unlatches his mouth, chin coated in you and glistening. He hovers over you and he doesn’t even have to ask you.

You open your mouth.

Tongue out like a good girl.

He spits your release with a filthy little trail of gossamer, landing on your little outstretched tongue, when you swallow he moans audibly, pulling back to tug down his slacks, unhooking his belt with a little click. Your shaky fingers unzip him, tugging his boxer briefs down, showing that cock so thick, and leaking precum that you spread over the tip with your thumb.

“So eager, aren’t you? Thought this was once?” He taunts, slacks not even all the way off, he can’t wait anymore to be inside you.

“Shut up and fuck me,” he smirks, toying with his tip down your slit, bumping your clit and coating it with sticky pre. “Mnh!”

“You’re so needy, so cute tellin’ me what to do, hah…” Satoru keeps dragging it between your soppy folds, the sound of wetness and his cock moving through it even filthier. He braces an arm on one side, snatching up your thigh and dragging you down as he sinks inside. “Oh fuck… You’re so tight, shit…”

It’s hard not to bust the moment he sinks into your cunt, with those quivering aftershocks she feels even better than she did the first time, you’re so pretty underneath him with your hair splayed out, your nipples peppled and areolas all puckered for him. He cups a tit, you gasp out, whining.

“Sensitive?” You nod, he smirks then, pulling out ever so slowly, already coated in your slick, he moans at the sight, pressing back in, watching your lashes tremble. “You’re ovulating.”

“Shh,” you try to glare, but you utterly fail.

“It’s good, it means you’ll take my cum, won’t you? Get cute and pregnant, god just imagine it,” Satoru slides his cock all the way inside, bottoming out until his balls hit your soaked ass with a loud thwack, heavy with his seed. “Oh sweetheart it’s perfect, think birth control will stop this? Nah… I’ll fuck a baby into you even with it.”

“Psy- psy - nghh!” You’re done for, when he begins to move, you’re so close you almost cum with a few strokes, tears filling your eyes.

“Pretty when you cry, aren’t you? Pretty all the fuckin’ time,” he slams his cock now, the smacks of his pelvis against you loud, the white stubble right over his cock hitting your sensitive clit. “When aren’t you? Reading, studying, acting like you’re not dying to get filled by me.”

There’s no protest – you want this, want him, deep inside, so deep you can’t tell where you begin and he ends, all him. As he mumbles that ‘all me, all me’ you already know it’s true, when his rhythm kicks up and his cock is wrecking your hole, stretching you out on it and making you cry from it, tears streaming down your cheeks in glittery trails, so full.

“That’s it, so full of me, huh?” You sniffle and nod as he leans back, thumb brushing your clit, your thighs clamp down on his hips as his eyes trail, his pink, glossy lips parted, looking down between your bodies. "Look at that."

You follow his gaze, blinking the fuzz out of your eyes and you see it, the distinct outline of his cock pressing against your stomach with every thrust. The sight makes you clench around him, nails desperately gripping those blankets again.

“Are the blankets fucking you, sweets?” You can’t think, not when you see that, blushing and whining out when his thumb presses harder and you clench around his thick length. “Answer.”

“N-no,” he hums and starts moving now, just a little faster, smirking at you. “Close, close.”

“Greedy professor wants to cum again so soon?” He chuckles, cock gliding in and out of your now messy hole even faster. “Put those nails on me.”

You cling to him instead of the blankets, leaving crescent moons in his biceps as he moans from the pain, your cunt milking him when he just started. Your second orgasm crashes through you, even more intense than the first, so goddamn pretty for him to watch you fall apart underneath him – cryin’ out his name as your body convulses, nails digging into his back as he continues to fuck you through it.

“That’s it, slutty teacher takin’ cock like she’s made for it,” he shoves your thighs then, folding you in half and grinning. “This is my lesson. Today, we learn what a mating press is.”

“Satoru Gojo I swear you’re…” You can’t finish, not when your thighs are against your breasts, and he’s slamming his cock bruisingly, your head falls back as a weak little whimper escapes, him fucking you harder, faster, balls smacking as he hits that puffy cervix over and over. “You’re… Toru!”

“God that name,” he moans and grabs your face, using his body weight and his forearms to pin you down. “So goddamn deep, you feel me everywhere, don’t you baby? Say it, say it, all me. All me.”

“Y-you,” you’re drooling again, his thumbs collect it as his huge hands overtake your face, you weren’t even sure you could bend that damn way, but here you are, lost in his batshit crazy eyes, his desperate look, as he says your name like it’s a mantra, thick cock splitting you in half. “S’all you.”

“That’s it, all me, just me, only me,” he kisses you and moans desperately, slamming his cock even deeper, every stroke making his tip drag on your spot before it slams you so deep, your cries are weak and hoarse, body shaking with the effort of taking him – nine inches wrecking you. “You’re mine, gonna be mine, only me, never f-fuckin’ leave me.”

He kisses you instead of letting you speak, before leaning up and putting his bruising grip on your thighs, knees parallel to the bed as he fucks you so hard the goddamn headboard bashes your wall. His balls heavier, so full and ready to pump inside, and you’re just babbling nonsense, little pink tongue out, mouth wide open with every gasp.

Satoru uses it to spit in your mouth again, he doesn’t even have to ask.

You swallow.

You want every part of him, fucked out from him, drunk as he is off you, his cock twitching deep inside your walls as he uses you, his chest glistening with his sweat from the exertion, biting down on his lower lip and whimpering when he buries himself deep. He pushes in like that and you scream out.

“So deep! S’much I j-just… Toru y-you, ngghh.” You’re crying more, trying to take him like this, but you want to.

“You’ll take my cum perfect like this,” he whispers, whimpering again when he leans over you, soft white hair falling over his brow. “All my cum, take it sweetheart, fill your cunt up until you drip me.

You just gasp out when you feel it, the way it pulses, your eyes locking with his when he kisses you again – almost gentle for the way his cock is ruining your hole, for the way he has you bent in half. “Mnh…”

“Say you want it inside, tell me pretty professor, that you want my cum slipping out of your slutty hole in class. Don’t you?”

You shake your head and he smirks.

“Even now, trying, god it’s cute,” he sucks in a breath, so sensitive as he stares at your fucked out face. “Say you want it, deep inside, filling you up. Don’t you?”

“Inside me, please,” you finally whisper, he kisses you now, moaning into your open mouth when he cums, flooding your cunt with warmth you’ve never felt, so much it’s pushing you to cum again, and you’re not able to form a damn syllable.

It’s all a jumbled mess – just moaning his name as he whispers yours, kissing you over and over, sucking in a breath when he pulls back.

"Fuck," he breathes, the word a tickle of air against your swollen lips. "Look at that. Took every last drop. Such a good girl, you’re gonna be so round with me soon, hmm?”

“N-no,” he laughs softly, kissing your nose like he’s not actively trying to fuck babies into you and end your career.

“Precious, cute little professor,” Satoru is so in love with you when he eases out of your snug cunt, you whine out at the loss, but he needs to eye that cunt. He moans softly when he sees the white just pourin’ out of that hole, all abused and fluttering. “Oh she took it all, too.”

He’s dripping down your bed in strings of cum, when he uses two fingers to scoop up the mixture of his cum and your slick dripping from your entrance, pushing it back in your sore little hole, you whine out, the white sticky mess shoved back in your walls.

“Sensitive!”

“I know sweetheart, but we can't waste any of it," he grins, white teeth glinting in the dark lighting of your room. “You took so much, god you’re perfect. I already knew it, but you’re meant to take it, know my shape, get filled and pumped full. Fuck you deserve it all, pretty little teacher.”

He’s lost it, officially, as if Satoru ever was sane, you’re not sure that’s true, not when he eases his fingers out and sucks his own cum off them, moaning and fluttering his eyes shut. You let out your own soft moan at the sight, his seed trickling out of you, as everything starts to hit.

What do you want?

You love teaching, right? You love independence…

Right?

But you also love this psychotic, six foot four millionaire who’s tasting his own cum, who’s kissing you and letting your tongue be coated in it, the man whose white ropes are dripping out of your hole, abused and sore. Every muscle hurts from him, bruises forming on your thighs, hickies on your neck, all while he somehow manages to be cute.

How the fuck were you going to just do this once.

How would you have a career if you want your student to fill you up every fucking day? When you almost want to skip a damn pill, to let him have what he wants. His obsession is shaping everything, pushing your own obsession with him to the forefront of your mind.

Haven’t you always been enamored by him?

“Mmm, are you all right?” He asks almost gently then, choking you up just a bit when he brushes your damp hair back. “Too rough? You’re small down there.”

“Sore,” you admit softly, he frowns a bit, brows lowering. “Just alot.”

“Then let me take care of you,” you shake your head and go to protest, but it’s not long before Satoru is in the bath with you, too intimate, and you almost let treacherous words spill, lucking it’s also not long that you’re riding him in the tub, warm water splashing around you both.

“J-just one more,” he smirks lazily, watching his cute teacher – and future mother to his six children – bounce up and down his cock, sucking your puffy nipples into his mouth and guiding you to take more of him.

“Sure, professor,” he cums inside you again, then again when he lays you down for bed, this time he has your ass arched in the air, fucking you into your matress until your tears and mascara left on streak your pillow. He makes sure to empty his balls and drain them in your hole, until you’re snoring, all cute.

Satoru goes to grab water and Fluffy is purring, when you’re fast asleep, he sips the cool drink and picks Fluffy up, letting her purr.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be living in my penthouse before ya know it, hah… gonna have a way better view, and then you’ll have kids to play with and everything.”

Fluffy purrs.

Satoru smiles.

You’re going to be all his.

fluffy and Satoru teaming up LMAO - comments/rbs enjoyed if you liked this one!!!

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