lipette .ᐟ

his hands slide up from your hips to your waist, palms warm and slightly sweaty. he's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read—hunger and wonder and something softer mixed in.

"okay?" he asks.

you nod, swallowing. "okay."

"good." he shifts beneath you, and you feel him twitch inside you, making you gasp. his lips curl into a smirk, but it's strained, his composure crumbling at the edges. "now move when you're ready. however you want. i've got you."

you start slow. experimental rolls of your hips, testing the angle, the friction. each movement sends sparks through your nerves, makes your breath stutter. his hands guide but don't push, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on your skin.

"like that," he says, voice rough. "just like that."

you find a rhythm. rocking forward, grinding down, the wet sound of your bodies meeting filling the quiet room. his head falls back again, eyes fluttering shut, and you watch his throat work as he swallows.

"you feel incredible," he rasps. "god, you have no idea how good you feel."

you pick up the pace, bracing your hands on his chest. the new angle makes him hit deeper, and you moan, head dropping forward. he takes the opportunity to lean up, catching your mouth in a kiss that's all tongue and teeth and desperation.

when he pulls back, he's breathing hard. his bangs are plastered to his forehead. there's a flush spreading across his chest.

"you're doing so well," he says, and his voice cracks on the last word. "fucking—perfect. you're perfect."

you roll your hips harder, chasing the friction, the pressure building low in your belly. his hands grip your waist tighter, and you can feel him fighting the urge to take over, to flip you and fuck you into the mattress.

"close?" he asks.

you nod, too breathless for words.

"me too." he laughs, shaky. "fuck, me too. you're gonna make me—"

he cuts himself off with a groan, his hips bucking up into you despite himself. you gasp at the sudden depth, your walls clenching around him.

"sorry," he grits out. "sorry, i just—you feel too good. i can't—"

his composure is crumbling. the infuriatingly cocky sorcerer is falling apart beneath you, his breathing ragged, his hands shaking where they hold you. he's babbling now, half-words and broken praises, telling you how good you are, how tight, how perfect.

"come for me," he gasps. "please. i need to feel you—"

you do. the command, the desperation in his voice, the way he's barely holding himself together—it pushes you over the edge. you clench around him, a broken moan falling from your lips as pleasure rips through you.

he follows a second later, with a groan that sounds almost pained, his hips thrusting up as he spills inside you. you feel every pulse, every hot rush of him filling you, and it draws your own orgasm out until you're trembling and spent.

you collapse against his chest, both of you slick with sweat, breathing hard. his arms wrap around you, pulling you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"holy shit," he mutters.

you laugh weakly. "good?"

he tilts your chin up, kissing you slow and deep.

"perfect."

No!?!?

Just because Hiromi hurt you doesn’t mean you can suddenly go and act on impulse, thinking with your pussy rather than any sort of brain cells. It’s simply that you’re comfortable with him, that he’s gorgeous, that for the past few years the way he looks at you makes you feel so pretty – how he talks to you all low and soft, teasing with his big smile.

It’s just that, and the fact that his body is hard, that his skin is hot – his perfect form is present right behind you. You’re fine, just remember it’s friendly, he’s just teasing you like he does. You can’t look at ‘little toru’ who just so happens to be six-foot-four and getting thicker in the chest every time you see him – how does he keep getting more fucking muscles?

Was football really doing all of this?

“I um… just call you that,” you murmur softly, breath caught in your chest, heart hammering so quickly you’re dizzy, especially with the heat radiating down against your skin, his hands brushing more lotion, pausing at your mid back.

“Move your hair to the side, it’s drippin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs lazily, you bite your lip so hard it leaves little teeth marks, pulling your hair to the side and smiling over your shoulder at him.

“There,” you murmur, eyes locked with his.

Fuck you’re pretty.

God he wants to drag you right on his goddamn lap, slide his cock to the hilt – he bets you’re so fucking tight, but he also bets you’re so wet you could just take him. When his hands slide up the curve of your spine, you can hardly stop your cunt from dripping down the damn lounge chair, his hands rubbing all that cream into your skin ever so thoroughly.

“Then why do you call me that, huh sweetheart?” He asks now, you sigh, glaring back at him just a bit. “I’m way fucking bigger than I was when you met me.”

“Well yeah, you were like a kid, Toru.”

“Now I’m way bigger than you, hmm?” His tone echoes in your ears – way bigger… you already know the sheer size of Satoru Gojo, but to think of just how big he is makes your cunt pulse.

“Ahem…” You clear your throat now, rushing up and laughing nervously, ignoring the evident bulge in his light blue swim trunks. “I’m gonna get in!”

“With your sunblock on?” He teases, you can’t answer him – can’t even look at him, no you hop right into the cold chill of the pool, trying to cool your ovulating ovaries the fuck down.

*****

It’s hard to be around you.

Literally hard.

Satoru finds himself heading into the house while you and the family are still splashing around in the pool – he certainly can’t just palm his cock when the whole family is around. He had to rush off into the damn bathroom, shutting the door behind himself, leaking so much pre he’s sticking to his trunks.

"Mnh," Satoru can’t help but tug at his drawstring, those trunks still dripping wet with the faint scent of chlorine clinging to them, he shoves the waistband down, cock springing free, slapping his flat belly button. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Was there a better word for what you do to him? Satoru’s barely biting back a moan, wrapping his hand around that thick base of his shaft, sucking in a breath, he usually has a little more fucking self control but he doesn’t right now. Not when he got to smooth that white cream against your skin and watch it melt into it, fuck imagining rubbing his cum all over your body instead has him pulsing.

Imagine every inch of you covered in him – he’s gone truly psychotic, wanting to fucking mark you like you’re his, he was tired of seeing you with that dumb fucking lawyer. What did you need him for when you could have Satoru? What, because he’s in his thirties, Satoru Gojo was fucking filthy rich, and he’d make sure you never had to lift a pretty little finger.

“I’ll take care of you – hah, b-baby,” he’s whining out, eyelashes fluttering shut, picturing you vividly.

The way those water droplets were glistening on your skin, how your pretty tits bounced when you hopped up and Suguru splashed you. How the little bikini showed beauty marks on your tummy, a couple lines on your hips where they’ve spread just a bit since you were his age – all to spread to have his baby, he’s so sure of it.

Breedable fucking hips that he’d love to hold in his big hands, arching your back for him all pretty like a good girl – he could practically hear the moans that you’d give, they’d be much louder than the soft little sounds you made when he touched your back earlier. He can’t help but want to hear it, hear how fucking loud you get, would your sounds get all muffled as he pressed your head into the mattress?

He’s been jerking it to you since he found out what his cock even did, back when it was honestly terrible to do so, but he has no sense of guilt when it comes to you. Watching you, stealing those panties, practicing just what he’ll say as he fucks his fist devotedly to any picture he’s snuck of you, fuck he took photos from your goddamn family album he was so pathetic.

“Stop teasin’ me sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his cock, slowly at first to just savor the feeling of his precum smearing his reddened tip – all drooly already. He spits right down on his cock, a long trail of gossamer saliva swirling down, using it as lube while picturing how wet you’d get.

He bets you were wet with his hands running across your skin, he could feel heat that couldn’t just be from the sun, surely it was not the rays shining and warming you, it was Satoru’s nearness. He ached to taste the sun right off your skin, your cunt tasted so good on your panties, surely it would taste even better right from the source.

He starts to stroke his cock faster, fucking desperately, imagining your much smaller hand instead of his. You probably couldn’t even wrap those fingers around his girth, you’d have trouble taking him, tummy would just bulge as he moves in and out of your hole. He whimpers at that vision, imagining you looking at him with need, with hearts in your eyes.

Anything but that fucking sweet ‘big sis’ affection.

"Little Toru," he mumbles under his breath, a little laugh escaping him as he strokes his nine inches that would ruin your cunt for anyone else. “Fuck, sweetheart, you really have no idea, do you?"

Satoru’s strokes became more erratic as he imagined lifting your pretty ass up, bending you over the poolside, pulling that bikini aside and finally showing you exactly how ‘little’ he was. Fuck would you scream out Toru when he busted his load inside? When he filled you with all those creampies you deserved and he fingered it inside so it took?

It starts to feel too good, he’s so sensitive he’s leaning against the bathroom counter, groaning out, right about to cum when he hears it.

Someone jiggling the handle.

“I’m… hah, in here,” he manages to bite out, freezing when he hears your voice on the other side of the door.

“Toru I really am freezing, can I just come in real fast to grab a towel? I won’t look or anything,” you’re shivering, water dripping on your parents floor. “All the other bathrooms are taken by the kids and Suguru even stole the one in my old bedroom.”

“Oh… ah…” Your voice is making him pulse, he’s stroking faster, laughing just a bit.

“Are you laughing!? I’m freezing you little brat!”

“Brat, hah – you’re the brat baby,” you blush on the other side of the door, jiggling the handle again. “So eager to see my dick?”

“Oh you’re ridiculous – like I haven’t seen all you have before.”

“That was years ago, I’ve changed,” he murmurs, biting back a whimper unsuccessfully. “Not little Toru anymore.”

“Will you hurry up then? I am so fucking cold, ugh,” you’re shivering in your soaked towel – all the splashing got it so bad it’s fucking useless. “Satoru Gojo!”

“Fuck, fuck just… one sec, you’re impatient,” he strokes his thick cock one more time, whimpering out when his white ropes start spilling on the sink, his eyelashes fluttering, cheeks all flushed in his reflection.

“What the fuck are you doing in there? Did you hurt yourself or something!?”

“Hah… no…” He’s moaning now, the relief felt from his balls not being so goddamn tight and full of cum, he quickly starts wiping down the marble counters littered with his milky strings. “Hold on, okay? Fuck…”

“Fine,” you cross your arms, trembling like crazy, Satoru hastily opens the door after he tugs his swim trunks on, opening it and forcing you to look up at him, so damn tall you’re right there with his chest.

Little Toru indeed.

He’s a giant now.

“Finally,” you mumble, he leans one of those long ass arms over and grabs a dry towel, wrapping it around you and taking the wet one, hanging it up. “Oh thank you.”

“Made ya wait that long, can at least dry you up,” he murmurs, wrapping you even tighter, hands massaging the terry cloth covered arms that are covered in goosebumps. Your breath catches, looking up at him, far too close, you can feel that heat just radiating off his skin. “There, any better?”

“Um yeah, I’m sorry I was so impatient,” you mumble nervously, looking down and seeing the way his abs tense as he breathes, further down to the slutty little happy trail he has.

That’s when you pause.

Is that… is that… cum!? On his fucking belly button!? Is that his tip peaking-

“Satoru!” He blinks curiously as you push at him, his hands still firm on your shoulders.

“What, are you on your period? Acting all moody one minute, sweet the next.”

“You can’t ask me that!? Were you…” You lean close, whispering. “Jerking off, really?”

He smirks.

“I had to freeze so you could finish? Couldn’t you wait till you’re back in the room to do that?”

“Aw, did you wanna watch, sweetheart?” He asks, tilting your chin up, his lids getting lazy over those curved up blue eyes of his. You swallow then, your throat dry from his fingers caressing your jaw. “I would have let you if I knew.”

“Of course I didn’t…” You can’t even speak, not when you’re looking at his abs again, he leans back and laughs a bit.

“Ah, didn’t tug them up enough,” he hides what looks like a pretty blush tip, smiling like he’s fucking embarassed, he is flushed but it’s for an entirely different reason. “Is that better, sweetheart?”

“It’s… on you, god,” it’s your turn to blush, he hums a bit, stepping back lazily to drag his fingers across his own cum, putting them to his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucks his own release off them.

Oh fuck.

You swallow nervously, the sight of it is utterly filthy, his hum as if he tastes so sweet, fluffy lashes fluttering. “Mmm, I guess I missed a spot when I cleaned up. My bad.”

“Your bad!? You’re such a…” you trail off now, you’re aching and he looks too fucking good, psychotic ass blue eyes all lit up as they study you. You can't even finish the sentence, your face burning with a blush that has nothing to do with the sun you took in.

"I'm such a what?" he presses closer to you, until your back is against the door, it closes behind you, leaving the two of you alone in the little guest bathroom.

“Such a…” you clear your throat, feeling him against you, you should pinch his ear or smack him in the back of the head like you did when he was younger – but you can’t even move.

He's all warm against you, the sticky remnants of his own release splayed across that pale skin, a hand on the wall beside you. The way he’s looking at you and his sheer proximity are doing things to you that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

“Such a pervert,” you glare and he chuckles, cupping your face with a hand now – that’s not how a twenty two year old frat boy should look down at you, should act, with his arm fucking raised and the little thatch of hair still damp underneath them. His silky locks are falling in slick little strands across his brow. “A total pervert.”

“Me? No, sweetheart,” he smirks down at you like the little shit he is. "I’m just taking care of a problem you caused."

"I caused it!?" you squeak out the words almost embarassing, pushing at his chest half heartedly – he’s so built and muscular it’s like pushing against a brick wall, his heart thudding under your palm. You barely manage a glare. "How is any of this ridiculous behavior my fault?"

He catches your wrists in one of his big hands, thumb brushing over the delicate network of veins, right over your frantic pulse. “How is it your fault?”

“Yes, you psycho.”

“You exist," his words confuse the fuck out of you then, breaths faster until your tits are rising and falling in the top just a bit too small, his gaze drops to it when your towel hopelessly falls. He exhales and traces his hand over the curve of your tit, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches. “That’s how it’s your fault.”

‘B-because I exist?” You whisper, shaking your head now. “You’re just fucking with me, what does that even mean?”

"You wore that bikini,” he murmurs, a thigh coming between yours, instead of tugging away you shamelessly arch your hips, earning his soft little exhale. “You let me put sunscreen on you, didn’t you? Let me touch your skin, while you’re fucking looking like that." His eyes – those impossibly fucking bright blue eyes – drag down your body, like he’s touching you

“That makes no sense, you’ve always seen me in swimsuits, Satoru. You may have had some little crush when you were younger, but you’re an adult.”

“And so the fuck are you, a whole woman, hmm?” He whispers, you hate how good it makes you feel. “Fuck you must be ovulating, swear I can smell it.”

“You cannot freak!?” You shove again, but your hips move, heat emanating even from your soaked bikini bottoms, the scent of chlorine mixing with the sweetness of his breath, the musk of that slight sweat underneath his arms.

“Bet your body wants a baby in her,” he smirks, his hips dragging you down on his thigh, a trail of slick glittering on it. You whine out, biting your lip and shaking your head. "What did you expect to happen, you lookin’ like that, after that man was dumb enough to leave you?"

"I expected you to act like a normal person, even if y-you somehow think I’m hot or something, you can’t just… act like this, all psychotic. What do you mean babies inside me!?”

“Oh you don’t wanna be bred?” You almost whimper goddamn this little brat.

“You’re a little fratboy.”

“A little fratboy?” He repeats, you bite down on your lower lip and nod. “You want me to act normal, huh?”

“Y-yes go back too… whatever it was um… before. Go fuck your little frat girls at your parties, girls your age," your voice is weak, breathless and fucking pathetic – you hate whatever the hell was happening, the fact that you’re aching for him to do just that – pump cum right inside you.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs softly, leaning in and letting his lips hover until they’re almost touching yours. "I haven't been normal about you since I was twelve years old."

“That’s insane,” you hiss, shaking your head again, his thigh pressing up and you feel your body respond, his hands tugging at your waist, thumbs right underneath the swells of your breasts.

"You really have no fucking clue, do you?"

Your heart is hammering in your chest as you drink him in, half naked and still glimmering with the pool water.

This is Satoru.

Annoying, bratty, little Toru – who used to follow you around like a lost puppy, then grew to just annoy the ever loving shit out of you. Suguru’s best friend who has spent more time with your parents than you have in the past ten years – he’s ‘Toru’ and that’s that.

Right?

He can’t be the man who sucks cum off his fingers.

You should push him away – walk out and lock yourself in your room for the entirety of the rest of your stay, you should do anything but let his lips brush the corner of your lips, do anything but whimper. Anything but moan softly when he tugs down your top, groaning at the sight of one of your pretty tits bare, with the faint lines the sun left on your skin.

“Oh my fuck,” he whispers, he didn’t know you’d be that fucking beautiful, he had snuck so many glimpses but to see that pretty nipple in person? “Look at you.”

“I… we… even if you’re not Suguru’s best friend, even if you weren’t six years younger – I literally just broke up with-”

“A dumb fuck?” You glare at him. “He’s stupid to ever leave you.

“You don’t know him, and… even if we um… did something-”

“What!?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Satoru-”

“You wanna do something!? With me!?” You snort a bit at how suddenly cute he is, before he gathers himself, hand trailing down your tummy, it trembles underneath the surprising roughness of his fingertips. “Want me to make you cum, pretty?”

“Fuck,” where’d he learn to talk like this!? Hiromi could eat pussy – and that man could fuck, but something about Satoru’s utter desperation and devotion had you gushing and pulsing around nothing. “I… you can… can you…”

“Can I make you cum?” He chuckles, finding your elastic, slipping his fingers underneath so his finger grazes your clit, your hips buck at it, whining out weakly. “Yeah, sweetheart, I can make you cum until you’re squirting right on this fucking floor.”

“J-just… fuck, just…” You should push him off – but instead, you find yourself shoving his hand down further, eyes fluttering shut, your head back ever so slightly against the door. “There, my clit, please… please, fuck…”

It’s happening.

Satoru’s dreamt of this moment since he even knew somewhat was a pussy was, and yours was soaking goddamn wet, so messy it’s loud, echoing in the bathroom, he swirls it in little circles as you rock your hips, still straddling one of his thighs. He pulls it back and picks you up, making you gasp, sitting you right on the sink and tugging your bottoms to the side.

“Toru, I…”

“Fuck yes, god call me that,” if he hadn’t already jerked off – he’d be cummin’ again just eyeing your needy, puffy cunt. “Fuckin’ perfect lil cunt, god, just look at you, soaked.”

Your lashes flutter shut, expecting a finger and then shocked when you feel a glob of saliva right on your needy clit. “Ah!”

“Mmm,” he’s humming, spreading his own spit around, smirking at the sight of his bubbly, gossamer saliva coating your cunt. “Perfect just like that… Do you need them inside? Bet yours couldn’t hit.”

“Shut it, Toru,” you’re yanking on his wrist, making him moan with how you take over, he’s used to girls just a little too shy, not that it was a bad thing – but you knew what you wanted, grabbing his fingers and sucking them.

“Oh my… f-fuckk…” He almost does cum watching your cheeks hollow, seeing you suck him down to the knuckle, your pretty pussy just drippin’ right down the counter as you arch your hips more.

“Hurry b-before they notice,” you whisper desperately now, guiding his hand down to your needy hole, whining out softly. “Two, put two in, please.”

“Sure you can take it?” You just nod eagerly, he swirls them and then buries them to the fucking hilt inside, you have to smack a hand on your mouth, drool spilling across your palm as he starts easing them in and out. “Fuck, took em s’good just f’me, huh? Just like that, needy lil cunt wants me.”

“Sh-shh,” is all you manage to mumble, lifting your hand and yanking him down, hand entangled in his silky hair. “Once, just once and… we can’t…”

Hah, as if Satoru would just touch you once, when he’s rocking his fingers up and down, making a squelching fucking mess, your eyes roll back in your skull as he works them faster, until the clicking is just echoing obscenely. “Once, huh?”

“You finger me, I’ll s-suck you.”

“Slutty girl,” you can’t stand how he says that, how his long digits press on your puffy lil cervix, barely able to formulate a fucking thought as he works you so much you’re desperately trying to get a breath. “That’s it, gonna cum that easy? Just f’me, hmm? All me?”

You can’t answer, so you drag him down for a kiss – and that’s when you lose it, kissing Satoru wasn’t normal – not the way he moans like a little slut, desperately taking over your mouth. His hands dragging every bit of slick from your cunt as impossibly more comes down his thick fucking fingers.

“God,” he whispers, hardly able to catch his breath. “You’re so tight, fuck…”

“Mnh,” you can hardly manage to speak, think of anything but how good it feels, his fingers going even faster now. “So much… too much I…”

“You can take them baby,” he whispers – in a way ‘little toru’ sure the fuck shouldn’t, his eyes black with their blown out pupils, kissing down the side of your jaw and curving his fingers right up against that soft spot on your front wall. “Look, you’re doin’ s’good already.”

“Ngh,” you’re so goddamn close, your head falling back for him to work you quicker. “Gonna cum… gonna…”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Fuck,” you hiss the words, but Satoru doesn’t pull his fingers back, he moves them slower, to edge you, to torture you.

Isn’t it what you’ve done all these years?

“Act normal,” he murmurs, lips brushing your earlobe, sharp teeth nicking it as he eases his fingers out, rubbing your clit back and forth so quickly you’re about to scream out loud. “If you wanna cum, you’ll just act like I’m not here.”

“H-hey, yes?” You barely manage to squeak out, Satoru smiles against your neck, pinching your clit and making you bite down hard on his bare shoulder, leaving glittery teeth marks.

“Sis, we’re about to grill out – I can’t find Satoru,” you found him all right – he’s tugging your hair at the roots so you look at him as he’s about to make you squirt all over. “Have you seen him?”

“Hah I d-did,” fuck, he’s rocking them faster, smirking cruelly at your plight. “I saw him um… upstairs dancing to some t swift.”

“You brat,” he hisses in your ear, Suguru chuckles.

“Yeah, sounds like him.”

It’s not even!?

Satoru shoves his fingers in against that cervix and makes you whine out, grinning all evil as you glare at him. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, Sugu! Um… I’m getting freshened up, then I’ll meet you guys outside, okay?” You bite back a moan when Satoru’s kissing your neck, tongue lapping up a little vein underneath your skin he traces, free hand plucking your nipple and twisting it. The dual stimulation is too fucking much.

“No worries, sis, I’ll throw some chicken breast on there for you,” now you feel guilty – great!

“Thanks Sugu, you’re the best,” you murmur, he’s walking away now, leaving this psycho who’s fingering you faster. “I’m gonna… cum, fuck, fuck…”

“Aww you’re easy f’me,” he whispers, eyeing you as you’re about to fall apart, fingers shoved right back inside your needy hole. “I’ll make you forget him, forget anyone but me.”

“Psycho, what!? Just… ah!” He slams a big hand over your mouth, chuckling dark and fucking sadistic as he makes you squirt all over, it’s spraying against his hand and even hits his tummy, making him moan.

“God, look at that,” he’s pulling those fingers out of your pulsing walls in wonder, peering at the mess you made. “You’ve got me covered, sweetheart, you’ve got such a slutty lil pussy.”

“Fuck…” You’re so weak, when you hop off and shove him against the wall, kneeling and tugging at his waist band.

“Oh my god…” THIS IS HAPPENING.

The girl of his dreams is on her knees, her squirt all on his fingers, he’s sucking it off them as he grips your hair, letting out a desperate whine when you kitten lick his drooly tip.

“You’re already hard again for me?” Your whisper is diabolical, he barely manages a fucking word – all his braincells gone when you stroke his cock, sucking his tip and swirling the flat of your tongue.

Oh you’re a pro at sucking cock – and he’s mad about it.

“Wish you never had one but mine in your m-mouth,” he’s huffing, pressing on the back of your neck so you take impossibly more of him in your mouth, fucking into your throat needy and desperate. “Do you have n-no gag reflex!?”

“Hmm,” you’d smile if your throat wasn’t blissfully full of his pretty cock – you’d feel bad about that later, not right now, when your fingers are pumping inside your quivering hole, still sensitive from him. When his fingers tighten in your hair, bucking his hips and whimpering out 

“Can you take all of it, huh? Doubt you can – oh my f-fuckkk.” You suck him deeper before he can think, your nose brushing against the soft white hairs nestled at his base as you look right up at him. “Oh my… fuck your throat it’s so goddamn slutty… mnh…”

Satoru’s supposed to make you whimper, not the other way around, but how can he do anything other than stutter, bucking them so that he slips his tip right past your uvula, you have tears in your eyes, sniffling a bit, but aside from that you’re bobbing your damn head. He can’t even imagine that lawyer got this, got you sucking him so deep and choking on his cock and left that shit.

Your eyes are so pretty he’s stunned, he dreamt of them looking up at him like this but really nothing could prepare him for what it’s like to have the girl he’s jerked off to forever taking him in between her lips.

"Fuck, your mouth... god, your mouth is better than I ever..." he trails off into a strangled little slutty moan, those pink lips parted as you pull back.

You have strings of saliva and drool just dissolving, he can hear your messy little pussy as you shamelessly overstimulate it, sucking him till he’s dizzy. “Mmm, you like it, huh? You’re so wet for me, Toru.”

“Oh fuck you,” you giggle and he almost laughs – but it turns into a choked little  moan, you’re swirling your tongue around the sensitive ridge of his tip, tonguing that slit where all his pearly cum is slipping. “God, your fucking mouth.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, before plunging down again, slurping him the fuck down as you look up at him through your lashes.

The sight almost makes him lose it right there, busting from less than two minutes of your pretty lips stretched around him, the sight of your pretty tears at the corner of your eyes the only tell that it took effort stuffing his cock in your throat. Tight, needy throat that reflexively swallows around him as he cups your face to hold it in place, fucking your face harder.

“Gotta finger your cunt again? Needy, messy lil slut – all f’me, isn’t it?” You can’t help but whine out around him – yes, it’s all for him, and he knows it. Even as he’s whining out he’s dominating you, fucking your throat raw – you won’t even be able to talk tomorrow. “I can’t wait to drink that pretty pussy, f-fuck… god, when i pump you full of cum I’ll lick it right out.”

Satoru Gojo is absolutely fucking insane.

And you’re about to cum again just sucking him and fucking your own pussy with your much smaller fingers.

His hips are already jerking off rhythm now, meaner with it as he’s fucking himself back into your willing mouth. "Such a fucking tease for years... ah, shit, don't stop, b-baby please – m’gonna-”

One moment fucking your throat so hard you’re choking, the next murmuring your praises – pretty girl, needy slut, fuckin’ tease, my sweetheart – he’s a babbling mess, and you can’t help but feel so sexy doing it. Hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard as you pull back, feeling his hands tremble as they tug at your hair.

“Gonna swallow all of me? Hah – god just wait, I’ll fill all your fucking holes,” well that just fucking sends you, when he’s not gentle and he’s slamming his cock mean in your throat, heavy balls smacking your chin as you drool down them.

He murmurs your name when you feel him pulse and thicken, before he does just that – fills your throat with all that sweet, salty mix of his cum, hitting the back of your throat. You swallow it all, every last drop fucking greedy as you cum again, spasming and gushing down your own fingers.

You don’t stop licking him – not even after you’ve sucked his milky seed in your throat, you’re sucking his sensitive cock after, until he's whimpering your name.

"Jesus Christ," he whispers, finally letting go of your hair to gently stroke your cheek, you pull back with a messy pop and he struggles to even find a word for what just happened. “You’re so…”

“Good at it?” you tease, standing with his help and giggling, but it’s all shut off when he tilts your chin, kissing your swollen lips and lapping his own cum off with the tip of his tongue.

“Mmm, was gonna say beautiful,” your eyes locked.

Oh fuck.

It’s not just ovulation – you know it then and there.

Before you can have an entire mental breakdown, oh and a quarter life fucking crisis, you both hear everyone laughing outside. “Shit we…”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, fucked out and spent by you.

Satoru wasn’t innocent – but with you he felt like it – there’s never been anything like what you just did, fucking up his goddamn mind.

You rush out to the cookout after getting dressed like nothing happened – acting all unaffected and infuriating him to no end.

But it was just that, an act.

One he calls your ass out when Suguru is flipping burgers on the grill, and he’s handing you a beer with a little curve of his lips. “Oh, thanks ‘little toru’.”

“Hah,” he chuckles a bit, tilting his head. “Your sore throat tells me there’s nothing little about me anymore, hmm?”

“Shh!?” you look around wildly, as if someone could hear. “It was… just… I was…”

“Aching for my cock in your throat?” He leans low now, where no one in your family can hear him. “I’m a gentleman, sweetheart, I prefer to eat my meals first.”

“Eat your…” you blush now. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he sighs, aching to brush your hair back, but knowing at that moment how many people were around. “Gonna let me return your favor?”

Before you can answer, your mother's voice – all fucking bright and peppy – cuts through the relaxed atmosphere of the pool party, making everyone look over at her curiously. Oh, except Satoru – he’s stuck looking at you underneath his fluffy damn lashes.

"Look who's here! Hiromi, darling, over here!"

Fuck.

Hiromi!?

You turn and there he is. Your ex who broke your damn heart – Hiromi Higuruma, looking all handsome in a dark linen shirt and shorts, his hair just a little bit of a disaster as it always was. He has this polite, almost apologetic smile on his handsome face, the one you used to ride until he drowned in you.

You almost could forget how bad he hurt you until he was right here.

He's holding a bottle of wine and awkwardly greeting your father, who is clapping him on the back all friendly, steering him directly toward you.

"Hiromi, so glad you could make it!" You wanna die. Satoru’s tense as fuck right next to you.

He wants to kill this man.

He would kill anyone that’s ever even touched you, truly, if he could really get away with it.

Your mother is right behind Hiromi, smiling at you and making you scowl. "I just told Hiromi we were so surprised you two happened to be in town at the same time! It's a sign, don't you think, to reconnect? Even as… friends to the family, right?"

Oh, god.

Your fucking parents.

Higuruma's dark brown eyes find yours, and you feel all that pain all over again, mixing with the drink in your system, the pleasure from Suguru’s best friend – and the heat of the sun. Dizzy, you barely feel Satoru’s warmth against you.

It was not just sucking dick – and that terrifies you – but now, Hiromi is here and confusing the ever loving shit out of you. You thought you’d never see him again.

"Hey," he says softly to you, peering over at Satoru for a moment, before his gaze is back on yours. "Your parents invited me here, I didn’t want to be rude but also… didn’t want…”

He sighs then.

“I just really wanted to see you again.”

Satoru’s pretty blue eyes narrow – there’s no fucking way he’s letting anyone touch the girl that just deep throated his cock, the girl who he’s about to put babies inside. No, he’s not sharing – and Hiromi needs to fucking go – he has a girl he needs to make his.

hehe do we wanna pt 2 bc I can't help myselfff - </333 I was actually inspired when i read @revolvingsaturn's fic about Sugu's mom, ngghhh go check it

satoru knows well enough that he adores your voice when it’s wrapped around his name.

but he’s decided that he loves it best when it’s completely breaking, paired with the gorgeously suffocating feeling of the skin of your thighs pressed into his fingertips and wrapped around his lips.

he loves when his name is exhaled, high-pitched and whiny like sugar, while his tongue paints a stripe across the wetness coating your lips, swirling circles around your pretty clit.

maybe he liked it the most because it’s how he’s always wanted to hear you say his name — it’s just that you’d always been too fucking stubborn, so insistent on hating him that you’d never stop to think how good you’d taste coating his mouth with your slick.

“sa-ah-toru,” you keen as satoru’s tongue dips past the edge of your soaked hole, curling inwards deliciously, moving slow like he’s savoring every fucking drop.

god, he’s hungry — but he’ll die if he goes too quick and can’t taste you ever again.

and if he grips the back of your thighs just a little bit harder when you sing his name like that? he simply can’t help it. he waited too long for this.

sa-to-ru.

you taste just as sweet as you sound.

you’d burst into his office this morning, bemoaning the fact that satoru hadn’t showed up to the previous briefing with principal yaga, of which ended with yaga blaming it on you. you’re bursting with rage, all up in his face, and it’s all a blur from there until your panties are hooked over your ankle, he’s getting on his knees in front of your office chair, wrapping your thighs over his shoulders, and lapping at your pretty cunt.

he hasn't gasped for air; he’s been too enveloped in your scent to care about breathing. he’ll devour you until no one else can. until all that pretty voice of yours knows how to sound out is sa-to-ru.

satoru narrows his tongue, bullying the muscle deep and slow, down to where you couldn’t have thought possible to reach. his eyes are hazy, half-lidded as you tug at his winter locks, shoving him further into your weeping pussy.

“mmph— fuck,” you pant out, eyes screwed shut as he thrusts his tongue in and out of you at a torturous pace. “fuck— gojo, ‘re going too slow—”

“hmm?” he hums into your clit, sending shockwaves straight up from your core. the sorcerer’s gaze meets yours from under the glimpse of your tits beneath your unbuttoned polo.

he loves you composed, he really does — but you look perfect when you’re all messy, just for him.

his lips glisten with your wetness as he grins. “i'll go faster if you say my name properly, beautiful.”

“h—huh?” your words trail off into a candied whine as he pads his finger just against your entrance, smearing the wetness that covers your folds and popping it into his mouth.

you’re so sweet. fuck, why are you so sweet?

“say my name.” he repeats, his voice cheerful yet rough, the tiniest bit of grit around the edge. “remind me how much you love me, gorgeous.”

your eyes still manage to narrow, even as they glitter with needy frustration. “fuck you— mmh!”

satoru simply frowns against the inside of your thigh as he abruptly bullies the first inch of his finger past your entrance, hissing at how tightly your walls were clamping down on him. his mind goes blurry, swirling with thoughts of how delectable you’d look with your thighs around his hips, bullied open and clamping like a vice down on his cock—

he pulls his finger out with a shudder, cooing at the little pout that forms on your lips. “poor baby. if you can’t handle it, you know, we can stop here. if you want.”

“w— what?” you breathe out, eyes wide and glossy like the thought was insulting. “no, please — please, need you, satoru…”

sa-to-ru.

and you’ve drawn out that last syllable like you want him dead.

“again, sorry?”

“satoru!” you squeal impatiently, and he obliged, simply because he’d never say no to you when you sound like that.

the white-haired man groans, biting down on the inside of your thigh and relishing in the way it makes you whine, all high-pitched and finally sweet on him.

his fingers thrust roughly into your aching pussy, stretching you out and moulding you to shape around his skin. you’re dripping down his palm, and satoru’s mesmerized by the sheen of slick that coats his hand as he pounds his fingers in and out of you steadily.

“shit— so pretty here for me, huh?” satoru whispers reverently, as if speaking directly to your pussy and not to you. “just as sweet as that mouth of yours. just as tight too.”

your hands are making a home for themselves in his hair, hips chasing his thick fingers, grinding yourself further into them like he wasn’t deep enough already. your perfect fucking voice isn’t helping the sorcerer’s case either — he swears he loses every semblance of control he has, bit by bit, at each breath of his name leaving your lips, garbled and slurred and destroyed.

“s’toru, satoru,” your mouth drops open, eyes screwing shut as he curls his fingers right into that spongy spot, office chair creaking as your body slumps back into it. “it’s so— fuck, ‘ts so—”

he laughs breathlessly. “yes, gorgeous?”

“it’s so— oh!”

satoru cherishes everything you have to say, he swears he does.

but he also cherishes the way your lips look, all glossed with drool pooling at the corners, when he leans forward and circles his tongue over your clit in mean little motions, lapping at the sensitive skin in tandem with the rhythm of his fingers. you’re a whining, squirming mess — struggling to stay upright, thoroughly desecrated on the office chair you’d chewed him out just weeks ago for stealing.

satoru hisses as your fingertips tug at his locks, so fucking drunk on the taste of your soaked cunt amidst the lewd sound of his fingers slapping against your sex.

“listen to that,” he rasps out, pausing to let the squelch of your pussy speak for itself before laughing dazedly against your clit. “she’s screaming my name too, isn’t she? so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you?”

your bleary gaze peeks down at him, eyes questioning amidst the pleasure. “s—satoru, you asshole, stop talking to my— mmh!”

before you can protest, his mouth is diving back in. soft lips latch around your clit, and satoru’s painfully hard at the sound of your voice cracking around the syllables of his name, your throat thick with pleasure at the overstimulation. he doesn’t let up; the white-haired man sucks harder at the sensitive bud, all while scissoring his fingers deep inside of you as if mapping you out.

for when his dick goes inside you, of course.

“it’s t—too much,” you complain in a mewl, eyes blurry with forming tears, “satoru, please, please, ‘m so—”

“fuck, take it, gorgeous,” satoru gasps out against your pussy, lips drenched in your taste. “keep talking to me — shit, you’re tight — let it all out for me, okay?”

satoru’s mind had blanked out a long time ago. between the way your lips form his name in one strung out moan, and the way you taste sweeter than any candy he could’ve ever asked for, he’s starting to wonder if he’d died and gone to heaven.

your voice tangles with the filthy squelches that resound through the cramped space of your office, and he swears nothing could ever be better than this.

except for the way you sound saying his name while you cum.

“i’m— i’m—” you gasp, and satoru takes that as a sign to clamp his lips around your clit and suck, curling his fingers up against your g-spot until — “satoru!”

he’s never heard anything so perfect before. his gaze flicks upwards as you orgasm, watching the way your face scrunches up as your cunt tightens unbearably around every inch of his fingers. satoru’s transfixed by your stupid voice, something out of a porno curated by an angel, and if he’s hoping he’s ruined you with his fingers alone, you’ve ruined him with just the sound of your voice breaking.

your breaths are heavy as you come down from the high; soft and warm, sound waves radiating off of you like sunlight. satoru presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, and you finally peer down at him.

“still mad at me?” the sorcerer grins.

your eyes narrow as soon as you’re back to life. “yes. yaga chewed me out for something that wasn’t even my fault, satoru.”

sa-to-ru. the white-haired man pauses against your inner thigh, raising an eyebrow up at you with something hungry in his eyes. because as soon as you say his name, he decides he’s not fucking done with you yet.

“i’m sorry, gorgeous,” satoru mumbles, giving you a faux-apologetic glance before mischievously pressing a kiss to your clit, watching how your eyes widen. “i guess I’ll just keep going until you forgive me.”

“w—wait!”

satoru gojo really likes the way you say his name.

and he’ll keep making you say it until you know it too.

@ ttakdoll, 2026

You should’ve known something was up when he specifically bought only two first-class tickets to Las Vegas and your flight was at midnight. He’d insisted the two of you sneak out of the Kyoto Jujutsu Tech compound where you’d stayed for the duration of his visit to the Gojo clan, and hadn’t bothered to inform Shoko or Utahime or Yaga.

And so, again, you reiterate firmly and resolutely: none of this is your fault.

Your predicament—standing in a parking lot behind a Denny’s at nine in the night with a small fire going in a trash can nearby—is entirely, absolutely, positively Gojo Satoru’s fault.

“I want a divorce,” you tell him.

“We’ve been married for forty-seven minutes.”

“Forty-seven minutes too long.”

“You’re burning our wedding certificate!” Satoru says. “How are we supposed to file for divorce if there’s no proof we even got married?”

“I’ll figure it out,” you say, poking at the certificate with a stick you found on the ground. The corner of it curls and blackens satisfyingly. “I’m very resourceful.”

“You’re committing a crime is what you’re doing,” he says.

“You committed a crime first.”

“Getting married isn’t a crime—”

“Fraud is.”

Satoru opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, at a loss for words. This is a rare and precious occurrence—Gojo Satoru, speechless! You would be savouring it more if you weren’t currently a married woman in a Denny’s parking lot in Las Vegas at eleven o’clock in the night.

Satoru had told you it was a vacation. He’d shown up at your room in the Kyoto compound at half-past ten with a bag tucked under his arm and said, simply, “Come on. We’re leaving.”

“Leaving where?” you’d asked.

“Somewhere that isn’t here,” was his cryptic reply.

You’d been in Kyoto for six days. Six days of watching Satoru navigate the Gojo clan and their elders with their careful smiles and careful words. Nearly a week of watching something tight and unhappy lodge itself behind Satoru’s eyes while he pretended, convincingly, that everything was fine. You knew he wasn’t; you’d watched him perfect his act for years, after all.

So, you went. You told yourself it was because you’d never been to Las Vegas. This, at least, is true.

You’d grabbed your bag and followed him out through a side entrance of the compound at nine forty-five, and you didn’t inform any of your friends or superiors. Because of this, your phone has been periodically buzzing in your pocket for the last several hours and you’ve been ignoring it, which is a problem that is also, for the record, Satoru’s fault.

The flight was actually wonderful. First-class seats entailed warm socks and warm food and a window seat, because Satoru had graciously sat by the aisle. When you were flying over the Pacific, he’d fallen asleep with his head tipped back and his sunglasses still on. He looked younger when he was sleeping, you’d thought. More like the version of him you’d met when you were both too young and foolish to understand what being a sorcerer actually meant.

After you landed, Satoru took you to a casino and then to a fancy place for lunch, and then to another two casinos—if he wasn’t careful, he’d turn into a gambling addict soon—and then he took you to a chapel on the Strip with fake flowers zip-tied to the pews and an officiant named Francis who had red hair and smelled like cigarettes and convenience store chewing gum.

Francis had cried a little during the vows, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. Satoru had found this enormously gratifying. You, however, had been in something of a dissociative state.

“It’s not fraud,” Satoru says now, in the parking lot, watching you cremate your marriage certificate. “We did actually get married. Francis witnessed it. There are photos.”

“There are photos?”

“Francis had a camera.”

“What?”

“I think it’s just something he keeps on him professionally.”

You stare at him. He has the grace to look slightly sheepish. His sunglasses are still on. His suit jacket is open, and his tie, which had been done up neatly for the ceremony (clearly he’d planned far enough ahead to wear a nice tie) is now loosened and slightly crooked. The cheap gold ring on his finger—wrong hand; he’d fumbled it in the moment and jammed it on before either of you could correct it—catches the light from the parking lot fluorescents.

“That’s it!” you say, snapping your fingers at him. “That’s our proof to file for divorce! Take me back to the wedding chapel, Satoru.”

“No way,” he says. “I’m taking you to dinner first. We need to commemorate our first night of being married.”

“We’re behind a Denny’s,” you point out.

“I know,” Satoru says. “Denny’s is a perfectly acceptable dining establishment, but I meant somewhere nice. There’s a steakhouse on the Strip that has a three-month waitlist.”

“Then we can’t go there.”

“I called ahead.”

You gape at him. “Three months ago?”

“No,” he says. “I called ahead on the plane. You were asleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep for that long—”

“Yeah, you were asleep for, like, four hours. You even snored a little.”

“I did not—that’s not the point! The point is, you planned this. You planned all of it, the chapel, the restaurant, the—” You gesture at the ring on his finger, the ring on yours, the dying fire in the trash can—“everything.”

“Not everything. I didn’t plan for you to burn our wedding certificate in a fit of rage.”

“That’s your fault by proximity.”

“That’s not a legal standard.”

“I’m making it one.”

Satoru smiles, quick and bright. You have a long and storied history of making Gojo Satoru laugh when he isn’t expecting to, and it used to feel like winning something. It still does, if you’re being honest.

“Come on,” Satoru says, nodding towards the street. “Dinner first, Francis later. We can get the photos after and then you can file for divorce. I won’t stop you.”

“You’d better not,” you say.

“I said I won’t.” He holds his hands up, the picture of innocence. “I’m a man of my word.”

“You’re really not.”

“I’m a man of some of my word,” he amends.

The steakhouse is situated on the upper floor of one of the larger casinos on the Strip, lined with dark wood and low, hushed lighting. You are seated by a window. The Strip sprawls below you in every direction, extravagant and relentless, all that light going nowhere at tremendous speed.

“Were you really that confident I’d say yes?” you ask once the menus have been set in front of you.

“I was… hopeful,” Satoru says. It’s not a word you can recall him ever applying to himself before, in all the years you’ve known him; it sounds odd. You pick up your own menu and look at it without reading it.

What you’ve learnt about Satoru and what most people tend to miss is that underneath all the grinning and grandstanding and carelessness, there is someone who wants things very badly and has learned not to show it. You’ve known this for years. You’ve watched him want things, and watched him bury it under layers of grandiosity until it’s almost invisible. Almost.

“The elders have been at it for two years,” he says finally, without looking up from the menu. “The meetings, the candidates. They’re all very suitable women from very respectable families. Good for the clan’s interests.”

“You never told me it’d been going on for that long.”

“Didn’t want to make it a thing.”

“Satoru—”

“It’s fine. It’s just—” He sets the menu down and looks out at the Strip, all that light below. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life performing for someone who sees me as a resource. I do enough of that already. I knew it was going to happen eventually and that they were going to stop asking and start insisting. So. Vegas.”

“Vegas,” you echo.

“You were the obvious answer,” he says matter-of-factly. “You already know what you’re getting into with me. You don’t have any illusions. You—you’re my best friend. There isn’t anyone I’d rather be stuck with.”

“Stuck with,” you repeat. “Incredibly romantic.”

“I said what I said.”

The waiter arrives and Satoru orders for the two of you. You look down at the ring on your finger and think about how it came from the little rotating display by the chapel door, five dollars American. It fits almost perfectly except for being on the wrong hand.

“Er. You fumbled the ring,” you say.

“I was nervous,” he says.

Gojo Satoru, nervous. Gojo Satoru, who treats most of human experience as something happening at a slight remove, who has never, to your knowledge, shown up to anything in his life uncertain of the outcome—nervous!

“Were you,” you say.

“Briefly,” Satoru says, with great dignity. “It passed.”

“Of course.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“Of course.”

The fountains in front of the Bellagio are in the middle of their routine, water arcing up in great pale columns against the dark. The light from them moves across the window in slow, repeating patterns. Satoru’s eyes catch the shifting light. You swallow hard.

“We’re not arguing about the divorce, by the way,” you tell him.

“We’ll see.”

“Satoru.”

“We’ll see,” he says again pleasantly. You’re going to say something else, something firm and unambiguous, but he’s already put his cutlery down and is walking out, and you’re already following.

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, ITEM #2 – BREAKING AND ENTERING.

The supposed 24/7 active wedding chapel has a sign tacked onto the front door when you arrive later, which reads, Under maintenance. We apologise for the inconvenience!

“Fuck,” you groan.

“Language,” Satoru says. “Maintenance at midnight. Huh. That’s strange.”

“That’s what I’m focusing on right now, yes, thank you.”

You press your face briefly against the chapel door’s small window. The lights inside are off. Through the glass you can just make out the shape of the pews, the flowers zip-tied to their ends, and the little altar at the front where Francis had stood several hours ago and wept openly into his handkerchief. How are you supposed to get the photographs of your husband—you are using that word provisionally under extreme protest—looking at you like you’re the only fixed point in the room?

“He might live here,” Satoru says.

“Francis?”

“Some of these places have a back apartment for the officiant. We could knock.”

“We’re not knocking on a man’s door at midnight,” you say.

“It’s nearly one.”

“That makes it worse!” You step back from the door and look at the sign again. There’s a narrow alley running along the left side of the chapel, squeezed between the chapel building and the 24-hour tattoo parlour next door. You only notice it because Satoru’s already walking towards it. “What are you doing?”

“Recon,” Satoru says. “Just looking.”

He disappears around the corner. You stand on the pavement with your hands on your hips before deciding to follow him. The alley is cramped and smells stale. There’s a dumpster and a stack of plastic chairs leaning against the chapel wall. Satoru stands with his hands in his pockets, looking upward with his head tilted back.

“No,” you say.

“There’s a window.”

“I see that.”

“It’s open!”

It appears to be a casement window on the chapel’s ground floor, propped out at an angle, about eight feet off the ground and just wide enough for a person to fit through.

“That could be a bathroom window,” you say. “We’d be breaking and entering.”

“The window’s already open,” Satoru says. “Technically we’d just be entering. The photos Francis took are currently somewhere in that chapel developing in a back room, unattended.”

“If we get arrested,” you say, “I’m blaming you entirely.”

“Obviously.”

“I will give a statement to the police and it will contain your full name and a detailed account of everything that’s happened tonight, starting with the chapel and working backwards to Kyoto.”

“Sure. Boost or be boosted?” Satoru asks, turning to the chairs. “I’d say I’ll boost you, but I want it to be on record that I think you’d make a better lookout.”

“I’m not being a lookout.”

“You just said—”

“I’m coming with you.”

He pauses, glancing at you, his expression softening just a little bit. Warm and amused—gone before you can fix it in place.

“Obviously,” he says, smiling, and starts stacking chairs.

The window is, in fact, not a bathroom window. It opens into a small storage room at the back of the chapel, with folding tables against one wall, boxes of artificial flowers stacked against the other, and a mop in a bucket in the corner. Through a door on the far side, you can see the chapel proper. The dripping you can hear means the maintenance situation is a ceiling problem, probably towards the front.

“There’s a whole back operation,” Satoru says, impressed.

“We need to find the darkroom,” you whisper.

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because we’re trespassing.”

“Right, yes,” he says, lowering his voice. “The darkroom will need ventilation, so it’s probably towards the back.”

“How do you know anything about darkrooms?” you ask.

“I went through a photography phase in my second year of middle school. It was a whole thing.” He opens the storage room door and peers through into the chapel. “All clear.”

You follow him through. The chapel at night, empty and dim, is a different place entirely from what it was several hours ago. Smaller, somehow. Without Francis and the lights, it’s just a room with cheap flowers and worn carpet.

“Back room’s through here,” Satoru says softly; he’s already at the door behind the altar. You cross the chapel quickly, not looking at the pews or the aisle, not doing anything so foolish as standing in the dark and sentimentalising about a five-dollar ring and a laminated vow card.

The back room is small and smells sharply of chemicals—developer and fixer, mostly. There’s a red safelight along the wall that Francis has left running, bathing everything in a dim glow. A long workbench runs along one wall, and on it, clipped to a line strung above the bench, are your photographs.

Four of them, hanging in a row, damp and gleaming slightly under the monochromatic light. Even from across the room, you can make out the chapel and the altar. Neither of you says anything for a moment, until Satoru walks to the bench and stands in front of the photographs. You make your way and stand beside him.

The first one is mid-ceremony. You’re both facing Francis, and you can see Satoru in profile—head tilted, shoulders set. The second one is the ring exchange; you can see immediately why it’s blurry. You’d both been laughing, actually, you remember that now, because Satoru had fumbled the ring and said something under his breath, and you’d bitten down on a laugh and not entirely succeeded. Francis had captured exactly that, the two of you with your heads slightly bent towards each other.

In the third one, Francis had asked you to face each other for a photo, and while you’re looking at the camera, Satoru’s looking at you. You look—Francis had said surprised, and yes, there is that, but there’s also something else, something you would rather not name.

Satoru is looking at you the way he was looking at you in the chapel, the way he’s been looking at you in these odd unguarded moments all evening.

“We look like idiots,” Satoru says.

“Francis was right,” you say. “We both look surprised.”

“Were you?” he asks.

“Yes. Were you?”

“No,” he says, then adds quietly, “Maybe. About—about other things.”

In the fourth photograph, you are outside the chapel, looking at the ring on your hand, and Satoru is looking at you looking at the ring. Francis had captured the angle so cleanly that you can see Satoru’s full expression, soft in a way his face almost never is in front of other people, private. You realise you’re holding your breath.

“We should take them,” Satoru says.

“We can’t just take them,” you say. “They’re developing.”

“They look pretty developed to me.”

“Satoru, they’re damp—”

“They’ll dry.” He’s already carefully unclipping the first photograph from the line. “Francis has the negatives. He can print more.”

“You don’t know that Francis has the negatives, and besides, we’re stealing from him.”

“We’re borrowing from Francis.” Satoru holds the first photograph carefully by its edge and looks at it in the red light before setting it down on the workbench. “Hand me something to put these in. There should be a folder or an envelope on the bench somewhere.”

There’s a paper envelope at the end of the bench, brown and flat. You pick it up and hold it open. Satoru slides the photographs in one by one.

“We need to leave Francis a note,” you say, “and money. For the printing. For—everything.”

“How much do you think midnight darkroom theft runs these days?”

“What?”

“I’m asking genuinely.”

“A lot,” you say. “Leave a lot.”

You find a notepad on the workbench next to a jar of pens. Francis, you write. We’re sorry for the unauthorised visit. We needed the photos tonight, so please print yourself copies. Enclosed is payment for the developing, the breaking-in, the trouble, and your time. Thank you for everything. It was a beautiful ceremony.

You fold the note and put it on the workbench. Satoru takes his wallet out, removes a quantity of cash that makes your eyebrows go up, and weighs it down with the jar of pens.

You go back through the chapel and through the storage room and back out the window into the alley. Satoru drops down behind you and lands easily on the ground. The night air is warm, and the Strip is still brightly lit not thirty feet away. You hold the envelope against your chest. The photographs inside are still slightly damp.

“For the record,” you say, “this is also your fault.”

“The chapel was closed,” Satoru says reasonably. “I didn’t plan that part. Plus, we have the photos, so. Seems like it worked out.”

You look at him with his loosened tie and ruffled hair and think, He’s going to be completely insufferable about this for years. You are going to have to hear about the Vegas chapel break-in for the rest of your natural life and possibly longer.

“Come on,” you say. “You said the hotel’s three blocks away.”

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, ITEM #3 – VANDALISM.

There is only one bed. It’s not, on its own, an unusual situation. You’ve shared sleeping arrangements with Satoru before—field missions and overnight calls that left two sorcerers and one room. You’d use a pillow wall, most of the time.

The difference is that you are currently married to him.

“You booked a room with one bed?” you ask.

“They may have assumed, given that I made the reservation under a recently married couple’s names, that we would want,” Satoru says, gesturing at the bed, “the one bed.”

The bed in question is enormous, dressed in white linen and piled with decorative pillows. There’s a bowl of strawberries on the bedside table. The whole room smells faintly of roses.

“Did you request the honeymoon setup?” you say.

“The woman on the phone seemed very enthusiastic about it.”

“That’s not an answer!” You look around the room, hands on your hips. “Well, there’s a couch. You can use that.”

It’s one of those small, decorative couches present in hotel rooms to fill a corner, hold throw pillows, and look tasteful in photographs, but not to sleep on.

“I’m not going to sleep on it, but noted,” Satoru says, striding towards the minibar, shrugging his jacket off and draping it over the back of the chair by the window. “Whiskey or gin?”

“Whiskey,” you say. “We can put a pillow wall down the middle.”

“We’re married,” he says, crossing the room with two small bottles. He sits down on the other side of the bed. “It seems a bit prudish.”

You take the whiskey from him and twist the cap off. Satoru has his own bottle balanced between both hands, still unopened, and he’s looking out the window at the city below. You’ve spent enough years watching him, but it doesn’t seem to change anything; the flutter in your heart remains the same, as does the contentment you feel in your chest.

“I want to see them again,” you announce.

Satoru looks at you. “The photos?”

You reach for the envelope on the nightstand and slide the pictures out carefully, holding them by the edges. They’re drying, stiffening slightly. You hold them in your lap and he leans in slightly.

“You should’ve warned me,” you say quietly.

“About which part?”

“All of it.” You tap the third photograph’s edge, gently. “This.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “If I’d warned you, you’d have said no.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you,” he says, not unkindly. “You’d have thought about it too long and decided it was too complicated, and then you’d have spent months being strange about it, and then we’d have gone back to normal, and—” He stops, turning the bottle in his hands. “…I didn’t want to go back to normal.”

“It’s still a bad idea,” you mumble.

“Probably,” he agrees. His hand shifts on the duvet between you, the tip of his little finger coming to rest against the back of yours. “Hasn’t stopped being true, though. Whatever it is. You know what I mean.”

You do. That’s the problem: you’ve always known what he means, even when he’s being deliberately oblique about it. You’ve known him too long and too well for any of it to not make sense anymore. Which means, you understand now, that you’ve also known you’re in love with him for longer than you thought.

You look at the fourth photograph—Satoru, standing outside the chapel, watching you look at the ring on your hand.

“You could’ve just said something,” you tell him. “At any point. Like a normal person.”

“I took you to Las Vegas and married you,” he says. “That’s me saying something directly.”

His hand turns over and covers yours, warm and assuaging, and whatever reservations you’d been carefully maintaining for years simply crumble.

You close the remaining distance. Satoru’s free hand comes up to your face before you’ve fully moved, which means he was thinking about it too—has been thinking about it, probably, for longer than tonight, longer than Vegas—and he’s kissing you.

He kisses you decisively. There’s a certainty to it that shouldn’t surprise you—this is Satoru, who does nothing halfway—but it does, a little. But what surprises you more is how easy it is. How it doesn’t feel like a change in anything so much as a long-overdue acknowledgement of something that’s been there all along.

When you pull back, his forehead drops to yours. His sunglasses are still pushed up on his head, and you reach up and take them off without asking. He lets you.

“Hi,” Satoru says.

“You’re still wearing your sunglasses indoors at midnight,” you chide.

“I said hi.”

“Hi,” you say.

He smiles; it reaches his eyes. “So,” he starts.

“Do not say ‘I told you so.’”

“I wasn’t going to. Probably.”

“Insufferable,” you say, and kiss him again, which is both a rebuke and a surrender but mostly just because you want to. He makes a sound against your mouth that might be a laugh, and his arms come around you properly this time.

The decorative pillows go first. There are seven of them, and they go in ones and twos without either of you paying much attention—one knocked off when his arm comes around you properly, two more when you shift closer, the rest sliding off the edge in a soft succession of thuds. One of the small whiskey bottles, empty now, rolls off the mattress and lands on the carpet. You don’t notice any of it; you’re somewhat preoccupied by Satoru taking your face in his hands and tilting it and kissing you until you forget what you were arguing about.

You suspect that he’s thought about this for a long time, the same way you have.

“You’re thinking,” Satoru says against your mouth.

“I’m not.”

“You are. I can tell. You get this little—” He pulls back just enough to look at you, and traces something between your brows with one finger. “Here.”

You stare at him. “I hate that you know that.”

“No, you don’t,” he says. He’s right, and you hate that too, so you tell him so by pulling him back down by the front of his shirt.

He lets you tug at him willingly—more than willingly, with an enthusiasm that sends you back against the pillows and makes you laugh, briefly, before his mouth finds your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, and the laugh turns into a gasp. His hands are at your waist, warm through the fabric.

His tie joins the pillows on the floor; you get the knot loose while he’s working on the matter of your buttons. His shirt is untucked and you run your hands on his waist, his ribs, the warm plane of his stomach. Satoru groans against the side of your neck, and you shiver. He tosses your shirt aside, too, and his eyes darken when his gaze lands on your chest. He takes his time with your nipples, rolling them around with his thumbs, before taking one of them in his mouth.

He moves lower, pressing kisses to the underside of your breasts, moving down to your navel. When he reaches the waistband of your jeans, he looks up, pupils blown wide and asks, “May I?”

“Yes, yes, please.” You nod frantically, helping him pull your jeans and panties off when he unbuttons it. You’re already wet and needy.

“You’re so beautiful,” Satoru says, gazing up at you before littering kisses on your inner thighs, so close to where you want him. 

“Satoru, please,” you say. “I need you.”

He blows on your wet core, making you shiver. “Need me to what?”

“I need you to, hah, just—”

Satoru latches onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud. You moan, your hands flying to his hair and gripping the silver-white strands. He alternates between quick flicks and long, broad strokes, keeping your folds spread apart with two fingers while his other hand traces patterns along the underside of your thigh.

“Fuck, fuck—” You curse when his tongue moves in a circle right around your clenching hole. Satoru doesn’t stop. If anything, the sound of your voice breaking, the way you curse his name, only spurs him on. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you. He’s always known how to push your buttons. But this is different; this isn’t a playful tease during a mission.

He dives back in, his tongue flattening out to lap at you with broad, wet strokes that cover everything from your clit down to your opening. You arch your back, your hips lifting off the mattress instinctively, trying to press yourself harder against his mouth.

“Satoru… please, I’m—”

“You’re what?” he mumbles against your skin. He doesn’t wait for an answer, sliding two fingers deep inside you. You let out a strangled cry, your toes curling. His fingers are thick and warm, and he curls them, hooking them upward to find that sensitive spot that makes your vision blur. His thumb remains locked into your clit, rubbing circles on the engorged bud.

The sensation is overwhelming. It’s too much and yet not nearly enough. You can feel the tension building in your lower belly, a tight, simmering coil that winds tighter and tighter with every second.

“Right there,” you moan, your fingers knotting into his hair. “Right there, Satoru, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Your breath comes out in short, jagged gasps, your chest heaving. Just as you are about to orgasm, Satoru stops. He doesn’t just slow down; he pulls his fingers out of you with a sudden, wet pop and removes his mouth from your heat entirely. You freeze, your eyes snapping open. “Satoru, what the hell—”

He’s hovering over you, braced on his elbows, his hair messy and falling over his forehead. A slow, smug smile spreads across his lips, though his breathing is just as heavy as yours.

“Not yet,” he whispers.

“I hate you,” you groan, your hips twitching involuntarily, searching for the friction he just stole from you. “I actually hate you so much.”

“Liars don’t get to come,” Satoru teases, though his hand reaches down to gently stroke the skin of your inner thigh. 

He shifts, moving upward to kiss you. He tastes like you, and you moan into his mouth, before he pulls away just an inch, his gaze dropping to your drenched core. “I want to feel you,” he murmurs. “I want to feel how tight you are around me.”

Satoru slides backward, just enough to strip off his trousers and underwear in one hurried motion. His cock springs out, thick and flushed. Your mouth waters simply looking at it, while he pumps it once, twice, thumb circling the tip. He doesn’t lie back down. Instead, he sits up, leaning his back against the headboard of the enormous bed, his legs spread wide. He reaches out, grabbing your waist with those large, strong hands and pulling you forward until you are hovering over him.

“Ride me?” he asks.

The need for friction, for fullness, for him overrides any lingering frustration. You shift your weight, guiding his cock to your entrance. As you slowly lower yourself down, the feeling of his cock filling you, stretching you open, sends a fresh wave of pleasure through you. You let out a long, shuddering moan as you sink down completely, inch by inch, your pelvis flushing against his. Satoru lets out a choked sound, his head hitting the headboard with a thud, his eyes screwing shut.

“Fuck,” he moans. “You’re—you’re so tight. I can’t—”

“Shut up,” you whisper, though there’s no heat in it.

You begin to move, a slow, grinding rotation of your hips. You watch his face—the way his jaw clenches and his nostrils flare, the way he looks at you with warmth and wonder. You quicken your movements, bouncing on his cock. Satoru’s hands move from your waist to your hips, fingers digging into your skin, helping you ride him. He thrusts upwards, tilting his hips and dragging his cock against your walls.

“Look at me,” he groans. You look down, your eyes locking onto his. “I love you,” he says.

You feel the coil in your belly snap. Your orgasm washes over you as you clench around his cock, milking him. Satoru moans, his back arching off the bed as he thrusts upwards one last time. “I’m going to come,” he says. “Let me—”

You slide off his cock and he comes, his release spurting onto his stomach, a little bit on your thighs. You collapse against his chest. He wraps his arms around you tightly, pulling you into the crook of his neck.

For a long time, neither of you speaks. Eventually, Satoru shifts slightly, kissing the top of your head.

“So,” he whispers. “Shower?”

You lift your head slightly, looking at him with tired, happy eyes. “Already?” you say with faux innocence. “I thought you’d want to fuck me on that stupid couch first.”

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, ITEM #4 – EMBEZZLEMENT.

Hopefully Satoru didn’t mind you swiping his credit card from his wallet while he was fast asleep, one arm thrown over his face while the other was stretched out beside him. You’d wriggled out of his grasp carefully, pressing a gentle, barely-there kiss to the tip of his nose, before digging through his jacket’s pockets for his wallet and pulling out his black card.

It’s for a good purpose, you console yourself, hurrying through the streets of Las Vegas with a jewellery shop’s location pulled up on your phone. 

Las Vegas in the early morning is a different city entirely from the one that had swallowed you whole last night. It’s not quiet, exactly—it’s never quiet, you suspect—but it’s quieter, the frenetic energy of the Strip mellowed into something slower. The crowds have thinned, at least.

You walk with your hands in your pockets, Satoru’s black card tucked safely between two fingers. The morning air is warm and dry, and the sky above the glow of the Strip is beginning to lighten from black to the deep bruised blue that comes just before dawn.

The jewellery shop is three blocks from the hotel, according to your phone. It’s a small, well-lit place that stays open through the night, catering to those Las Vegas visitors who find themselves in need of jewellery at unusual hours, which you now understand is a larger demographic than you’d previously considered.

You walk and think about the rings. The ones currently on your fingers are not adequate. They’re soft metal, the gold already slightly scuffed from one night of existence, and they’ll tarnish in a week. You’d noticed this morning, while Satoru was still asleep: the way your rings sat a little loose, the way it had already lost some of its shine. It’s more of a placeholder than anything else.

The thought of replacing them had arrived while you’d lain in Satoru’s arms, listening to him breathe and looking at the ring.

You aren’t scared, though you’d expected to be. You’d expected to wake up this morning with the full weight of what’s happened landing on you like a dropped beam, and to spend the subsequent hours dealing with the considerable wreckage of your own panic. It seemed like a reasonable response to having been married to your best friend in Las Vegas by a crying man named Francis and then having the matter become rather more settled than a marriage certificate alone would suggest.

But when you’d woken up with Satoru’s arm around you and the photographs on the nightstand, what you’d felt was something almost irritatingly simple: you’d felt like yourself.

The jewellery shop is small and bright, jewellery arranged in lit display cases along the walls, a pudgy man behind the counter. He looks up when you come in, takes in the look of you—your clothes from last night, slightly slept-in, your hair not fully combed—and nods pleasantly.

“Morning,” he says. “What are you looking for?”

“Wedding rings,” you say. “Two of them, please. Something that’ll last for a long time.”

He nods again. “Do you know the other person’s size?”

You think about Satoru’s hands—the ring sliding onto his finger in the chapel, his hand covering yours on the duvet last night, the warmth of his arm around this morning. “I can estimate,” you say.

He shows you to a case along the left wall. The rings inside are simple, for the most part—plain bands in gold and silver and white gold, some with small details, most without. You find two plain bands in white gold, clean-lined and unornamented, substantial enough to last. 

“These,” you tell the man behind the counter.

He nods. You produce Satoru’s black card and spend a figure that makes you wince slightly but not reconsider, because the point isn’t the cost and you’re sure Satoru will agree with you about this when he wakes up and finds both you and his credit card gone. You leave the ship with the rings in a small white box and stand on the pavement outside for a moment in the warming air.

You pull your phone out and type in the search bar, Chapel of Eternal Love, and punch in the number attached. 

“Hello, Chapel of Eternal Love, Francis speaking—”

“Francis,” you say, smiling. “I have a favour to ask.”

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, ITEM #5 – MARRIAGE.

Francis, it turns out, is delighted. He’d gone quiet for a moment when you explained what you were asking, and then said, Give me an hour, and hung up before you could confirm the details. 

You make your way back to the hotel with your ring box in your pocket and the morning brightening steadily around you. The casino lobbies you pass are still going—slot machines, a scattering of determined gamblers, staff moving between stations—but the Strip itself is relatively peaceful, the night’s crowd entirely dissolved and the day’s not yet arrived. You have the pavement to yourself. It’s a strange and pleasant feeling, Las Vegas in the interstitial hour.

Satoru is awake when you get back, sitting up in bed with his hair in complete disarray and the duvet bunched around his waist. When you open the door he looks at you blankly.

“Morning,” you say.

“My credit card,” he says.

“Is fine.” You cross the room and hold it out. He takes it without looking at it, still watching you. “I needed it for a purchase.”

“What kind of purchase requires you to leave the hotel room at—” he glances at the clock on the nightstand—“six forty-seven in the morning?”

“The important kind.” You sit down on the edge of the bed and take the white box out of your pocket, setting it on the duvet between you.

Satoru picks the box up and opens it, and doesn’t say anything at all, which is the loudest thing Gojo Satoru can do. “You stole my credit card,” he says finally, “to buy us wedding rings.”

“I borrowed it,” you say. “To replace the ones we got from a spinning display rack for five dollars each.”

“I liked those rings.”

“They were tarnishing,” you say. “There’s more, by the way.”

You tell him about Francis. He looks surprised at first, and then warm, so utterly warm when he tugs you closer to him and kisses you again, and again, and once more for good measure. Satoru closes the ring box and holds it in both hands, the way he’d held the whiskey bottle last night before he’d covered your hand with his. 

“I thought you wanted a divorce last night, and now you’ve stolen my credit card and called Francis.”

“Yep.”

He looks at you for a long moment. The morning light filters through the curtains and he looks extraordinarily, unfairly beautiful, even just woken up.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” Satoru sets the ring box on the nightstand, next to the photographs. “Okay.”

Francis has decorated the chapel when you arrive. You’re not entirely sure when he found the time—it’s been barely two hours since your phone call—but the maintenance issue has apparently been resolved, because the lights are on when you arrive. The door is unlocked; when you step inside you find that Francis has replaced the zip-tied artificial flowers on the pews with fresh ones, white and small. There are candles lit along the windowsills. The worn carpet, in the warm light, looks less worn somehow, or perhaps you’re simply disposed to see it differently today.

Francis himself is standing at the altar in a clean shirt, his red hair combed and his camera in his hands. “You came back,” he says.

“We came back,” you confirm.

Francis looks at the two of you—Satoru in a fresh shirt with his tie done up neatly again, you in the best thing you could assemble from your bag on short notice—and grins. “The rings, did you—”

You produce the white box.

“Right,” Francis says. “Right, yes. Let’s—shall we?”

Here is what you think about, standing at the altar of the Chapel of Eternal Love for the second time in less than twenty-four hours:

You think about the first time, yesterday, and how you’d stood here in something close to a dissociative state, your brain running through the situation at high speed. You think about the parking lot behind the Denny’s and the small fire in the trash can. You’d meant it when you said you wanted a divorce, though you realise now that you were frightened of what being married to your best friend entailed.

Satoru had let you burn it, too. He hadn’t argued because he’d known you’d come around. Not from arrogance, but because he knew you, the same way you knew him, all the way down to the things you didn’t say aloud.

You think about the darkroom, the four photographs drying on the line in the red light. Climbing back out through the chapel window into the warm Las Vegas night and holding the envelope against your chest, the photographs still damp inside it. You think about the rings in the spinning display by the door—you can still see them from where you’re standing, the little rack with the remaining rings. They were the beginning, it turns out.

You turn to look back at Satoru. He’s smiling at you.

Francis clears his throat gently. “Shall we begin?”

The vows are the same ones from the laminated card. Francis offers alternatives—he has a small binder with options—but Satoru shrugs, so you use the same ones. When Francis gets to the rings you open the white box yourself. You take Satoru’s ring out and hold it; he holds out his right hand out of habit before catching himself and switching to his left, and you both laugh helplessly. Francis gulps and pulls out his handkerchief. You put the ring on the correct hand this time.

Satoru takes yours from the box and looks up at you—there’s that expression, the one from the photographs, the one you have a name for now. He slides the ring onto the correct finger and holds your hand for a moment after.

Francis is fully crying now. He dabs at his eyes without embarrassment and beams at the two of you over his handkerchief with radiant approval.

“I’ve never had anyone come back,” he tells you. “In twelve years, you’re the first.”

“We forgot something the first time,” you say.

Francis tucks his handkerchief away and straightens up. Smiling, he announces, “You may now kiss,” and so you do.

the video was practically burned into his retinas, setting off an unjust trigger of frustration he’d been holding in. it was almost unbearable — he had to find some kind of way to reaching you just as he did in his dreams because the life of a cuck was never something he’d foreseen as his own reality.

satoru had to get out of japan, it was the only step that would make it possible to see you — and, the only possible way to subside his carnal craving for you. but the thing is, he needed an excuse. he needed a reason to be overseas because no matter how much he joked about giving you the real ‘thing’, and expressing how crazed you make him — that’s not enough reason to fly out, no matter how impulsive he may be.

he had to strategize it, make the reason why he’s in your hometown sound believable. he’d call it an overseas ‘collaboration’. the kind of travel that content creators do for networking purposes, expanding their growth and earning more profits — it was a perfect idea.

“hypothetically speaking… what if, and i mean what if.” satoru’s voice grows in pitch as you hear his excitement over the phone. “not again, toru. i’m tired of your ‘what if’ questions, let talk about something else.” you sigh.

satoru’s been buzzing in your ear for the past few hours about absolute nonsense. first it was about him traveling overseas for vacation, then it was about him “visiting friends” overseas — which never bothered to mention, and now here he was again.

“fine—” he pursued his lips, “last one. what iffffff.” he drags before pausing as you hum in response, but there’s an awkward beat of silence. “what iff?..” you repeat after him, before hearing him giggle like a little boy with a crush.

you raised an eyebrow, listening to satoru on the other side of the phone. the only times you’ve heard satoru giggle like a child was either because his favorite game has finally been released, or because he had something mischievous in mind.

“what if— and this is a hypothetical, okay? but what if i went overseas for a collab?” he utters out quickly, as you hear a grin creep onto his lips. “then i guess you’ll be overseas for a collab? i don’t know.” you respond slightly confused, unsure why’d he even tell you that.

“you’re no fun.” satoru huffs, and it’s safe to assume he was expecting more than just a slightly dismissive response. “i mean… why are you so intent on traveling outside the country?” you ask, “you’ve been mentioning traveling overseas every time we speak on the phone.” you’re talking while trying to figure out why satoru’s so fixated on traveling, before it it clicks to you.

“don’t tell me that collab has you losing months worth of sleep because you just can’t wait to go.” you roll your eyes with cringe, which earns an incoherent groan from satoru.

“you just wouldn’t get it.” his voice softens as he accepts quiet defeat. and it’s unfortunate really, it’s not like he could tell you that the collab would be with you without sounding like a desperate loser.

he sent you a molded figure of his dick two months ago — half jokingly, half hoping that there’s a chance that you’d use it. he honestly thought the odds were against him, until they weren’t. until that sole day he’d find himself seeing you as more than just a mutual friend, but an unfulfilled desire.

“get what, toru?” you let out a small laugh, mixed between amusement and disbelief. “get how you’re basically crushing on one of your mutuals.” you tease just enough to hit that sore spot that’s been slowly killing satoru.

“whaaat? y’ jealous?” he taunts, as if the ache within his chest is inexistent. “definitely not.” you scoff lightly.

“yeah, sureee.” he lets out a laugh. “i’m sure after using my replica, you feel a little territorial over me, no?” he adds, half a playful, half truth as he anticipated your response, but all you do is let out an inaudible laugh.

of course satoru was a menace, he always has been since the day you two became friends — but the one thing you could never get used to was his tactless behavior. either he was stupid, or just abnormally impulsive.

“nah, but i’d definitely get territorial if you’re giving out money to other women on their streams.” you jokingly tease back, but there’s truth hidden between your words before you’re hearing satoru’s laugh break your phone’s sound barrier.

“give me a personalized stream and i’ll have you set for life.” he says over the phone, as if he doesn’t have a downloaded file of you on his phone.

“you’re a college student, toru.” you deadpan your phone as if you’re on facetime. “i’ll indulge in my savings for you.” he replies, soft and stupidly, but only satoru knows there’s a hell of a lot more things he’d do for you.

“yeah, suree.” you drag sarcastically, “goodnight, toru before you make me lose the little brain cells i have left.” you wish him a good night, earning a laugh from him.

“sighhhhh!” satoru sighs the actual word out loud, “you always think i’m joking.” he says, and you can hear the pout in his voice. “but goodnight— i’ll see you tomorrow, love you.” he lets out a smooching sound before ending the call.

—

text from satoru: you home? sent at 7:38 PM

your phone buzzes on the couch’s armrest making you reach across the sofa to grab your phone.

you: no

you: did you bring me another one of your gifts ?? 🧍‍♀️

your fingers tap against screen of your phone, as you’re reaching to put it back down against the armrest before your phone is buzzing again.

text from satoru: WHY ARE YOU NOT AT HOMEE

text from satoru: I HAD A GIFT FOR YOU 😔😔, i was gonna tell you to open the door so you’d be surprised but NOOO you decided not to be home

the texts from satoru are coming in one after another, and you can’t help but giggle because in truth, you actually are home, but it’s not as if he could prove it.

you: 😭😭

you: it’s okay, just take the L tonight ☹️

text from satoru: this is more than a L

text from satoru: I JUST GOT SHOT FIFTY TIMES

text from satoru: BY YOU btw.

you laugh as you rise from the couch, kicking on your slippers before making your way to the front door as you unlock the door — swinging it open, before being met by a towering silhouette as you jolt in surprise.

“oh!” the lower voice exclaims.

“what the hell!?” you practically scream.

“s—surprise..!”

you raise your head to the familiar voice as your gazes meet. “satoru? oh my god?!” you let out the biggest exhale as your body fights off the adrenaline coursing through your body.

there’s no way that — that ‘gift’ satoru was spiraling about would actually be him in physical form. “are you supposed to be my gift?..” you ask shockingly, almost at a loss for words.

“… yes i— WAIT? i thought you weren’t home.” he shouts in realization, as he’s standing awkwardly at your front door. his soft blue eyes roaming all over your face, taking in every little feature as his eyes slowly make their way down before instantly flicking back up once he hears your voice.

“and i thought you were just traveling for your collab.” you purse your lips as the words taste a little bitter on your tongue, which makes satoru grin. “you’re poutin’ because i have a collab coming up?” he teases, before you’re taking a step back in your house and closing the door.

“wait, wait! i’m joking.” he hastily utters, subconsciously stopping the door with his hand before letting go as he scratches the back of his head with an awkward smile. “can i come in?”

—

satoru’s been roaming around every inch of your apartment like a curious puppy. “hmm, so this is your room?” he asks, peeking his head through the door frame.

“you can go in, you’ve seen my room a thousand times on face-time.” you insist as he trails behind you with his mouth parted like this is the most surreal experience ever.

you watch as satoru wanders around, and he’s touching everything within sight before halting at your streaming station. it’s quite a messy setup, the camera stands are fallen on the floor, your camera is tilted against the dresser while still being opened, and to make matters worse. the box you collect all of the toys gifted to you are all inside that box.

and given the curious nature satoru has he’d probably open it up without a thought. you make your across the room, towards the storage box grabbing to put it back in its proper place — your closet.

“what’s in it?” satoru questions, voice soft and inquisitive as he watches you open the closet. “uhh it’s nothing, i just use it to prop up my camera sometimes.” the lie slides off of your tongue, but you can also feel your throat getting uncomfortably dry as there’s a brief pause in satoru’s next words.

“hmm…” his eyes are practically drilling a hole into the back of your head. “i see! so you don’t use the camera stands sometimes, that’s actually smart.” he says lightly, forcing his gaze elsewhere. satoru can’t help, but fixate on how snug and thin your tank top is, or how loose and short your bottoms are.

he’s waited two months — sixty-one days and he’s finally gotten where he’s been yearning go, and there’s absolutely no way he’s going to ruin this moment. not even the bulge slowly growing inside his pants as he shakes his head to keep his thoughts more appropriate.

you finish hiding the box inside the closet, taking in a quiet inhale in attempt to calm your nerves. it was just a dumb storage box that was forgotten to be put away, but it wasn’t forgotten. no, it was satoru’s unexpected presence that made the simplest of things less casual than it should be. plus he’s practically seen your entire collection before, what’s the difference now?

you shut the regaining the composure that was lost as you look over your shoulder to see satoru already looking at you. “what are you looking at, toru.” you groaned, turning on your heels towards your bed before plopping down on the mattress.

“mind if i sit too?” he points to your bed, kicking off his shoes once you hum in response as the mattress dips beside you.

there’s nothing but silence… awkward silence. you honestly never expected things with satoru to ever be this awkward. the two of you were great friends, or great friends online that is. but maybe that weird tension between you both came from the fact that neither of you knew how to act around each other outside of a phone screen.

you steal a glance at satoru only to find him sprawled comfortably against your pillows as if he belonged there. one leg stretched across the mattress while the other bends loosely, his attention seemingly focused on his phone despite the occasional flick of his eyes toward you.

“so did you fly overseas just to stare at me in silence.” you quip with your cheek smushed into your pillow, which makes the corners of satoru mouth curl upwards. “yep, so i could look at the face all day.” he sits his phone down with a grin as you huff.

“seriously though.” you mumble into the fabric of your pillow, “what even is this collab?” you ask making satoru sigh, watching him slouch deeper into your pillow as his shirt rides up his abdomen, exposing the flex of his abs.

“just a collab somewhat outside my skill set.” he sighs, already dreading the conversation. “your skill set?” you repeat after him.

“yeah… rough, and mean.” he says, as if his entire twitter isn’t videos of him rag dolling a fleshlight and his fist. “that’s literally your middle name.” you let out a laugh while satoru lets out a whine.

“no it’s nott.” he sinks further into your pillows again, “there’s no reason to be nervous, toru— unless… you like her or something.” and there’s brief pause before satoru lets out a quiet laugh, though it sounds more nervous than anything.

“what if i did?” he asks.

“then it should be easier i’d assume.” you reply, watching the way satoru’s attention is fixated on your ceiling, “not really.” he replies back.

“why not?” you ask, completely oblivious to it all.

“becausee.. i don’t know.” he drags, throwing his body to the slide to face you as his eyes meet yours as your heart grows heavier.

he’s so close, just within a reach grasp and you can sense the change in satoru’s demeanor as he shifts closer towards you. his gaze flickers down for half a second before returning to your eyes, his lips parting like he’s debating whether or not to cross a line.

“can i ask you something.” he murmurs, as you nod. “sure.”

“want to help me practice?”

—

and maybe that’s how you found yourself straddling satoru. barricading either side of his waist with your thighs — rocking your hips into his, and grinding against the mound of his sweat pants.

“f— fuck…” satoru groans, his hands reach out to grab at your waist. the way you’re roll your hips, and slowly drag yourself against satoru’s bulge has him in a trance of him re-visioning the way you grind on all the silicone didlos you own.

the corners of his lips curl into a grin, “you gonna use me the way you use your toys?” he teases, as if you aren’t the one doing him a favor as his hands wrap around your waist, pressing you closer onto his lap as he pivots his hips up.

you let out a soft exhale which was heavier than expected as the damp fabric of your panties molded into the folds of your lips, making you feel every graze against your clit catching onto the hem of satoru’s sweatpants.

“why not.” your eyes flicker to satoru’s face as his eyes are already drawn upon yours. “i thought you needed my help…” you murmur, rolling your hips deeper against the outline of his sweats, earning a small grunt from satoru as you feel him twitch against you while inching your lips closers to his.

“you’re no different than my toys right now, right?” your breath fans against his parted lips, before pulling back as he lets out a chuckle in remembrance of exactly how crazed you make him feel. “damn, i almost forgot how mean you are to me.” satoru groans almost gutted in complete pleasure, you’d thought he’d already came.

you feel one of satoru’s thumbs tug against the hem of your shorts, indicating to take them off as you lift your hips up in response, feeling him tug them off before tossing them across the room while he’s working himself out of his sweatpants. and you can see exactly how long he’s been waiting for this very moment.

the raging bulge in his briefs are oozing pre-cum. satoru’s mind is absolutely broken, completely empty and thinking about none other than being inside you.

you can even see a little bead form on top of the cotton as satoru’s slender fingers rack down to grab a flesh full of your ass, pulling your lower half flush against him making you both moan to the blissful sensation of less cloth as your clit catches against the prominent vein of his cock.

“mmmh, shit…” he’s raising his hips to match the rhythm of his hands pressing you against him — attempting to fuck you through barricading fabric. “your clit is fuckin’ swollen— bet that’s how hard she gets grindin’ on other dicks, yeah?” satoru taunts, low and mean as he flashes a canine.

and you can feel every inch of his clothed dick dragging in-between your folds, over and over again. your chest is pressed against his, feeling your nipples harden against the material of your tank top from constantly rubbing against it.

your arms wrapped around his neck, letting him mouth words against the column of your throat as your vocal cords vibrate with a gentle laugh. “yeah she does, you jealous?” you mock, referencing a past conversation as satoru’s jaw tightens.

indeed he was, inevitably so. ever since the day he confirmed that personalized shipment overseas to your address — he was more than just jealous. and you can hear satoru grit his teeth before he’s flipping you over, back against the mattress.

the hem of your thin tank rising above your stomach, and the strap falling off your shoulder — feeling the soft strands of satoru’s silver hair brush against your forehead. your lips are parted, letting out a gasp to the sudden shock as you’re practically pinned beneath satoru as he leans over you.

he rises up, snaking his arms across the lower half of his torso before tugging his hoodie over his head, revealing each plane of his abs.

“‘m a little jealous.” he admits with a playful edge, though his actions are the complete opposite as he tosses his hoodie to the side before ducking down.

and your eyes follow his every movement, from the way his hands snake underneath your shirt before traveling down the sides of your waist to your hips.

you let out a small hitch, almost forgetting that this is just practice as his eyes focus on you — fixated on every little reaction he gets out of you. starting with the way your chest rises up and down and how whenever you both lock eyes, you immediately avert yours.

satoru chuckles amused, “do you want me to be jealous?” he murmurs, soft and intrigued before you’re muttering.

“stop going off script.” your lips purse, feeling your body run warm as the gravity of the situation finally dawns on you. satoru halts for half a second, his eyes scanning over you once more before pressing his lips against yours.

his tongue pushing against your teeth, ushering access to the inside of your mouth making you open your mouth as his tongue catches yours. exchanging saliva and making a mess as your feel once of his hands slide between your thigh and his other hand trailing up to cup your jaw, never breaking the kiss.

and there’s barely any time to breathe. not when his tongue is at the back of your throat, spit dripping down your chin as you’re moaning into his mouth from the pads of his fingers ducking into your panties as his fingers work to find your swollen clit.

satoru breaks the kiss, and there’s a little string of salvia connecting you two as you gasp for air.

“there is no script.” he breathes out hoarse, and there’s nothing holding him back now. his eyes flicker down to the hand buried inside your panties before tugging away the fabric, as he nudges your thighs further apart with his knees.

and he almost drools at the sight of your pussy on display. a moment just for him — the moment he’s waited for months on end as he pushes his hips against your bare cunt, grinding his clothed dick against your clit as you moan at the friction.

“there she is.” he groans, almost sounding frustrated by how affected he is. “been waiting fuckin’ months.” he lets your clit throb against his bulge as you shudder.

you throw one of your arms over your face, embarrassed by how much this is affecting you as well before satoru’s grabbing your wrist and pinning your hand to the side.

“c’mon, angel.” he coos, watching your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “don’t be shy, yeah? i know this pussy better than those toys do.” he lets out a quiet, almost guttural groan as if he’s remembering the countless clips he’s seen of you stuffing your pussy full.

his words travel straight to your core making your hole involuntarily twitch as you knit your eyebrows. “you talk too much.” you say quiet, and breathless before his other hand is taking your other hand and guiding it towards his pelvis, making you palm at his bulge through his briefs as he’s humping into your hand with a breathy laugh which quickly dissolves into a groan.

“feel it?” he grinds deeper into your hand, and you can feel the warmth of his stiff cock twitch against your palm as you nod. “that’s what you do to me.” he drags your hand near the band of his briefs as one of your fingers catch the hem of it, before he’s making you tug the band down freeing himself as his dick instantly springs out and slaps heavy against his lower abdomen with a groan.

“been hard the second you opened that door— almost gave me blue-balls.” he whines with a pout as his eyes drop down to the unfathomable size difference between his dick and that tiny hole he’s gonna stretch open.

and your mouth drops because there’s no way he’s going to fit inside of you. it looked physically impossible, satoru’s dick was even bigger than the molded replica he had made for you.

your throat runs dry, and you swallow hard as your fingers brush against satoru’s pelvis. “t—that’s too big…” you stammer out before pushing against his lower half as he’s swatting your hand away, before pulling you into him as his length slides in between your folds, gathering slicks as the head of his dick grazes against your clit making you both moan in unison.

“yeah?” he responds, voice shaky because there’s no disagreeing with that — not when he practically dwarfs you in every physical way possible. he watches the way his cock drags back and forth through your folds, slowly dragging down near your entrance before ghosting over it with a strained moan.

“toru…” your voice trembles a bit. you’re trying to mentally and physically prepare yourself for what’s to come as satoru uses his free hand to cup the back of your knee, pushing it towards your chest.

“yeah, baby?” he hums, rocking his hips closer against your entrance that’s squeezing around nothing. and all he earns is silence from your nervousness as he lets out a reassuring grin while unpinning your wrist with his other hand. “just relax f’me.” he drags his hips down, lining up flush against your entrance.

“m sure you’ve been stretchin’ yourself out on replicas for me this whole time.” he teases, his eyes locking onto yours. “look at me, pretty girl.” he tilts your chin gently towards him as he leans in.

“been wanting to see how pretty you look taking me for months.” he murmurs against your lips, before slowly rocking his hips into yours as the head of his cock slips past your entrance making you wince.

“crap…” satoru breathlessly chuckles, sounding a little delirious, his head dropping to your shoulder as he realigns himself with your entrance. “just one more time, angel.” he whispers, nudging his hips into yours as the tip of his dick finally sinks in.

“f- fuckk, fuck!” you choke into a whimper feeling yourself get split apart as the pressure slowly stretches you out. your hands find any kind of leverage as one of your hands claws into the back of satoru’s neck while the other digs into his bicep.

“mmmghh, you feel so—” satoru groans against your shoulder, hips stuttering for a second as if he can’t handle it — sinking deeper into you, until he’s pelvis flush against your bum as your back arches off the mattress.

his hands snake tight around your waist, engraving moon-shaped crescents into your skin his movements pause because this is the vision he’s replayed in his head a million times over.

the decision of taking his sweet time with you, and making passionate love until you’re saying ‘i love you’ —or fucking you raw until the sun comes up and you’re screaming his name.

the halt in his movement gives you time to better accommodate around his length. though the burn is still there, and your pussy feels indescribably full as the head of satoru’s cock nudge sweet against the sensitive spot inside of you.

a moan escapes from your throat, and your canines are sunken into your bottom lip. this is the moment satoru’s dreamed about, even fucked his palm to the thought of just how warm, and tight you’d feel wrapped around his dick. he lets out a low, strained groan beginning to rock his hips forward.

maybe he should be gentle with you, and watch you slowly fall apart on his dick — but that’s not the way you used his dick on stream.

satoru’s rhythm picks up, his thrusts getting meaner, and his strokes getting longer as he begins snapping his hips into you.

“shit— you’re taking me s’ good…” his lips part into a gasp as he watches the way your pussy swallows him whole with every thrust that has your body rocking up and down beneath him.

every roll of his hips causing your walls to involuntarily squeeze around him. “t— toru…” you whimper, thighs trembling within his hold as his cock drags in and out of your hole.

“mmm, that’s my name.” he hums, swallowing a moan. his eyes roaming every inch of your body before finding your face. your eyes are glossy, and your bottom lip is swollen from gnawing at it. “gonna let ‘toru fuck you the way he’s been dreamin’ about, yeah?” satoru lets out a shaky exhale.

his grip tightens around the back of your knees, as he’s shifting his position in a way that drops most of his weight onto you forcing your knees against your chest.

you choke at the sudden fullness, your eyes flicking down to see a small bump in your lower stomach. you couldn’t even talk, satoru was so deep inside of you in ways no toy could. one of your palms trail down to push against satoru’s lower abdomen, feeling the flex of his abs.

“see that?” satoru grins, pupils blown wide at the sight of him deep inside of you. his hand sliding over your stomach while pivoting his hips at an angle to hit deeper against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl.

“that little toy never reached this deep, did it?” he taunts, pressing his palm against the bulge in your stomach, making your breath hitch and your walls choking around his cock earning an escaped whimper fall from satoru’s lips.

his hips are basically moving on their own. snapping into yours as he practically pounds your pussy into the mattress. “fuckk— can’t stop.” he chokes, each thrusts sloppier than the last as you throw your head back moaning his name.

“yeah, yeah— thaat’s ittt.” he drags, as he slowly begins to lose himself. “mmhngh— keep milkin’ me just like that…”

the head of his cock is repeatedly pressing against that wet, spongy spot inside of you. “nngh, toruu!” you whine, each stroke makes your stomach feel weird and your core tighten in a way that makes your bladder swell as euphoric waves course through your veins.

you can feel satoru twitch inside of you, his hips stuttering with each thrusts. he’s ducking his head down, burying his face into the crook of your neck and panting against your skin.

the sound of bare skin slapping against each other, and the exchanges of whimpering and moaning bounce off the walls. “s-shit… hated watching those streams knowin’ it wasn’t me.” he grits, panting against your neck.

“should’ve been me.” his voice quakes, muttering into your skin, almost sounding frustrated by it as he drools against your neck. “i should’ve been the one making you feel this good, not some fuckin’ toy.” he moans into you, and his pelvis flush against yours.

his dick nuzzling sweet against your cervix. your breath catching in your throat with your mouth open, “fuck, fuckk— ‘m cummingg!” you shriek. your legs shaking in satoru hold, as your nails rack desperately against satoru’s back as your spine lifts off the mattress.

your body seizing at the orgasmic wave of pleasure shooting throughout your body as your vision flashes white. a plethora of broken whimpers spill past your lips, eyes shut tight — feeling every drag of satoru’s dick against your sensitive walls as he chases his high.

“‘m close.” he exhales, as your pussy strangles his dick, milking him with every thrust as he feels himself involuntarily spill inside of you. his hips are slamming into yours, thrust gut-deep before nuzzling his length as deep as possible into your pussy as his cock swells inside of you before pulling out.

instantly spurting cum onto your stomach as he grinds against your body as you’re both moaning, trying to catch your breaths.

you let out somewhat of a incoherent sigh as satoru collapses on top of you — sticky bodies flush against each other.

“so…” you sigh, snaking one of your hands against the back of satoru’s head, running your fingers through his soft locks as his arms wrapped around your torso.

“are you ready for your collab.” you ask, muscles feeling like jelly as you play in his hair. “yeah.” he hums absently, “i can go more rounds…” he breathlessly laughs.

“wanna use my camera, or yours?”

taglist : @n4nasm1nd , @lixlovesrin , @kokobeanzz11 , @illuminatedwon , @kixtkaxt , @sorenflyinn , @magicallykineticquirk , @nightmarenyxx , @senorita-awesomesauce , @strayruway , @afra1e , @sirensdairy , @kalihrts , @tena-may-be-slightly-unhinged , @moonchiii , @kalulakunundrum , @undyingentity , @mrskamikazekaito , @kaitycat1515 , @softieforbyunbaekhyun , @jiyuspassion , @gojomio , @kaitybvg , @3lliesr1fle , @s1ll1e-s0da , @lalalath2013 , @lyvhhx , @some-thing-else-possible , @v413ntin4-3spinoz4 , @coeurdeveea , @cateleya21 , @idontevenlikedani , @all3nz , @hancafe , @urkrystalk , @satorusgirl4 , @martinlutherkings , @junozwrldx , @happyinvadertrench , @le0na2 , @honeykatsu , @necrozica , @thievin-stealing , @makapakabriaaa , @erenspersonalwh0re , @heavenlycriez , @johnnycadeaegyo , @littlemissomega , @pookiei-bookie , @liquidpacttitan

you'd gone on the date anyway.

the guy's eyebrows had been perfectly normal, and his laugh had been genuinely nice, but satoru's comment had stuck in your head the whole time, making you hyperaware of things you never would have noticed otherwise.

that was his gift, or his curse, you hadn't decided yet.

since then, there had been others;

a very sweet and cute guy from your economics discussion group who satoru had dismissed as "way too short for you" (he’d been five eleven). a sweet philosophy major who satoru had claimed "smelled like soup" (he hadn't). a theater student who satoru had said was "obviously using you to get over his ex" (that one had actually been true, and you'd hated admitting satoru was right).

each time, satoru had been there, lounging in your space like he belonged there, making comments that ranged from mildly annoying to borderline cruel. and each time, you'd rolled your eyes and gone on the date anyway, because that was just how satoru was; opinionated, dramatic, a little bit of an asshole.

but satoru was also the one who showed up at your door at 2am with takeout when you failed a midterm.

the one who let you cry on his shoulder after the theater student broke your heart, the one who remembered how you took your coffee and which side of the bed you slept on and the name of your childhood stuffed animal.

so you let the comments slide, mostly.

but this time was different.

this time, his name was jaehyun, and you'd met him at a house party two weeks ago — the guy was in grad school for architecture, had kind eyes and a quiet laugh, and when he'd asked you out for coffee, you'd felt that little flutter in your chest that you'd almost forgotten existed.

you'd mentioned him to satoru casually, the way you always did, expecting the usual eyeroll and some stupid comment about jaehyun's haircut or his shoes.

what you got was something else entirely.

"jaehyun?" satoru had repeated, his voice doing something very strange — going flat in a way it never did. "what kind of name is jaehyun?"

"a perfectly normal one," you'd said, not looking up from your phone. "he's in grad school. architecture. really sweet."

"architecture," he had echoed, like you'd said jaehyun collected human teeth. "so he draws buildings. cool. very exciting."

you'd glanced up then, frowning.

satoru was sitting across from you at the campus coffee shop, his long legs stretched out under the table, one of his legs pressed against yours in that way he always did — like he needed to be touching you to exist properly. his sunglasses were pushed up into his white hair, and his expression was carefully, almost aggressively, neutral.

"what's your problem?" you'd asked.

"nothing," he'd said, too fast. "no problem. i'm thrilled for you. jaehyun the architect. hope he designs you a very nice house."

you'd stared at satoru for a very long moment, waiting for the usual punchline. but he'd just smiled — that big, fake, toothy smile that meant he was annoyed about something and pretending he wasn't at all.

you'd let it go. you were used to satoru being weird.

but over the next week, his weirdness escalated into something you couldn't ignore.

it started small; satoru started showing up at your apartment unannounced, which wasn't new — he'd always done that, letting himself in with the key you'd given him after he'd climbed your fire escape twice in one week. but before, he'd text first, or at least announce his presence with a dramatic "honey, i'm home!" as he walked through the door.

now, he just appeared.

you'd be doing dishes, and suddenly there he was, leaning against your doorframe like he'd been there the whole time. you'd be studying at your desk, and satoru’s chin would appear over your shoulder, his chest warm against your back, asking what you were doing in a voice that was way too low for the question he was asking.

and god, the touching.

satoru had always been touchy. you'd known that about him from the beginning — the way he'd sling an arm over your shoulders, rest his hand on your lower back when you walked through crowds, drape his legs over yours when you sat together on the couch.

he was a physical person, and you'd never minded, because it was just satoru.

but this was very different.

now, satoru’s hand found the small of your back every time you stood next to him. his fingers brushed your wrist when you handed him something. when you sat on the couch together, he pulled you against his side like you might float away if he didn't hold you down, his arm tight around your waist, his thumb tracing circles against your hip.

and it was always casual, always easy, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it.

but you were aware.

painfully aware, every time his thigh pressed against yours, every time his breath ghosted across your neck when he leaned in to look at your phone, every time his fingers lingered on your skin a second longer than they needed to.

you didn't say anything. because what would you even say? 'hey, why are you touching me so much?' that sounded crazy. he was your best friend, and best friends touched.

but then came the comments…

"so when am i meeting jaehyun?" satoru asked one afternoon, sprawled across your bed while you got ready to go out.

you weren't even going out with jaehyun — you were simply going to a study group — but satoru had shown up forty minutes ago and hadn't left.

"you're not," you said, digging through your closet for a hoodie. "we've been on two coffee dates. it's not serious."

"but it could be," satoru said.

it was not a question, and his blue eyes tracked you across the room, and you felt them like a physical weight.

"maybe," you said, because you didn't know yet.

jaehyun was nice. jaehyun was safe. but jaehyun didn't make your heart race in that annoying, confusing way that made you want to scream.

satoru made a sound in the back of his throat, something low and very dissatisfied.

"jaehyun wears new balance sneakers," satoru said, like he was delivering a closing argument. "new balance! do you really want to be seen with a man who wears new balance?"

you turned to look at him.

"you're wearing crocs right now."

"crocs are ironic," satoru said, completely serious. "new balance is a cry for help."

you threw a pillow at him. he caught it without looking, grinning, and you tried to ignore how your stomach flipped.

the worst night, the night everything broke, started like this;

you had a date, a real one.

jaehyun had texted you earlier in the week asking if you wanted to go to that new ramen place downtown, the one with the hour-long wait and the broth people wrote blog posts about. you'd said yes, because you'd been wanting to go, and because jaehyun's texts made you smile, and because you were trying very hard to be normal about all of this.

you hadn't told satoru.

not because you were hiding it, exactly, but because you knew damn well — you knew — what would happen if you did; the comments, the touching, the way he'd look at you with those too-blue eyes like he was trying to communicate something you didn't have the vocabulary to understand.

so you kept it to yourself.

you got dressed in your room, you picked out a black dress that made you feel so pretty, you did your makeup carefully in the bathroom mirror. your hair fell prettily in waves around your shoulders, and you added a necklace — something delicate, something that caught the light.

you casually were just reaching for your black coat when the front door opened.

"satoru," you said, and your voice came out strangled.

your best friend stood in your doorway, and for a moment, neither of you moved. his eyes swept over you — the dress, the makeup, the necklace — and something flickered across his face; something fast and dark that he smoothed over before you could fully read it.

"going somewhere?" satoru asked, and his voice was light, but his jaw was tight.

you should have lied. you should have said study group, or grocery shopping, or literally anything else, but you'd never lied to satoru before, not about anything that mattered, and you didn't know how to start now.

"i have a date," you said. "with jaehyun."

the silence that followed was deafening.

satoru didn't move; he simply stood there, one hand still on the doorknob, his body blocking the doorway like he could physically prevent you from leaving. his white hair was slightly messy, like he'd been running his hands through it, and he was wearing that black sweater you liked — the one that made his shoulders look impossibly broad.

"jaehyun," he repeated flatly.

"yes," you said, and your voice came out smaller than you intended. "jaehyun. the architect. the one i told you about."

"i know who jaehyun is," satoru said.

he completely stepped into the apartment, finally, and pushed the door closed behind him. the click of the lock was weirdly loud in the quiet room.

"i just thought you would have better taste."

the casual cruelty of it stung.

you felt it in your chest, sharp and hot, and suddenly you were so tired — tired of the comments, tired of the games, tired of the way satoru touched you and looked at you and made you feel like you were constantly missing something obvious.

"what is your problem, satoru?" you asked, and your voice cracked in the middle.

satoru blinked. "what?"

"you heard me."

you turned to face him fully, your coat completely forgotten on the couch. your hands were shaking, so you curled them into fists at your sides.

"every single time i mention someone, you have something to say. their eyebrows are wrong, they're too short, they smell like soup—"

"the soup thing was valid—"

"it wasn't!" you shouted, and satoru's mouth snapped shut. "it wasn't, satoru. and now it's jaehyun, and you won't even give him a chance. you show up at my apartment without warning, you won't stop touching me, you look at me like—"

you stopped, breathless, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat.

satoru was watching you with an expression you'd never seen before. his usual mask — the arrogant smirk, the lazy confidence, the annoying playfulness — had slipped away entirely. underneath was something raw. something hungry.

"like what?" satoru asked, and his voice was low. rough. "like what, sweetheart?"

you shook your head, stepping back, and your legs hit the edge of the couch.

"this isn't fair. you can't just—you don't get to act like this every time i try to move on. you don't get to be jealous when you're the one who—"

"jealous?" satoru laughed, but there was no humor in it. "you think i'm jealous?"

"i know you are," you said. "everyone can see it, satoru. suguru sees it. shoko sees it. i'm pretty sure my neighbor across the hall sees it, and she's half-blind."

satoru's jaw tightened.

he took a step toward you, then another, until he was close enough that you could smell his cologne — something clean and warm, like cedar and vanilla. his hand came up, and you flinched, but he just tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, his long fingers trailing down the side of your neck.

"and what if i am?" he murmured. "jealous. what if i can't stand the thought of you going out with him tonight? what if i've been going crazy for weeks, watching you text him, hearing you say his name—"

"then you should have said something," you whispered, and your voice broke on the last word.

satoru's hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had to look at him. his eyes were almost desperate, searching your face like he was looking for something he needed to survive.

"i'm saying something now," he said. "i can't watch you with anyone else. i can't do it. i've tried—god, i've tried—but every time you smile at someone who isn't me, i want to tear something apart."

your breath caught. "satoru—"

"so if you're gonna be with someone," he continued, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. "it's gonna be me."

the words hung in the air between you, heavy and electric.

you could feel the heat of satoru’s body through your dress, could see the way his chest rose and fell with each uneven breath. his hand was still on your jaw, gentle but firm, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

"what about jaehyun?" you asked, and it came out breathless.

satoru's eyes darkened. "fuck jaehyun."

and just like that, he kissed you.

it wasn't a soft or gentle kiss, no, it was so desperate and hungry and a little bit angry, like satoru had been holding this back for long years and the dam had finally broken.

satoru’s mouth moved against yours like he was trying to prove something, his hand sliding into your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss you deeper.

you made a little sound — something between a gasp and a moan — and satoru swallowed it. his other hand found your waist, pulling you against him until there was no space left between your bodies; he was warm and solid and everywhere, and your brain had stopped working entirely.

when he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard. satoru’s lips were swollen, his eyes dark, and there was a flush creeping up his neck that you'd never seen before.

"tell me you don't want this," he said, his voice rough. "tell me to stop, and i will. but if you don't—"

you kissed him again, because you couldn't not. because six long years of insane tension and longing and denial had been building to this moment, and now that it was here, you couldn't imagine doing anything else.

satoru groaned against your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. he walked you backward until your legs hit the couch, and then he was lowering you onto the cushions, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the fabric.

"god, i've wanted this for so long," he murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your pulse point. "so fucking long. you have no idea."

"then show me," you said, and you felt him shudder.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes roaming over your face like he was memorizing it.

"when i'm done with you," satoru said, and his voice was low and dark and full of promise. "you're not gonna remember jaehyun's name."

and then he kissed you again, and you stopped thinking about jaehyun entirely.

satoru's mouth was hot and insistent, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl inside your boots. he kissed like he did everything else — like he was competing for something, like he needed to win. but there was desperation underneath it, a trembling kind of hunger that made his hands shake slightly where they gripped your hips.

you kissed him back just as hard, your fingers tangling in his soft white hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

satoru made a sound — something low and wrecked — and his hips pressed into yours instinctively; you could feel him already, hard against your thigh through his jeans, and the knowledge sent a rush of heat straight through your core.

"bedroom," satoru murmured hungrily against your lips, and it wasn't a question.

you nodded, breathless, and then he was pulling you up off the couch, his hands never leaving your body. one palm flat against your lower back, the other cupping the side of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair. satoru kissed you the whole way down the hall — deep, messy kisses that made you stumble backward, trusting him to guide you.

he did. of course he did.

satoru’s body was a wall of heat in front of you, and his hands were everywhere; your waist, your ribs, the curve of your ass through your dress. he squeezed once, experimentally, and when you gasped into his mouth, he did it again, harder.

"fuck," he breathed, and you felt the word more than heard it.

your bedroom door was open, and he walked you through it without looking, his attention entirely on your mouth, your jaw, the spot behind your ear that made you shiver when he kissed it. the backs of your knees hit the bed, and you fell backward onto the mattress, pulling him with you.

satoru caught himself on his forearms, hovering over you, his hair falling forward into his eyes.

for a second, he just looked at you, like he couldn't believe you were here, beneath him, your dress riding up your thighs and your lipstick smeared across his mouth.

"you're so pretty," satoru said, and his voice cracked in the middle. "god, you're so pretty. i'm gonna lose my mind."

then he sat back on his heels and pulled his sweater over his head in one movement.

you'd seen satoru without a shirt before — pool parties, beach trips, that one time his dorm ac broke and he'd walked around campus in nothing but shorts for a week. but this was different; this was close, and private, and his skin was flushed pink across his chest, and you could see everything.

satoru’s shoulders were absurdly broad, tapering down to a narrow waist that made your mouth water. his chest was defined but not bulky — it was lean muscle that shifted under pale skin as he moved, and there was a thin line of white hair trailing down from his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans, and satoru’s arms were roped with veins that stood out when he flexed.

he caught you staring and smiled — not his usual cocky grin, but something softer, almost shy.

"like what you see?"

"shut up," you said, and reached for him.

satoru came down willingly, his body pressing you into the mattress, his skin warm and smooth against your palms. you ran your hands over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch.

he was all heat and tension, and when your nails dragged lightly down his spine, satoru groaned and buried his pretty face in your neck.

"you're gonna kill me," he mumbled into your skin.

you kissed his shoulder, then his collarbone, then the hinge of his jaw. your hands slid down his sides, over his ribs, and when they reached the button of his jeans, you didn't hesitate.

satoru went rigid.

your fingers fumbled with the button, then the zipper, and then you were reaching inside his boxers, and—

oh!

satoru was ridiculously big.

well… you'd known he would be, somehow — everything about satoru was excessive, after all — but fucking hell, feeling him in your hand was completely different. he was thick and hot and already leaking, and when you wrapped your fingers around him, his whole body shuddered.

"sweetheart," satoru gasped, and it came out as a whine, so high and so desperate.

his hips jerked into your hand involuntarily, and he dropped his forehead to your shoulder, his breathing ragged.

"fuck, fuck, please—"

you stroked him slowly, your thumb spreading the wetness at the tip, and satoru made a sound you'd never heard from him before. it was broken and insanely needy, and satoru was shaking — actually shaking — his long fingers digging into the mattress on either side of your head.

"please what?" you asked, and your own voice was rough.

he lifted his head just enough to look at you, and his eyes were glassy, pupils blown so wide there was almost no blue left.

"please don't stop," satoru whispered. "please. i've wanted this for so long. i've thought about your hands—god, i've thought about your hands so much—"

you squeezed gently, just a little firmer, and his sentence cut off in a choked moan.

satoru buried his face in your neck again, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, and you felt him pulse in your hand; his whole body was tense, thighs flexing against yours, and you could feel how close he was — the way his stomach kept twitching, the way his hips started moving in small, desperate little thrusts into your fist.

"if you keep doing that," satoru said, muffled against your shoulder, "i'm not gonna last."

you didn't answer, you just kept going — steady, intentional, your grip adjusting to the slickness now, your thumb pressing into that spot right under the head on every upstroke. you wanted to see satoru fall apart; you wanted it more than you'd ever wanted anything.

and then he did.

it wasn't loud, that was the thing.

satoru’s breath hitched, held, and then released in a long, shuddering exhale against your neck. his whole body locked up for a second — his back arching just slightly, fingers twisting in the sheets — and then he broke.

you felt it in your hand first; the pulsing, the warmth spilling over your fingers, the way satoru’s hips stuttered and stopped. then the rest of him followed; his forehead pressed harder into your shoulder, almost like he was hiding. his arms trembled on either side of you. a sound came out of him — soft, wrecked, more breath than voice — and you realized his free hand had moved to grip your hip, not guiding you, just holding on.

you kept stroking him through it, slow and gentle now, and satoru whimpered and tried sooo hard to squirm away from the sensitivity even as he pushed into your touch at the exact same time. satoru’s face was still buried in your neck, and you could feel how warm his cheeks were, how damp his lashes were against your skin.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

satoru’s breathing was uneven, hitching every few seconds like he was still coming down, and your hand was a mess, and you didn't care at all.

finally, he lifted his head.

satoru’s face was flushed, his lips parted, his hair a disaster. he looked at you like he'd never seen you before — or maybe like he was seeing you clearly for the first time.

"your turn," you said, and your voice was steadier than you felt.

he blinked slowly, like the words had to travel through fog to reach him, then something completely shifted in satoru’s expression — something dark and determined settling over his still-soft features, a spark of that familiar satoru intensity cutting through the haze.

"my turn," he agreed.

his still trembling hands easily found the hem of your dress, and he pulled it up and over your head with an impatience that made you laugh — a breathless, surprised sound that turned into a gasp when he bent down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach.

satoru worked his way up slowly, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered, his lips hot and wet and reverent. when he reached your bra, he looked up at you, asking silent permission. you simply nodded, and he reached behind you to unclasp it with fingers that trembled even more.

the bra joined your dress on the floor.

satoru sat back on his heels and stared at you; his blue eyes traveled down your body — your breasts, your stomach, the lace edge of your panties — and his expression was almost painful to look at; like he was in awe, like he was in pain.

"you're so beautiful," satoru said, and his voice was hoarse. "i don't—i can't—"

"toru," you said, and your own voice was shaking. "please."

that broke whatever trance he was in.

satoru lowered himself over you again, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was softer this time, almost tender, and his hand slid down your body, over your ribs, your hip, until his fingers brushed the waistband of your panties.

he pulled back just enough to look down, and then his fingers were hooking into the lace, but he didn't pull them off. instead, satoru pushed them to the side.

the air hit your wetness, and you felt exposed and seen and so incredibly turned on you thought you might combust. satoru's breath caught when he saw you completely, and his pupils swallowed the very last of the blue.

"all this for me?" he murmured, his fingers hovering just above where you needed him.

"y-yes," you said, and you meant it more than you'd ever meant anything. "always for you."

satoru’s eyes flicked up to yours, and something shifted in his expression; something soft and fierce and terrified all at once. then he looked back down, and his middle finger slid through your folds, gathering your wetness, circling your clit in a way that made your hips jerk off the bed.

"fuck," you gasped.

"that's it," satoru murmured, his voice low and focused. "that's it, sweetheart. let me hear you."

he circled your clit again, slow and meticulous, watching your face. when you moaned — loud, involuntary — his lips curved into a smile that was almost smug, but then you moaned again, and his smile faltered, replaced by something hungrier.

"you have no idea," satoru said, his finger still moving in lazy circles. "what this sound does to me."

he pushed two fingers inside you without warning, and your back arched off the bed.

it was so good — way too good — the stretch of his long fingers, the curl of them inside you, the way he found that spot immediately like he'd been studying a map of your body for years. his thumb pressed against your clit, and he started a rhythm that made your vision blur.

"right there?" satoru asked, and his voice was strained.

"y-yes—yes, don't stop—"

and satoru didn't stop.

he fucked you with his long fingers like he really meant it, his palm slapping against your clit with every single thrust, his blue eyes never once leaving your face; he watched every expression, cataloged every sound, and satoru’s own breathing was ragged, his hips pressing into the mattress like he was fucking it just to keep himself sane.

"you're so wet," he said, almost to himself. "god, you're so wet. is this because of me? because of what i said?"

you couldn't answer — you couldn't form any words — so you simply nodded, your hands desperately gripping the sheets, your hips rocking against his hand.

"say it," satoru demanded, his fingers curling harder. "say you want this. say you want me."

"i want you," you sobbed. "i want you, toru, please—"

he added a third finger, and the stretch was almost too much, the pressure building in your core until you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do a damn thing but feel. his thumb pressed harder against your clit, rubbing in tight circles that matched the rhythm of his fingers, and he leaned down to kiss your chest, your collarbone, the side of your breast.

"cum for me," he murmured against your skin. "cum on my fingers, sweetheart. i want to feel it."

you shattered.

it crashed over you in huge waves, your whole body convulsing, your nails digging into satoru's shoulders as you rode out the pleasure. he didn't stop — he kept his fingers deep inside you, he kept his thumb on your clit, working you through every aftershock until you were trembling and oversensitive and crying his name into the quiet room.

when you finally stilled, satoru pulled his fingers out slowly, carefully, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought them to his mouth.

he licked them clean.

his eyes never left yours as he did it, his tongue sliding between his long fingers, tasting you like you were something precious. he made a sound — low and satisfied — and when he was done, and held his fingers out to you.

"your turn," he said, echoing your words from earlier.

you took his wrist and guided his fingers to your mouth; you sucked them in, one by one, tasting yourself on his skin. his breath hitched, and his hips jerked against the mattress, and you felt powerful in a way you'd never felt before.

when you let go, satoru’s fingers were slick with your spit, and his eyes were almost black.

"f-fuck," he whispered. "fuck, sweetheart. i need—i need to be inside you. please. i can't—"

he was shaking again, his composure crumbling completely, his body vibrating with need above you. you could feel him through his jeans, hard and aching, and you wanted him so badly it was a physical pain.

"then do it," you said. "do it, satoru."

he fumbled with his jeans, pushing them down just enough, and then he was there — pressing against your entrance, the head of his huge cock nudging at your wetness, both of you breathing too fast.

"look at me," he said, and his voice was raw. "i want you to look at me when i finally make you mine."

his voice cracked on the last word, and something in your chest splintered; this wasn't just sex, you could see it in his eyes — blown wide, glassy, stripped of every layer of sarcasm and swagger he'd ever worn. satoru looked terrified and hungry and so in love it was almost painful to witness.

"toru," you whispered, and his name felt different in your mouth now.

"i know," he said, and he sounded almost sorry. "i know we should talk. i know we're gonna have to figure out what the hell we're doing tomorrow. but right now—"

he pressed forward, just barely, the head of his cock catching against your entrance, and you both gasped.

"—right now, i need to be inside you. i need to feel you cum around me. and i need you to watch me fall apart while i do it."

you nodded, unable to speak, and satoru pushed in.

just an inch — slow, so slow — and your body stretched around him, full and burning in a way that made your eyes water. satoru was so much bigger than his fingers, thicker and hotter, and the pressure was almost too much. you felt every millimeter, every pulse of his cock as it slid into you, and the sound he made — god, the sound — was something you'd never heard from him before.

it was a broken moan, high and desperate, like he was the one being split open.

"fuck," satoru choked out, his forehead dropping to yours, and his breath was hot and uneven against your lips. "f-fuck, baby. you're so—you're so tight—i can't—"

his hips stuttered, and he pushed deeper, another inch, and your nails dug into his shoulders. the stretch burned in the best way, your body adjusting to him, and you could feel every ridge, every vein, every tiny shift of his hips.

"m-more," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "please, toru. i want all of it."

satoru made a sound like a wounded animal, and then he pushed forward in one long, slow thrust until he was buried completely inside you.

you both stopped breathing.

he was everywhere, filling you completely, stretching you in a way that bordered on overwhelming, his hips flush against yours; you could feel him throbbing inside you, could feel the way his whole body trembled above you, his arms shaking where they caged you in.

"oh my god," satoru breathed, and his voice was wrecked, absolutely destroyed. "oh my god. sweetheart. you feel—i can't—there aren't words."

his eyes were squeezed shut now, his jaw tight, and you watched a bead of sweat roll down his temple. he looked like he was in pain. like he was holding on by a thread.

"toru," you said, reaching up to cup his face. "look at me."

his eyes opened, and what you saw there completely made your heart clench; satoru looked dazed, almost drunk, his pupils so blown there was only a thin ring of blue left now, his lips were parted, his breathing ragged, and when you ran your thumb across his cheekbone, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to your palm.

"you're gonna be the death of me," satoru murmured against your skin. "you know that, right? i've been imagining this for six years, and it's still—it's so much better than i ever—" he cut himself off with a shaky exhale. "i'm not gonna last. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, but i can't—"

"then don't," you said. "move, toru. please move."

well… he didn't need to be told twice.

satoru pulled out slowly — agonizingly slowly — until only the tip remained inside you, and then he pushed back in, just as slow, just as deep, his eyes never left yours, watching your face as he bottomed out again, and the expression on his face was one of pure, reverent awe.

"that's it," he whispered. "god, that's it. you're taking me so well, sweetheart. so fucking well."

he did it again, and again, each thrust was slow, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every sensation; the drag of his huge cock against your walls, the way you clenched around him, the little sounds you made every time he pushed back in. his hands roamed your body — your waist, your ribs, your breasts — touching you like he was afraid you'd disappear.

"you're so beautiful," satoru said, and his voice was thick. "i've wanted to touch you like this for so long. you have no idea how many times i've jerked off thinking about you. thinking about these sounds you're making right now."

satoru’s hips snapped forward a little harder, and you moaned at that — loud and unfiltered — and satoru's eyes rolled back for just a second.

"yeah," he breathed. "yeah, like that. i want to hear you. i want everyone to hear you. i want jaehyun to hear you and know—know that you're mine."

the possessiveness in his voice should have scared you, but instead, it made you clench around him, and satoru groaned so loudly you felt it vibrate through his chest.

"you like that?" he asked, his pace picking up slightly. "you like it when i get jealous? when i talk about how you're mine?"

"fuck—yes," you admitted, because you couldn't lie anymore.

not with your best friend inside you, not with his skin against yours, not with the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

satoru's smile was sharp and hungry.

"good. because you are mine. you have been since the day you let me climb your fire escape."

satoru kissed you then — it was deep and messy, his warm tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that matched his hips. he was fucking you slowly but deeply now, each thrust pushing you up the bed a little, and you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer.

that changed everything.

the angle made him hit something inside you — something that made stars burst behind your eyes, and you cried out against his mouth, and satoru swallowed the sound, his hips stuttering before he found a new rhythm; faster, harder, still deep, but no longer gentle.

"there?" satoru gasped, pulling back just enough to look at your face. "is that the spot? right there?"

you couldn't answer, you could only nod, your hands fisting in his white hair, pulling him down so you could bite his lower lip. and satoru moaned loudly, and his hips snapped forward so hard the headboard banged against the wall.

"oh—f-fuck, sweetheart," satoru panted. "you're gonna make me come so fast. i can't—i've been waiting too long for this. you feel too good."

his hand slid between your bodies, and his thumb found your clit, and you nearly screamed.

he circled it in tight, fast motions, exactly the way you needed, and the combination of his enormous cock hitting that sweet spot inside you and his thumb on your clit was too much. the pleasure built so quickly it was almost painful, your whole body tightening like a coil about to snap.

"that's it," satoru murmured, his voice low and dark and completely gone. "cum for me again, sweetheart. i want to feel you cum on my cock this time. i want to feel you squeeze me while i'm inside you."

his thumb pressed harder, his hips moved faster, and he was looking at you — watching every micro-expression on your face with an intensity that should have been overwhelming.

but all you could feel was him. all you could hear was the sound of his breathing, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together, the little whimpers that fell from his lips every time you clenched around him.

"i'm close," you managed, your voice breaking. "oh my god, toru, i'm so close—"

"yeah?"

satoru was practically fucking you in earnest now, his composure completely gone; his hair was a mess, his face flushed, his lips swollen from your kisses.

"you gonna cum for me? gonna soak my cock, sweetheart? i want to feel it. i want to feel you—"

you came.

it surged through you without warning, your whole body arching off the bed, your nails raking down satoru’s back as you convulsed around him. satoru groaned — a deep, guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere primal — and his hips kept moving, kept thrusting, working you through every second of your orgasm.

"oh, fuck," he gasped. "oh, fuckfuckfuck, sweetheart—you're squeezing me so tight—i can't—i'm gonna—"

satoru pulled out just enough that you felt the first pulse of his release, hot and sudden, and then he pushed back in and buried himself to the hilt as he came inside you.

his whole body shook, his arms gave out, and satoru collapsed on top of you, his face buried deep in your neck, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he emptied himself into you. he made sounds you'd never heard him make — broken, desperate sounds, almost like sobs — and you felt each pulse of his cock, each wave of his release, hot and filling.

"g-god," satoru whispered against your sweaty skin. "god, sweetheart. i love—i—"

he didn't finish the sentence, maybe he couldn't, maybe he was too far gone.

you held him, your fingers threading through his sweaty hair, your legs still wrapped around his waist. his cock was still inside you, softening slightly but not pulling out, and you could feel his cum leaking out around him, warm and wet.

for a long moment, neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, the only sounds were your breathing, slowly evening out, and the distant hum of the city outside your window.

satoru's hand was tracing patterns on your hip, lazy and absent, and you thought maybe he'd fallen asleep. maybe you'd get a moment to process what had just happened.

then satoru shifted.

his hips rolled forward, just slightly, and you felt him twitch inside you.

"satoru," you said, your voice hoarse.

he lifted his head, and his eyes met yours; they were still dark, still blown wide, but there was something new there now. something hungry and determined and a little bit feral.

"i'm not done," satoru said, and his voice was rough. "i'm not even close to done."

he pulled out slowly, and you felt the loss of him acutely — the sudden emptiness, the trickle of satoru’s cum that slid down your trembling thigh. but before you could mourn it, he was flipping you over, pulling you onto your hands and knees, his hands gripping your hips.

"i've been thinking about this position for years," satoru murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. "thinking about how deep i could get. how loud you'd be."

you heard him spit into his hand — you heard the wet sound of him stroking himself — and then he was pressing against your entrance again, already hard, already ready.

"toru," you said again, and it came out as a pathetic whimper. "i'm still sensitive—"

"i know," satoru said, and he sounded almost apologetic. almost. "but you feel too good, sweetheart. and i'm so fucking obsessed with you. i can't stop. i don't want to stop."

he pushed in, and you both moaned.

it was different from the first time; you were still so wet, still so stretched, still so full of his cum, and satoru slid in easier now, way deeper, until you felt him in your stomach.

satoru paused for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to the back of your neck.

"baby, tell me when," satoru said, his voice strained. "tell me when you're ready."

you took a breath, then another, the sensitivity was fading, replaced by a familiar ache, a familiar need.

"now," you said. "move now."

and he did.

satoru started slow again, but this time it was different.

this time, he was savoring; his hands completely roamed your body — your back, your ass, your hips — and he leaned over to press kisses along your spine. his huge cock dragged against your walls in a way that made your eyes roll back, and he was murmuring things against your skin; things you couldn't quite understand, things that sounded like praise and worship and desperation all at once.

"you're so perfect," he breathed. "so perfect for me. this pussy was made for me. you know that? made for my cock."

satoru’s pace quickened, his hips slapping against yours, and the sound was obscene — wet and loud and relentless. he reached around and found your swollen clit again, rubbing in tight circles, and you sobbed with the overstimulation of it.

"too much?" he asked, but he didn't stop. "or not enough?"

"m-more," you gasped. "more, toru—please—"

he gave you more.

satoru fucked you harder, faster, deeper, his grip on your hips so tight you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. his breathing was ragged, his moans were loud, and he was talking — talking constantly, a stream of consciousness that was half dirty and half desperate.

"look at you. taking me so well. you're so wet. so fucking wet. is this all for me? tell me it's all for me."

"it's all for you," you said, and you meant it.

satoru groaned loudly, and his hips snapped forward even harder, and you felt a second orgasm building — faster this time, sharper, pushed along by the overstimulation and the sound of his voice and the way he was fucking you like he needed you to survive.

"cum with me this time," he said, his voice breaking. "i want to feel you cum while i'm filling you up again. i want to feel you squeeze every drop out of me."

his thumb pressed down on your clit, and his hips lost their rhythm, becoming sloppy and desperate, and you knew he was close, and so were you. so close—

"now," satoru gasped. "now, sweetheart—"

you came together.

it was messy and loud and overwhelming, your body clenching around him as he spilled inside you again, his hips jerking erratically as he rode out his orgasm. you collapsed onto the bed, and he followed you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside you, still pulsing.

neither of you moved.

satoru’s breath was hot against your ear, his heart pounding against your back, and you could feel him — getting hard again, still inside you, still not pulling out.

"one more," he murmured, and you could hear the smile in his voice, even through the exhaustion. "just one more. and then maybe we can talk about how i'm in love with you."

you laughed — a breathless, surprised sound — and satoru kissed your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your jaw.

"i'm serious, baby," satoru said, his hips rolling forward again, slowly. "i've been in love with you for years. and now that i've had you like this—"

he pushed deeper, and you moaned.

"—i'm never letting you go."

satoru’s hand slid under you, finding your clit again, and you realized he actually meant it.

he wasn't going to stop.

and honestly… you didn't want him to.

you were satoru’s go-to, his reliable, the only person he texted at midnight with nothing but an address or a you up? and you’d show up, or he’d show up, and there was no pretense, no performance, just the two of you, falling into each other like it was the easiest thing in the world.

satoru knew by heart the pretty little sounds you made when you were trying to stay quiet, satoru knew the way your hands fisted in his sheets when he hit the right spot, satoru knew the way you’d shove at his chest afterward, laughing, telling him to go get a towel, you menace.

and he knew — he knew — that there was no one else.

not because you’d ever promised each other anything; you hadn’t, that was the whole point. but somewhere along the way, it had just become… understood. you were his. not in a way that required words, but in a way that was simply true.

so when nanami mentioned, so casually it almost didn’t register, that he’d seen you at that café on fourth street with some guy from the business school — tall, dark hair, looked like he was trying way too hard — gojo didn’t react.

really, he didn’t react.

he just stood there in the doorway of nanami’s apartment, a red solo cup dangling from his fingers, and blinked.

“what?”

“your friend,” nanami said, unbothered, because nanami was always unbothered, which was probably why gojo kept him around. “the one you’re always with. she was on a date.”

a date?

the word landed somewhere in satoru’s chest like a stone dropped into still water, and the ripples spread outward before he could stop them.

“it wasn’t a date,” he heard himself say, and even he didn’t believe it at all.

nanami just raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his beer.

“she was laughing at his jokes. he paid. and she let him walk her to her door.”

satoru’s jaw tightened.

he didn’t even ask how the hell nanami knew about the door part. actually, he didn’t ask anything. he just stood there for a beat too long, then laughed — a short, sharp sound that didn’t reach his eyes — and said something dismissive, something about good for her, and walked away.

but the feeling didn’t go away.

it sat in satoru’s chest for the rest of the night, heavy and hot, and by the time he got back to his own apartment, he’d convinced himself it was just… surprise. yeah, that was all. you’d never once mentioned going on a date. you’d never mentioned anyone else. and okay, fine, you didn’t owe him that, you didn’t owe him anything, but—

but…

satoru woke up the next morning with that same weight pressing down on him, and it didn’t lift; not when he went to class, not when he sat through a lecture he didn’t hear a word of, not when he pulled out his phone and stared at your name in his messages; his thumb hovering over the keyboard, typing and deleting and typing again.

hey, you free tonight?

what are you doing later?

heard you went on a date???

satoru deleted that last one before he could send it.

it sounded crazy. it sounded jealous. and gojo satoru didn’t get jealous; no, gojo satoru was the one who’d set the rules in the first place. gojo satoru didn’t do complications.

so why did it feel like his chest was caving in?

he told himself he wasn’t going to say anything. he told himself it was none of his business. he told himself that whatever you did, whoever you saw, it didn’t matter, because you weren’t his, and that was exactly how he’d wanted it.

but, three days later, satoru saw you walking across campus.

you were smiling. not at him — you were smiling at your phone, your thumbs moving fast over the screen, your cheeks a little pink. and you were dressed differently, too. not in the sweats and oversized hoodie you wore when you came over to his place, but in a pretty skirt. a pretty skirt. with your legs bare and your hair down and something soft and open about your face that satoru had never seen before.

or maybe he had, maybe he just hadn’t been looking.

oh.

the realization hit him like a freight train.

satoru was in love with you.

not the casual, comfortable fondness he’d let himself feel. not the you’re fun, you’re hot, we work well together kind of affection, but something real. something terrifying, something that had been growing in the spaces satoru purposely hadn’t been paying attention to, rooting itself deep, and now it was way too late to pull it out.

satoru stood there in the middle of the quad, simply watching you walk away, and for the first time in his life, gojo satoru had no idea what to do.

he spent the next two days trying to talk himself out of it.

it was just habit, he told himself. you’d been around for three years, of course he’d miss you if you weren’t there anymore. it didn’t mean anything. it was just—

but every time he closed his eyes, he saw you in that skirt, smiling at your phone, laughing at some other guy’s jokes.

and the thought of someone else’s hands on you, someone else’s mouth, someone else waking up next to you in the morning, made something in him go white-hot and feral.

satoru couldn’t eat, he couldn’t even sleep; the boy was pacing his apartment like a caged animal, running his hands through his soft white hair until it stuck up in every weird direction, and when his phone buzzed — your name lighting up the screen — he nearly dropped it.

hi, you okay? haven’t heard from you in a few days.

satoru stared at it.

and then, before he could think better of it, he was grabbing his keys and walking out the door.

satoru didn’t knock.

actually, he never knocked — you’d given him a key ages ago, back when it was easier than you having to get up and let him in at 2am — but this time, when he pushed the door open, there was nothing easy about it.

you were sitting on your couch, a textbook open on your lap, a pen prettily tucked behind your ear. your hair was up in a messy bun, and you were wearing those ridiculous fuzzy socks you loved so much, and you looked so normal, so you, that his chest physically ached.

“satoru?”

you looked up, eyebrows drawing together. your eyes swept over him — at the wild hair, the dark circles under his blue eyes, the tension in his jaw — and something shifted in your expression. now there was concern, and confusion.

“what’s wrong? you look—”

“don’t go.”

the words roughly came out before satoru could stop them; cracked at the edges, not his voice at all.

you blinked. “what?”

satoru stood in the doorway, completely frozen, his hand still on the doorknob. he’d imagined this moment a hundred times in the past two days, and in every version, he was smooth, he was charming, he found the perfect words, the perfect smile, the perfect way to make this easy.

but that wasn’t what happened at all.

what happened was that satoru’s hands started shaking. what happened was that his voice cracked in the middle of your name. what happened was that he stood there, six-foot-three and undone, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

“i heard you went on a date.”

your mouth opened before closing again.

“how did you—”

“it doesn’t matter.”

satoru stepped forward, then stopped, like he wasn’t really sure he was allowed to come any closer. his hands were shoved in his pockets now, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was working, the way he couldn’t quite meet your eyes.

“just—don’t go on another one.”

“satoru…”

“i know,” he laughed, but it was hollow, nothing like the easy, carefree sound you were used to. “i know i don’t have the right to say that. i know what we are. i know i’m the one who said no feelings, no complications, no—”

satoru’s voice broke.

he stopped, slowly swallowed, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were bright, his usual arrogance stripped away until all that was left was something raw and desperate and so achingly human it made your chest tighten.

“don’t go,” he said again, softer this time. “please.”

you set your textbook aside slowly, your heart pounding.

you’d never seen satoru like this. hell, you’d never seen him anything less than composed, less than perfectly in control, and the sight of him right now — messy, shaking, his carefully constructed walls crumbling around him — made something twist in your stomach.

“satoru,” you said carefully. “what are you saying?”

he crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of the couch.

your breath caught.

satoru’s hands came up to rest on your knees, his fingers curling into the fabric of your sweatpants like he was holding on for dear life. he was looking up at you now, and there was nothing playful in his gaze, nothing teasing, just heat and fear and something that looked terrifyingly like love.

“i’ll do anything,” satoru said, and his voice was low, rough, cracking on the last syllable. “i’ll be whatever you want. whatever you need. just—just don’t—”

satoru couldn’t even finish the sentence.

his forehead dropped to your knee, and you felt the shudder that ran through him, felt the way his hands tightened, and your heart, your stupid, traitorous heart, was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

“i’ll stop being an idiot,” he mumbled against your leg. “i’ll stop pretending i don’t—that i don’t—”

he lifted his head, and his eyes were wet.

gojo satoru, who literally never cried about anything, who laughed in the face of anything serious, who had spent three whole years keeping you at arm’s length so he wouldn’t have to feel this — was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“i love you,” he said, and the words came out broken, desperate, nothing like the smooth confession he’d probably imagined. “i love you, and i’m an idiot, and i know i don’t deserve to ask you for anything, but please. please. don’t go.”

you stared at him.

and then, before you could think, before you could second-guess or talk yourself out of it, you were leaning forward, cupping his face in your hands, and pulling him up.

satoru came easily, eagerly, his huge hands sliding up your thighs as he rose to his knees, then higher, until his face was level with yours. his breath was warm against your lips, his alluring eyes searching yours for something you weren’t sure you knew how to give.

“say something,” he whispered. “please. i’m losing my mind.”

you simply kissed him.

and this kiss was three years of pretending you didn’t want more, three years of biting your tongue and telling yourself it was fine, three years of loving him from a safe distance — all of it poured into one desperate, messy press of lips.

satoru made a sound against your mouth, something between a gasp and a groan, and then his hands were in your hair, pulling you closer, tilting your head back so he could kiss you deeper. his tongue slid against yours, and the taste of him, the feel of him — familiar and yet completely new, now that there was nothing held back — made your head spin.

“i really thought—” satoru broke the kiss, his forehead pressed to yours, his breathing ragged. “i thought you were going to—some other guy, and i really couldn’t—i couldn’t breathe, i couldn’t think—”

“there was no other guy,” you said, and you heard your own voice crack, heard the tears you hadn’t realized you were holding back. “i went on one date, and i spent the whole time wishing it was you.”

satoru’s hands tightened in your hair.

“say that again.”

“i wished it was you, satoru,” you whispered. “i’ve always wished it was you.”

the sound he made was almost pained, and his mouth found yours again, hungrier this time, and his huge hands slid down your body — your shoulders, your arms, your waist — like he was relearning every single inch of you, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“i’m sorry,” he breathed against your lips. “i’m sorry i was so stupid. i’m sorry i made you think—”

“satoru.”

“—that i didn’t want this. that i didn’t want you. because i do, i want you so much it scares me, i want—”

you kissed him quiet, and satoru completely melted into you, his weight pressing you back against the couch cushions, his body covering yours like he was trying to shield you from the rest of the world.

“show me,” you said, pulling back just enough to look at him.

satoru’s pupils were blown wide, his lips kiss-swollen, his hair a complete mess; he looked wrecked, he looked beautiful.

“show me how much you want me.”

his breath stuttered out of him.

“fuck,” satoru whispered.

and then the boy was kissing down your jaw, your neck, the hollow of your throat, his huge hands pushing up under your shirt, his palms flat against your stomach, your ribs, the undersides of your breasts.

“i’m gonna make you feel so good,” he said, and his voice was low, rough, and reverent. “i’m gonna make you forget anyone else ever existed. i’m gonna make you mine.”

satoru looked up at you then, still on his knees between your legs, his face flushed, his eyes dark, and there was nothing playful about him; just a man who’d spent three whole years running from something he should have been running toward, finally, finally done pretending.

“tell me you want that,” he said. “tell me you want me.”

you reached down, cupped his face in your hands, and pulled him up until his lips were a breath away from yours.

“i’ve always wanted you,” you said. “i was just waiting for you to catch up.”

he kissed you like a man drowning, and you let yourself fall.

satoru’s mouth was desperate, hungry, like he was trying to make up for three years of holding back in a single kiss. his hands were everywhere — your jaw, your neck, your shoulders, your waist — like he couldn’t decide where to touch first, like he needed to feel all of you at once or he’d forget how.

you kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space left between you. satoru’s weight pressed you into the couch cushions, and you could feel his heart pounding against your chest, or maybe that was yours, or maybe it was both of you, tangled up together and beating out of sync.

“need—” satoru gasped against your mouth, pulling back just far enough to breathe, and his voice was wrecked, barely there. “need you in your room. now.”

you didn’t have time to respond before he was pulling you up, his huge hands sliding down to grip your thighs, lifting you without apparent effort. your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and his mouth was on yours again before you could even register that you were moving.

satoru didn’t break the kiss.

not when he stumbled slightly in the hallway, not when his shoulder bumped the doorframe, not when he slowly lowered your body onto your bed and followed you down, his body completely covering yours like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go for even a single second.

your back hit the mattress, and satoru was there, everywhere, his lips never leaving yours. his tongue slid against your lower lip, then into your mouth, slow and deep, and you moaned, your hands coming up to tangle in his white hair, pulling him closer even though there was nowhere left to go.

“satoru,” you breathed, and he made a sound; low, almost pained, against your mouth.

“say it again.”

“satoru—”

his hips pressed into yours, and you felt him then, already hard and so so so desperate through his jeans, and the way he shuddered when you instinctively rolled up to meet him sent a thrill through your entire body.

“fuck,” satoru whispered.

his lips trailed away from your mouth, down your jaw, your throat, the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“i’ve got you. i’ve got you, okay? just let me—”

satoru’s hands were shaking as he pushed up the hem of your shirt, his palms sliding against bare skin, and he pulled back just enough to look at you; and oh, his eyes were dark, pupils blown so wide there was barely any blue left.

“you have no idea,” he said, and his voice cracked. “how long i’ve wanted to do this. for real.”

you reached down, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and tugged it; satoru helped you pull it over his head, and then he was bare above you, with broad shoulders and lean muscle, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon.

you let your hands trace down his collarbone, his chest, the lines of his abdomen, and he shivered under your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a second.

“you’re so pretty,” you said without thinking, and he let out a breathless laugh — the first real laugh you’d heard from him all night, soft and surprised and a little embarrassed.

“that’s supposed to be my line.”

satoru dipped his head, pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat, then lower, his lips dragging down your sternum as his fingers found the hem of your shirt again. he pushed it up, slowly, uncovering you inch by inch, and when his mouth reached the lace of your bra, he paused.

his breath was warm against your skin, and you could feel him trembling again as he looked up at you through his lashes.

“can i?”

you nodded, not trusting your voice, and satoru smiled before hooking his fingers under the fabric and pulling it down.

satoru’s hands were so careful as he bared you, reverent almost, and the way he looked at you completely made your stomach flip; like you were something precious, something he couldn’t believe he got to touch.

“god,” the boy breathed, and then his mouth was on you, hot and wet and so perfect, his warm tongue circling your nipple before sucking gently.

your back arched off the bed, a gasp tearing out of you, and his hand came up to cup your other breast, his thumb brushing over the peak in slow, deliberate circles.

“satoru—”

“i know,” he murmured against your skin, switching to the other side, his teeth grazing lightly before his tongue soothed the sting. “i know, baby. i’ve got you.”

the words sent a rush of heat through you, pooling low in your belly, and you could feel yourself growing wetter by the second, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

satoru must have noticed, because his hips rolled into the mattress, a soft groan escaping him, and his mouth started moving lower again; down your ribs, your stomach, your hipbone, his lips and teeth and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake. he paused at the waistband of your sweatpants, his fingers hooking into the elastic, and looked up at you.

“okay?”

well… you were pretty sure you’d never been more okay in your entire life.

“fuck, yes,” you said, and your voice came out breathless, desperate. “please.”

satoru’s eyes darkened.

he pulled your sweatpants down slowly, dragging them over your hips, your thighs, your knees, his knuckles brushing against your skin with every inch. when he reached your ankles, he tossed them aside, and then he was just staring at you — you, laid out beneath him in nothing but a pair of thin cotton panties that were definitely already soaked through.

satoru’s hands slid up your calves, your knees, the insides of your thighs, pushing them gently apart. you let him, spreading for him without hesitation, and the noise he made when he saw the dark spot on your underwear was almost animal.

“fuck,” he breathed. “you’re already so wet.”

your face burned, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed — not with the way he was looking at you, like you were something he’d been starving for.

satoru hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down with the same agonizing slowness; you lifted your hips to help, and he slid them off, discarding them somewhere on the floor, and then—

then he was just looking at you. all of you. his gaze so intense it made your thighs twitch, made you want to close them, but satoru held them open, his hands firm on your knees.

“so pretty,” he said, echoing your words from earlier, and his voice was rough, reverent. “so pretty, and you’ve been right here the whole time, and i was too stupid to—”

he cut himself off, shaking his head, and then he was lowering himself, his shoulders spreading your thighs further apart, his breath hot against the inside of your leg.

“satoru—”

“i’m gonna take my time,” he said, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, just inches from where you needed him. “i’ve waited three years. i’m not rushing this.”

satoru pressed a soft kiss to your thigh, then another, then another; each one higher, closer, until you were squirming beneath him, your fingers twisting in the sheets, a whine building in your throat.

“please,” you gasped. “satoru, please—”

“tell me what you want.”

“you know what i want.”

satoru hummed against your skin, and you felt his smile, his lips curving against your thigh.

“i want to hear you say it.”

your face was burning, your heart pounding, your entire body pulled taut like a string about to snap.

“i want you to—” you swallowed, your voice dropping to barely a whisper. “i want you to taste me.”

satoru’s exhale was shaky, almost surprised, like even though he’d asked for it, hearing you say it hit him harder than he expected — even though it’s not the first time.

“yeah?” his voice was low, a little rough. “you want my mouth on you, baby?”

you nodded, unable to form words, and he made a guttural sound before finally, finally lowering his head.

the first touch of his tongue was so light you almost thought you’d imagined it; it was a slow, flat lick from your entrance to your clit, broad and warm and unhurried, and your hips jerked off the bed, a cry tearing out of you.

“god,” satoru breathed, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “you taste even better than before.”

he did it again, slower this time, dragging his tongue through your folds like he was savoring you, and your hand flew down to tangle in his white hair, holding him there.

he groaned against you, the vibration shooting straight up your spine, and his arms slid under your thighs, hooking over his shoulders, opening you up even more.

“stay still for me,” satoru murmured, and then his mouth was on you properly, his lips closing around your clit, his tongue circling in slow, deliberate strokes.

you couldn’t have stayed still even if you tried.

your hips rolled against satoru’s face, chasing the pressure, and he simply let you, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady enough for him to work. he sucked gently, then harder, then released with a soft pop that made your breath hitch, before diving back in.

“satoru—”

“i know,” he said against you, his voice muffled, and the vibration made you moan. “let go. i’ve got you.”

satoru’s tongue flattened against your clit, pressing down just right, and your vision went white at the edges, but then he pulled back, switching to something slower, softer, and you whined in protest.

“patience,” he said, and you could hear the smirk even if you couldn’t see his face. “i told you. i’m taking my time.”

he kissed your inner thigh again, then your other thigh, then back to the center, teasing you with the lightest flick of his tongue before pulling away again. you were shaking now, your thighs trembling against his shoulders, and he seemed to sense that you were at your limit, because he stopped playing.

satoru’s mouth covered you again, his tongue working your clit in tight, focused circles while one of his hands slid up your thigh, his fingers brushing against your entrance.

you were so wet that he slid inside without resistance — one finger, then two, curling up just right, and your back arched off the bed, a broken cry escaping your lips.

“there she is,” satoru murmured, his breath so warm against you. “there you go, baby. that’s it.”

his fingers moved slowly at first, matching the rhythm of his tongue, in and out, curling against that sweet little spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes.

you could feel yourself tightening around his long fingers, your climax building low and deep, and satoru must have felt it too, because his pace quickened, his tongue pressing harder, his fingers curling faster.

“come for me,” he said, his voice rough, desperate. “wanna taste it. wanna taste you when you fall apart.”

his mouth closed around your clit again, sucking gently, and his fingers pressed deeper, and the combination was too much, too perfect, too everything—

you shattered.

your orgasm crashed over you in waves, your hips bucking against satoru’s face, your hands fisting in his hair, a scream caught in your throat, but he didn’t stop; satoru kept licking, kept sucking, kept his fingers buried deep inside you, working you through it, drawing it out until you were gasping, trembling, completely undone.

and then, when you thought it was over, when you thought he’d finally let you breathe—

satoru didn’t stop.

his tongue was still moving, slower now, gentler, but still there, still circling, still pressing, and your overstimulated nerves lit up like fireworks, too much and not enough all at once.

“satoru,” you gasped, tugging at his hair. “satoru, i—”

he hummed against you, and the vibration made you whimper, your thighs trying to close around his head.

“shh,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. his chin was wet, his lips red and swollen, his eyes dark and half-lidded. he looked drunk. “i’m not done with you yet.”

“i can’t—”

“you can,” satoru lowered his mouth again, pressing a soft kiss to your clit that made you jolt. “you’re gonna give me one more. i know you can.”

his fingers started moving again, slow and deep, and his tongue went back to your clit, lighter this time, barely there, just enough to keep you teetering on the edge.

“you taste so fucking good,” he said, his voice muffled, and you could hear how much he meant it, could feel it in the way his hips were grinding into the mattress, desperate for friction he wasn’t giving himself. “i could stay here all night. i could eat you out until you forget your own name.”

your hands pushed weakly at his head, but he didn’t budge. if anything, he pressed closer, his tongue flattening against you, his fingers curling deeper.

“t-toru, please, it’s too much—”

“it’s not,” satoru said, and his voice was thick, almost reverent. “it’s not too much. you’re doing so well. you’re so good for me. just one more, okay? just one more, and i’ll stop.”

his thumb found your clit while his fingers kept working, rubbing slow circles that had you seeing stars, and you could feel the pressure building again, faster this time, sharper, too intense and too perfect and you couldn’t—

“that’s it,” he breathed. “that’s it, baby. let go. let go for me.”

your second orgasm hit before you could brace for it, ripping through you like a wave, and you did cry out — a broken, sobbing sound, your back arching off the bed, your hands shoving at his head, trying to push him away because it was too much, too much, too much—

but satoru didn’t move.

his mouth stayed on you, his tongue gentler now but still present, still tasting, still drawing out every last shudder until you were lying there, limp and trembling, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

only then did he lift his head.

satoru looked wrecked; his lips were slick, his chin wet, his hair a wild mess from your fingers. his chest was heaving, and when you looked down, you could see the obvious strain in his jeans, the way his hips were pressing into the mattress like he was trying to get any kind of friction.

but he was smiling, like he’d just been the one to come.

“hey,” he said, his voice rough, and he crawled up your body, his weight settling over you, his face hovering above yours.

satoru reached up, softly brushing the tears from your pink cheeks with his thumb, his expression tender in a way you’d never seen before.

“you okay?”

you couldn’t speak, so you just nodded, your breathing still uneven, your legs still shaking.

he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose.

“you were so good,” satoru murmured against your skin. “so perfect. tasted like heaven.”

you let out a shaky laugh, your hands coming up to rest on his chest; you could feel satoru’s heartbeat under your palms, racing as fast as yours.

“you’re insane,” you whispered.

satoru grinned — that familiar, cocky grin, but it was softer around the edges.

“yeah,” he said, his hips pressing into yours, letting you feel exactly how much he’d enjoyed himself. “but you like it.”

and you didn’t deny it.

you just pulled him down by the back of his neck and kissed him, tasting yourself on satoru’s lips, and felt him smile against your mouth.

“i’m not done with you yet,” the boy said when you finally broke apart, his forehead resting against yours. “but we’ve got all night. yeah?”

you smiled, your fingers tracing down his chest, over his stomach, to the waistband of his jeans.

“yeah,” you said. “all night.”

satoru’s grin softened into something warmer, something that made your chest ache in the best way ever.

he kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to pour every word he’d said tonight into the way his lips moved against yours. your fingers found the waistband of his jeans again, fumbling with the button, and for a moment he let you, his breath hitching when your knuckles brushed against the hardness straining beneath the denim.

but then satoru’s hand gently caught yours, his long fingers lacing through yours and pressing your palm flat against his stomach instead.

“wait,” he murmured against your lips. “wait.”

you blinked up at him, confused. “i thought—”

“i know what you thought,” his voice was low, rough, but there was a softness underneath it that made your stomach flip.

satoru brought your joined hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“and i love that you want to. but not tonight.”

“satoru—”

“tonight,” he said, releasing your hand only to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “you’re the one getting taken care of.”

you opened your mouth to protest — you really wanted to touch him, you wanted to make him feel as wrecked as he’d made you — but he simply shook his head, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“let me,” he said, and his voice cracked just slightly on the words. “please. i need to show you. i need to—” he paused, swallowing, his eyes searching yours. “i spent three years pretending i didn’t want this. pretending i didn’t love you. and i can’t—i don’t want to be selfish anymore. not with you.”

your throat tightened. “toru, you’re not—”

“let me do this,” he whispered. “let me love you the way i should’ve been loving you this whole time.”

you couldn’t argue with that; not when satoru was looking at you like that, like you were something so precious, something he was afraid to break. you nodded, your hand coming up to rest over his on your cheek.

“okay,” you breathed. “okay.”

the smile he gave you was radiant — not the cocky, practiced grin he wore for the rest of the world, but something real, something so raw.

and then satoru was kissing you again, and this kiss was different from all the others; it was way slower, and it was way deeper. his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that made your toes curl, his hands sliding down your sides, your hips, your thighs, relearning every curve.

when he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. he sat up, kneeling between your legs, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he reached for the button of his jeans.

satoru didn’t rush; his fingers worked the button open, then the zipper, and the sound of it seemed impossibly loud in the quiet of your room. the white haired boy pushed his jeans down his hips, and you couldn’t help the way your eyes dropped, couldn’t help the way your breath caught when you saw him — the thick length of him straining against his boxer briefs, a dark spot already forming at the tip.

“fuck,” you whispered.

you reached out, your fingers brushing against satoru’s, and helped him push them down.

he was — god. you’d seen him before, of course you had, three years of this arrangement meant you knew every single inch of him, but this was different. this was satoru, your satoru, kneeling above you with his heart in his throat and his cock now heavy against his stomach, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that really mattered.

you’d always known that satoru was big, but seeing him right now, flushed and leaking and so hard it had to be painful, made your mouth water.

“you’re staring,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, but there was a tremor underneath it.

“you’re worth staring at.”

satoru’s cheeks flushed — a pretty pink that crept up to the tips of his ears — and something warm unfurled in your chest. you reached for him, wanting to touch, wanting to wrap your hand around him and feel the weight of him, but he caught your wrist again, gentle but firm.

“i told you,” satoru said, lowering himself over you, his forearms bracketing your head, his hips settling between your thighs. “tonight’s about you.”

you could feel him then — the heat of him, the press of his cock against your inner thigh, so close to where you were still slick and sensitive from before.

your hips twitched involuntarily, seeking friction, and he let out a low groan, his forehead dropping to yours.

“so impatient,” he murmured, but there was no teasing in it, just wonder. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

satoru shifted his hips, and then he was there — the head of his cock sliding against your wet folds, nudging against your sensitive clit before dragging back down, coating himself in the wetness that was still there from when he’d had his mouth on you, and the sensation made you gasp, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders.

“satoru—”

“i know,” he breathed. “i know, baby. i’ve got you.”

he did it again; a slow roll of his hips that had his cock sliding against your entrance, but not entering, just teasing, just feeling. the friction was maddening, the heat of him searing against your most sensitive parts, and you could feel yourself clenching around nothing, desperate for him to fill you.

“please,” you gasped. “please, satoru, i need—”

“what do you need?” satoru’s voice was strained, his jaw tight, and you could see the effort it was taking him to hold back; his arms were trembling on either side of you, his abs tense, every line of his body drawn taut. “tell me.”

“you,” you said, and your voice cracked. “toru, i need you inside me. please.”

his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, a shudder running through him, and when he opened them again, they were dark, pupils blown so wide there was barely any blue left.

“yeah?” he reached down between you, his hand wrapping around his cock, and the sight of him — the way his fingers didn’t quite close around the girth of him, the way his knuckles brushed against your wetness — made your thighs tremble. “you want this? want me to fill you up?”

“yes. god—yes.”

satoru guided himself to your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against you, and for a moment he just stayed there, not pushing in, just letting you feel the stretch of him. you were already so wet, already so ready, but he was so big that even the pressure of him made you gasp.

“breathe,” he whispered, and then he was pushing in.

slowly. oh, so slowly you could feel every inch of him; the way your body had to open up to take him, the way he had to pause halfway to let you adjust. his jaw was clenched, his eyes squeezed shut, and you could feel him shaking again with the effort of not just slamming into you.

“f-fuck,” satoru gritted out. “fuck, you’re so tight. you feel—” his voice broke, and he pressed his forehead against yours again, his breath coming in ragged pants. “you feel so good. so fucking good.”

he kept going, inch by inch, until finally — finally — his hips were flush against yours, and you were full, so full you could barely breathe, could barely think. satoru was buried inside you to the hilt, and the weight of him, the heat of him, the way he was stretching you so perfectly made your eyes water.

“okay?” he asked, and his voice was wrecked. “are you okay?”

you couldn’t speak properly, so you simply nodded, your hands sliding up into his soft white hair, pulling him down until your foreheads were touching.

“move,” you whispered. “please move.”

satoru pulled back slowly, the drag of him against your walls making you whimper, and then he pushed back in, just as slow, just as deliberate; the rhythm he set was unhurried, almost lazy, his hips rolling against yours in a way that made every nerve in your body light up.

“look at me,” he said, and you did, your eyes meeting his.

satoru’s face was flushed, his lips parted, his hair falling into his eyes; he looked so beautiful like this, undone, all his carefully constructed walls stripped away.

“i want to see your face when i make you cum.”

his pace picked up, just slightly, each thrust pressing him deeper inside you, harder, until you could literally feel him in your throat. satoru’s hands slid under your hips, tilting you up, changing the angle, and when he hit that sweet little spot inside you — that spot that made your vision go white — you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“there?” he asked, and there was a desperate edge to his voice. “is that the spot, baby?”

you couldn’t answer, hell, you couldn’t do anything but cling to him as he drove deep into you, each thrust hitting that same spot over and over again. satoru was kissing you everywhere now — your mouth, your jaw, your throat — his lips and teeth leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough. “so fucking beautiful. i can’t believe—” he thrust harder, and you moaned, your back arching off the bed. “i can’t believe i almost lost this. almost lost you.”

his mouth found your collarbone, your shoulder, your breast; satoru took your nipple into his hungry mouth, sucking hard, and the combination of that and the way he was deeply fucking you made you sob.

“satoru—satoru, i’m close—”

“i know,” he said, and he sounded drunk, drugged, his words slurring against your skin. “i can feel you, baby. you’re squeezing me so tight. fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

satoru reached down between you, his thumb finding your clit, and the touch, even through the overstimulation from earlier, sent a jolt through you so intense that you nearly screamed.

“cum for me,” he said, his voice breaking. “cum on my cock. let me feel it.”

satoru pressed down on your clit in slow, tight little circles, matching the rhythm of his hips, and the pressure built and built and built until—

you completely shattered.

your orgasm ripped through you like a wave, your body arching off the bed, your walls clenching around him so hard that he groaned, his hips stuttering against yours.

“fuck—fuck, i’m—”

satoru came with a broken cry, his forehead pressed against your shoulder, his hips grinding into you as he emptied himself inside you, hot and thick. you could feel it — the pulse of him, the warmth of him filling you up, and the sensation was so intense, so intimate, that you felt tears slip down your cheeks.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

his weight was heavy on top of you, his breath hot against your skin, his hands still gripping your hips like he was afraid to let go; you could feel his heart pounding against your chest, or maybe it was yours, or maybe it was both of you, tangled together and beating as one.

“toru,” you whispered, your fingers threading through his hair.

he lifted his head slowly, his eyes dazed, his lips red and swollen; he looked wrecked, completely undone, and when he saw your tears, his expression crumpled.

“hey,” he said, his voice hoarse. “hey, what’s wrong? did i—”

you shook your head, pulling him down until your foreheads were touching again.

“nothing’s wrong. i just—” you laughed, the sound watery. “i love you. i’ve loved you for so long.”

satoru’s breath caught, and then he was kissing you again, soft and slow, his lips moving against yours like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

“i love you too,” he said when he finally pulled back. “i love you so much it scares me.”

you smiled, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

satoru pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the spot just below your ear.

“i love you,” he said again, like he was testing the words, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to say them. “i love you. i love you. i love you.”

you could feel him still inside you, softening but not fully, and when he shifted his weight, you winced —nsensitive, so sensitive, every nerve in your body still humming.

but satoru didn’t pull out.

instead, he lowered himself onto his elbows, his face hovering above yours, and started moving again; slow, shallow thrusts, barely pulling out before pressing back in, and the drag of him against your overstimulated walls made you gasp.

“satoru,” you whimpered, your hands pushing weakly at his chest. “i can’t—i’m too—”

“shh,” he murmured, and there was a wildness in his eyes, something desperate and hungry. “you can. you can take it. you’re doing so well, baby. so good for me.”

his hips kept moving, that same slow, torturous rhythm, and you could feel yourself growing wetter around him again, your body betraying you, responding to him even when you thought you had nothing left to give.

“i’m not done with you,” satoru said, and his voice was low, reverent. “i told you. all night.”

his hand slid down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again, and you actually sobbed, the sensation too much and not enough all at once.

“you feel that?” satoru asked, his thumb circling, his hips grinding. “you feel how wet you are? you’re dripping, baby. you’re dripping all over my cock.”

and you were. you could feel it, the mix of his cum and yours sliding down your thighs, soaking into the sheets beneath you; the filth of it, the intimacy of it, made your face burn, but you couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t do anything but cling to him as he fucked you slow and deep.

“i want to feel you cum again,” he said, and his voice was shaking. “i want to feel you squeeze me again. can you do that for me? can you give me one more?”

you shook your head without even thinking, but satoru just give you that soft, devastating smile.

“you can,” the boy said. “i know you can. you’re so good for me. my good girl.”

the praise washed over you, warm and intoxicating, and you felt something loosen in your chest; your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and satoru groaned, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before picking back up.

“that’s it,” he breathed. “that’s my girl. take it. take all of me.”

satoru was moving faster now, his hips snapping against yours, his thumb still working your oversensitive clit in tight, focused circles, and the pleasure was building again, sharp and bright, and you could feel yourself climbing toward something that felt almost too big to contain.

“satoru—i’m gonna—”

“i know,” he said, and his voice was wrecked, desperate. “cum for me. cum again. let me feel you.”

you came with a scream, your body convulsing around him, your nails raking down his back; satoru followed you a moment later, his hips stuttering, his mouth finding your shoulder to muffle the sound of his own groan as he spilled inside you again, adding to the mess, to the heat, to the overwhelming fullness that had you trembling beneath him.

he collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his face buried in your neck. you could feel his pulse racing against yours, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps, and for a long moment, neither of you moved.

finally, satoru lifted his head.

his face was flushed, his hair a complete disaster, his lips parted and kiss-swollen; he looked like he’d been thoroughly ruined, and the sight of him made your chest ache.

“i love you,” he whispered again.

he smiled; that soft, real smile that you were starting to think was made only for you, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“this is just the beginning,” satoru said, his voice rough but warm. “i’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

your eyes are half-lidded and blurry. you’re feeling so good and loved, so pleased and happy to have a partner like him. “right there, ‘toru,” you whimper quietly once you feel the head of his dick rub back and forth on the deepest parts of your velvety insides. satoru happily obliges, hugging your body even tighter to his chest before burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“here, baby?” the white-haired man asks, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine as it ghosts over your skin. he keeps his dick balls deep inside you and switches to slow and shallow strokes, “y’re so pretty. you always know jus’ how to take it. so, so, so good.”

your hands are scrambling to hold onto the white sheets. you can’t physically take the amount of pleasure you’re getting, that inevitable peak gets closer and closer. your hips involuntarily jolt back against satoru, reciprocating his gentle thrusts. a big hand reaches out to yours that’s tugging at the covers, slender fingers intertwining with your own.

“m’sgood,” you mumble incoherently through a soft whimper. your back is positioned in a nasty arch that makes satoru’s dick tingle.

he sighs against your nape before allowing his tongue to wet the skin, sucking on the same spot soon after. he does the same to your sensitive ears and neck—covering you with his love while also filling your body with the same.

satoru holds your hand tightly, squeezing it every now and then to reassure you. “i love you so much, y’know that, right?” he says in a gentle tone. he’s confessed his love to you so many times before, though he always makes it sound like it’s his first time doing so.

“i’m never letting you go, ever,” he promises before leaning over your shoulder to catch your lips in a kiss.

satoru’s tongue sweeps over your bottom lip before rolling around in your warm mouth. his hips don’t stop, cock repeatedly appearing and disappearing inside of your pussy. the pace never escalates to make the moment last longer.

“mhmm— wanna b-be with you forever,” you mutter against his glossy lips, feeling safe and protected in satoru’s embrace like this. all you’re feeling, hearing and smelling is him. that’s what peace is for you. as long as you got him, you’re going to be just fine.

satoru smiles at your words. you feel so perfect around him, your cunt molded to fit his cock whenever he pleases, remembering its shape and allowing it to ruin your insides. “of course, sweets. i’ll treat you so well, ‘kay? you can count on me,” he comforts you with a forehead kiss.

“pretty girl. you’re perfect,” satoru continues to praise you like no other. his free hand runs over the small of your back and back to your thigh, keeping a gap between them so his cock can move a bit more freely.

“let me hear your cute moans, c’mon. fuck, y’ turn me on so much,” he sighs, not knowing what he’d do without you.

satoru is obsessed with all of you. the combination of your personality and looks is heavenly. his lips never stop distracting you, his tender kisses covering your entire upper body. the lovey dovey atmosphere in the room never dulls even once.

“ah, ‘toruu, hnghh—can’t last f’ any longer,” you moan, your eyes nearly rolling back. your lover is all the evidence needed to let you know that sex doesn’t have to be rough to be good. he can make you cum for an infinite amount of times by simply grinding his hips against you—changing his techniques every now and then.

rolling his hips in small circles or simply pressing his cock all the way inside your cunt and then prodding at your sweet spots, is all what’s needed to make you feel like you’re on cloud nine.

“aww, my poor baby. can’t hold it in f’me?” satoru pouts before kissing your temples lovingly. he caresses your hip, other hand still not letting go of your hand. there’s such a deep connection between you two—no one can ever sever it. that strong bond feels more intimate when you’re merged into one like this.

“nooo, can’t,” you shake your head and whine about how close you are. satoru nods at your needy words and dips a hand down to rub your clit. his middle and ring finger move around the small bundle of nerves in circles.

“khehe, that’s okay. let’s cum together,” he whispers as kisses find their way down your jawline.

you hum in agreement, little moans filling satoru’s ears as you get closer to your climax. your body trembles and heats up, your tummy tingles and tenses up. satoru’s in the same situation as you, his low moans turning into hisses and even quiet whines against the skin of your shoulder.

he holds you close, preparing both of you to reach your long awaited releases. “sh—shit, ‘m g’nna pull out, baby—give me a second,” you hear him whimper under his breath as his hand tightens its grip around yours. he’s nearly crushing your bones.

you don’t give him time to even think of pulling his cock out. you want to relive the sensation of having his seed spread inside of your cunt, overflowing until it’s dirtying the sheets.

“no- ‘toru. inside, please,” you beg quietly as your pussy locks around his cock. your walls cling onto his dick, yearning to milk his heavy balls dry of every drop.

satoru gasps and hisses, trying to speak up, but getting overpowered by his own noises of desperation. “fuck, all right, princess. as you wish,” his voice is husky and deep as he pushes his cock in to the base before dumping his load inside you.

ropes of hot cum come out quickly, one after the other, filling you with a hot creamy liquid. you can feel every drop being drained inside your spasming cunt. your own cum mixes with his, creating a lewd mess between your thighs.

“th-thank you,” you whisper tiredly. your body relaxes in satoru’s embrace. you’re trembling due to the intense aftershocks and your lover wastes no time into kissing it better. your forehead is peppered with small pecks, the rest of your face following.

satoru giggles at your fucked out state. he gives you a head pat and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. you can feel him grinning uncontrollably against your skin—the joy emitting from him is contagious.

“any time,” he sighs. you can feel his cock softening after that release, still nestled deep inside of you. he has no intention of pulling out, especially since it’s so comfortable. you let him cum inside you and thus he’ll do everything to keep that hot load buried deep inside your cunt.

you can nearly fall asleep like this with satoru. you have zero complains and simply need to relax after what just happened. perhaps take another nap or two.

the white-haired man kisses your shoulder and rubs your lower tummy, enjoying the softness, “i’m gonna prepare us a warm, relaxing bath in a second. let’s just cuddle some more, baby.”

you meet satoru gojo on a tuesday morning when the cafe is packed worse than usual. the line stretches all the way past the entrance, your apron is covered in dried milk splatters, and your patience is basically gone.

then in he walks.

satoru gojo is the kind of guy who makes the world bend a little just by existing. cocky without apology, charming in that infuriating way that has people falling over themselves, the type who never hears no because he doesn’t give them the chance to say it. and well he’s rich, he’s brilliant, he’s everything and he knows it, which is exactly why you hated him from the second you met him.

“one of everything sweet you got back there,” he says. “extra whip, extra shots, and throw in a smile for me while you’re at it, yeah? name’s toru by the way.”

you stare at him for half a second. he can’t be serious.

“do you even know how bad that’ll taste?” you mutter, not even bothering to hide the annoyance in your voice. you start slamming cups and pumps because arguing with customers is a quick way to get written up, but god, this one makes it tempting.

the smirk on satoru’s face gets wider, those ridiculous sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just enough for you to catch a flash of those too-blue eyes.

“aw, c’mon princess. live a little. i like my coffee like i like my company—sweet, messy, and a little overwhelming.”

you nearly drop the cup. the audacity rolls off him in waves and when you finally slide the drink across the counter (extra everything just like he asked), he takes one dramatic sip and makes a face.

“too sweet,” he declares as he sets the cup down. “way too sweet. you tryna put me in a sugar coma or what?”

your eye twitches, “you literally asked for one of everything sweet. that’s what you got. if you wanted plain black coffee maybe you should’ve just said that.”

he leans in closer, elbows on the counter, completely ignoring the growing line behind him. “feisty. i like that, it’s almost cute.”

“cute?” you echo. “buddy, i’m two seconds away from spitting in your next drink if you don’t move.”

satoru throws his head back and laughs, you also notice a few girls in line giggle along with him. he then pulls out his card, taps it against the reader, and winks.

fucking asshole.

“that should be it, princess. and hey—i’ll be back tomorrow! maybe you’ll get my order right next time.”

you watch him saunter out, white hair catching the light, and you mutter under your breath the entire time you’re making the next customer’s latte.

you think that’s the end of it. that he’s just another entitled campus pretty boy who’ll forget your face by the time he hits his next lecture.

but satoru gojo doesn’t forget things that interest him.

and apparently, you just became interesting.

˚⟡˖ ࣪

“hey, new hire starts today. show him the ropes when he gets here. he’s a fast learner, supposedly.”

you nod... you’ve been working at this campus cafe for almost eight months now. started right after your financial aid package came up short and you needed something flexible that wouldn’t kill your gpa. the pay is decent, the tips are better on busy days, and it beats retail. plus the free coffee reallyyy helps.

pops, your manager, has been running this place longer than most of the students have been alive on campus. he’s kind of aloof that borders on comedy, always saying the bare minimum while somehow making it sound like the most profound shit you’ve ever heard. you get along with him in that weird way where you trade sarcasm and he never takes anything too seriously.

“great,” you say, already dreading it. “i’m babysitting today basically”

pops snorts, “this one applied with a resume that looked like it belonged in a fortune 500. probably won’t last, but at least he’ll look pretty while he burns the milk.”

“so you hired him because he’s pretty?”

“i hired him because we’re short staffed and he said he could start today. pretty is just a bonus. try not to scare him off on day one, yeah? i don’t feel like doing interviews again.”

the bell above the door chimes. “oh look, there he is. right on time.”

you turn around and your stomach drops straight through the floor.

no. fucking. way.

satoru steps inside wearing the exact same black apron as you have, name tag already clipped to his chest slightly crooked.

he spots you instantly.

“morning, princess,” he says, voice carrying across the quiet space. “ready to teach me how to make that sugar coma special?”

you just stare at him, mouth half open.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter.

satoru walks behind the counter, already rolling up the sleeves of his shirt like he’s done this a hundred times. he stops a little too close, that familiar cocky energy filling up the small space.

“what? you told me to try plain black coffee next time. figured the best way to get it right is to learn how to make it myself. plus the tips here looked decent when i was scoping the place out yesterday.”

“play nice, both of you. i don’t want to hear any screaming before ten.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, already feeling the headache coming on. “this is a joke, right? he’s the new hire?”

“looks that way,” pops says, shrugging. “show him the basics. registers, milk steaming, the usual. don’t let him break anything expensive.”

satoru leans against the counter looking way too amused. “don’t worry, i’m a fast learner. you’ll barely have to babysit. we're gonna be real good friends."

˚⟡˖ ࣪

supervising satoru on his first day turns out to be exactly as annoying as you expected, except somehow worse.

he picks up the register faster than anyone you’ve ever trained. customers love him. older ladies compliment his “lovely smile,” frat guys clap him on the shoulder, and half the girls on campus suddenly decide they need an extra shot in their latte. every time someone tells him his coffee is perfect he makes sure you hear it, tossing the praise your way.

“did you catch that? she said it was the best cappuccino she’s had all semester. guess i’m a natural.”

“she was flirting with you, not rating your foam.”

“eh, same thing.”

he’s extra with everything too, especially the latte art. while you’re trying to keep the line moving he spends an extra ten seconds swirling hearts and little flowers into every cappuccino, sometimes even attempting tiny cats or stars. half the time they come out lopsided but he’s proud of himself.

one girl actually took a photo and posted it right there at the counter. again, satoru made sure you saw it.

“see? people appreciate the details. you should try it sometime instead of just dumping plain foam on top.”

“we’re not an art studio, gojo.”

he just laughs unbothered and keeps going. every time you correct him on something he listens for about five seconds then does it his own way anyway, but he never actually messes up. it’s infuriating how quickly he fits in.

˚⟡˖ ࣪

by the end of the first week you’re convinced satoru gojo was put on this earth specifically to test every last nerve you have left.

he shows up every single shift you’re on. the worst part is he’s actually good at the job. terrifyingly good even. 

you catch him quiet one afternoon working the espresso machine.

there’s something weirdly attractive about how easy he is when he’s focused like this. when he’s not the loud, cocky version that grates on your nerves. the quieter side. the way his shoulders relax, the small smile that sits on his lips when no one’s watching, the brightness that seems to live under his skin even when he’s not talking.

he’s stupidly pretty like that, when he's just simply existing.

it's like the whole world softens around him without him even trying. it pisses you off how much you notice it.

“you know,” he starts, “for someone who claims to hate me, you spend a lot of time staring.”

“excuse me. i’m not staring at you—im looking at the espresso machine.”

satoru steps closer to you. he’s tall, unfairly so, and he knows how to use it, looming enough to make the space between you feel smaller than it should.

“admit it, princess. you’re impressed.”

“sure, most trust fund babies last two days max.”

he laughs, “you think i’m doing this for the money? please. i could buy this whole campus if i wanted.”

did this asshole just flex on you?

“then why are you here, gojo?” you finally look up at him, arms crossed tight over your chest. “you don’t need the tips. you don’t need the experience. so what’s the angle?”

suddenly he reaches out, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“maybe i like coffee,” he murmurs. “or maybe i simply just like seeing you. either way… i’m not going anywhere.”

your heart beats faster, traitor that it is. you slap his hand away, ignoring the way your skin tingles where he touched you.

“touch me again and i’ll steam your fingers instead of the milk.”

“violent,” he says. “i like that about you too.”

before you can fire back, the bell over the door rings again and a group of students shuffle in, saving you from whatever stupid thing was about to come out of your mouth. you turn away from him fast, busying yourself with the register.

by closing time the cafe is empty except for the two of you. pops already left an hour ago, so now it’s just you wiping down the last tables while satoru sweeps the floor.

you’re stacking chairs when he appears beside you without warning, grabbing the one next to yours and flipping it onto the table. his shoulder bumps yours on purpose this time.

“so,” he starts, casual as ever, “what are you doing after this?”

“going home, i’m pretty tired… uh you?”

“boring, you're boring," he yawns, "lemme walk you back to your dorm to be safe.”

“i’ve walked myself home for eight months, gojo. i think i’ll survive without a bodyguard.”

“yeah, but now you don’t have to.” he continues, “c’mon, princess. one walk. i’ll even try to keep the pet names to a minimum.”

you study him for a long moment.

“fine,” you say finally giving in, “annoy me again and i’m pushing you into the nearest bush.”

“deal.” he holds up both hands in mock surrender. “but just so you know… i’m really good at dodging bushes.”

you roll your eyes at that, he never runs out of bullets. the two of you finish closing up in comfortable quiet. he locks the front door while you kill the lights, and when you step out into the cool evening air together, the campus paths are mostly empty, strung with soft golden lamplight.

satoru falls into step beside you, hands shoved in his pockets. for once he’s not filling the silence with cocky one-liners. he stays at your side, occasionally glancing over like he’s making sure you’re still okay with this.

“you know,” he says after a few minutes, “i wasn’t lying earlier about liking seeing you.”

“seeing me glaring at you?”

“exactly.” he bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “it’s cute. you get this little crease between your brows when you’re annoyed. makes me want to annoy you more just to see it.”

“you’re weird, gojo.”

“and i’m also walking you home like a gentleman.”

you snort, preventing yourself from smiling. you would never hear the end of it if he sees it.

the walk to your dorm isn’t long. when you finally reach the front steps he stops, rocking back on his heels with his hands still in his pockets.

“working tomorrow, right?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“night, princess,” he says as he backs away. “sweet dreams. try not to dream of me!”

˚⟡˖ ࣪

you overslept like an idiot.

your alarm didn’t go off, or maybe it did and you smacked it into oblivion in your half asleep state. either way you’re rushing across campus because you completely missed the lecture you usually go to. now the only option left is this later section if you want any chance of catching up.

you slide into the back row just as the professor starts droning on about macroeconomic theory. you’re busy trying to catch your breath and fish out a pen when someone drops into the seat right next to you.

“well well well,” that familiar voice drawls, low enough not to draw the whole room’s attention. “didn’t know you were stalking me now, princess. following me to my lectures?”

you turn your head slowly and there’s satoru.

of fucking course he’s here too.

“you wish,” you hiss under your breath. “i overslept, this is the only section that still had seats. don’t flatter yourself, gojo.”

he leans in a little closer, “sure, sure. keep telling yourself that. but here you are, sitting right next to me when there’s like twenty empty spots further down the row. coincidence? i think not.”

“there weren’t twenty empty spots when i sat down, genius. and move your arm, you’re taking up half the desk.”

“admit it. you saw my pretty head of hair from across the room and couldn’t resist. it’s okay, happens to the best of them.”

“you’re delusional,” you mutter. “i sat here first.”

“well i was already in this section.”

the professor’s voice fades into background noise while satoru keeps up his quiet commentary, whispering dumb observations about the slides or how the guy in the front row is clearly asleep with his eyes open. it’s annoying. it’s also kind of funny, in a way that makes the lecture drag less.

by the time class ends you’re packing up faster than usual, hoping to slip out before he can say anything else, but of course he matches your pace, rushing beside you as you both head down the steps.

“shift starts in thirty, right?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say, adjusting your bag strap. “you don’t start yours till later. go do better things, please.”

“nah, i’ll come with. what if you fall asleep on the way? need to keep you in check..”

“one, that’s not gonna happen. two, i didn’t fall asleep,” you protest, “i overslept. big difference.”

“same difference when it leads to you accidentally stalking me.”

“gojo.”

“princess.”

you guys keep walking, the silence only lasts a few seconds before he breaks it again.

“so what’s your major anyway?” he asks. “gotta be something serious.”

“business with a minor in econ. figured it was the safest bet for actually getting a job after graduation. plus the classes overlap enough that i can knock out credits without killing myself.”

he hums, nodding slowly. “it suits you.”

“what about you?”

“finance, technically. heavy on the econ side too—market theory, behavioral stuff, all that. my family’s been pushing it since i could walk. boring as hell most days but the numbers click for me.”

“huh,” you say after a beat. “explains why you’re weirdly good at the register. and the latte art, actually. ever think about taking art too? you could probably minor in it without even trying.”

satoru raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised you noticed.

“...art? me?”

he continues, “i doodle sometimes when i’m bored in lectures, it’s nothing serious. but yeah… the latte stuff is kinda fun.”

“just saying you’re good at it. might be worth adding to the schedule if finance ever gets too soul sucking.”

“most people just call it extra.” 

“it is extra,” you clarify quickly. “but it’s not bad extra. customers eat it up and you don’t suck at it. if you like that kind of thing, maybe you should.”

“maybe i will. only if you sign up with me though. can’t have you missing out on watching me be naturally talented.”

you say shoving his arm lightly. “in your dreams, gojo.”

“oh it’s definitely in my dreams,” he shoots back. “speaking of dreams, did you see me in your dreams last night? did i look good? hope i didn’t flutter your heart too much.”

˚⟡˖ ࣪

it’s terrifying how easy it is to fall for satoru gojo’s charm.

you’ve been telling yourself for weeks that it’s just the proximity talking, that anyone would start to soften after seeing the same face everyday. but it’s been a month now since he first showed up and the annoyance you felt on day one is slowly fading away.

it’s disarming in a way that feels unfair, like he figured out exactly where your walls are thinnest and decided to camp there.

the thing about satoru is he never pushes too hard, even when he’s being impossible. sure, he’ll tease you about your order of plain black coffee (because he thinks you’re boring) but then he’ll remember how you take it on the days when you're stressed and slide it across the counter before you even ask. a month of this and you’ve caught yourself noticing the way his little habits. he’s a show off and obnoxiously aware of it, but he’s also the guy who stays late to help you mop even when his shift ended an hour ago, who quotes your professor’s driest slides back to you in a deadpan voice that makes you laugh despite yourself.

“morning, princess,” he greets, handing you a cup of coffee.

you smile as you take the cup, “morning, toru.”

his eyes widen just a little at the name, then the grin returns, brighter than ever.

“careful,” he teases. “keep calling me that and i might start thinking you actually like me.”

you blink. “what’d i do?”

“you just called me toru,” he says.

you freeze. “no i didn’t.”

“yes you did.”

“no. i didn’t.”

“yes you did. you said ‘morning, toru.’ clear as day. i heard it with my own two ears.”

“prove it or it never happened.”

“i heard it. that’s my proof.”

“you hear what you want to hear, gojo. it’s what they call selective listening.”

satoru straightens up, crossing his arms over his chest. a dramatic pout settles on his face. bottom lip jutting out with his brows furrowed, those pretty eyes narrowing at you.

“selective listening? really?” he huffs, the pout deepening. “i’m standing right here, princess. you said it. you finally said it and now you’re taking it back? that’s cold. that’s actually cruel.”

you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. 

“i didn’t say anything,” you reply, “you’re imagining things again. maybe you need less sugar in your system.”

he lets out a dramatic sigh and slumps against the counter. “you’re so mean to me. i make you coffee all the time, i stay late to help you close, i walk you home like a gentleman, and this is how you repay me? denying my existence? denying toru?”

the way he says his own nickname in that whiny tone is ridiculous. “say it again,” he demands, though the demand comes out more like a sulky request. “just once. call me toru again and i’ll drop it. i swear.”

“no.”

“please?”

“absolutely not.”

satoru groans, dragging a hand down his face before peeking at you through his fingers. “you’re killing me. slowly and painfully. i finally get a win… a tiny, beautiful win and you snatch it away like that.” he snaps his fingers for emphasis. “heartless… you’re heartless, princess.”

you can’t help the small laugh that escapes. “you’re such a baby when you don’t get your way.”

“i’m not a baby,” he mutters, “i’m a grown man who just got emotionally devastated by a terrible girl who won’t even admit she likes saying my name.”

you roll your eyes and finally turn back to face him, crossing your arms to match his stance. “fine, satoru. happy now?”

his pout vanishes instantly. “heh i’ll take it.”

all morning the teasing doesn’t stop. every time your eyes meet across the counter he mouths “toru” with exaggerated lips, making you glare at him. you don’t fight him with it though, that’ll be more tiring.

later that afternoon, you remember the big econ test is coming up in a few days.

“hey… have you studied for the test yet?” you ask knowing he has the same class, “the one for macro? i’ve been so buried here i barely looked at the slides.”

satoru glances over at you, one brow raised. “yeah, kinda. skimmed the chapters last night while i was pretending to pay attention in that boring finance seminar.”

you hesitate for a second before pushing forward. “did you happen to take notes for the lecture i missed last week? the one on monetary policy? my notes from the earlier section are trash and i can’t make sense of half the graphs.”

he thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “nah, i don’t usually take notes. everything sticks up here anyway,” he taps his temple with two fingers. “but my bag’s in the back room. go check if you want—there might be some loose papers or something i scribbled on. i’m not promising anything though.”

you nod going right away. satoru’s bag is tossed carelessly on the small table near the lockers. you unzip it carefully, feeling a little weird going through his stuff even if he said it was okay. there are a couple of notebooks, some loose receipts, and a few crumpled pages from lectures.

you flip through them quickly but nothing looks like the notes you need. then your fingers brush against a smaller sketchbook tucked near the bottom. you pull it out without thinking, flipping it open to the first page. it’s an unfinished drawing—pencil lines forming the rough outline of a face. no eyes yet, no mouth, just the shape of cheekbones and the suggestion of hair falling across a forehead. it’s surprisingly delicate, the strokes careful. you can’t tell who it’s supposed to be; the features are still missing.

it’s probably just some random doodle from class, and shove the sketchbook back where you found it. no notes on monetary policy so nothing useful.

you come back out, “couldn’t find anything. your bag’s a mess by the way.”

satoru shrugs, not looking the least bit surprised. “told you i don’t usually bother. you know—” he turns toward you fully, a mischievous glint lighting up his face, “i could teach you instead. i remember most of it. we could go over the graphs and everything.”

you raise an eyebrow, suspicious. “really? you’d do that?”

“yeah, of course,” satoru says without hesitation, “i’ve got the graphs memorized anyway, also will you hate me less after?”

you narrow your eyes at him, “for the record, i don’t hate you. i just think you’re annoying.”

“same thing,” he pouts, already reaching for a clean cup to start scribbling formulas on the side with a sharpie. “consider me your personal tutor, princess.”

and just like that, satoru found another way to get closer to you.

after closing, the two of you end up at a corner table with textbooks and laptops spread out on the table. the cafe lights are dimmed low, only the warm glow of the hanging bulbs left on, and it feels strangely intimate with just the two of you.

“see this curve?” satoru says, tapping the screen of his laptop with his pen. “that’s the liquidity preference curve. when it shifts like this—” he drags his finger across the trackpad, “—interest rates drop even if money supply stays the same. ya following?”

you lean in closer as you nod slowly, even though the words are starting to blur together.

“mmm kinda… keep going.”

for the next hour he walks you through every graph, every theory, every formula that’s been kicking your ass for weeks. he’s good at it. you like that he explains things in ways that actually stick with you.

satoru has always been scary smart. even as a kid, his past teachers would vouch to that. finishing exams in ten minutes, correcting them on accident, winning academic awards he didn’t even try for. now it’s the same. he barely listens in lectures, he literally doodles instead of taking notes, he zones out half the time, and still somehow walks out with good scores. 

when you get a question right he gives you this little proud smirk that you find cute. what’s more is that he doesn’t gloat when you slump back in your chair after a while, letting out a frustrated sigh and staring at the messy notes in front of you.

“god, i wish i could remember stuff as fast as you do,” you admit quietly, “it takes me forever to get things to stick. i have to reread the same slide ten times and still feel like i’m gonna blank during the test.”

“here’s a tip,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows. “stop trying to memorize it all at once. the brain hates that. instead, explain it out loud like you’re teaching someone who knows nothing. even if it’s just to me or the wall. it forces you to actually understand it instead of just cramming the words.”

he continues, “works way better than staring at slides until your eyes cross. trust me, princess. i’ve tested every lazy method there is.”

you look at him, a tiny smile pulling at your lips despite how tired you feel.

“you’re surprisingly good at this teaching thing.”

“only because it’s you. now c’mon, pick a graph and teach it back to me.”

˚⟡˖ ࣪

you come straight to the cafe after the test, the bell above the door chiming as you push it open with your shoulder. you weren’t even scheduled today, but you wanted to tell him how it went.

“....hey? you’re not on today, right? did i mess up the schedule?"

you slide onto one of the stools at the counter giggling, “test went better than i thought. like actually good.”

his eyes light up instantly at that.

“yeah? see that? knew how fucking smart you were.”

you nod, the excitement bubbling out before you can stop it. “yeah, the way you explained everything made it click in my head during the test. i actually remembered instead of blanking like usual.”

satoru lets out a low whistle, smile widening until it takes over his whole face. “that’s my girl. told you explaining it out loud works. see?”

“genuinely thank you.” 

“stay right there. we’re doing something to celebrate.”

you end up staying until closing. when the last customer leaves and your manager waves goodbye on his way out, satoru flips the sign to closed and turns to you with a nod.

“reward time since you aced that test, i helped a little, so we’re getting ice cream.”

“that’s your big celebration?”

“c’mon, there’s that place two blocks off campus that stays open late. they have that ridiculous pistachio with the chunks of chocolate. you’re gonna love it.”

when you reach the little ice cream shop, you find a small table by the window and settle in after ordering, the sweet cold already melting on your tongue. satoru watches you take the first bite with way too much interest, chin resting on his hand.

“good, right?”

you nod, licking a bit of pistachio off the spoon.

“mhm sooo good.”

he laughs softly at first, but then his eyes drop to your mouth as you lick another slow stripe along the spoon to catch the melting edge.

his throat bobs once, “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear.

you glance up, spoon still halfway to your lips. “what?”

satoru suddenly reaches out with his thumb, wiping a tiny smear of melted ice cream from the corner of your mouth.

“you can’t just do that,” he says, “licking the spoon like that, it’s unfair.”

“unfair how?” you oblivious ask. 

“because now all i can think about is how that mouth would feel on something else.” he says it so quietly, so casually too. now heat floods your face. you set the spoon down, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of space between you and him. 

“sorry,” he murmurs, though the small smirk tugging at his lips says he isn’t sorry at all. “too much?”

you shake your head slowly, biting your lip to keep it from smiling too obviously. the warmth in your cheeks refuses to fade.

“.…i don’t mind?”

satoru’s eyebrows lift, surprise flickering across his face. “you don’t?” he echoes, leaning forward a little more, elbows on the table. “don’t do that, i’m already trying really hard to behave.”

“you never behave.”

“hey, i’ve been on my best behavior for weeks,” he protests as his hand finds yours on the table, “just waiting for you to admit i’m not so bad.”

you squeeze his fingers lightly, eyes meeting his. “you’re not.... most days.”

“most days? that’s the best i’m getting?”

“take it or leave it, gojo.”

he laughs under his breath then his free hand comes up, cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing along your jaw. “i’ll take it for now.”

satoru leans in slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted to.

just like that his mouth meets yours, and the kiss starts soft but the second your lips part he doesn’t hesitate. his tongue slips in first, sliding against yours. he tastes like chocolate and pistachio, sweet and overwhelming in the best way. you kiss him back just as eagerly, fingers tightening around his hand on the table while your other hand finds the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric to pull him closer.

satoru makes a low sound in the back of his throat, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, one hand still cradling your face.

suddenly the worker behind the counter clears his throat loudly, “sorry folks, we’re closing up. you two might wanna take that somewhere else.”

you pull back quickly feeling embarrassed while satoru pulls back just enough to laugh, not even a little embarrassed. “man sorry about that,” he says, “can’t help it. i’m irresistible and she’s a bit greedy tonight.”

you hit his arm playfully, face burning as you stand up fast. “toru!”

˚⟡˖ ࣪

the next few days were different in the best kind of way.

well nothing much changes inside the cafe itself. everything is mostly the same. but satoru? he has zero shame now, and you’ve clearly unlocked something dangerous in him.

his clinginess is a whole new beast.

you’re at the register ringing up an iced caramel latte when he appears right behind you, chest brushing your back as he reaches for a stack of lids he absolutely does not need. his chin drops onto your shoulder like it belongs there.

“missed you during that eight a.m. lecture, princess. thought about skipping just to come bother you earlier.”

you elbow him lightly, “we have the same shift, toru. you saw me forty minutes ago.”

“forty minutes too long,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your neck before he pulls away. the customer gives you a knowing little smile and you feel your face heat up as you hand over the drink.

he does it constantly now.

during the slow hours he’ll tug you into the back room under the excuse of “checking inventory” and then spend the whole time crowding and kissing you.

“we’re gonna get caught,” you whisper.

“let them catch us,” he says against your mouth. “i’ll just tell pops i was giving you mouth-to-mouth.”

you laugh and shove him harder. “you idiot, he would never believe that.”

he only laughs louder and pulls you back in for one more kiss before the bell over the front door saves you.

the worst part (or maybe the best) is how he switched half his schedule just to match yours. you found out when he casually mentioned it during one afternoon, like it was no big deal.

“my advisor was pissed,” he told you, “said something about ‘not rearranging your entire academic plan for a girlfriend.’ i told her my barista girlfriend was non-negotiable.”

you stared at him. “you changed your schedule?”

“mmhm. dropped the early monday seminar and swapped it for the afternoon one. added a useless elective just so i could keep these exact shifts with you.” he shrugged, completely unbothered. “worth it. now i get to stare at you all day.”

you wanted to scold him for being ridiculous, but the way he said it made something warm bloom in your chest. so instead you just flicked his forehead and called him an idiot again. he caught your wrist before you could pull away and pressed a kiss to your palm.

how freaking adorable.

sometimes he’ll slide a stool over so you can sit for a few minutes while he handles few customers alone, shooting you little winks every time you look up from your phone.

it’s how he takes care of you.

and you like when he takes care of you.

˚⟡˖ ࣪

satoru gojo has always been pretty experienced with girls.

he’s never had to chase too hard. regular hook ups, quick flings during freshman year, girls who wanted the thrill of the rich pretty boy who never seemed to take anything seriously. he knew how to kiss, how to touch, how to make them feel wanted for a night without promising more than that. it was easy, fun, but never deep enough to stick.

none of them ever made his chest feel this tight. none of them made him nervous the way you do.

“is this okay?” he asks as his thumb brushes just under the edge of your bra, waiting, always checking even when his body is clearly aching to keep going.

“yeah…. it’s okay, toru.”

that’s all he needs.

he starts kissing you then trails his mouth down—his hands push your shirt higher, bunching it up under your arms. when he finally tugs your bra down, cool air hits your skin for half a second before his mouth is there.

satoru groans softly against you, the sound vibrating through your chest as he takes one nipple into his mouth. he’s gentle at first, lips closing around the peak. his tongue swirling before he sucks. a little harder, a little hungrier. 

your back arches without thinking, a quiet whimper slipping out. one of your hands finds his hair, fingers tightening in the soft white strands as he switches to the other side, giving it the same attention.

“fuck, you taste so good,” he mumbles against your skin, voice muffled.

“mhmm.… it’s so good baby.”

“yeah?”

he presses open-mouthed kisses across the swell of your breast. his free hand cups the other one, thumb brushing over the wet nipple he just left behind, pinching lightly.

he’s thorough with it. every little sound you make seems to spur him on.

“still okay?” he questions, “tell me if you want me to stop, princess. i’ll stop.”

you shake your head, tugging him back down by his hair.

“don’t stop,” you breathe.

satoru’s smile is slow and a little dazed before he leans in again, mouth finding your breast like he never wants to leave. he’s still careful, still checking in with every new touch, but the clingy, greedy part of him is winning tonight.

he’s making sure you feel exactly how much he’s been holding back.

clothes come off slowly after that, piece by piece, until there’s nothing between you. satoru lies back against the pillows, his hands resting on your hips as you straddle him. he’s hard under you.

you take the lead.

your palms press flat against his chest for balance as you shift your weight, lining yourself up. 

“fuck—” he breathes when you start to sink down, the head of his cock pressing inside you. his head tips back, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “you’re doing so damn good, baby.”

you go slow at first, letting yourself adjust to the stretch. the fullness is overwhelming in the best way, once you’re seated fully, you pause for a few seconds.

then you start to move.

you roll your hips experimentally, finding a rhythm that makes pleasure spark up inside you. satoru’s hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. he contains himself so he doesn’t take over. he wants to let you set the pace, let you ride him exactly how you want.

“that’s it, use me, baby. however you need.”

the words send a shiver through you. you brace your hands on his chest and start moving faster, lifting up and sinking back down. satoru’s eyes stay locked on your face, then drift lower to watch where you’re joined, the way your body takes him in again and again.

his grip tightens on your hips when you start grinding down instead of bouncing, circling your hips so his cock rubs against that sensitive spot inside you.

“a–am i doing good, toru?”

“god, yes,” he pants. “so pretty riding me like this.”

you feel a rush of confidence at his words. you plant your feet on the bed, hands still braced on his chest, and start riding him faster. your hips snap down harder and quicker as satoru’s head presses back into the pillow, a low, broken moan slipping out of him.

“you’re insane f–for this,” he groans, he sounds wrecked.

“shh you’re so big toru.” you whine too, “feel so soo good.”

you don’t slow down, continuing to ride him hard, bouncing on his cock like crazy. 

you feel the thick head of his cock kissing that spongy spot inside you, satoru’s fingers dig harder into the soft flesh of your hips anchoring himself while you use him. his abs tense and ripple beneath your palms every time you slam down.

“fuck baby, slow down or i’m gonna—” his words cut off into a guttural moan when you purposely clench around him. “oh you evil woman.”

you giggle in response letting out a high, needy whimper after. 

“im sorry,” you gasp, voice breathy.. “can feel you everywhere.”

satoru’s eyes roll back for a second. he looks a mess. his white hair sticks to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his mouth falls open on another moan.

“shit h-hahh princess, your pussy’s—ah so greedy tonight.”

you’re breathless, thighs burning, but the ache only adds to the pleasure. you brace one hand on his chest and reach back with the other, cupping his balls gently, rolling them in your palm while you keep bouncing.

oh you are so killing him.

“toru you’re twitching so much inside me,” you tease. “feels so good when you throb like that…”

he lets out a string of curses in response while your breasts bounce with every movement, nipples still shiny from his earlier attention, and satoru can’t stop staring, mesmerized and completely undone.

“i’m—i’m so close,” you say, “toru—come with me please!”

“yeah fuck, yeah— i’m right there with you, princess,” he replies, voice breaking on the last word. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast circles that match your crazy pace. “come on my cock, baby. mess with it…shit!”

the pleasure pushes you over the edge first, milking his cock as your orgasm hits you. satoru follows right after you, his back arches off the bed as he comes hard, thick spurts of heat flooding deep inside you. 

finally, you collapse forward onto his chest as both of you gasp for air. satoru’s arms wrap around you instantly, holding you tight against him. he presses open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he can reach.

“holy fuck… you just destroyed me,” he whispers, voice hoarse and awed. “never felt anything like that. you’re gonna be the death of me, princess.” 

you smile against his damp chest, pressing a soft kiss right over his racing heart.

“i think i like being in charge.”

“yeah? then next time you can tie me down if you want. just give me five minutes first. i think my soul left my body for a second there.”

you laugh softly, letting your eyes drift shut while his warmth surrounds you.

˚⟡˖ ࣪

“wait, since when has gojo been a barista?” you hear one girl say, laughing like it’s the funniest thing ever. “him out of all people? no fucking way.”

you’re drying your hands when voices filter in from the stalls behind you. two girls chatting loud enough that you can’t ignore it even if you wanted to.

the other one snorts, “i know, right? i heard from his friends that he only applied there to sleep with one of the workers.”

your stomach twists a little, but you tell yourself it’s nothing.

campus gossip is always exaggerated.

“he’s probably quitting soon anyway,” the first girl continues, “what’s a trust fund baby doing slinging lattes?”

“like play charming until he gets what he wants then bounce?”

their laughter echoes off the tiles as they leave and you're left staring at your reflection again. you rethink everything in the span of thirty seconds—was it all calculated? did he really just do everything to sleep with you? 

you show up to your shift pissy as hell, you hear satoru humming while he wipes down the espresso machine. he looks up waving at you, and normally that makes your chest warm. today it makes you want to throw a cup at his head.

“there you are,” he says, “you look cute when you’re all serious like this—did you run here or something?”

you brush past him without a word, grabbing the rag from the sink and attacking the already clean counter. satoru’s grin falters a little bit, blue eyes narrowing already picking up your mood.

“whoa, okay. bad day?” he asks, reaching out to touch you and you flinch away.

“don’t,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the counter, scrubbing harder. “just not in the mood, gojo.”

he straightens up, his cocky energy disappearing.

“gojo?” he echoes, “what happened to satoru? you’ve been calling me that for days. did i do something? because if i did, tell me so i can fix it. i’m not above begging, princess. i’ll get on my knees right here.”

“nothing happened,” you lie, because admitting you overheard some random girls in the bathroom is affecting you feels stupid. “i’m just tired, you wouldn’t get it.”

satoru doesn’t buy it. he steps closer anyway, “try me,” he says softly, all the usual bravado dialed down. “i’m good at a lot of things, but i’m especially good at listening to you. baby, please talk to me. did someone say something? because if they did—”

“i said it’s nothing, gojo.” your voice comes out louder than you meant, and you see the way his shoulders tense just a little.

he nods, stepping back with his hands raised in that mock surrender. “alright, message received. whatever this is… we’ll figure it out later.”

well that didn’t happen.

the whole day you did your best ignoring him.

before he could even ask what you guys were doing after shift you made a cheap excuse to pops about how you felt sick (it was an obvious lie) and needed to leave early. pops just shrugged and told you to go rest. satoru watched you grab your bag, mouth opening to say something, but you were already out the door before he could get a word in.

later that night satoru is sprawled on suguru’s couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other gesturing wildly as he rants.

“everything was going so well, man. like actually well,” he groans, voice muffled behind his arm. “she's even initiating stuff, now she’s calling me gojo again? dude, fuck gojo. i hate that.”

suguru sits across from him, legs crossed, very used to satoru’s dramatic rants. he’s just not used to it being about a girl.

“so what happened?”

“i don’t know!” satoru sits up suddenly. “she flinched when i tried to touch her. flinched. like i’m some random creep.”

he drags both hands down his face, groaning louder.

“she even left early. made up some bullshit excuse to dip before i could even ask what we were doing after. she’s been staying at my dorm for days, suguru. my bed still smells like her shampoo. i had snacks stocked for her. and now she’s shutting down? i don’t get it.”

“you sure you didn’t do something stupid?”

“i swear i didn’t.” satoru flops back down dramatically. “i’m losing my mind. she went from soft and clingy back to hating me in like twelve hours. what the fuck did i miss? i really like her. like…. a lot. more than i thought i could.”

suguru hums, “if it’s not you, then maybe somebody else?”

“if someone said something to her i’m going to lose it,” he mutters. “i finally got her to let me in and now she’s pulling away again. i don’t know how to fix something when she won’t even tell me what’s broken.”

“look, relationships aren’t always smooth. problems come up, it’s normal. the difference is whether you actually talk about it or let it fester.”

˚⟡˖ ࣪

your morning has been irritating as hell.

you woke up cranky, then you spilled coffee on your shirt while rushing, you had to change, and still barely made it to your first lecture on time. every little thing felt like it was piling up—the crowded hallways, the professor droning on about stuff you already knew, and the constant replay of yesterday, everything was just irritating.

so by the time of your second morning class, you’re already exhausted and on edge.

you pull out your notebook when someone drops into the seat right next to you.

satoru slips into the seat beside you without a word.

he's not even in this class.

he looks exhausted, there are faint dark circles shadowing the usual brightness of his gaze, his white hair is messier than normal like he rolled straight out of bed and didn’t bother fixing it. he probably didn’t sleep much, if at all.

he doesn’t say anything at first. he pulls a small sticky note pad from his bag, scribbles something quickly with a pen, and slides it over to you under the desk.

are you still mad? :(

you glance at the note, then at him. his eyes are already on you, waiting.

you write back, keeping your handwriting small.

no i was never mad

he reads it, eyebrows pulling together. he scribbles again, passing it back.

but you were. look at your mad face right now.

you feel the irritation flare again, but you keep your face neutral and write:

you shouldn’t even be here. im. not. mad.

he huffs softly as another note slides your way.

see. you clearly are. can we please talk after?

you stare at the words for a second longer. part of you wants to stay stubborn. the other part hates how tired he looks.

later.

satoru reads it and nods before tucking the sticky notes away.

the rest of the lecture goes, but satoru stays right there beside you the whole time.

midway through, he opens his notebook and starts sketching again. first he shows you a proper drawing of you. it's the same unfinished face you had seen weeks ago when you dug through his bag looking for notes. now it’s finished. your eyes are there and your mouth curved in a smile.

you admire how pretty he sees you. then he flips the page without warning.

the next sketch is completely different—you again, but this time with a exaggerated angry face. brows furrowed deep, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a tight line, tiny cartoon steam lines rising from your head. it’s ridiculous and accurate at the same time. he bites his lip to keep from laughing out loud, shoulders shaking quietly as he watches your reaction.

you glare at the page and he quickly flips the notebook shut before the professor notices.

when class finally ends, the two of you walk across campus until you reach a quiet stretch of grass near the edge of the field, far enough from the main paths. you drop down onto the grass first. satoru follows, sitting close but not too close, giving you space.

he reaches over and plucks a small white wildflower growing near his knee. he twirls it once between his fingers before holding it out to you, a tired smile on his face.

you look at the flower, then at him. it’s stupidly cute.

you flick it away with two fingers and the flower flutters to the grass between you.

satoru watches it fall before finally talking.

“okay,” he says quietly, “talk to me. what’s going on? you’ve been shutting me out since yesterday and i’m losing my mind here.”

you pull at a blade of grass, twisting it between your fingers.

“when are you quitting?”

satoru blinks, caught off guard. “quitting what? the cafe?”

you nod, still not looking at him.

he lets out a short, confused laugh. “is that why you’re mad? you want me to quit? because if that’s it, i can—”

“no—” you cut him off fast, finally turning to face him. “did you only start working there because you wanted to sleep with me?”

the question hangs between you. satoru’s expression changes. hurt flickers across his face before he schools it.

“that’s what this is about?” he asks, “you think this whole thing was just some long game to get in your pants?”

you don’t answer right away, the gossip from the bathroom echoes in your head again.

“is that really what you think of me?”

you swallow. “i heard some girls talking in the bathroom yesterday,” you admit, voice low. “they were laughing about how you only took the job to sleep with one of the baristas. that you’d charm your way in, get what you wanted, and then quit once it happened. it sounded… exactly like something people would say about you.”

“fuck,” he mutters. “fucking gossips.”

“look, i’m not gonna pretend i haven’t had that reputation. people assume the worst. and yeah—back in freshman year i wasn’t exactly turning down easy attention. but that’s not what this is. not with you.”

“when i walked into that cafe the first time, i was just fucking around. i saw you looking annoyed and thought it’d be fun to push your buttons. but then you pushed back and i couldn’t stop thinking about it. about you.”

“so i came back. then i applied for the job because i wanted an excuse to see you more. not to sleep with you and bounce—to actually be around you. i stayed because every shift with you made the day better. even when you were glaring at me. especially when you were glaring at me.”

you glance away, toward the empty field. “you could’ve just asked me out like a normal person.”

“and risk you telling me to fuck off on day one? no thanks. working there let me prove i wasn’t just fucking around. also you know that's not me.”

he pauses, then adds, “and yeah, i wanted you. i still do. i want all of it.”

satoru leans forward a little, elbows on his knees.

“i switched my entire schedule around for you. i told you how my advisor thinks i’ve lost it. i turned down better internships because they’d mess with our shifts. if all i wanted was sex, i wouldn’t still be here begging you to talk to me.”

“so no, i’m not quitting,” he says quietly. “not unless you tell me to. and even then i’d probably just sit outside the cafe and wait for you like a loser. but i’m not here because it’s convenient or because i’m trying to win some game. i’m here because i like you. a lot. more than i thought i could like anyone.”

he reaches out slowly, “i’m not gonna push if you need space. but tell me what you need from me right now. yell at me, ignore me, whatever. just don’t shut me out and leave me guessing.”

you stare at his open hand for a long moment. the irritation is still there, tangled up with the embarrassment of letting petty gossip get to you.

finally you sigh, shoulders dropping.

“i hated thinking it was all fake,” you mutter. “that the second you got what you wanted, you’d disappear and i’d be the idiot who fell for it.”

“not fake,” he says immediately. “none of it.”

you hesitate, then reach out and flick his open palm lightly with your fingers, enough to make him smile.

“you’re still annoying,” you tell him.

“yeah?” his grin comes back. “good.... means we’re getting somewhere.”

“you look like shit, by the way.”

“didn’t sleep much,” he admits, shrugging. “kept replaying yesterday trying to figure out what i messed up.”

“sorry for being so gullible.” you says knowing how that’s all on you.

“as long as you stop calling me gojo when you’re mad. hurts more than it should.”

you roll your eyes but the corner of your mouth lifts anyway.

the two of you stay on the field a little longer, the conversation flowing—back to classes, to stupid customer stories from the cafe, to nothing important at all.

when you finally stand up to head back toward campus, he falls into step next to you like always.

“so,” he says after a minute, voice casual again, “still mad?”

you glance sideways at him.

“not as much.”

“progress,” he declares, grinning. “i’ll take it.”

“hey,” he murmurs.

you turn to face him, he’s pouting extra hard....

“can i please kiss you now?” he pleads, “please. please. please”

instead of answering with words, you step forward, slide your free hand up to the front of his shirt, and tug him down the rest of the way.

satoru meets you halfway.

his hand comes up to cup the side of your face as his lips move against yours. he kisses you gentler than usual and you kiss him back just as softly, fingers curling tighter into his shirt.

when you finally pull apart, foreheads still touching, satoru lets out a shaky little breath against your mouth.

“thank you,” he whispers, the words barely there. his thumb brushes your cheek once more. “fuck, i missed that.”

you smile against his lips.

“don’t make me flick another flower at you.”

he presses one last gentle kiss to your forehead before straightening up.

“next rumor, i’m spreading how badly i’m in love with you and how you equally feel the same and can never live without me.”