he swore he'd never do this again. it's not his style â he's a devoted father.
he's three daughters deep into life, already established with being on his own and devoting his time to work and family. but, there's just something about you... he had to let you in.
now he's laid out on your baby-pink bed, long hair spread thin over your pillows in a salt and pepper halo. his settled-in face is bunched up and tense, lips parted as he pants.
"ahâ right there," he slurs, hips bucking off the mattress as he fucks you slowly and purposefully. youâre mewling his name, manicured fingers playing against your swollen clit as you ride him.
heâs being so gentle, hands in fists on your hips because he doesnât want to squeeze you too hard. little does he know, just how much you want his mark. you want him to squeeze you until youâre crying, but heâs already holding back so much.
âlook at me,â you insist, arching your back, toying with your cunt until youâre dangerously close to losing yourself. the way he fills you up to the brim is one thing â the tickle of his untrimmed pubic hair is another, and the way he fucking sings your name is something else entirely. you could cry, just listening to him in the moment.
âyouâre such a good girl.â geto hums, crystalline teeth chewing down on his swollen bottom lip. âa pleaser inside and out.â
âdoes it feel good?â
âiâm about to cum for you, darling.â he grits out through clenched teeth, veins in his thick neck like blueish wires. his face is beet red, eyes watery and warm as he blinks down to your dripping cunt, then back to your warm gaze.
every time you sink down on his length, his cock pulses your name in morse â his face screws up like heâs in pain, and you smile, tummy tingling with arousal. âgive it to me,â
geto is good. heâs predictable; always so dominant until heâs all yours. he just needs that push in your caring tone, toes curling under the covers as his face goes blank.
it hits him like a semi-truck, and you, like a punch to the gut. then, it comes in waves â the warmth of his seed flooding your cervix as you seat yourself fully onto him.
you still, little whimpers and punchy moans falling from your gut as he cums inside. you toss your head back after a few seconds, eyebrows knitting together as⌠he just keeps going.
he fills you to the brim with his cum, hips shaking, then stilling as his cock leaks pathetically before shooting another desperate, hot rope. you exhale pointedly through pursed lips, knees shaking as you rise to them. geto grunts, eyes pressed so tight that he canât stop blinking.
âdâdonât move, ahâ
âyouâre still going?â you mutter like itâs a point and not a question. your cunt aches and squelches as you slide off of him, unbelievably full already, and still not bearing the most of his seed.
âsâs- so sorry,â he whines, sitting up to his elbows when he feels you withdraw. he holds his breath for a moment, collarbone hollow and heated, before he tosses his head back again and keeps cumming.
youâre genuinely awestruck, face a fucked-out mess as you rest on your haunches, reaching for his tense cock as it cries out for you. when you grab his shaft, geto is so sensitive that he tenses, hips jumping off the bed.
he reaches for your wrist â blindly, instinctively, with the muscle memory of someone who has had to keep on his toes for twenty years.
you gasp as his huge hand closes around your wrist in an iron-grip, mind still hazy and unavailable as he whispers, âsorry⌠have i made a mess?â
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youâre not counting, but thereâs no needâ every sunday evening, without fail, when megumiâs dropped off at your front door with his little backpack and scuffed sneakers, heâs right behind him. leaning against the frame as if he owns the place, all casual arrogance and bored glances, pretending heâs not eye-fucking you the second your son turns away.
toji fushiguro. your ex-husband and biggest fucking mistake. tall, broad, shameless. wears that stupid chain, chews gum like a delinquent, licks his teeth when heâs pissed. and god, heâs pissed a lotâ scowling, jaw tense, watching you like he wants to spit in your mouth and call it closure.
you keep things civil. surface-level. polite, evenâ because itâs megumi. because youâve made peace with the fact that youâll always have this one thing tethering you together. you hand off the overnight bag. he hands off the attitude. sometimes you talk about school, allergies, schedules. sometimes he mutters shit like, âstill donât know why you left when you keep dressing like that,â and you bite your tongue so hard it aches.
you donât fight anymore. thatâs the rule.
until tonight.
âdate go well?â
you freeze mid-step, the takeout bag in your hand crinkling. you donât turn around. âwhat?â
âmegumi told me,â he says from behind you, voice low and flat. âsome guy picked you up. said he had flowers. cologne. nice car.â
you close your eyes, inhale slowly. of course he did.
âwe went for dinner. nothing serious.â
âhm,â he hums. you can hear the crack of his gum. âhe kiss you?â
your fingers tighten around the bag. âthatâs none of your business.â
he laughsâ low, sharp, ugly. âfunny. didnât know other men liked their mouths on used pussy.â
you whip around, slapping him before you can think. hard. the sound echoes in the entryway.
he doesnât even flinch.
just tilts his head, jaw flexing, tongue running across his bottom lip. and then heâs movingâ slowly crowding into your space until your back hits the wall and the food hits the floor.
âyou done?â he asks, voice calm, hand on your waist like heâs done this a hundred times. âor you wanna hit me again before i fuck the attitude out of you?â
you breathe hard. you should shove him. scream. kick his ass out.
but your thighs are already clenching.
itâs tojiâ warm and big and dangerously familiar, his breath brushing your cheek, steady and unbothered. you hate himâ you hate himâ but you still dream about the way he used to fuck you like it was his goddamn right.
âfuck you,â you whisper.
his grin is slow and mean. âyou will.â
+
you donât remember how you ended up bent over the kitchen counter, panties shoved to the side, his fingers shoved in your mouth to keep you quiet, saliva already pooling on your tongue from how deep he forces them in. your cheek is pressed to the cool surface, breath stuttering, hips pinned back against him while he crowds over you like thereâs nowhere left to run.
âtwo fuckinâ years,â he mutters, cock grinding against your slit, thick and heavy and leaking against your folds, smearing slick up and down until you twitch. âtwo years and you still get wet like this for me. pathetic.â he drags the head through your mess again, unhurried, purposeful, making you feel every second of it, and your thighs tremble around nothing.
you try to turn your head, muffle something unintelligible that sounds like âdonâtââ but he grabs your jaw, forces you still, and spits directly in your mouth.
you gasp, choke on itâ and he uses it, of course he does. leans down, tongue sliding over yours, licking it up with a low, filthy groan, his cock twitching against your entrance as your body jolts. âfuck,â he breathes against your lips, âstill take me so easy.â
âno running this time,â he growls, voice dropping as he lines himself up, thick tip nudging at your entrance, pressing just enough to make a tiny you whine escape you. âyou hear me? you take it. every inch.â
and you try. you really do.
but heâs already pushing in, splitting you open raw and thick and ruthless from the first thrust, no warning, no patienceâ just taking. he buries himself to the base in one hard snap of his hips, forcing a broken, muffled moan out of you, âmnn- ahhâ!â your fingers clawing uselessly at the counter as your body jolts forward. the stretch burns, too much, too sudden, and he just stays there for a second, seated deep, wanting you to feel every inch of him lodged inside you.
âshit,â he groans, low and wrecked, âstill so fuckinâ tight, fuckââ
then he moves.
hard. fast. relentless.
the slap of his hips echoes through the kitchen, sharp and wet and filthy, each thrust stealing the airw from your lungs while your moans break around a sob, drool slipping down your chin. âah- ahh- f-fuckâ!â it spills out anyway, messy and high, your body jerking with every deep drag of his cock as he fucks into you like heâs pissed off, like heâs punishing you for something you donât even remember doing.
âthis pussyâs mine,â he snarls, yanking your head back by your hair so your spine arches, forcing you deeper onto him. âdoesnât matter how many dates you go on. thisââ he slams into you harder, knocking another choked cry out of you, ââbelongs to me.â
you legs give out completely, knees buckling, but he doesnât care. he just hauls one up, plants your foot on the counter, spreading you wider, folding you open so he can hit deeper, rougherâ so deep it makes your stomach twist.
âlook at you,â he pants, pace turning sloppy and heavy, âcreaminâ on my cock already. fuckinâ mess- shit, listen to that.â his hand presses against your lower stomach, as if he can feel himself moving inside you, and the thought makes you whimper, broken. âyou missed this, didnât you? mmh, fuck, missed this fat cock stretchinâ you open, knockinâ the attitude outta you.â
you sob something like a yes, thoroughly wrecked, dissolving into breathy, dragged-out moans, ây-yes- hah- ahhâ!â already unraveling, teetering on the edge, and he knows. he always knows. his hand slips down, fingers finding your clit, rubbing messy, unforgiving circles that make your whole body spasm.
âthere it is,â he murmurs, almost mocking, overly pleased. âgo on. cum on it.â
and you do.
you cum so hard your vision goes white, thighs shaking, a broken cry tearing out of you as your body clenches around him, pulsing, dragging him deeper while your back arches and your hands slip against the counter.
and he doesnât stop.
he never stops.
not when you squirm. not when you whimper. not when your voice goes soft and desperate, ât-toji, too much- mmhâ!â not even when you sob into your arms and try to crawl away, hips twitching like you can escape the way he keeps dragging you back onto his cock.
ânuh-uh,â he grunts, grip bruising as he hauls you back, fucking you deeper, harder, like heâs chasing something. âwhere you goinâ, huh? not done with you.â his pace turns mean all over again, each thrust punching a moan out of you. âyou wanted to play house with someone else? go on lilâ dates like iâm dead?â
he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth at your ear, breath hot and rough as his hips snap into yours.
ânah,â he mutters, âiâm right here, baby. mmh- fuck- iâm right hereâŚâ another deep thrust, making you cry out, ââŚand iâm not leavinâ till this cunt learns who she fuckinâ belongs to.â
papa!kuna who will tolerate a lot from his kid but disrespecting you isnât one of them.
dinner should have been quiet, but the tension sitting around the table made the air feel heavy.
your phone had rung an hour ago, the number from the school flashing across the screen like a warning you already knew the meaning of. another fight. another call from the office explaining that your son had gotten into a physical altercation again. by the time sukuna got home, the frustration had already settled deep in your chest.
now the three of you sat around the table, plates half-eaten, the quiet stretching longer with every second.
your son sat across from you, slouched low in his chair with one elbow on the table, lazily pushing his food around his plate with his fork like the entire situation bored him. his shoulders were tense, jaw tight in that stubborn way he had whenever he knew he was in trouble.
you sighed softly, setting your chopsticks down.
âdo you want to explain what happened?â you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. âthe school said you were fighting again.â
he didnât answer.
the only sound was the scrape of metal against ceramic as he dragged his fork through his rice.
you tried again, a little firmer this time. âthis is the third time this semester. you canât just keep getting into fights every time someone says something you donât like.â
still nothing.
across the table, sukuna sat quietly with his drink in one hand, leaning slightly back in his chair. he hadnât said a single word since dinner started. his posture looked relaxed at first glance, but his eyes were fixed on your son the entire time, sharp and observant.
watching.
you leaned forward slightly. âwhat happened this time?â you asked. âdid someone start it, or did you?â
your son scoffed under his breath. the sound was small, but it scraped against your nerves.
âdonât do that,â you said immediately. âiâm asking you a question.â
he rolled his eyes and leaned back further in his chair. âit wasnât a big deal,â he muttered.
your brows furrowed. âif the school had to call me, it was a big deal.â
another quiet scoff.
âseriously,â you said, the frustration creeping into your voice now. âyou need to stop reacting to everything with your fists.â
your son suddenly dropped his fork onto the plate with a loud clatter.
âwhy do you care so much?â he snapped.
the sharpness of his voice made you pause.
âbecause youâre getting into fights,â you said slowly. âbecause iâm your parent and it is my business.â
he laughed under his breath, shaking his head.
âyeah. sure.â
you stared at him, disbelief creeping into your expression.
âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â
your son finally looked up, irritation written all over his face now. âit means you should mind your fucking business sometimes,â he snapped. the words landed hard across the table. for a moment the room went completely still. âwatch your language,â you said, stunned.
but he wasnât done.
âor what?â he shot back, voice rising. âyouâre just gonna keep nagging me about it?â
your voice hardened. âdonât talk to me like that.â
your son pushed his chair back slightly with a harsh scrape. âthen stop acting like everything i do is the end of the world,â he snapped. âmaybe you should just shut the fuck up for once.â
the sentence barely finished leaving his mouth before the atmosphere in the room changed. sukunaâs glass touched the table with a quiet, controlled clink. it was the first sound he had made all dinner.
your son didnât notice immediately, still breathing hard from the argument.
but then sukuna spoke.
âget up.â
the voice was calm.
low.
your son froze. slowly, his eyes shifted toward his father. sukuna was still sitting in his chair, elbows resting on the table now, fingers loosely clasped together as he looked at him.
âyou heard me,â he said evenly. âstand up.â
there was no room for argument in the tone. your son hesitated for half a second before slowly pushing himself out of the chair. sukuna leaned back slightly, looking him up and down.
ânow,â he said, gesturing lazily toward himself, âsay that shit to me.â
confusion flickered across your sonâs face.
ââŚwhat?â
sukunaâs gaze sharpened.
âyou were loud enough when you said it to your mother,â he said calmly. âso go on.â
he tapped a finger lightly against the table.
âsay it again. same way you did before.â your son didnât move.
sukuna tilted his head slightly.
ââŚwhatâs wrong?â he asked quietly. âvoice disappear all of a sudden?â
the silence stretched.
âthatâs what i thought,â sukuna muttered.
he leaned forward slightly now, resting his forearms on the table, eyes locked onto his sonâs.
âlisten carefully,â he said, his voice still calm but carrying a weight that made the entire room feel smaller. âyou wanna run your mouth like that, you do it to someone who can answer back.â his gaze darkened slightly.
ânot your mother.â
your son swallowed. sukuna continued, tone steady but cutting. âyelling at her like that doesnât make you tough,â he said. âdoesnât make you a man.â he scoffed quietly.
âmakes you weak.â
the word landed heavy. your sonâs shoulders stiffened. sukuna stood up slowly then, his chair sliding back against the floor. even standing across the table, the difference in presence was overwhelming.
he stepped closer, towering slightly.
âyou ever raise your voice at her like that again,â he said calmly, âiâll knock you out before you finish the sentence.â
the threat wasnât loud. it didnât need to be. your son stared straight ahead, jaw tight. sukuna studied him for another second before speaking again, his voice lowering slightly. âyouâre better than whatever shit you just pulled right there.â
the words were firm.
final.
his gaze flicked briefly toward you before returning to his son. âso start acting like it.â
the kitchen fell silent again. and this time, your son didnât say another word.
â when higurumaâs boss called him late notice, and told him he had a case that would last twelve days, he nearly ripped his own hair out. how the hell would he survive being away from you for that long? he didnât even like taking too long using the bathroom for fucks sake, always afraid of missing any word you said.
at some point he started a habit of taking you in there with him, making you sit on the sink and continue your yap sessions while he did what he needed to. part of him seriously thought about stuffing you in his briefcase to come along whenever work called.
many of your friends were concerned with how clingy he was.. and the amount of aggression heâd show when he couldnât be, but you quickly waved them off. higuruma just loved you so much! maybe a lot more than the average person should, but you didnât mind it, which is why you always rushed to his defense.
higuruma was flattered you were so protective of him, but your friends really werenât wrong to be worried, he was downright obsessed with you. everyone could see it but you.
guilt washed over him constantlyâ here you were thinking he was the best boyfriend in the world, but mostly the guy was just a selfish over thinker. what if someone tried taking his place beside you while it was empty?
oh helllll no.
âaht keep your hands off baby,â his low voice was soothing but it had a slight sternness to it. your legs wrapped around his waist while you were pinned in a mating press, forced to feel every inch of him.
âif you push me again, âm gonna have to spank my princess. yâwant that angel? hmm?â
you started drooling when your eyes locked on his droopy ones, he hadnât stopped staring and it was driving you quite insane. you couldnât stop your hands that instinctively started pushing him again, ângh- hiro! n..need you sâbad!â
the smack that followed was loud, and your clit was stinging before you could even process what had happened. âcmonn pretty donât be bad please, i leave soon. please?â
something about his begging had your walls squeezing him even more. higuruma leaned down, tucking his head into your neck to the point his lips grazed your ear.
you were babbling a bunch of nonsense but it sounded damn near poetic to him. he could listen to you for hours.
âdaddyâs gonna miss you soo much princess. s..so much-â his whispers slowly turned into whimpers, every sound only pushed you further over the edge. âw..will you miss me? tell me please, need to hear you..â
âim g..gonna- mm- miss you too! always miss youuu!â you couldnât believe you were slurring out words like this. and it was even harder to believe that he actually understood them.
his free hand crept down your thighâ only stopping once it got to your foot, kissing the heel before putting your white toes to his lips.
he was silent aside from a few grunts, and when higuruma got quiet it never meant anything good. it meant he was up to something.
the man started thinking about not pulling out. the thought came on a whim and it kept growing the more he looked at your fucked out face.
would you be mad? maybe try to leave him? well, its not like heâd ever let you do a silly thing like that.
he couldnât have you going anywhere, or ever try to walk out on him. youâd already agreed to be his forever, whatâs the harm in a little extra precaution? you did always love nanamiâs kids..
âneed to m..make you a mama, yeah? get you all filled with my babies, walking âround with that belly, showing everybody youâre mine- shit shit.â you nearly cut the circulation off in his shaft when you heard his words.
he chuckled low and rubbed your pudge, imagining all the ways your body would fill in while carrying part of him. âi see my pretty pussy likes the idea⌠now 'm just waiting on my pretty girl.â
when he slapped your thigh you knew he wanted an answer. in an instant you nodded mindlesslyâ not caring much about anything besides his tip that brushed against your womb. or the fat thumb that circled your clit with purpose. âohhh my goshh yes! i want it, want my baby, pleasee!â
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wc: ~22k (iâm sorry omg) | cw: 1k special!! fratjo! heavy smut, lots of filth, hints of fluff, possessive/obsessive tendencies, toxic relationship dynamics, lil corruption kink, jealousy, unprotected sex, oral sex (m + f), too many creampies, huge breeding kink, degradation/praise, accidental? pregnancy, contraceptive failure, use of alcohol, frat culture, gojoâs lowk evil, explicit language, use of pet names (baby, princess), dark romance vibes, readerâs dad is basically tom brady lmao
summary: the hottest frat boy at usc, satoru gojo, becomes obsessed with you and develops a kink he was never supposed to have.
Ë˰â˘*ââˇ
LIFE AS THE daughter of one of the greatest quarterbacks to ever step foot on a football field shouldâve been considered a dream come true, and in most aspects, it was.
You grew up in the nicest suburbs of Boston, got whatever it was you wanted, traveled on first-class flights before you were old enough to spell, had a father who treated you like gold in human form.
But, that last one? Yeah, that was the problem.
Being adored feels a lot like being controlled when youâre the only daughter of a man the entire country worships. Because in hindsight, you were. Not purposely, of course. You were daddyâs little princess from day one, which meant he needed to protect you at all costs.
From the moment you entered your elite preppy high school at age fourteen, that was when his watchful eye sharpened into one that never stopped watching. As a hall of fame athlete, a New England Patriots legend, heâs seen too much of this world to know that he needs to keep his precious girl safe from it all.
And when he retired? It got so much worse. He was always there. Which basically meant you couldnât do anything without him knowing or without his permission.
Your best friend, Blair, who lived two houses down, lived the life you wished you could. Another rich, preppy privileged girl, yes, but one with parents who didnât give a single fuck what she did. And sheâs been partying since, wellâŚforever.
She lost her virginity in the bathroom of a Red Sox game, threw a rager so big when her parents left for Saint Barts she got suspended for two weeks, snuck out of the house so often she practically wore a path through your backyard.
She begged you to join her. To come out and have fun, be a normal teenager, but you never could. Sometimes you wondered if your father even realized heâd built a cage around youâa gilded, loving, suffocating one. And you were tired of not being able to live life to the fullest.
Which is why when the time finally came to decide on college? You knew you had to choose the furthest plausible option. You also knew that wherever you went, would have to be with Blair.
So the two of you sat down and planned it. She listed all sorts of schools, Miami, Alabama, Ohio State, Wisconsin, all known for their party scene, but they werenât far enough in your eyes.
Then, the idea hit you. California. All the way across the country, nice ass weather with no brutal winters, huge nightlife. It ticks every single box.
âHow about USC?â You suggested.
Blairâs eyes widened like sheâd won the lottery, âThatâs it! Thatâs the fucking school. Weâre applyingâtoday.â
You indeed did apply that same day, keeping all of it, every whispered dream of palm trees and frat parties, a secret from your father. He didnât need to find out that you were plotting your escape. Only if you got accepted, would you tell him.
After applying, came the long, excruciating wait. Every notification made your heart jump, every morning felt loaded with possibility and impending doom, but then on a random Tuesday afternoon after school, Blair got an email. You were sprawled across her bed when her phone dinged and when she checked it she froze, slowly looking at you, âNo fucking way.â
Your heart stopped, âWhat?â
She glanced back at her screen as if it might disappear, âBitchâŚI got in!â
You barely had time to process it before she launched herself at you, both of you collapsing onto the bed in a fit of hysterical laughter, âCheck yours,â She demanded, already grabbing your laptop.
Your hands shook as you logged into the portal and when the screen flashed in red and gold, Congratulations! We are pleased to offer you admission to the University of Southern CaliforniaâŚ
Your vision blurred, you were going to finally leave Boston and remove the shackles. Blair grabbed your shoulder, âYouâre free, babe.â
The word hit differentlyâfree. But not yet, because you still had to tell him.
You waited until dinner, when the house was calm and your father set down his fork and asked warmly, âHow was your day, princess?â
You pushed the printed copy of your acceptance letter across the table, watching as he unfolded it slowly. His sharp eyes scanned the words once, twice, then a third time, as if they might rearrange themselves into something less horrifying.
ââŚSouthern California?â He said at last, voice tight, âThatâs three thousand miles away.â
âI know.â
âAndâŚyou want to go there?â
âI do. Really bad.â
There was a heartbeat, a breath, a visible internal meltdown occurring within him, until he asked, âIs Blair going?â
âYes. She got in too.â
He exhaled through his nose like that single fact alone saved his life, though it probably shouldnât have. Sheâs the last person on Earth he should want going with you, but thankfully, heâs blissfully unaware of who she really is, âWell. I guess thatâs different.â
Your mother kicked him under the table, âJust say youâre proud of her, honey.â
He looked at you again, long, conflicted, and terrified, yet still soft, âI am proud of you,â He murmured, âYou know that. I justâŚyouâre my little girl. And California is far.â
âIâll be okay.â
He didnât believe that, not at all, but he nodded anyway, âThen I guessâŚUSC it is.â
Just like that, you were free. You could almost taste it. And now, months later, youâre hereâMove-in day.
The California sun hits hotter and brighter, like even the light feels less restrained than anything you ever knew in Boston. Your father sits restlessly in the rented SUV thatâs packed full with your belongings, your mother is in the passenger seat, Blair is following behind with her mom.
It shouldâve been a sweet, sentimental moment. College send-offs usually are, but this one wasnât. Because in order to get to your dorms, you had to pass Greek Row, and your father sees everything he fears most.
A group of shirtless guys on a lawn, covered in sweat playing die on an old, warped table. Two frat brothers throwing a football back and forth across the street like they own it, a cluster of girls in micro shorts walking toward one of the houses, someoneâs shotgunning a beer while blasting John Summit so loud it shakes the sidewalk. Your fatherâs hands tighten on the steering wheel so hard the leather creaks.
âOh,â Your mother murmurs gently, âLook at thatâŚschool spirit.â
He does not share the same sentiment. He stares, shell-shocked, shoulders squared like heâs preparing for war. One of the frat boys looks straight at the car, lifts his chin at you through the window, and smirks. Your dad nearly swerves into the closest telephone pole, âOh hell no,â He curses under his breath, âAbsolutely not. Over my dead bodyââ
âDad,â You warn softly, cheeks burning.
He tears his eyes away from the horror, but keeps muttering, âThis is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea. They let freshmen live near this? They let you live near this? Those boys areâTheyâreââ
âCollege students?â Your mom offers.
âDegenerates.â
You hide your smile behind your hand. Because the truth is, everything he saw that scared him? Is everything you wanted.
The noise, the craziness, the alcohol, the energy, theâŚboys. A world you were never allowed to touch is now directly outside your window.
Your father grips the wheel harder like heâs debating whether or not to spin the car around and drive your happy ass back to Boston himself, but he doesnât. He continues onward; straight to the dorms, your new life, and the one thing he could never fully controlâyour freedom.
But freedom, apparently, also comes with an audience. The moment your father pulls into the freshmen unloading zone, heads turn. A few students stop mid-conversation, some whisper, some donât even bother whispering. Phones lift in that sneaky, sideways way people use when they swear you wonât notice.
âIs thatâ?â
âThatâs him, right? Thatâs him?â
âDude, her dad is literally the goat.â
âWait, does that mean sheâsâ?â
You feel the heat crawl up your neck, but your father doesnât react. Heâs practiced at this, years of fan interactions, interviews, cameras shoved in his face at even the most inconvenient moments. Nothing really shakes himâwell, except the frat boys. Those do.
He steps out of the car and grabs your suitcase with one hand, posture straightening like heâs going on National TV. A couple of guys across the quad nudge each other when they recognize him, jaws dropping as if a God descended onto USCâs campus.
âSir!â One of them calls out, already pulling out his phone, âBig fan! LikeâŚhuge fan!â
âThank you,â Your father says with a polite nod, slipping seamlessly into his media smile and then, because the universe enjoys humor at your expense, another voice bursts from a group near the dorm steps.
âHoly shit, thatâs his daughter?â
You want to sink into the pavement, but your mom slips her arm through yours, âDonât mind them, sweetheart. Theyâre just excited.â
Blair, climbing out of her momâs BMW behind you, practically cackles, âOh my God,â She whispers gleefully, âYouâre famous already. Do you understand the power youâre about to wield?â
You glare at her, but sheâs too busy vibrating with excitement. Meanwhile, your father spots the second wave of frat brothers whoâve stopped tossing a football to stare openly at the scene unfolding, and stiffens.
His tone drops into one that is low and protective, âStay away from boys who look like that.â
âI will,â Oh, you most certainly wonât.
Once youâre all inside the dorm lobby, even more chaos ensues.
Athletes, business majors, engineering kids with lanyards all mingling, moving, dragging various pieces of furniture; and then thereâs the group of girls next to the elevators, eyes flicking between you and your father with thinly-veiled recognition.
One whispers, not nearly quiet enough, âYou think Gojoâs seen her yet?â
The other girl beside her giggles, âPlease. Someoneâs probably already told him.â
You freeze, Blairâs head snaps toward you like a bloodhound catching a scent, âNo way! Youâre being talked about by him?â
âWho is him?â
Blair lowers her voice, âOkay, soâremember how I stalked USC on TikTok for, like, two months straight?â
ââŚYeah?â
âWell,â She says, pushing her Prada sunglasses up her nose, âThereâs this international student from Japan, Satoru Gojo. Apparently the frat guy on campus. Junior, filthy rich, shameless, hot as fuck, total slut, owns a white Porsche, finance bro who probably fails all his classses, and ends up on every âhottest men at USCâ list.â
You stare at her, âAnd you know all of that from TikTok?â
âYep,â She says proudly, âI do my research.â
You open your mouth, then close it, âOkay, but what does any of that have to do withââ
Blair gestures vaguely at your face, âSexy freshman girl with famous NFL seven time Super Bowl Champion quarterback dad? Youâre deadass his exact type ofâŚproject.â
You almost choke, âProject?â
She nods sympathetically, âProject as inâŚheâd want to be the guy to ruin you for every other man on campus.â
Your father hears the word ruin and nearly breaks his own neck whipping around. Blair immediately straightens, innocent smile plastered onto her face.
âDonât worry,â She says softly out of the corner of her mouth, âYou probably wonât even meet him,â Then quieter, when she knows your father isnât eavesdropping, adds, âYouâre totally going to meet him.â
Your dorm room on the fourth floor is already propped open when you reach it. Small, bright with two twin beds and bare walls. Itâs nothing like the Boston mansion you grew up in, yet somehow itâs more exciting than any bedroom youâve ever had.
Blair lets out a delighted gasp, âWe live here? Oh my God, we actually live here!â
She races inside to claim her side of the room, throwing herself onto the bed next to the window. Your father stands in the doorway, scanning like heâs doing a threat assessment, âItâsâŚsmaller than I expected.â
âItâs a dorm, honey. Not the Ritz,â Your mother reminds him.
He hums, but does not relax in the slightest. And just like that, the four of you are unpacking boxes, hanging clothes, folding towels, arranging the mini-fridge that your father inspects with the seriousness of a homicide detective. He tests the door three times, plugs it into a power strip, unplugs it, inspects the outlet, then plugs it back in.
âDad,â You sigh, âItâs a fridge, not a life-support machine.â
âYou say that now,â He warns and you just chuckle.
Itâs chaos, but the warm kind. The kind youâll remember and cherish forever, yet also feels like the end of something and the beginning of quite literally everything else. At one point, Blair steps behind you to hang a string of fairy lights and whispers, âOkay, but seriouslyâimagine Gojo in this room.â
You elbow her so hard she drops a clip, your father spins around, âWhat was that?â
âNothing!â You and Blair answer in unison.
Your mother laughs softly. Your father absolutely does not.
Eventually, after your bedding is on, your father stands there at the foot of your bed with his hands on his hips. A silence settles, one that says that this is real, this is happening, and this is goodbye. For now.
He checks his watch, again. Heâs been doing it all morning. He has a flight to Oregon to catchâthe new job he picked up right after you announced you were moving across the country. He needed the distraction, otherwise heâd be stuck in Boston all day, thinking about what youâre doing out hereâŚand what you probably shouldnât be doing.
Heâs a commentator for College GameDay. Covering the biggest football games of the year, traveling to each host school every week, however, he shouldâve left ten minutes ago. But he just canât.
âPrincess,â He says quietly, âYou sure you want this?â
You nod, heart pounding with the thrill of independence, but your face softens into the kind of innocent expression that always makes him melt, and youâve absolutely learned how to weaponize it.
âI do,â You say softly, then perfectly timed and aimed, you hit him with the, âButâŚdo you really have to leave so soon?â
His entire chest caves in, âOh, sweeheartâŚâ His voice thickens immediately, âI donât want to. I wish I could stay with you the whole day.â
Inside, youâre buzzing, thinking, please leave already. Oh my God, leave and let me live.
But outside? You look up at him with big, sad, puppy dog eyes, âIâll miss you.â
He pulls you into a crushing hug, âIâll miss you more,â He murmurs, âSo much more. I hate the timing of this stupid College GameDay thingâI should be here helping you settle in, not rushing to the airport.â
You cling just enough to sell it, but not make him change his mind and stay, âItâs okay, daddy,â You say, ultra sweet, âYou have to work.â
He sniffles, âIâll FaceTime you from Oregon,â He promises, âEvery night.â
You nod against his chest, all gentle affection while your internal monologue screams, yes, yes, yes. Commentate on football and go.
Your mom steps in next, hugging you warmly, âCall whenever you need anything. And maybeâŚdonât tell your father everything youâre doing.â
Your father shoots her a look of the utmost betrayal, she ignores it. Blair hugs them both dramatically, âYou guys are like my second parents. Iâll miss you too.â
Then he steps away, still unwilling, still staring at you like youâre five years old heading into kindergarten instead of nearly nineteen. He wipes his palms on his jeans and breathes out shakily, âOkay. Okay, I can do this. Youâll be fine. Youâll be safe. Blair, keep her away fromââ
âBoys?â She fills in the blank.
âExactly.â
You almost laugh as he heads for the door, pauses, and looks back one last time, âYou sure youâll be okay without me?â
You nod sweetly, oh so, so sweetly, âIâll manage.â
Resigned, he gives you one last look and disappears down the hallway with your mother. The moment theyâre gone, Blair turns to you, deadpan, âOh, you are one evil bitch.â
But youâre not pretending anymore. A slow, wicked grin spreads across your face, one youâve been holding back for years, âBlair,â You breathe, âI am finally free.â
And somewhere down Greek Row, in a house with bass shaking the floorboards, a brother with white hair and blazing blue eyes checks his phone, seeing the group chatâs new messages.
sig chi or die
ryan: yo gojo you see the qbâs daughter?
ryan: she just moved in and sheâs BADDDD
And he smiles, one full malicious intent. He hasnât seen you yet, but he already plans to.
Blair gives you exactly ten seconds of peace after your parents leave before she turns to you, eyes manic with purpose, âAlright. Put on something slutty. Weâre celebrating.â
âWe literally just unpacked.â
âExactly!â She says, already digging through her suitcase, âSigma Chi is open for business and so are we.â
You laugh, half nerves, half adrenaline as she tosses the tiniest black skirt youâve ever seen your way and a cropped baby tee. You catch it, then go still, because across the chest in red rhinestones it says, Let Them Eat Cunt.
âBlair.â
She beams like itâs the funniest joke on Earth, âI got it custom-made. For today. For your whore arc!â
âMy dad would literally die if he saw this.â
âI know,â She says proudly, âNow put it on.â
You hesitate for only one second, then slide both the shirt and skirt on. The moment you do, Blair makes a strangled noise, âOh my God, bitch. The guys are going to lose their fucking minds.â
You look at yourself in the mirror; skirt so short it could be considered a napkin, rhinestoned filth across your boobs, lips perfectly glossed and instead of nerves, a spark catches in your bloodstream. This is what youâve been waiting for.
âYes,â You murmur, adjusting the hem, âThey will.â
Blair freezes, âOh? Oh?â
âBlair,â You say, meeting her eyes in the mirror, âI didnât move across the country to behave.â
She shrieks into her palms, âYou are out for blood tonight.â
âDick, actually,â You correct calmly, âIâm out for dick.â
Her soul leaves her body, âOh my Godâyes! Say it again!â
âI want to get drunk,â You explain, âI want a hot guy. And I want to erase the last eighteen years of being babysat.â
Blair is feigning tears, âThis is everything Iâve ever prayed for. I feel like a mother watching her child blossom into a slutty flower.â
âLetâs bloom, then,â You grab your phone, keys, and head for the door without a semblance of doubt.
Blair scrambles after you, âWait, slow downâ!â
âI have places to be,â You coo, already striding down the hallway.
âWe havenât even pregamed!â
âSig Chi has alcohol,â She laughs manically at that and follows you outside into the California heat.
The walk over is brutally short, every step feels like peeling off another layer of innocence, the music from Greek Row growing louder, deeper, and dirtier. Blair bumps your shoulder, grinning slyly, âYou knowâŚheâs probably there. This is his frat.â
You already know who sheâs referring toâŚGojo. Again with this guy?
You roll your eyes fondly, âBlair, you havenât even seen him.â
âOh, but on TikTok I have,â She says, âAnd trust meâforeign rich boys? Theyâre always the ones who fuck like theyâve got something to prove.â
That piques your interest. Maybe, just maybe youâd have to find that one out for yourself.
You round the corner and Sig Chi rises ahead of you. Three stories in all its glory, music blaring, people spilling across the lawn, lights pulsing behind the windows.
Blair squeezes your hand, wicked grin glued to her face, âOkay. Deep breath, babe. Act natural.â
âI am natural.â
âNot with you wearing that shirt.â
You scoff as you step inside and the frat swallows you whole. Itâs loud and cramped, bodies swaying under LED lights, the smell of beer and flavored vape clouds hanging in the air. A table of jungle juice sits in the corner, multiple couples are making out aggressively against walls, and then, you see him.
You donât even realize itâs him at first, you just registerâabsurdly tall, insanely built, ocean eyes, broad shoulders, cut-off muscle tee showing biceps carved by God himself, LA Dodgers snapback backwards on his white hair, laughing lazily with two girls hanging off him like decorations.
So, this is the infamous Satoru Gojo. No wonder why he runs USC. Heâs hot as fuck and knows it. Heâs leaning against the kitchen island like itâs his throne, until one of the brothers near him nudges his shoulder.
âYo, QBâs daughter just walked in.â
Gojo doesnât react immediately, he never does. Instead, he finishes whatever joke he was saying, grinning, dimples deep, girls giggling into his ribs.
Then, slowly, he looks up. The moment his eyes find you? Everything stops. The flirting, the talking, the lazy smileâgone.
His mouth parts just a little, eyes raking down your body, the skirt, your legs, and then eventually stopping right on your shirt. For a split second, he genuinely looks stunned, but then?
Oh, he smirks. A slow, sinful curl of his lips like all of his dreams have finally come true.
You donât answer, because he isnât just staring. Heâs studying, recognizing, and realizing. He knows who you are, everyone does. Youâre the football dynasty princess, Boston royalty, a girl whose father could call the dean of USC directly and have a frat shut down in ten minutes flat.
And yet, here you are. In that shirt, in his house, looking like trouble he suddenly, desperately wants.
A girl he wants to ruin before anyone else has the chance to.
He straightens up from the counter and sheds the girls clinging to him without a second glance. They look confused and annoyed, but he doesnât give a shit. He was never one to care about girlsâ feelings anyway.
His eyes stay locked on you. Blair inhales sharply, âOh my Godâhe clocked you. He fully clocked you, bitch.â
You swallow as he continues to stare, smirk, and look at your shirt like he wants to frame it above his bed. Then, he murmurs something to the guys beside him, still not breaking eye contact, and you feel itâthe shift, the moment the king of Sig Chi decides heâs going to make you his next conquest.
Blair elbows you, âI swear to God if you donât at least talk to himââ
âBlairââ
âNo, shut the fuck up. Iâm your wingwoman. Iâm morally obligated to get you laid.â
You exhale, pulse electric, heat flickering under your skin as Gojo starts to move. Not toward you yet, but closer. Circling, watching, like a wolf that noticed the rabbit wasnât scared of him.
You catch his eyes again, sharp blue under the brim of his backwards hat, and this time, he tilts his head. Acknowledgment, interest, amusement, and mouths something. Blair grips your arm, âWhat did he say?â
You gulp because you know exactly what he said. Two simple words, as clear as day, âNice shirt.â
Her grip on your arm grows so taut your circulation stops, âOkay, holy shit. We need to get drinks right now or Iâm going to pass out.â
You let her drag you toward the jungle juice table, but you feel his eyes following you. Every step you take, every sway of your skirt, his gaze is glued to it like heâs trying to memorize your movements.
Blair shoves a cup into your hand and whispers, âHeâs coming over. I repeat, he is coming over!â
âDonât look,â You whisper back.
âIâm not,â She lies, staring directly at him.
You take a sip of the juice; sweet, disgusting, perfect, and then, Gojo appears. He leans one shoulder against the wall beside the drinks table, arms crossing slowly, biceps flexing under his cut-off tee, snapback still backwards, silver-white hair falling into his eyes. Heâs taller up close, annoyingly so, towering even with the casual slouch.
He looks at your face first, then your shirt again, and smirks, âBold choice,â He drawls, voice low and painfully self-assured, âYou always introduce yourself with your chest, or is tonight special?â
Blair chokes on her drink, you swallow, âItâs a shirt, not a dissertation.â
He grins, cocky and fucking lethal, âCouldâve fooled me,â He murmurs, eyes dipping to your bare stomach, your hips, your legs, âThat thingâs doing a lot of talking.â
Your heart flips, but you refuse to fold so soon, âThen stop staring at it.â
He laughs, quiet, dangerously pleased, and drags his eyes upward until they lock directly with yours, âOh, princess,â He says softly, like he already knows the nickname from his mouth will ruin you, âIâm not staring at the shirt.â
Your breath hitches as Gojoâs tongue slides across the inside of his cheek before he tilts his head, diverting conversation, âYouâre new.â
âFreshman.â
âNo shit,â His smile widens, âI meant new as inâŚno one hereâs touched you yet.â
Blair coughs so violently she has to turn away, your cheeks heat, âWhy would you assume that?â
He shrugs, bending slightly to dip his cup in the jungle juice bowl, filling it lazily, eyes never leaving you, âBecause Iâve never seen guys on my lawn look so fucking scared.â
âScared?â
His smirk grows, possessive and knowing, âThey were staring at you like youâre a grenade with the pin half-pulled. Pretty skirt, filthy shirt, famous daddy?â He takes a slow sip of his drink, âYeah. Theyâre terrified.â
You open your mouth, but he steps closer, close enough that you can smell his cologneâclean, expensive, a bit woodsy. His voice drops to something only you can hear, âBut Iâm not.â
Your pulse stutters and he notices, of course he does. Heâs got girlsâ body language down to a fucking tee. He leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear, âYou walk into my house wearing that,â He whispers, âAnd you really think Iâm letting anyone else talk to you first?â
Your soul leaves your body. He pulls back just a bit, eyes locking onto yours again, darkened now and unblinking; his smirk softens as he nods to the crowd, âGuys are already looking,â He says, almost dismissive, âThinking about walking over.â
He lifts your chin with one knuckle, light as a tease, heavy as a claim, âBut theyâre not going to.â
Your lips part, âWhy not?â
Gojo smiles, wicked, "Because youâre talking to me.â
Something hot shivers down your spine. Blair, silently screams in triumph. Gojo watches your reaction like he wants to eat it almost as much as he wants to eat you.
Then he lowers his voice even further, âAnd if any other guy touches you tonight?â He taps the rim of his cup against your, a subtle clink, âTheyâre dead.â
Your heart slams against your ribs, he smirks again, âYou donât even get what that shirtâs doing to people,â He says, leaning back just slightly to give you a moment to breathe, but not space to escape, âBut itâs okay. Iâll show you.â
Your mouth goes dry. He straightens up, flicks his eyes over your legs one more time, and adds softly, âStay where I can see you.â
Then he walks off, not far, but far enough to make you watch and to tell every brother and guy in the house that youâre his.
Not yet. Not fully. But donât even fucking try.
Blair is still gripping your arm like a talon when Gojo strolls off, leaving you breathless, dazed, and partially frenzied.
âHoly shit,â Blair hisses, âOkay. Okay. We need more alc immediately. You need to ride the confidence wave.â
âIâmâŚpretty sure confidence isnât my problem right now.â
âNo,â She agrees, dragging you toward the bar counter, âYour problem is wanting to climb that man like a tree, but thatâs what vodka is for. Loosen up, be the slut you were born to be.â
You snort so hard you almost trip. The kitchen island is cluttered with liquor bottles, chasers, cups, and three guys already pouring shots.
Blair slaps her palms on the counter, announcing way too proudly, âThis is my best friend! She is having her slut awakening tonight, if you care!â
âBlairâ!â
They shout like theyâve just been told USC won the national championship. One of them, a blond with aviators on indoors, grins at you, âYou taking shots or you just gonna stand there and look hot?â
Blair gasps, offended on your behalf. You roll your eyes and reach for the Titoâs bottle. Blond aviators whistles, âOh, sheâs going straight for the hard stuff.â
Blair squeals, âOh, sweetheart, you have no idea.â
You raise the bottle, âWaitââ Blair warns.
Too late, youâre already taking a deep, burning, reckless swig. The kitchen collectively screams and you cough once, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, âFuck.â
Blair smacks the counter, beaming, âYes! Thatâs my best friend!â
Someone shoves a red cup into your hand, another chanting, âChug! Chug! Chug!â
So you do, because why the hell not? This moment has been eighteen years in the making and the drink is warm, disgusting, and makes your head pleasantly light.
Blair hops onto the counter, already dancing, âI am so proud of you!â
Guys around you start cheering harder, forming a half-circle as if youâre performing, and you laughâdizzy and loud.
For the first time in your life, youâre not a quarterbackâs daughter with curfews and rules and expectations. Youâre just a girl in a filthy shirt getting worshipped by a kitchen full of frat brothers.
One leans in, too close, grinning, âSo, uhâyou rushing? Because we were thinkingââ
Another cuts him off, slinging an arm around his shoulders, ââthinking we should make you Sig Chiâs sweetheart.â
Blair snaps her gaze to you, giggles erupting, âOh my God, (Y/N), theyâre already trying to crown you.â
The first guy leans closer, bold with liquid courage, âYouâd run this place.â
âYeah?â You tease, voice looser than normal, âWhat would I get out of it?â
He smirks, âPriority at every party. Your own room. Free booze. Andââ
Before you can even smile, a low voice cuts through the kitchen like a knife, âWho the fuck told you idiots you could talk to her?â
Gojo stands in the doorway, cup in hand, expression blank and walks in with the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea, âYou boys drunk or just dumb as fuck?â
âGojo, we wereââ
âDonât speak,â He snaps, stepping closer, âYou think you can âcrownâ girls now? Offer them rooms? Priority access?" He laughs once, âYou canât even organize a mixer without me holding your hands.â
One brother stiffens, âGojo, come onââ
Gojo turns his head slowly, âYou interrupting me?â The guy goes pale, Gojoâs voice drops, âAs active brothers youâre supposed to know the rules,â He nods over toward you, âAnd rule number oneâyou donât approach girls Iâm watching.â
A ripple flows through the kitchen, âG-Gojoââ
âProbation,â He replies simply, âAll three of you,â Their faces drop, âNo parties. No tailgates. No socials. Youâre on cleanup duty for two weeks with the Pledges.â
The room detonates with whispers, âAnd if you ever look at her again? Iâll pull your letters myself,â They stare at him horrified, âNow, get the fuck out of my kitchen.â
The brothers scatter like roaches and Gojo turns to you, âHaving fun?â He asks, voice warm again, teasing the way only danger could.
âM-Maybe.â
He steps closer; his knee brushes your thigh, the scent of his cologne wraps around your spine, and the buzz of the vodka evaporates from how stupid hot this is, âI thought I told you to stay where I could see you.â
Your heart jumps, heat rushing straight into your stomach, âI didnât go anywhere.â
His eyes flick down your body, slow and deliberate, âOh, you went everywhere,â He says, âGuys over here. Guys over there. Taking shots on my counter like youâre trying to get a reaction.â
Blair is wheezing into her cup somewhere behind you. You lift your chin, âWhatâdid it bother you?â
His jaw ticks, just once, but you feel it like a pulse under your skin. He steps closer, body angling into yours, hand coming down beside your hip on the counter. Heâs caging you in without even touching.
âIt bothered me,â He says quietly, âHow much fun you were having without me,â Your stomach churns, his voice drops further, âDidnât like seeing other guys look at you like that.â
âYou told them off,â You remind him.
âI shouldnât have had to.â
Your mouth opens, he watches you reactâyour pulse, your breathing, and soaks it up like it feeds him, âYouâre drunk,â He says, eyes glinting, âBut youâre not stupid.â
âMeaningâŚ?â
He leans in, lips brushing your jaw, âMeaning you know exactly what youâre doing.â
Your thighs press together on instinct and he catches it, something daring flickers across his expression; hunger, annoyance, restraint, then he nods toward the staircase, âCome with me.â
âWhere?â
He smirks in the way he always does before hooking up with girls, âUpstairs.â
Your breath falters, âWhy?â
He takes your wrist gently, shockingly gentle for someone with such big hands, and pulls you away from the counter. His thumb slides across your pulse point, âYou want me to say it?â
You shouldnât. You really, really shouldnât. But you nod.
His eyes drag down to your shirt again, bold letters across your chest, daring the world. He lifts his gaze back to yours, âBecause, princessâŚâ He murmurs, voice an unholy whisper, ââŚI wanna do what your shirt says.â
Your knees nearly give and Gojoâs hand tightens on your wrist, âCome upstairs,â He says again, firmer this time, âBefore I do something stupid right here.â
You donât think or even breathe, you just let him lead you through the kitchen, past the music, up the stairs; his hand warm and unyielding around yours, every step feeling like the point of no return, and everyone watches.
Because the king of Sig Chi just bagged the coveted QBâs daughter.
Gojo hears all their whispered words, but they donât affect him. He just smirks over his shoulder, hand still wrapped around your wrist, doing what heâs done almost a hundred times before, and keeps walking.
Up the stairs, down the hall, past guys who stop talking just to watch you go. You can feel the attention, the shock, the rumors already spreading like wildfire and the second the door to his room shuts, heâs on you.
His mouth crashes onto yours before your back even hits the door, one hand sliding into your hair, the other gripping your waist and dragging you closer until thereâs no space between you. Your hands fist in the hem of his shirt; he groans into your mouth, the sound dark, low, sinful.
And then Gojo doesnât walk you to the bed, no. He throws you onto it. One push to your hips and you fall back onto his mattress, bouncing once; he stands at the edge for a second, just looking at you, chest rising, jaw tight, like heâs trying not to pounce too fast.
Then he laughs under his breath. A quiet, disbelieving sound. Heâs had all types of girls on this bedâsorority girls, party girls, girls who begged for his attention, but none of them ever looked like this.
His shirt rides up as he pulls his hat off to run a hand through his hair, eyes raking over every inch of you. The skirt pushed high, the lewd baby tee, your glossy lips parted from panting.
Youâre not like the othersâŚyouâre worse. Youâre a good girl, not his usual type, not ran through; temptation he was never supposed to touch, the quarterbackâs daughter with the perfect reputation, and the perfect face, and the perfect body heâs dying to destroy.
His laughter fades, replaced by something darker and hungrier as he steps closer, eyes dragging over you like heâs choosing which part of you to ruin first.
âYeah,â He murmurs, tone dropping, âI knew youâd look good on my bed.â
Then his hands, big and unforgiving, close around your thighs. He drags you down the mattress in one smooth, brutal pull, your skirt sliding up high on your hips, your breath punching out of your lungs.
Your ass hits the edge of the bed, legs falling open for him on instinct. Gojo inhales sharply like the sight of you hurts him, âFuck,â He breathes, half a laugh, half a groan, âYouâre gonna kill me.â
He doesnât climb onto the bed, doesnât join you, he just stands there, looming, tall and broad, with his thumbs pressed into the soft inner curve of your thighs; pushing them wider until the stretch borders on obscene.
You can feel your pulse now, between your legs, desperate and unable to ignore. He looks down at you like heâs about to pray to whatever god put you in front of him or ruin you for sport. You canât distinguish the two.
His fingers hook into the sides of your panties, âLift.â
You obey in an instant; he slides them down your legs slowly, savoring the reveal, until they hit the floor with a soft thud.
The second he sees you, bare and already wet for him, his jaw flexes, âJesus Christ,â He mutters, running a hand through white strands to control himself, âYouâre soaked.â
Heat floods your face at the sight, at the words, and he smirks because he can tell, âShy now?â He teases, âYou wore that shirt and came to my frat but thisââ His thumb barely grazes the inside of your thigh, nearly touching where you want him, ââthis is what makes you flush?â
You try to speak, but he doesnât let you. Instead, he bends deliberately slow, bringing his mouth closer until his breath hits your skin. Your thighs tense, it only makes him grip them harder, âRelax,â He coos, eyes lifting to yours from between your legs, âIâm gonna take care of you.â
You donât get a chance to register anything, he leans in and licks one long, slow stripe up your pussyâso slow you swear heâs doing it just to see how flustered youâll get from the first touch alone.
Your head falls back against the sheets and he laughs, a soft, smug sound that vibrates right into your core, âTaste so good,â He mutters, already going back in for more, âKnew you would.â
And then he loses himself. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting your hips off the edge of the bed, dragging you closer until your knees are hooked over his shoulders and his mouth is pressed fully against your sopping cunt.
He eats you like a man starved, deprived, one thatâs been waiting for this ever so patiently, and one whose life mission is to ruin you for every man who could ever come after him. His tongue flicks and circles and presses, âSatoruââ
He groans, the sound reverberating so deep your body shudders, âSay it again,â He says between licks, âFuck, say my name again.â
You do, over and over, because you simply canât not.
He tightens his grip on you, holding you still as he sucks your clit with a filthy reverence, and your back arches so hard your vision spots. Your legs try to close on instinct, but he doesnât allow it. Gojo pushes your thighs wider with his shoulders, pinning you open without even trying.
âYeahâŚâ He murmurs into your skin, breath so hot it makes you twitch, âKeep âem open for me.â
He dips his head again, sucking your clit into his mouth with a force that knocks a cry out of you and you try to wiggle away from the intensity, but he stops you.
He growls, a low warning, fingertips digging into your thighs, âOh no, youâre not running from this,â His voice drops, rough, entertained, and mean, âDaddyâs princess doesnât get to run.â
Your body jolts like he slapped you and he feels it; pausing for a second, his lips still brush your folds as he lifts those piercing blues to watch your reaction. A smirk cuts across his face.
âOh my fucking God,â He breathes, âYou liked that shit.â
You try to lie, âIâno.â
But you did like it. Some depraved, twisted part of you liked it.
He laughs, delighted, âYeah? You denying it?â He gives your cunt another slow lick, âCause your pretty pussyâs kinda telling me everything I need to know.â
Your face burns with shame, unable to stop the shrill sound that falls out of you. He groans, guttural and hungry, âHoly shitâdaddyâs good little girl getting off on being talked to like a slut?â
He moves closer to whisper directly on your skin, your lashes flutter from the warmth, âGuess daddyâs girl isnât so good anymore.â
You canât stop yourself from reacting to that, your hands yank his hair hard and he moans straight into your cunt at the pull, âOhh fuck yeah,â He hisses, âGive me that again, princess.â
You tug him once more, pushing him deeper into your core; your voice comes out small and shaky, âDonâtâŚwanna be goodâŚâ Gojo tenses, your next words fracture on a whisper that will haunt him forever, ââŚjust wanna be good for you.â
That line sends him into a frenzy, his mouth crashes back onto you sloppilyâtongue working like he wants to drag that confession out of you again, sucking your clit with a messy, perfect pressure that shatters your thoughts.
He holds you open as he devours you; thereâs no rhythm to it at all, just a man fully out of his fucking mind.
âSatoruâToruââ Your voice cracks as your orgasm slams through you with a force you didnât think possible.
And he groans like your pleasure pleases him, licking you through the entire climax, refusing to let go of you until you collapse onto the mattress, trembling.
When you do, he pulls back slowly; face glazed, breathing erratic, eyes wild, âFuck,â He whispers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, âNeed to be inside you.â
He doesnât waste a minute, lifting you by the hips again both effortlessly and possessively, he drags you up the bed until your head hits his pillows.
âGoddamn, look at you,â He sneers, hovering, âAlready fucked dumb and I havenât even put my cock in you yet.â
You whimper helplessly as heâs already lining himself up; thick, flushed, heavy in his fist, and pushes in, sinking inch by inch into a pussy so tight his eyes flutter shut.
âAhhâfuck, princess,â His voice wavers, âYouâre gripping meâfucking gripping my shit alreadyââ
He tries to breathe properly, but fails miserably, âGod, youâre so fuckinâ tight. Feels insane.â
He pulls out, pushes back in deeper this time, and your cry is instant. Itâs music to his ears, âYeahâŚthatâs it. Take it. All of it.â
His pace builds, slow at first, then faster, angling to hit the spot that makes your nails drag down his back. When you clamp around him, his breath stutters, âOh my Godâdonât do that shit,â His hips jerk without his permission, âFuck, Iâm trying to pull outâIâm trying.â
But heâs not. Heâs lying.
You feel it in the way he grips your thighs harder, his hips snapping deeper, the shudder that runs down his spine like heâs fighting himself.
âToruââ
He cuts you off with a broken groan, âIâm trying to pull out, I swear. But your pussyâshit, wonât let me.â
Your walls clench around him again and he grunts, forehead pressing to your cheek, âPrincessâstop squeezing, fuck.â
He tries to pull back this time. He really does, but he canât. Youâre too warm, too tight, and way too fucking wet from how good he ate you out.
âOhâno, no, no,â He chokes out, âFuckâI canât, I canât.â
His thrusts turn frantic and the filth spills right out of him, âShit, I-Iâm gonna cumâinside,â His hips slam into yours, desperate, âCanât pull out. Fuck, I canâtâpussy wonât let me.â
Your nails claw into him now, so hard itâs certain to leave marks, and thatâs what ends him, âFuck,â He drags the word out, burying himself all the way to the hilt, and cums right inside you.
Spilling into you in long, uncontrollable pulses, hot and thick. He groans into your neck, âGodâfuck, fuck, princessâcumminâ in youâso deep, shit.â
Each spurt drags another sound out of him, almost pained with a hint of reverence; his hips keep spasming and he stuffs himself deeper, like he canât help it.
When you finally finish milking him dry, he lifts his head, looks down between your bodies, and sees it.
Where heâs still inside you, how full you are, a ring of white already gathering around the base of his cock and something shifts in him, ââŚHoly fuck.â
You blink, dazed, âWhat?â
He doesnât hear you at all, eyes glued to the sight of you stretched around him, dick nestled in you like it belongs there. His tone drops into something low and stunned, âIâI really came in you.â
You nod weakly, out of breath, âMhm.â
He swallows hard, but doesnât pull out. Instead, he presses in even deeper, like he needs to feel it one more time. You gasp and he throws his head back, âOh my GodâŚâ He mutters, almost to himself, ââŚitâs so warm.â
He runs his hand down your stomach, stopping right above where heâs still buried. Then he pushes gently, just enough to feel his load shift deeper, and you whimper.
âShitâŚâ His voice is nothing but pure, filthy awe, âIâve neverâŚfuck, Iâve never done that before. I donât even fuck raw.â
You expect panic, but what hits him is the opposite. A wave of feral, possessive pleasure that lights up every neuron in his brain. He exhales shakily, eyes flicking up to yours with an emotion that looks close to worship.
âPrincessâŚâ Heâs smiling, a crooked one, âThat felt fucking incredible.â
Your stomach flips, because heâs right. It really fucking did.
He lifts your thigh higher on his hip like he wants to see everything and have this visual burned into his mind forever, âFuckâŚâ He whispers, chest rising faster, âYou took all of it.â
His fingers gently spread you open around him, his cum spills out just a little, and he moans, âOhh, fuckâlook at thatâŚâ A soft laugh falls from his lips. Youâve never seen a man look so corrupted by his own desire.
But then, reality slaps him across the face, âOh shit. Shit, shit, waitâno, no, noââ He drags a trembling hand through his mussed hair, expression fracturing between pleasure and dread, ââI cannot believe I just fucking did that.â
âSatoruââ
He cuts you off, still staring at the wetness leaking around him, âI meanâŚThat was fuckinâ crazyâlike way too good. Scary good. I get it now.â
Your pulse trips, âBut alsoââ He finally pulls out and when more of his cum spills onto the sheets he moans again, âFuck, okayâwe need to go. Now. Like now-now.â
You raise a brow, âYouâre freaking out?â
His eyes snap up to you, âDo I look like Iâm freaking out?â He gestures at your pussy, âI just creampied the girl whose dad could literally shut down our chapter. Of fucking course Iâm freaking out.â
But then he pauses, glancing down at you, your thighs, the mess between them, and something hot flickers back onto his face, âNot gonna lie thoughâŚit looked really fucking good.â
Heat floods your cheeks and he smirks, clapping his hands once decisively, âOkay. Get up. We need a Plan B before I start thinking with my dick again.â
Youâre still trembling, the last of his load spilling out onto the sheets, and he stares at itâat you, for a second too long, chest rising like heâs physically restraining himself from going back inside.
But then he steps away, fast, a black hoodie already in his grip when he barks out, âUp. Now.â
Youâre in a haze, legs barely working, but his urgency snaps you out of it. You sit up, shaking, pulling your skirt and panties back into place.
Gojoâs already dressed, hoodie thrown over his head, white tendrils sticking out, jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscle twitch, âSatoruâŚâ
His sharp eyes cut to you, wide from leftover adrenaline, âNot now,â He says quietly, âWe canât talk right now.â
Because heâll lose it and heâs hardening again, even with his cum leaking out of you, âLetâs go.â
You barely get your shoes on before heâs grabbing your hand and leading you out the room, down the stairs, and through the pulsing music, ignoring every brother who tries to high-five him and every girl who wants to touch him.
Heâs too wound up and aware of the possibility sitting warm between your legs.
Outside, the cool west coast air hits, but it does nothing to help him. His grip stays taut on your hand, guiding you quickly down the sidewalk, away from Sig Chi and anyone who might see him like this.
He doesnât speak to you, not once, but you can hear his uneven breathing and every few steps he mumbles something nearly inaudible.
âFucking dumbassâŚâ
âShouldâve pulledâŚâ
âEvil ass pussyâŚâ
However, thank God for college towns and their love for twenty-four hour pharmacies; a CVS sign glows bright up ahead and Gojo moves quicker, beelining it with you in tow.
Once inside, he pauses at the automatic doors, lifting his hood higher to shield his face, then walks straight to the family planning aisle. He doesnât hesitate, thereâs no need to browse or think, he just grabs the Plan B box so fast the air moves with it and heads for self-checkout.
No cashiers, no chance for eye contact, no witnesses. Heâd rather be shot dead than caught lacking like this. If anyone found out that Satoru Gojo had a weak ass pull-out game, heâd lose all sense of power on campus.
He scans the box with tottering hands, grabs a bottle of water from the mini cooler next to the register, pays in cash, and throws the receipt away as soon as it prints. Only then, does he finally look at you, âCome on.â
The two of you make it maybe ten steps outside before heâs gnawing the Plan B box open with his teeth. He places the tiny pill in your hand and shoves the water at you, âTake it.â
He watches every centimeter of movement; the pill hitting your tongue, the rim of the bottle on your lips, and the bob of your throat when itâs all swallowed.
When itâs done, his shoulders fall, showing you how fucking scared he actually was, âOkayâŚâ He murmurs, nodding, âOkay. Crisis averted.â
But then you shift your weight and his gaze drops to your legs, the memory of how you squeezed around him hits, ââŚFuck.â
âWhat?â
His voice is quieter now, âYou look way too good right now for someone I almost got pregnant.â
You laugh softly, but he doesnât. Thereâs not even a flicker of amusement behind those bright eyes. He steps closer though, hand lifting to your face, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, âCome here.â
Gojo tilts your chin up, scanning all of your features with that same predatory focus he had right before he got on his knees for you. Then, he speaks like heâs laying down scripture. A speech heâs given to hundreds of girls before, youâre sure.
âAlright, princess. We need to set some ground rules.â
âRules?â
His thumb grazes your lip, âNumber one,â He says, tone steady, âThis is just sex. Nothing more.â
You gulp as he continues, âNumber two. I will never be your boyfriend.â
That one stings for reasons unknown. You nod anyway, âNumber three. You donât ask who Iâm seeing.â
So he still plans on seeing other girls. Okay.
âNumber fourâŚâ He steps closer, so close you think he might kiss you, ââŚwhen I want you, I get you.â
The way he says it makes your stomach flip violently, âAnd number five,â He adds, âYou donât let any other guy touch you like I did tonight.â
He can fuck other girls, but you canât fuck other guys? The fuck?
âWhy not?â
His eyes burn into yours, âBecause you told me you wanted to be good for meâŚand Iâm holding you to it.â
Then just like that, he steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets, hood still up, fully composed frat boy again, âGot it? Okay, cool,â He rushes, âIâll text you.â
âThatâs it?â
âYup,â He pops the p, starts walking backward, eyes dragging over your entire body one last time, âNight, princess.â
And turns away, leaving you standing under the glow of the CVS sign like some whore he used, legs shaking, heart pounding, and the worst part about it all? You still want him and still want more.
Freedom like this is too much fun.
But you tell yourself you wonât text him back. This was a one-time thing, you needed to get it out of your system as a repressed daddyâs girl. That youâre not the type who gets addicted to a frat boy she met at a party, no matter how hot he looks or how good he fucks.
YeahâŚthat lie lasts about less than twenty-four hours. Because the next night, at 12:47 A.M., your phone buzzes.
satoru: open your dorm window
You blink at the message, confused, until headlights sweep across the courtyard, bright, white-blue, and unmistakableâhis Porsche.
Blair is already asleep beside you, your heartâs sprinting. You slide the window open to peek out and there he is, leaned against the hood, hoodie up, hands in his pockets, looking at your window like he knew youâd listen.
He lifts his chin, âCome down.â
He doesnât say please or explain further and you go, of course you go.
The next time you see him, itâs in your dorm room. And it starts with kissingâalways kissing.
Heâs got you pinned against the inside of your locked door, hands under your ass, lifting you like you weigh nothing, grinding you against the thick outline in his sweats with a low, starved sound in his throat.
âMissed this,â He mutters, lips on your neck, âMissed you.â
You donât have time to decipher the meaning before your phone rings. Your dadâs contact photo lights up the screen.
You freeze, but Gojo doesnât. He looks at it, then at you, and smirks evilly, âAnswer it.â
âToruââ But heâs already dropping to his knees.
Your phone quivers in your hand as you swipe to accept the call, âHi, princess,â Your dadâs voice comes through, âHow was your first few nights in the dorms?â
Gojo pushes your skirt up, your pulse skyrockets as you force a steady tone, âG-Good. Umm. Really good.â
He drags your panties down with agonizing slowness, eyes locked onto yours the entire time, enjoying every ounce of panic flickering across your sweet face.
âThatâs good to hear,â Your father continues, âYou settling in okay? Eating enough? Staying safe?â
Gojoâs mouth touches you and you nearly drop the phone. His tongue slides through your folds, deliberate and slow, savoring you like heâs got all the time in the world.
You bite your lip so hard you taste blood, âMhm,â You manage, âIâmâDad, IâmâIâm very safe.â
Gojo laughs softly against your pussy, âGood girl,â he murmurs, too quietly for anyone but you to hear and sucks your clit into your mouth.
Your voice breaks into the speaker, âWhat was that?â Your dad asks suddenly.
âN-Nothing!â You choke out, breathless, âJustâJust movingâŚsomething.â
Gojo looks up at you, eyes blazing, pupils dilated, and pride dripping from his smirk as he ruins your composure with the lightest touch of his tongue. You end up cumming so hard you have to mute yourself.
When you hang up, Gojo wipes his mouth with his thumb and stands, kissing you deeply, giving you a taste. Then he whispers on your lips, âNext time you say youâre safeâŚyouâre gonna tell him that Iâm the one keeping you that way.â
You donât know whether thatâs true or the biggest lie youâve ever heard.
And the next time after that happens three nights later. Youâre wearing tiny shorts and a tank top when he texts.
satoru: out front
satoru: now
You slide into the passenger seat of his 911 and the smell of him, clean and sharp, wraps around you immediately.
He doesnât even say hi. His hand is in your hair before you finish closing the door; heâs pulling you over the console, kissing you with the same urgency as the first night.
Then he leans back in his driverâs seat, spreads his legs, and nods down at his lap, âNeed your mouth,â He breathes, strained like he hasnât gotten off in months instead of last night with some other girl, âNow, princess.â
And you give him it, because youâre somehow already gone for him and want to see what you can do. He grips your hair while you throat him deeper and deeper, until heâs cursing under his breath in Japanese and dragging a shaky hand over his mouth.
God, you fucking love it when he does that.
âFuckâbaby, baby, waitââ He pulls you off his throbbing cock, kisses you hard, and pushes your panties to the side, âGet on top.â
You straddle him and he drags you onto his dick in one long, devastating push. The car rocks as his hands grab everywhereâyour hips, ass, waist, guiding you, using you, groaning into your neck.
âMmm, thatâs itâride me,â He whispers, âShow me how bad you want it.â
You ride him until the windows fog and the V6 engine ticks with residual heat. He cums on your stomach with his face buried into your chest; a low, wrecked moan muffled against your skin.
That same weekend, thereâs a night where he pulls you into a dark hallway at Sig Chi during a party. He pushes you against the wall without warning and slides into you from behind, hand clamped over your mouth.
The bass of house music is pounding, the hallway is thankfully empty, your skirt is bunched around your waist, and he fucks you slow and deepâlike heâs trying to memorize the exact way your cunt clenches around him.
âYouâre so fuckinâ addictive,â He breathes into your ear, âGonna end up wearing you out every night.â
You donât doubt it.
A week later, youâre in your communal dorm bathroom when you see itâblood. Thank the fucking Lord. The Plan B had worked.
You text him two words.
period came
Four minutes later he responds.
satoru: iâm here
You barely have time to lie down before heâs on top of you, mouth everywhere, voice rough with relief, âGood girlâŚâ He murmurs against your stomach, âFucking good girl.â
Then he pushes two fingers into you and you arch your back, whining. He smiles into your neck like itâs the best thing heâs heard, âCelebration sex,â He decides, âCâmere.â
Period? He does not care whatsoever. He fucks you like youâre his reward, and you let him.
But one morning, you catch him staring. Not at your tits or ass or mouthâat you and your face, something beneath your skin heâs trying and failing to deny.
He looks away fast, jaw tight, hoodie pulled up like heâs hiding from a fact inside himself and you pretend not to see it.
Because you know if you acknowledge it and name the thing growing between you, what you and him have will stop being fun and become dangerous.
Though the truth lingers in the air the next time he texts you at 1:03 A.M.
satoru: want you
And your fingers answer before your brain does.
come get me
He comes quickly.
Ten minutes after your text, his Porsche glides to a stop outside your dorm like it was summoned, and sends a text.
satoru: here
Youâre already moving. As soon as you open the door, he grabs your jaw and kisses you before you can even sit down, pulling you into his lap like heâs starved. Itâs harsher tonight.
âAlways taste so fuckinâ good,â He mutters against your mouth, âJust for me, right?â
You donât answer because you know he doesnât need you to, itâs obvious. However, the next time heâs throwing you onto his bed, when you land on the sheetsâsomething shifts.
Thereâs a scent in the air. Faint and sweet, a floral perfume you donât wear. You donât do floral, only gourmand fragrances. It hits you before you even spot the evidence.
Thereâs a hair tie on the nightstand thatâs not yours, tube of lip gloss half-tucked under his pillow like it was hidden there in a hurry, a sweatshirt on the floor that definitely isnât his.
And the worst part? He doesnât even notice you noticing, because heâs too busy touching you.
His hands are already on your thighs, spreading them, his mouth dragging down your neck, voice thick with desire that doesnât sound recycled or casual, âYou been thinking about me all day?â He murmurs, âThinking about how good I fuck you?â
You force yourself to swallow it down. The perfume, the hair tie, the gloss, the clothing, the ache blooming beneath your ribs.
But because you donât answer, he grabs your jaw gently, making your eyes look into his, âDonât get quiet on me now,â He smirks, âYouâre not allowed.â
He kisses you again, filthily, and the sadness knots inside you in a way you refuse to acknowledge. Not now, not when heâs touching you and you want him this badly.
So you pretend.
You let him wreck you again, let him fuck you into the mattress with the haste of a man who canât get enough. Although something tiny fractures within you when he flips you onto your stomach and you see the lip gloss again.
You shut your eyes, a yelp breaking from you as you try to imagine that it was never there.
Then four days later, youâre the one who texts first. You hate yourself for it, but you canât help it.
you busy?
Delivered with no response.
Ten minutes pass, then twenty, then an hour.
You throw your phone aside, furious for caring in the first place. You knew what you were getting into from the moment you let a guy like Satoru Gojo fuck you.
Blair, whoâs sitting in her bed beside you, glances at your expression and raises a brow, âHim again?â
You lie, âNo.â
Two more hours pass and nothing. Your stomach twists with something awful and sharp because you know exactly what heâs doing. More so, who, heâs doing.
At 1:36 A.M., your phone lights up.
satoru: nah
satoru: come thru
You look at the texts, pissed off by his lack of consideration, but even more pissed by your lack of control. Because you go to him like he says.
You hear the music from the street when you arrive at Sig Chi. The house is loud and buzzing, full of energy he clearly enjoyed without you present.
He meets you at his bedroom door and the second you see him, all the oxygen leaves your lungs.
His hair is tousled under his blue snapback; his shirt is twisted, collar stretched like it was yanked. Thereâs a pink flush across his face, his lips look too red, like heâs been kissing for hours.
His breathing is slightly off as if his heart rate still hasnât calmed down yet, but the room? Oh thatâs the killer blow.
The sheets are tangled and half on the floor, thereâs mascara smudged on his pillows, and God the trashcan ruins you. You can see multiple golden foils from where you areâcondom wrappers.
And Gojo just stands there, letting you take it all in like he doesnât even care. He watches you, blue eyes cool, leaning against the doorframe like youâre the one who kept him waiting, âYou coming in?â
Your throat burns. Say no. Say no. Say fucking no.
But you step inside and the door clicks shut behind you, sealing you with the smell of a perfume that isnât yours.
âCome here,â Gojo says.
And because youâre weak and something about him has rewired your brain, you walk closer instead of slapping him.
He hooks a finger under your chin, tilts your face up, and kisses you like he wasnât just inside another girl before this. Itâs greedy and possessive in a way he has no right to be; you let him take and take, until something within you snaps.
You push him back a step, breathing labored, âSatoru.â
He lifts a brow, already annoyed at being interrupted, âWhat?â
âI wantâŚâ Fuck, you hate yourself for how small it sounds, ââŚI want to be the only one.â
Thereâs dead silence in the room, but thenâthen he has the fucking audacity to laugh, âOh, princess,â He coos, amusement curving his mouth as he pulls your waist against his, âThatâs not how this works.â
Your stomach is in knots, the smirk is still there, âYou canât be the only one,â He says unapologetically, âButââ
His hand slides down your ass, gripping hard enough to make you gasp, âYou can be my number one.â
Number one. Like youâre just barely good enough to earn the top spot on a teamâs roster.
ââŚYour number one,â You echo.
âYeah,â His lips brush your throat, âThe one I fuck the most. The one I come back to. The one I call when I actually want it.â
You feel sick, âAnd what about me? Do I get anyone?â
He pulls back to look at you with eyes as sharp as knives, âNo.â
The word lands like a slap, âNo?â
âNo,â He confirms, âYou donât let any other guy touch you. That was the deal.â
âThat wasnât a deal,â You seethe, âThat was something you said after youâafter you almost got me pregnant.â
He shrugs, âSo? Still stands.â
Heat floods your entire faceâanger, humiliation, desire, all tangled, âYouâre allowed to fuck other girls,â You vocalize, âBut Iâm not allowed toââ
He cuts you off with a kiss so deep you forget how to breathe and when he breaks it, his voice is dangerously soft, âI donât share.â
You swallow, pissed at yourself for the way your body always reacts to him, âAnd what if I donât want to be your number one?â
Gojo smiles, âThen you wouldnât be in my room right now.â
Your pulse trips because heâs right and you hate it. You shove him weakly, but he catches your wrists, pinning them above your head as he walks you backward toward the bed, âDonât start pretending you donât want this. Not after the way you moan for me.â
âSatoruââ
âYou asked for the only one treatment?â He asks against your mouth, âFine. Iâll fuck you like youâre the only girl in the world.â
He pushes you onto the mattress, âAnd thenâŚIâll remind you that youâre not.â
His tone is cruel, youâve never heard him sound like this, and despite that fact, your body still betrays you. He drags your shorts down, mouth already on your inner thigh, kissing higher and higher, biting hard enough to leave a mark.
âSatoruâstop,â You whisper, but you donât mean it and he knows you donât.
His tongue licks up your folds and your back arches like youâve been shocked. The reaction makes him laugh, âSee? This pussy knows who it belongs to.â
You want to hit him, kiss him, run, and stay all at once. Your voice is barely a sound when you say, âI hate you.â
The words make him grin, âNo, you donât.â
He flips you onto your stomach before you can respond, pulling your hips up, positioning himself behind youâno condom, like always, âIâm your number one, too,â He murmurs, tip prodding your entrance, âYou just donât want to admit it.â
âSatoruââ He pushes into you in one long, ruthless stroke.
Your gasp shatters in the quiet room, âFuck,â He groans, hands gripping your hips so tight you think theyâll bruise, âEvery timeâevery time, youâre tighter.â
Then he fucks you like heâs proving a point, âSay it again,â He growls, âSay you want to be the only one.â
âIâI wantââ You choke out, tears blurring your vision, âI want to be the only oneâpleaseââ
He moans, he actually fucking moans at that, as if your pain gives him pleasure, like heâs some sick sadist.
âOh, princess,â He says, kissing your shoulder, âYou break so pretty.â
And then he leans down just enough to whisper the nail in your coffin, âBut you never will be.â
You cum around him anyway. Because you foolishly still want him, and maybe youâre some sick masochist too.
And when he finishes, pulling out of you with a quiet hiss, you think maybe heâll softenâmaybe heâll say something real. But all he does is toss you a towel to clean yourself and grab his hat to shove it back on his head, muttering, âClose the door behind you.â
And like the dumbest bitch alive, you do.
You walk home at 3:12 A.M. with aching thighs and your heart bloodied. When you slip into your dorm, Blair is still awake with her laptop open. She looks up once, clocking everything in a single glance, âYou good?â
âIâm fine,â You lie, kicking your shoes off.
She just stares and you stare back, knowing that she doesnât believe you in the slightest, but doesnât press.
You shower and scrub your body as if it can erase Gojo from your skin but you still feel him everywhere. Then you crawl into bed, praying you wake up a new person, but of course. You donât.
The next morning, right as you wake, you open Instagram on autopilot, and Blair, sitting cross-legged in her bed eating dry cereal from the box looks over at you as your face goes blank.
Because on your feed is his story.
@.gojosatoru
Posted 32 minutes ago.
Heâs at In-N-Out, with a blonde girl in his passenger seat, and her hand on his thigh. No caption.
Blair freezes mid-chew, ââŚIs thatâ?â
âUh-huh.â
She leans closer, âOh, fuck no.â
Your fingers go numb as you remember last night. He told you you were his number one, held you down, and fucked you like you belonged to him.
Now heâs posting publicly with other bitches? So as number one you can get the sex but youâre not worthy of anything else? Sure.
Blair sets her cereal aside, âBabeâŚare you okay?â
You fucking hate that she has to ask that. You swallow hard, âYeah. Totally.â
She scoots closer, voice lower, â(Y/N)âŚheâs an asshole.â
You know, youâve always known. But last night, in his bed, with his hands on you and his cock so deepâyou forgot.
Blair studies you, then says gently, âYouâre not this girl.â
Something inside you snaps back into place.
Sheâs right. Youâre not. Youâre not the girl who gets hidden, youâre not the girl he gets to fuck at 2 A.M. and replace by breakfast, and you sure as hell are not someoneâs afterthought.
You inhale slowly, exhale sharply, and stand. Blair blinks, âWhat are you doing?â
You look her dead in the eye, âRemembering who the fuck I am.â
âAnd who is that?â
You donât answer her with words. Instead, you walk over to your dresser and pull out the skimpiest bikini you own. Blair lets out a low whistle, âDamn. Youâre gonna make someone crash their car.â
Putting it on, tightening the strings so it sits just right, you look at your reflection in the mirror.
The girl staring back at you isnât the one crying over a frat boy. Sheâs someone else entirely; someone Satoru Gojo should have never underestimated.
You grab your phone, open your camera, and take the mirror selfie. Blair leans over your shoulder, âCaption?â
âDonât need one,â You say with a smile, all you do is post the location of where youâll beâSanta Monica Beach.
Oh, but you do decide to throw in a blue heart emoji, just to twist the knife. Then you hit post.
The likes come in immediately and your DMs explode. Blairâs jaw literally drops, âOh my God, babeâTKE is already swiping up. Like, three different guys, holy shit.â
Yeah, thatâs right. This is who you are.
Blair laughs with pure joy, âAnd guess who else viewed it?â
You donât even ask, already knowing. Because a second later, your phone buzzes excessively.
@.gojosatoru: wtf is this pic
@.gojosatoru: delete ts
@.gojosatoru: answer your fucking phone
@.gojosatoru: (y/n)
Blair snorts, âOh, he is so pressed.â
You slide your phone into your tote bag choosing to ignore it. He can scream into the void for all you care.
âComing?â You ask Blair casually.
She grins, grabbing her sunglasses and keys, âFuck, yeah I am. I ainât missing this shit.â
You sling your towel over your shoulder and for the first time since you came to USC, you feel like yourself again, âLetâs go.â
âWhere?â
You smile, âTo remind him why he shouldâve never posted that blonde bitch in the first place.â
You and Blair barely make it into the hallway before your phone vibrates again, but itâs not Gojo this time. Itâs the TKE boys again.
tyler: u heading to santa monica?
zach: come slide weâre pregaming in the lot
kyle: we got room in the jeep if you need a ride
Blair leans over your shoulder, âOh, weâre definitely taking the ride.â
You shouldnât, but then you think of Gojo and how youâre done letting him dictate your life as if heâs the only one with power.
So you type back.
still at the lot?
The response is instant.
zach: still here. u look insane btw
kyle: pls come im begging
Blair cackles, âTheyâre literally foaming at the mouth, Jesus.â
You head downstairs and step outside into the morning California sun, the second the TKE boys see you, the whole group goes silent.
âDamn,â Tyler says, walking forward with a grin way too confident for someone who failed Econ twice, âYou lookâŚwow.â
You lift your sunglasses with one finger, giving him a lazy once-over, âThanks. You driving?â
âYeah,â Zach blurts before Tyler can speak, âYou two riding over with us?â
You exchange a glance with Blair, âSure.â
The boys practically beam; Tyler opens the passenger door for you and Blair slides into the middle seat, Zach sits beside her trying to play it cool.
The TKE boys are laughing, hyping each other up as music blasts through the speakers, and they glance at you like they canât believe youâre actually coming with them.
You feel Blair tap your shoulder from behind, âYou good?â
âNever better.â
But your phone keeps vibrating in your bag and you know exactly who it is.
satoru (16 missed calls)
satoru (24 messages)
You peep the last three.
satoru: where tf are u
satoru: stop ignoring me omg
satoru: seriously pick up
Blair sees the name and giggles, âHeâs unraveling.â
Tyler leans over the center console, spotting the contact too, âOh shitâGojoâs blowing you up?â
âYeah. Doesnât matter.â
Zach scoffs, âIsnât he likeâŚobsessed with you?â
You smile sweetly, âNah. Heâs not.â
They seemed pleased with that answer and in less than twenty minutes, the Jeep rolls into the Santa Monica lot. Warm wind tangles through your hair as the ocean comes into view.
Everyone hops out quick, grabbing something to bring, but you? You step out slowly, letting the sun hit your bare shoulders and letting the boys stare unabashedly because they canât help themselves. And God, does it feel good.
You eventually spread your towel on the sand, lay back, and get right to tanning. Everything is warm and golden, the boys crack open beers, Blair sets up the speaker playing Bad Bunny on full volume.
Tyler hands you a High Noon and you take a sip, laughing at something stupid Kyle says. And for one moment, you feel free again. But your goddamn phone wonât stop buzzing in your bag.
Blair nudges you, âYou gonna check that?â
âNope.â
She grins, âGood.â
â(Y/N)!â Tyler calls, tossing a football, âYou play?â
You catch it one-handed despite being off guard, âDo you forget who my dad is?â
They laugh and so do you, but your phone still keeps popping off like a warning for whatâs about to come next. Because not even ten minutes later, you hear it.
That sound, the unmistakable growl of a high-performance engine being pushed too hard. A Porsche 911 tears into the parking lotâhis Porsche. Your heart plummets as Blair whispers, âNo fucking way.â
The boys turn, heads all over swivel, and then he appears. Satoru Gojo steps out of the Porsche like he didnât run five red lights on the drive here. His white tee is wrinkled to shit, blue shorts slung low on his hips, sunglasses pushed into his mussed white strands, jaw clenched so hard you see the muscle jump.
In his hand is his phone, the one he used to blow up yours, and he doesnât walk over to you, no, he stalks. Across the sand, straight toward you with a purposeful, terrifying calm, the kind that makes groups of guys instinctively step back.
But youâre not scared in the slightest. You lift your sunglasses and meet his eyes; cold blue, laser-focused. He stops in front of your towel, shadow sprawled over your body, chest heaving like heâs on the verge of losing it.
â(Y/N),â He hardly ever uses your name, âGet up.â
You make him wait three whole seconds before you do; you stand, unbothered, brushing sand off your thighs, refusing to break eye contact. He takes a step closer, nostrils flaring, âWhat the fuck do you think youâre doing?â
âPretty sure Iâm sitting on a beach.â
The TKE boys shift behind you, Gojoâs eyes flick to themâTyler holding a drink, Kyle shirtless and smiling, Zach close enough that his knee had brushed yours.
He laughs once, âWith these loser cucks?â
Kyle bristles instantly, âBroâwatch your fucking mouth.â
But Gojo doesnât spare him a glance, he keeps his eyes on you, âDeadass?â He murmurs, âThis the shit youâre on now?â
You shrug, âLooks that way.â
âYou ignored sixteen calls. Sixteen.â
âYeah,â You reply, lifting your drink again, âCause I didnât wanna answer.â
Kyle folds his arms, âYo, sheâs busy. Maybe back up.â
Gojo turns his head just enough to look at him, âI wasnât fucking talking to you,â Then his eyes snap back to yours, âSo youâre really out here with TKE?â
âWhy not?â You ask.
He scoffs, sucking his teeth, âThey know that you were on my dick last night?â
Your cheeks grow hot with rage, but he wants that reaction, so you decide to give him nothing, âThanks for the reminder. I almost forgot.â
âYou forgot?â He repeats, voice tight, âAfter the way you were screaming my name?â
Kyle steps forward, fists clenching, âAlright, back the fuck offââ
You lift a hand, stopping him without looking away from Gojo, âNo. Let him talk.â
âYouâre really gonna stand here and pretend last night didnât happen?â
âYou mean the part where you said Iâll never be the only one?â You ask, titling your head, âOr the part where you posted the blonde on your story less than twelve hours later?â
His jaw ticks, âThatâs what this is about?â He snaps, âA fucking story?â
âNo. Itâs about you thinking Iâm stupid.â
âYouâre jealous.â
You genuinely laugh, âNo, Satoru. Youâre delusional.â
His hands twitch at his sides, like heâs debating grabbing you or strangling someone. He glances at the boys again and something cold creeps into his countenance, âAnswer me something.â
You raise a brow as he gestures at the guys behind you, âYou fucking one of them now?â
Tyler coughs, Kyle looks away, Zach smirks like he hopes so, âWhy? You care?â
Gojo steps closer, the warmth of his chest brushing the top of yours, âThatâs cute. Acting like I don't."
âGo home, Satoru.â
âNo.â
âIt wasnât a question.â
His gaze drags over your bikini again, âGet in the car.â
Itâs sadâthat some part of you almost gives in like always. Because you know that if you left now, the argument would end. Itâd end with him giving you the craziest dick of your life and you back at square one; you refuse to do that again.
So, you stand taller, âNo.â
A muscle in his cheek pops, ââŚNo?â
âYou heard me.â
And because Gojo canât win with logic and canât bear the thought of being denied for once in his life, he reaches for cruelty, âFineâŚYouâre cut.â
Cut. From his roster. But your voice is steady when you say, âGood.â
âGood?â
âYeah,â You say, âGood. You did me a favor.â
Gojoâs expression flattens, âCool. Iâll replace you in an hour.â
You take one step forward and smile, âIâll replace you in fifteen minutes. Wonât be hard.â
The collective gasp from the boys is audible. Gojo doesn't even blink, but the vein in his neck jumps and for the first time since youâve known him, he looks hurt. Real hurt.
He steps back, then once more, âEnjoy your day,â Adding coldly, âPrincess.â
He turns and walks away, sand kicking up beneath his feet, and you donât look after him. Not even when the Porsche engine snarls and he peels out of the lot so fast seagulls scatter.
Blair exhales, âHoly shitâŚIâm glad I came.â
Tyler whistles low, âYoâŚyouâre gonna break that dude.â
âGood,â You say, laying back down on your towel, âItâs his turn.â
But the beach doesnât go back to normal after that. You tan, you swim once, you drink enough to feel warm, the boys continue to orbit you like planets caught in your gravitational pull, yet it's not the same.
Blair leans in at one point, whispering, âYou know you donât have to actually hook up with any of them, right?â
Right. That was the whole reason why you did this in the first place. To get revenge.
You hum, âI know.â
Though when the sun begins to set, casting amber over the waves, Kyle asks if you want to come back to the TKE house and you hear yourself say, âSure.â
Not because youâre dying to fuck him, but because of everything Satoru Gojo did. The house is louder and dirtier than Sig Chiâbass rattles the wall, bodies are everywhere. Kyle leads you upstairs, respectful, a little nervous, but beyond eager.
Your stomach twists with anticipation, youâre finally getting your lick back. Kyle closes the bedroom door behind you, âWant a drink?â
âNo.â
You step closer and his breath catches, âYou sure?â
âPositive.â
He leans in and kisses youâŚItâs fine, you guess. Soft, warm, nothing like the way Gojo does. Youâre unsure if thatâs a good or bad thing. Kyleâs hands are on your waist and his mouth moves down your neck. Heâs sweet, careful, and you should like this moreâyou donât.
But you need it. You need something to hold onto that isnât him. Kyle whispers, âYouâre so fucking pretty,â And you let him guide you toward the bed.
Your phone buzzes in your bag, you ignore it. Then it buzzes again, long and insistent. Kyle notices, âYou can get that if you wantââ
âNo,â You breathe, âKeep going.â
He nods and kisses you again, and you try, God you try to lose yourself in it. But the second his hand slips under your top, your phone lights up in the dark room. Bright enough in your bag that you both see it.
satoru: answer
satoru: stop playing
satoru: (y/n)
You go still, Kyle pulls back, âHeyâŚyou okay?â
âYeah,â You lie, âJustâjust keep going.â
He leans in, but your eyes stay fixed on the glowing screen. Another message comes through and itâs not angry this time. Itâs worse.
satoru: please
Your breath stutters as Kyle kisses your shoulder, your phone vibrates again.
satoru: princess please
Your entire body locks, because this isnât how he talks. This isnât a man who begs and it definitely doesnât sound like one who moved on in an hour. Kyleâs hands slide down your waist, his lips brush your collarbone, and then you reazlieâyou canât do this.
You sit up abruptly, âWait.â
Kyle freezes, âOh. Uh, did I do something wrong?â
âNo,â You say quickly, âNo, youâre great. I justâI canât.â
He bows his head, disappointed, âItâs cool. Really.â
You grab your phone and open the messages, staring at the last one until your chest aches.
satoru: please just pick up
Blair texts you at the same time.
blair: WHAT DID YOU DO? HE LOOKS LIKE HEâS HAVING A BREAKDOWN
You inhale sharply as the truth slams through you. Youâre not over him, not even remotely. Your fingers tremble as you text Blair back.
where is he
blair: SIG CHI bro he showed up like a psycho
blair: he asked EVERYONE if theyâve seen you
Your pulse spikes so hard it hurts. Kyle is still on the end of the bed, giving you space and pretending he doesnât see your face falling apart, âYou sure youâre okay?â
You nod even though you arenât, and stand too quickly, grabbing your bag, âIâI have to go.â
âBecause of him?â
ââŚYeah.â
He nods slowly, expecting it, like every guy on campus knows that whatever the hell is happening between you and Satoru Gojo is bigger than anything they could touch, âDouchebag doesnât even deserve you.â
Yeah, heâs probably right about that but you bolt out of the room anyway, run down the stairs, and through the crowd spilling beer everywhere. Someone calls your name, but you donât care. Your phone is in your hand, Gojoâs name filling the screen over and over like heâs clawing to get to you.
Pushing out into the street, cool evening air slams into your chest and you call him without thinking. It rings only once, â(Y/N).â
âSatoruââ
âYouâre at TKE?â He blurts out. Thereâs noise behind himâmusic, voices, and footsteps as if heâs pacing through Sig Chi.
âYesâŚâ
âDid you go back with Kyle?â Your mouth opens, but youâre unable to speak, so he does it for you, âYou did.â
âSatoruââ
âJust tell me,â He cuts you off, voice shaking with fury heâs trying to swallow, âDid he touch you?â
Your pulse slams against your ribs, Gojo keeps going, âHe kissed you, right? You let him? You went into his room? You let him fuckingââ He stops suddenly, breath hitching like finishing the rest of his sentence would choke him.
âNothing happened.â
ââŚYouâre lying.â
You squeeze your eyes shut, frustrated tears burning, âI left, Satoru. I left him. Iâm literally calling youââ
âWhy the fuck were you even there?â
âBecause of you!â
A voice in the background of Gojoâs line says, âBro, chillââ And you hear him snarl, âShut the fuck up,â Followed by a door slamming so loudly you flinch. Now heâs alone and the truth crawls out of him, âI thought you were goneâŚI thought you actually went andâand fucked him.â
âI didnât.â
âYou almost did.â
AlmostâŚand you wouldâve too if he hadnât kept texting, âYou donât understand,â He says hoarsely, âIâve been looking for you for hours. I tore through the whole fucking house. I asked everyone. Iââ
âSatoruâŚâ
âWhere are you now?â
âHeading toward Sig Chi.â
You hear movement and the sound of his breath catching, his shoes hitting the floor, something crashing behind him as he pushes through the thumping house.
âStay on the phone,â He orders, âYouâre not walking alone.â
âIâm fine.â
âStay on the fucking phone.â
You listen then. Breath syncing with his footsteps as he barrels through the hallway and out the back door, onto the street. Heâs running now, you can tell, âSatoruâslow downââ
âNo,â He pants, keys jangling, car door slamming, Porsche engine purring to life, âYou think Iâm letting you walk alone after someone else had their hands on you?â
Your grip tightens on the phone, âSo what? Youâre coming to get me?â
âIâm already halfway there,â He breathes, rounding a corner so sharp the tires skid, âDonât hang up.â
âWasnât planning on it.â
A long exhale leaves him, desperation blended with rage, âTell me again. Tell me nothing happened.â
ââŚNothing happened.â
He lets out a broken laugh of disbelief, âGoodâŚBecause Iâm two minutes away, and if he had fucked youââ
You feel it in your bones, the relief so violent it comes out as anger, âSatoru,â You whisper softly, âJustâŚget here.â
âIâm coming, princess,â And then he hangs up.
The Porscheâs roar echoes down the street long before his headlights appear and once they do, he swings by the curb so fast you stumble back a step. He rolls the window down only to say, âGet in the car.â
You open the door, slide into the passenger seat and the second youâre in, he peels off so hard your shoulder hits the door, âFuckârelax.â
âCanât,â His knuckles are white on the wheel, every muscle in his forearm flexes with barely contained aggravation, and he doesnât look at you once during the drive. He whips into the Sig Chi driveway, parks crooked as shit, and kills the engine.
Finally, he turns his head, eyes blazing, âInside.â
You donât argue; you follow him through the front door with your pulse in your throat, up the creaking stairs, through the hall, until he shoves his bedroom door open and pulls you inside, slamming it with so much force the walls shake.
âWhat the fuck was all of that?â
âOh, donât do that,â Your tone is full of bitterness, âDonât think I forgot about the blonde you posted today. Donât act like you didnât show me exactly where I stand.â
âThat was different.â
âWas it?â You step closer, chest heaving, âWas it different when I walked into your room last night and saw a trashcan full of condoms? When your sheets were a fucking mess? When your lips were swollen and you looked like youâd justââ You donât finish that thought. He flinches at your words, but you donât stop there, âWhen you fucked me and laughed in my face, telling me Iâd never be the only one?â
His throat works, âSay something,â You snap, âGo on. Justify it. Tell me Iâm crazy.â
âI didnât fuck her,â He runs a trembling hand through his hair, âI didnât fuck anyone,â He says louder, âNot the blonde. Not last night. Not today. Nobody.â
You stare at him, âSatoru. Your roomâyour trash.â
âI couldnât even get it upâŚhappy?â He spits out the truth like it hurts, âI keptââ He gestures violently, ââtrying. With someone else. But it didnât matter. My dick wouldnât stay fucking hard.â
Your mouth falls agape, he keeps going, voice cracking down the middle, âI kept putting the condom on and Iâd go soft. Again and again and again,â He laughs once, âThatâs why there were wrappers. Not because I fucked anyone, but âcause I literally couldnât.â
He steps closer, âYou wanna know why?â You donât say anything, but he gives you the answer anyway, âYou.â
âI canât stop thinking about you,â He says, voice dropping dangerously soft, âCanât stop seeing your face, canât stop remembering how you sound when you cum, canât stop thinking about how it feels to be inside you.â
Your thighs press together involuntarily, âAnd do you know how fucking pathetic that makes me feel?â His voice breaks again, âThat I canât fuck anyone else because the only pussy I get hard for is yours?â
Now youâre trembling, âBut sure, go ahead. Tell me again you were just being petty. Tell me again that you thought going home with that TKE fuck was gonna hurt me.â
âI didnâtââ
âYes, you did,â He rasps, âYou wanted to make me jealous,â He takes a step closer, âYou wanted me to come find you,â Then another, âYou wanted me to lose my fucking mind over you.â
Your back hits the wall, he cages you in with his arms, âAnd congratulationsâŚIt fucking worked.â
âSatoruâŚâ
His forehead presses to yours, breaths mingling, anger turning molten, âYouâre not replacing me, and Iâm sure as hell not letting anyone else touch youâŚbecause youâre mine.â
Something hot flickers in your chest, âAnd youâre mine.â
He freezes, blue eyes turning a shade darker, âSay that again.â
You lift your chin, âYouâre mine.â
As soon as the words leave your tongue he surges forward, mouth crashing onto yours with a force that feels like the room exploded. His hands are already on your hips, lifting you, dragging you toward the bed.
Your back hits the mattress, bouncing once before heâs on you, over you, everywhere; kissing you like itâs oxygen. His teeth catch your bottom lip, his tongue forcing its way in, and his fingers tear your shorts down so fast the friction burns.
âSpread,â He growls against your mouth. Without hesitation, you spread your legs wide open. He drags you down the bed by your thighs like youâre something he gets to rearrange however he wants, and when he drops to his kneesâitâs over.
His mouth is on your cunt instantly, tongue flattening against your clit, sucking and licking like heâs trying to claim you with his mouth first.
You arch intensely, a choked cry crooning from your throat, âFuckâSatoru,â Your thighs clamp around his head, but he forces them wider. You try to lift your hips and he pins them down.
âStay still,â He mutters, âOr Iâll take my time,â Itâs a threat, a wonderful filthy one. He eats you until your vision blurs and youâre pulling at his white tendrils; when you cum, you break with your head thrown back, mouth fully open, moaning his name in a way that would destroy him if he werenât already in shambles.
âYouâre so fucking perfect like this,â He pants, climbing over you, dragging his mouth up your stomach, ribs, throat, âRuined and wet and waiting for meâfuck.â
He lines his cock up without looking, he doesnât have to at this point. He knows your body by heart, and when he pushes in itâs one languid stroke that make your nails claw into his back and his breath punch out of him, âShitâbaby, so tightââ
He locks one hand behind your knee, shoving it higher, deeper, opening you more than youâve ever been before, âYou feel that?â He grits, hips snapping hard enough the headboard slams the wall, âFeel how easy this pussy takes me after I eat you out?â
The moan that escapes you sounds like a sob, âFeel how deep I am?â He thrusts again, brutal and perfect, âFeel me right fucking there?â One of his big hands presses right on your lower belly, a helpless whimper falls from your lips; his eyes go dark, âThatâs where I wanna cum.â
Your stomach drops, âSatoruââ
âI want it so bad I canât fucking think,â Each thrust is more forceful, sloppier, desperate, âYou have no idea,â He pants, âNo fucking idea what it did to me the first timeâseeing my cum dripping out of you. Fuck, I been thinking about it every night since.â
Your cunt clenches around him, his eyes roll back, âYeahâŚâ He groans, âYou liked that, didnât you?â
His hand slides to your jaw, holding your face still so you canât look away, âYou want me to fill you again? Want me to make you mine for real?â
God, you shouldnât want it. Not one bit.
Not with him and not when the risks outweigh the rewards. But at the same time, you fucking do.
Your brain fogs, melts, almost liquifies, âI wantââ You gasp, nails sinking into his back, âI want you to fill meââ
He growls, âFuck, princessâdonât say it unless you mean itââ
Youâre too far gone to stop yourself, âMake me yours,â You whisper, trembling, âI want all of it, please.â
Hearing you beg for a load would make even the strongest man fold, and for a guy like Gojo, it takes very little to get him to. He snaps, thrusts turn punishing, ragged, the rhythm of a person who has lost every ounce of sanity, âYou donâtâunderstand what youâre asking for.â
You cling to him, eyes half-lidded, âSatoruâdonât pull out.â
He shudders, grip on you tightening painfully, âBabyâfuck. Youâre gonna make meâshit, youâre gonna make me cumââ
You wrap your legs around him and pin him in place, he fails to hide the moan that leaves him, âOh my God,â He grunts, âYou want itâyou actually want it.â
He convulses then, slamming into you one last time, shoving himself all the way until his tip kisses your cervix, and cums inside you with a sound that is pure, ruined surrender.
His cock is throbbing, pulse after pulse, pumping you full of hot, thick white ribbons. He stays there, trembling through it, shaking, and when he finally pulls out, he looks down.
The sight that greets him is his favorite in the world. His cum leaking out of your pussy in warm, heavy streams, âFuckâŚThatâs perfect.â
He drags two fingers through the load, smearing it, then pushing it back in you with the darkest smirk on his face, âI could get addicted to this,â He murmurs, before adding, âMaybe I already am.â
Your chest is heaving, the room spinning around you. Heâs still hovering over your hips, transfixed on the mess he made like he canât look away, âShould make you keep it.â
Your entire body tenses because he doesn't look at your face when he says itâheâs still staring at your legs, like the sight has rewired something fundamental in him.
He pushes his fingers deeper, you whine, âBut I canât,â He mutters more to himself than you, âI shouldnât.â
He pulls his fingers out and wipes them on your thigh, eyes hooded and dark with something youâve never seen in him before. Gojo sits back on his heels, rakes a hand through his hair, when it finally hits himâreality.
He actually did it. He came inside you. On purpose this time. His eyes flick up to yours, unsure, ââŚWe need to get you a Plan B.â
You knew that was coming, but the tone is different. He sounds shaken, disappointed even, âOkay.â
But he doesnât move. He just keeps staring at youâthe bite marks blooming on your throat, the mess between your thighs he put there, and something in him cracks all over again, âThat was the hottest thing Iâve ever done in my life.â
Your pulse stutters as he exhales hard, standing. The room tilts as he grabs his USC hoodie off the floor, tugging it over his head with shaky hands. He hesitates a second too long before speaking, âI-I didnât mean toâŚdo it like that.â
âDo what?â
His eyes flick away shamefully, âNut in you like I was trying to get you pregnant,â He mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, âBecause thatâs what it felt like,â Your heart skips, he glances back at you, almost pained, âBut thatâs notâweâre not doing that.â
Silence stretches, then he shakes his head as if snapping himself out of whatever daze heâs in, âGet dressed. Please.â
You pull your shorts back on and he hands you one of his shirts without looking directly at youâlike one wrong glance, on more glimpse of you fucked-out and dripping, and heâll pin you back on the bed to do it again.
When youâre covered enough to leave, he grabs his keys; his hand finds yours, he squeezes without thinking and doesnât let go. He leads you out of Sig Chi through a side door because he doesnât want anyone seeing you like this.Â
He walks too quick, not talking, not until you reach the quiet part of the sidewalk does he finally say something, âDonât ever let me lose you like that again.â
You look up and heâs staring straight ahead, but his grip tightens, exposing more than he means to, âCome on,â He murmurs, unlocking the Porsche, âWeâll get the Plan B.â
But even as he says it, even as he feigns rationale, his hand wonât stop squeezing yours. The Porsche unlocks with a chirp, he opens your door for you and then slams his own harder than necessary. He starts driving, fast, silent, and focused but not on the road.Â
Every streetlight flickers across his face, shadowing and revealing the truth in flashes. Good. Sheâll take the pill. This was just heat, adrenaline, possession.Â
But beneath that, something far darker hums through him. StillâŚfuck. I could give her what no one else can. I want that.
He swallows hard, grips the wheel tighter, drives even faster. The CVS is almost empty, thank God. He shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets because he doesnât trust them not to shake, walking over straight to the aisle he was in mere weeks ago.
Gojo remembers the last time he bought it, but the last time he never wished, that for one stupid second, that if biology had given him a loophole, that maybeâmaybe youâd keep a piece of him.
He grabs the box with stiff fingers and at the register, the cashier doesnât make eye contact; something ugly and possessive in Gojo likes that. Likes that no one here knows what he just did or what he put in you and how deep you let him.
He pays the fifty dollars again, shoves the box into his pockets, and hands it to you the second he makes it back to the car as if he may take it back if he doesnât.Â
You take the pill out, open a water bottle, tip your chin back, and he watches. His jaw moves once, like heâs grinding the idea to dust. Good. Sheâs safe. She wonât be pregnant. This isnât happening.Â
Then, right behind it, a quieter, eviller truth. Wouldâve been kinda nice if it was.Â
And the thought doesnât fade, it festers. Even after you swallow the pill and he drives away with his hands white-knuckled on the wheel, even after he drops you off at your dorm and tells you to text him when youâre inside.Â
No, it fucking lingers. A wrong desire he keeps trying to destroy, a feeling he canât outrun. Something vital within him shifted when he finished in you that second time, and it bleeds into everything that happens next.
The next morning, youâre brushing your teeth when your phone buzzes.
satoru: you got class at 10 right?
Before you can answer, another text comes.
satoru: be outside in 5
He picks you up with a coffee in the cupholder, the exact way you like it, and a muffin he claims he âaccidentally bought two ofâ. You donât call him out on the lie.Â
Gojo doesnât drop you off at the curb, either. He walks you all the way to the building and when you turn to go inside, he hesitates, âText me when youâre done.â
âYou donât have toââ
âI know,â He cuts you off quietly, âBut just do it,â And he walks away before you can fight him on it.
The night after, he shows up again in the same hoodie with the same look in his blue eyes, and that same damn inability to stay away.
He kisses you before the door fully closes behind youâsoft at first, almost tentative, like heâs afraid of wanting you too much. Then he remembers your voice calling him yours, your legs wrapped around him, your cunt squeezing around his dick while he came inside you, and suddenly? Heâs not soft anymore.Â
He lifts you, carries you to your bed, lies you down like youâre fragile, but unravels you like heâs ravenous. He fucks you slow and deep, way too deep; breathing into your neck, voice shredded, hands quivering on your thighs.
At one point, he stops entirely. Stops moving, buried all the way inside you, hips pressed flush, eyes squeezed shut like heâs in physical pain, âPrincessâŚâ His forehead presses to your jaw, âIf I move, Iâm gonna cum in you again.â
You shiver and he doesnât pull out, not yet, only when he finally forces himself; finishing on your stomach, staring at your body the way a sinner stares at temptationâruined, in awe, and absolutely starved for more.Â
In the days after, he starts acting like your boyfriend. Though neither of you ever say the word, and acting like your boyfriend also apparently includes spoiling you rotten, but heâd never admit thatâs what heâs doing.
It starts with him handing you his card one afternoon, âHere. Go get your nails done. Want your hands lookinâ nice around my cock.â
You choke on air, but he wonât meet your eyes, pretending itâs not the sweetest, filthiest thing anyone's ever said to you. Next thing you know, heâs paying for all kinds of appointments. He sends you money for your facial along with a text claiming, âi could give you a better one but idt youâd like it as muchâ.
Then heâs bringing you on routine mall runs. He takes you straight to Sephora, Aritzia, Zaraâanywhere you so look at or mention and buys everything you touch. You tell him heâs insane, but he just shrugs, âItâs not a big deal. Gotta keep you pretty for me.â
You donât buy the reason for a second.
Then comes the dates. Real ones at fancy places. The first time youâre confused when he tells you to âdress niceâ. The second time, youâve learned that âdress niceâ means heâs dropping a stupid amount of money at a restaurant where the menus donât have prices.
From sushi restaurants in Beverly Hills to Italian spots in West Hollywood, the dinner always goes the same way. With him watching you the entire time like the sight of you sitting across from him looking so beautiful is doing things to his soul and paying the bill without giving you any time to even pretend to pick it up.
âDonât insult my manhood, princess,â He jokes, already placing his card down, âIâd rather die than let you pay a dime.â
But the worst parts arenât the dates or the ridiculous instances of spoiling you. Itâs what happens after.
One night, youâre sitting in his bed when he removes his silver chain he never takes off, the one youâve seen in every photo and TikTok. Heâs hooking it around your throat while you protest, âToruââ
âShh,â He hushes, âJust try it.â
It settles against your collarbone, cool and heavy with a distinct weight to it. His eyes drag over your neck, slow and hungry, like the sight of something thatâs his on you does something violent to him, âMm,â He hums, thumb grazing the metal, âLooks real good on you.â
Your pulse stutters and he kisses you before either of you can process what it means.
And then thereâs the night where youâre laying on his chest, tangled in the sheets after he fucked you senseless, when you ask, âWhatâs Japan like?â
His voice softens in a way you feel in your ribs, âDepends where you go. Tokyoâs crazy. Kyotoâs pretty. Snow up north is perfect.â
You smile into his skin, âSounds amazing.â
âYeah,â He replies, adding way too casually, âIâll have to show you one day.â
Youâre quiet for a second before saying, âTeach me something.â
His eyes are warm, melting, âOkayâŚSay thisâsuki.â
âSuki,â You whisper; he exhales slowly, almost shakily, âWhat does it mean?â
He hesitates, choosing to lie gently, âIt meansâŚI like this.â
You believe him, but the truth is written all over his face. He doesnât mean he likes the moment, he means you. Then he looks at you with his chain glinting on your neck, wondering when wanting you turned into needing youâand heâs terrified he canât stop.
And the need for you only grows.
He picks you up every day from class, keeps snacks in his car that he only buys when youâre around, gives you his favorite sweatshirt when he notices your cold, opens your door every time. On his wrist sits your hair tie, although he says itâs for you, part of you thinks he wears it just because itâs yours.
When youâre walking together, he switches sides so heâs closest to the street. When guys stare, he sees it before you do. One afternoon on the quad, a guy from your lab waves too eagerly at you. Gojoâs voice is flat, âWho the fuck is that?â
You elbow him, âHeâs just in my class.â
Gojo scoffs, âYeah. Donât like how he looks at you.â
You try not to smile, yet you do.
His frat brothers also start to tease him, âGojo doesnât even talk to other bitches anymore.â
âBroâs whipped.â
âHeâs in love with the QBâs daughter.â
He throws a pong ball at their heads, but doesnât bother denying any of it.
Then, the sex between you? It starts to evolve into something precarious. He no longer fucks you like some sleezy, fuckboy frat bro chasing a climax. The tempo is slower, sensual, intimate in a way that makes your blood curdle.
Thereâs a night in his room with the lights low and music soft, where youâre riding him, moving slow, his hands gripping your hips like youâre sacred.
His head falls back against the pillow, heâs too sensitive, too close, âBabyâŚâ His voice breaks, âDonâtâŚdonât do that unless you wantââ
But you roll your hips anyway and he loses it. His fingertips dig into your thighs, eyes rolling back, breath catching in a strangled gasp, âFuck, princessâstop, stopâif I cum like this itâs going inside you.â
And the terrifying part is that he doesnât sound scared of that. He sounds desperate for it.
He pulls out at the very last heartbeat, just barely. His cum splashes across your chest in hot, heavy ropes and he stares at you like heâs memorizing it. He touches it, swipes some with this thumb, smearing it over your skin. He whispers, almost reverently, âGodâŚwouldâve looked better in you.â
Then his gaze glosses over his chain around your neck, and he wonders what it would be like to give you something more permanent.
Next weekend, thereâs a tailgate at Sig Chi for the USC football game. Itâs loud and crowded, red solo cups litter the backyard and Don Toliver is blasting from a blown out speaker Gojo keeps threatening to throw over the fence.
Youâre sitting in his lap in a tiny red skirt you probably shouldâve reconsidered, but he hasnât stopped touching you since you showed up. His hand rests on your thigh at first until it slithers its way to the curve just beneath your ass; thumb rubbing slow circles like heâs publicly claiming territory.
Every time you shift, you feel how hard he is under you. Heâs shameless in how he pretends not to care, but his brothers definitely notice. One of the Pledges walks by and does a double take, though Gojo doesnât look up. He just tightens his grip on your waist and says, completely casual, âYo, Pledge. Flick me up with my girl.â
My girl. The words strike your bones, âYourâyour what?â
Gojo finally lifts his eyes, jaw set like itâs the most obvious thing in the world and that he hates the entire Pledge class, âMy girl,â He repeats, patting your thigh once, âCâmon, hurry the fuck up, idiot.â
The Pledge blinks and scrambles to grab his phone, you try to move off Gojoâs lap, flustered, but his arm locks around your waist, âSit still,â He murmurs into your neck, âWanna see how pretty you look sittinâ on me.â
Your pulse skitters and he doesnât even look at the cameraâhe looks at you, hungrily, lazily possessive, like he already knows heâs gonna post this shit.
When the Pledge sends over the photo, heâs immediately plugging it into his feed on Instagram, which is something he never does. His feed is reserved for himself, thirst traps, aesthetics. So when he posts you with a caption, âme and mineâ, all of USC sees it and implodes.
He brushes a kiss onto your jaw, âLet them talk.â
And that same night, you barely make it inside his room before he has you against the wall, kissing you like heâs been deprived of it. Your skirt is on the floor already, your top has been shedded. He lifts you, legs locking around his waist, and thrusts into you so deep your vision spots.
His entire body is shaking, âPrincessâfuck, slow, slow, if you keepââ
But youâre too cockdrunk to stop. He grips your ass, burying himself inside you to the hilt, moaning into your shoulder like heâs rupturing, âIâm not gonnaâŚbabyâI canât, if you donât let go.â
You tighten your legs around him and he falls apart. For one horrifying, heart-stopping second, he doesnât pull out. He stays in your pussy, groaning into your neck, the two of you trembling against each other.
Gojo only yanks himself out at the very last fraction of a second, finishing in thick, desperate ropes on your inner thighs; he stares at the mess like itâs his masterpiece, but also like he wants it somewhere else.
He strokes your thigh with the back of his fingers, voice impossibly soft, âI canât keep doing this. Iâm trying. I swear Iâm trying. But every timeâevery fucking time, I almost stay inside you.â
Your heart skips a beat, âAnd the worst part?â He looks at you, eyes blazing, âI donât even know if Iâd stop myself next timeâŚâ
And it happens two nights later, when things between you have settled into this terrifying, intoxicating rhythm. Youâre already falling asleep in his bed, cheek pressed to his shoulder, his arm wrapped around your lower back like heâs locking in you place.
He whispers, âCome here,â Pulling you into his chest so your thigh slots between his and you feel him instantlyâheâs hard, achingly so.
You look up at him through sleep-heavy eyes and he caves. He rolls you onto your back, slow, like heâs been waiting for an excuse to fuck you.
His mouth finds yours, hungry and unhurried; your breathing is barely steady when he finally pushes his cock into you and itâs different. All of it is. Far too deliberate, delicate, deep.
He groans into your neck, voice already wrecked, âFuckâŚIâm obsessed with you.â
Heâs still sliding himself in when you clutch his biceps, arching up into him with his breath catching in his chest, when he loses the last piece of control he had. His hips snap forward sharply, burying his cock fully inside, and curses low like the feeling of being right where he is now knocks the sense out of him.
He does try to pull out once, you feel it, the hesitation in his hips. But for reasons unknown, you wrap your legs around his waist on pure instinct rather than purpose, and he canât stop what happens next.
Gojo collapses into you with a broken sound, forehead to yours, thrusts morphing sloppy and desperate, âBabyâfuck, donâtââ His voice cracks, âI canâtâif you do thatââ
But youâre already tugging him closer, nails digging into his back, those pretty little cries spilling from your lips send him straight past rational thought.
His hands clamp around your hips, dragging you flush against him, âOhâŚGodââ He chokes and thinks maybe for a second, heâll try to pull himself back, but the moment he feels you tighten around him, he breaks with a sound heâs never made before.
A desperate, helpless moan punched out him as he bucks his hips and stays thereâburied, locked to you like he couldnât move even if he tried.
âFuck, Iâm cummingâinsideâŚshit,â And you feel it, hot spurts filling you so completely full that it steals your breath. He canât even stop, his entire body spasms against yours, quaking through the release, his forehead lodged into your throat as if heâs holding onto you while he falls apart.
Itâs a lot. More than the last time. More than either of you expected. So much, itâs leaking around him even while heâs still stuffed deep, twitching through the last waves. He doesnât move, he just stays there, even when he pulls his face up to look at you with blue eyes blown, ââŚFuck. I didnât pull out.â
Your heart sits high in your chest, he watches your expression like itâs life or death, âHonestlyâŚI didnât even try.â
But thatâs when it hits him. He should tell you to go on birth control. He knows it. That itâs the responsible, sensible, smart thing to do; the normal thing guys in college say when they donât want their lives derailed.
Though, truth is? He doesnât want normal, not with you. Because birth control kills the possibility, the danger, the fucked up little thrill that coils low in his stomach every time he pushes in deep and realizes that he could claim you in the one way no other guy has.
If you were on the pill, there would be no risk. No moment where he hovers on the edge, shaking, wondering if he should pull out or just stay, and he lives for that moment. That heartbeat of insanity right before he cums, where he thinks, if I donât pull out, sheâs mine for real.
So thatâs why he never says the words, âYou should get on birth control.â
And as deranged as it is, he doesnât want to eliminate the one thing that makes fucking you feel holy, catastrophic, and fate-altering.
ButâŚlittle does Satoru Gojo know that youâre already on it. You got on it right after that second time he finished in you.
Because that night scared youâyou couldnât trust him anymore, you couldnât trust yourself either, and the recklessness was going to ruin you both.
You werenât an idiot. Despite being a sheltered good girl your whole life and being inexperienced with sex, you know the consequences. And after watching his hesitation to pull out disappear night after night and feeling him stay inside you longer each time you fucked, you knew you made the right call.
However, you kept it a secret. You figured it was what was best for the both of you. You were protecting yourself all while letting him play out his little fantasy or whatever sick game he gets off on, letting him think every time might be the time he gets you pregnant.
It was smart, it was calculated, it was you being safe. OrâŚSo you thought. Because of course, life had other plans, cruel and ironic ones. The kind of plans that are in motion before you even realize anything is wrong.
The Plan B you took after that second time he finished in you? Yeah. Unfortunately, it doesnât work when youâre ovulating. And that night was exactly when you were.
The symptoms creep up on you so sneakily that you donât even notice them. At first, itâs just fatigue. A bone-deep heaviness that sinks into your limbs on a random Monday morning, although you chalk it up to Gojo keeping you up until 3 A.M. againâhim pinning your wrists above your head and whispering âone more round, princessâ.
But then the smell of breakfast the next day makes you nauseaous, an odd twist within your gut when you catch a whiff of Blairâs bacon egg and cheese sandwich, âGirl, you good?â
âFine,â You lie, "Probably just dehydrated,â Though youâve been drinking water all day and still feel wrong.
Then your boobs hurt, really hurt. Tender in a way youâve never felt before and Blair notices when you flinch throwing your tote bag over your shoulder, âThat bad?â
âI think Iâm getting sick.â
Youâre not getting sick. You know what your body feels like when something is off and this feels different. The next morning youâre brushing your teeth when Blair says casually from the sink beside you, âWhen did you last get your period?â
âLast month,â But then your hand stops in mid-air.
Last month. You havenât gotten it this month yet and it shouldâve come by now. Your blood runs cold, âWaitâŚwhat day is it?â
Blair checks her phone, âOctober 27th.â
No. No, no, no. Your toothbrush slips from your fingers and clatters into the sink as realization cleaves through your ribs. Itâs been three weeks since that night. Three weeks since the Plan B. Absolutely enough time to pass to start experiencing...pregnancy symptoms. And you already know it has a reputation for not always being effective.
You lift your trembling eyes to hers, âFuck class, weâre skipping. I need to go to CVS.â
She nods at that and the two of you urgently walk together to the CVS of doom and despair. Except this time, thereâs no adrenaline buzzing within your veins, only fear.
Youâre in the family planning aisle once again, but not to grab a Plan B, instead itâs a box of three pregnancy tests that feel far too heavy in your shaky hands. Blair hovers behind you, pale, âYou really thinkâ?â
âI donât know,â You whisper, voice breaking, âI donât know.â
But you do. You do know. You just canât bring yourself to admit it. Your hands continue to tremble as you pay and walk back to the dorms and shut the bathroom door. Blair waits outside for you, â(Y/N)âŚIâm right here, okay?â
You nod, barely breathing, your reflection in the mirror looks like a strangerâpretty, terrified, wearing his silver chain around your throat like a brand or prophecy to something more.
You open one of the tests, take it, and set it on the counter. You wait two minutes, only two, and grip the sink and pray. For what, youâre not sure. That itâs negative? Or that itâs positive so you donât have to keep pretending you arenât already half in love with Satoru Gojo?
Negative. Yeah, definitely negative. Youâre only eighteen, in your first semester of college. You moved across the country for this experience. Your dad would literally murder you for fucking it up.
You squeeze your eyes shut, then you look, and everything inside you falls, collapses, and rearranges.
Two pink lines. Bold and immediate. Youâre fucking pregnant. That canât be. You rip open another test and force yourself to pee again. False positives happen all the time, right? Right?
You wait another two minutes, only for the result to be the exact sameâŚpregnant. Yeah, thereâs no denying both. But fuck it, might as well take the third.
Another test, another positive. Three positive fucking tests, âOh my God,â You whisper, âOh my GodâŚoh my fucking Godââ
Blair knocks lightly, â(Y/N)? You okay? Whatâs happening?â
âHeâŚâ Your voice cracks, âHe got meâŚpregnant.â
The word tastes unreal in your mouth, âBut didnât you take a Plan B? Arenât you on birth controlâ?â
âI mustâve been ovulating or something,â You hiccup, tears brimming, âI-I did everything right.â
âBabyâŚopen the door.â
You open it, numb, and Blair pulls you into a crushing hug as the three tests shake in your hand, âOh, sweet girlâŚâ She coos, âWhat are you gonna do?â
You shake your head, tears hitting her shoulder, âIâI have to tell him.â
As soon as you make it back to your dorm room you text him.
toru come over
now
please
He replies instantly.
satoru: omw whatâs wrong
satoru: princess ??
You donât answer, but minutes later you can hear the rumble of his Porsche pull into the dormsâ parking lot and not even seconds pass before his frantic knocking rattles your door. When you open it, he stops breathing. Your eyes are bloodshot red, your entire body is quaking, and his chain, of course itâs still on your neck.
â(Y/N),â He exhales, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him with trembling fingers, âWhat the fuckâs going on? Did someoneâdid a guyâ? If someone touched you I swear Iâllââ
âItâs not that,â You whisper and hold out the three tests.
Gojo goes utterly still. He looks at the tests, then at you, then at the tests again. His throat bobs, ââŚWhat are those?â
âYou fucking know what they are.â
âTheyâreâŚpositive?â
You nod once, he inhales sharply like someone punched him, âFuck,â He says it again, quieter, âFuck.â
You watch his whole demeanor short circuit. At first itâs shock, but then something within him settles, something darker, something like acceptance wrapped in possession. Heâs already thinking, youâre pregnant. With my baby. Mine.
His throat works once, hard. His mouth twitches, barely but unmistakably, because he tried to smother whatever expression is trying to surface.
âCâmere,â He murmurs, pulling you into him like he can fold the entire world away. You break immediately, tears spill hot and fast, your hands clawing into his hoodie as you shake uncontrollably.
And Gojo holds you, arms wrapped around your waist, palm pressing the back of your head gently into his chest, and behind your hair, unseen, his lips curl with a quiet, corrupt satisfaction he canât suppress.
He does feel bad that youâre crying. He really does, but he also doesnât care in the way he probably should. Because at the end of the day, youâre carrying his baby, and no one else will ever be able to say that.
He keeps rubbing circles into your spine, shushing you softly. His voice is warm, soothing, everything he thinks heâs supposed to sound like in this moment, âItâs okay, princessâŚbreathe. Iâm here.â
But really, ever since you said the words, heâs been reminiscing. Which time was it? After the third time he came in you, heâs stayed in you more often than not. Heâs lost count of the nights he finished deep inside, hand fisted in the sheets, moaning your name.
Was it the night on his couch? The night he fucked you in the bathroom of his frat formal because he couldnât stand the way his brothers were looking at you? Was it when he pulled you onto his lap and didnât even pretend to pull out? Orâ
You sob, âI donâtâI donât know how it happenedâI thoughtââ
He pulls back slightly, thumb brushing your cheek, âWell, we stopped buying Plan Bs. So we werenât exactly beingâŚsafe.â
Your chest tightens, oh, right. He has no idea that youâve been on the pill, âSatoruâŚI need to be honest with you.â
His thumb stills against your cheek, petrified for whatever youâre about to say, ââŚOkay,â He says slowly, carefully, âTell me.â
Your bottom lip trembles, âIâŚIâve been on birth control.â
Everything in him freezes, ââŚWhat?â
âI started itâŚafter that second time, the night we fought,â You whisper, tears slipping fast down your cheeks, âI couldnât trust us anymore. I knew we were being stupid and I justâŚneeded to do something. But I didnât tell you because I didnât want things to change.â
Gojo stares at you like the entire universe just rearranged itself behind your eyes. Birth control. You were on birth control and still wound up pregnant. It wasnât the nights after. It wasnât the couch or the bathroom, it wasnât the time he came in you so deep he saw stars behind his eyelids.
No, it was that night. The one where he called you his and you called him yours, the one where he finished inside you on purpose and you wanted it. The night you took the Plan B after he watched his cum drip out of you like it was the eighth Wonder of the World. Of course it was that night; a night that ended up being prophecy.
Gojo isnât even upset with you for not telling him about the whole birth control thing, either. Matter of fact? Some twisted, fucked up, and deranged part of him feels satisfied. Because you really tried, you tried so hard not to get pregnant.
But fate already made its decision long before either of you pretended you had control and the idea of that makes something warm and primal settle in his chest, âOh my GodâŚit was that night.â
You squeeze your eyes shut, fresh tears dribbling down your cheeks, âSatoru, IâI donât know what to do. This wasnât supposed to happen. I took the pill, I was on birth control, weâwe shouldâve been fineââ
He shakes his head immediately, firmly cupping the back of your skull. What he wants to say is that this was always supposed to happen, but instead he opts for, âHey. Stop. No. This isnât on you.â
Because it isnât. If anything, the blame sits squarely on himâheâs the one who kept cumming in you like he was trying to write your future with his body alone. You were the one taking precautions and trying to keep things under control. He was the one who didnât stop.
So, of course you got pregnant. He practically begged the universe for it with the way he fucked you, âI shouldâve been pulling out,â He murmurs, thumb brushing away the tears, âBut I didnât. Thatâs on me.â
Your breath breaks, âHow come you donât you look upset?â
Gojo stiffens at the accusation. He doesnât look devastated or destroyed and he definitely doesnât look like a twenty year old frat boy whose life got flipped upside down.
He looksâŚeerily calm, âI donât know what Iâm feeling yet,â He lies; he knows exactly what heâs feeling and itâs not something he can say out loud without disrupting whatever fragile world youâre clinging to.
You turn away, pressing your hands to your face, shoulders jerking, âMy whole life is screwed, Satoru. My dadâmy classesâeverything. I donât even know how to breathe right now.â
His stomach twists, he hates that his lack of fear and panic makes him feel like a monster. He steps closer until his chest brushes your back and wraps his arms around you from behind, tugging you into him.
âPrincess,â He murmurs against your shoulder, âI know youâre terrified. I get it. You have every right to be. But I need you to hear me,â You donât look at him, but he tilts his head, voice dropping into something achingly soft, âYou didnât do anything wrong.â
Your lips quiver, âThen why does it feel like everything is falling apart?â
He exhales slowly, forehead dropping to the curve of your neck. Everything is falling apart for you, but for him? It feels like everything is falling into place.
The girl who arrived to USC that every guy wanted, the girl who has always been good until she met Satoru Gojo, had been claimed by him. He closes his eyes, swallowing down the feral pulse in his chest, âIt feels like itâs falling apart because youâre shocked. Itâs big and sudden. Anyone would feel what youâre feeling.â
You shudder and he tightens his hold, protective in a way that feels instinctual, âBut youâre not alone in this. Not for one second.â
You sniff harshly, âYouâre taking this way too well.â
He almost laughs at how easily you see through him, âIâm taking it the only way I know how.â
Quietly, privately, his mind says a different thing, because some part of me knew this was coming the second I didnât pull out. He presses a soft kiss to your temple before you can see the flicker in his expression.
âTalk to me,â You whisper, voice rasped, âTell me what youâre thinking.â
He hesitates, because the real answer is, youâre pregnant because of me. Because you told me to make you mine and I did. What he says to you is gentler, âIâm thinking that weâll figure it out and that youâre safe with me.â
But beneath it, humming like electricity in his bloodstream, I donât regret it. Not even a little. It was always gonna be us. You were meant to be mine.
You donât even get a chance to respond to what Gojo has said when the universe decides to fuck you over for a second time. Your phone vibrates in the pocket of the hoodie youâre wearingâhis hoodie. A single buzz, then another. You still instantly, Gojoâs hands pause on your waist, âWho is it?â
You pull back just enough to fish your phone out, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. Your vision blurs as you blink at the notification. And when you see the name on the lock screen, you freeze entirely.
Gojoâs brows knit, âBaby?â
ââŚItâs my dad,â You swipe his message open with tottering fingers and the text hits you like a brick to the sternum.
dad: Hey sweetheart! Good news! College gameday is in USC this weekend so Iâll be seeing you in a few days.
dad: I canât wait to see you, princess. Love you.
Your throat swells, he leans in slightly to read the message himself because you canât find your own voice, and for the first time tonight, Satoru Gojo breaks, ââŚOh fuck.â
Your dad is coming in three days.
And has no idea that his daughter is knocked up by a frat boy.
babydaddy!toji who claims you two are just co-parenting but still checks whoâs texting you when your phone lights up.
âis he good with kids?â heâd ask out of nowhere, looking over your shoulder at your phone, making you jump because you did not even feel him come up behind you in the kitchen
âboy, mind your business!â youâd snap, sucking your teeth as he walked away laughing.
babydaddy!toji who literally does any and everything to stay at your house, claiming meg left his toys at his place or boldly fixing things around your place even though you tell him you can hire someone and he just scoffs. âyeah, go ahead and waste your money when iâm right here.â
babydaddy!toji who calls your daughter princess and megumi brat but still refers to you as mama even though you two arenât together anymore.
babydaddy!toji who loves when you snap at him because he thinks youâre cute when youâre mad and that makes you even more mad.
babydaddy!toji who is always touching you for no reason. grabbing your hips to âget byâ when there is plenty of space. lifting you randomly because he swears you are lighter than his gym weights. smacking your ass whenever he feels like it. it never mattered where yâall were at either.
at the grocery store the cashier asks politely, âwould you like your receipt maâam?â
âyes,â you answer, but before you can grab it you feel toji press up behind you, hand sliding to your waist, face dipping into your neck like he has zero shame. âtoji! get off of me!â you whispered loudly, trying to pry him away while he just hums against your skin. and the cashier looks at everything but you two.
babydaddy!toji who becomes father of the year when you two are out with the kids and a guy tries to talk to you.
babydaddy!toji who opens the door half asleep, ready to complain then fully wakes up when he sees you all dressed up with megumi tugging your hand and the little 12 month old in a stroller.
his eyes flick from the kids to you and then back again. âwhoâs this for?â he asks, arms crossed against his beefy chest, trying not to show heâs caught off guard.
ââŚwatch the kids for me,â you say lightly, stepping past him. he moves immediately because there is no way he is letting you stand outside looking like that.
âwhere you goin lookin like that?â he asks, ruffling megumiâs hair a little too rough. âa date?â
âyeah, actually...â you said, stopping the stroller near the couch where megumi was already sitting, focused on his handheld console.
âwhy? you donât need a date. you got me,â he argued, jealously slipping through his words. you ignored him, kissing your kids goodbye and walking out the door because who was he to tell you what to do?
he sucked his teeth. the second your car pulls off, toji closes the door a little harder than necessary. he stands there for a second, jaw tight, then exhales through his nose like heâs calming himself down.Â
âmeg,â he drops onto the couch next to megumi asking oddly specific questions about who you are seeing, what he looks like, if he wears sunglasses, weird hair⌠megumi has no clue and just keeps playing his game.
he even turns to the baby like she's about to give him classified information knowing good and well she only says mama and papa.
babydaddy!toji who has you right where he wants you when you come back to him, complaining about how the date did not go as planned. putting you in the meeeeanest mating press. knees on both sides of your head, ramming himself into you repeatedly.
you were sticky with sweat and cum. he already came inside of you but you donât even remember when because you two have been at it for so long. you hiccuped as you felt the warm liquid slush around inside of your sore walls. each time he bottomed out, some of it would leak out, soaking the sheets.
âtojiiiââ you choked on the spit forming in your mouth, squirming under his hold and weight.Â
âyeahhh? you like when i fuck you like this, huh?â he breathed in your ear. his angry, bulbous tip bullying your cervix relentlessly. you swear you could feel him in your stomach because of how deep he was.
âmmây-yesss. i love it so muuuchh!â you moaned, a white ring of both of your body fluids built up on the base of his fat, heavy dick.Â
âshittt, this pussy sâ good, mama,â he groaned, feeling his stomach tighten. âgonna fill you up. wanna make you a mommy again. ahh fuck⌠youâd want that. right?â
âyes toji!âoh fuckâyes⌠give me another one,â your eyes rolled back when his hips rutted into yours harder than before, his hot seed spurting inside of you once again.
as you both regained your breaths, he gave you a big wet kiss, tongue sliding into your mouth. then pulled out of you with a small squelch, laying next to you on the bed with the back of his hand covering his face. âyou know you canât get rid of me.â
babydaddy!toji who took a bite of his chips when he looked at the positive pregnancy test you placed on the marble table, then looked at you, who was clearly irritated.
âsoâŚâ
âso? canât you see?? you got me pregnant again!â you snapped, throwing your hands in the air.
he blinks at you slow. âagain?â he repeated like he needed clarification.
âyes. again, toji,â you said, voice sharp with frustration.
âi mean⌠is that not what you wanted? you said that you wanted me to give you another baby,â he said slowly.
âtoji!â you gasped. hated the fact that he was right. the date was terrible. the guy was dry, awkward, and kept talking about himself and the second you were back at tojiâs house, he looked so good. familiar. safe.
so yeah, you did ask for that. you absolutely did.
but that didnât make you feel any better. in the moment? maybe! but now? it made you feel worse than ever.
ââŚwhatever. this is all of your fault,â you muttered, turning around and going down the hallway to your bedroom.
âhow? you dragged me to bed mama!â he called out.
âstop calling me that!!â you shot back, shutting the door with a loud bang.
he sighed, looking back at the pregnancy test. âagain, huhâŚâ he muttered under his breath.
babydaddy!toji whoâs stuck to you like glue, who will not let any other man come into your life, and this is exactly how he makes sure that gets into your head.
just attached the draft for the criminal procedure essay like you askedâreworked the section on miranda rights based on your feedback from last office hours. let me know if it still needs more case citations or if iâm overcomplicating the exclusionary rule again
thanks for staying late to look it over again, youâre saving my gpa here!
tuesday lecture comes and you get there early this time. you sit in back row, legs crossed tight. he walks in five minutes before start wearing his usual black suit, sleeves already rolled. briefcase hits the podium hard. he doesnât bother looking around before he starts.
âentrapment. page 231. weâre covering it today.â
he paces. voice low and tired like always. âentrapment defense requires government inducement that would cause a normally law-abiding person to commit the crime. itâs not just opportunity. itâs active persuasion, pressure, temptation that overrides free will.â
he stops, leaning on the podium. eyes scan the room slow looking at your section longer than others.
âconsider seduction as a tactic. undercover officer poses as a romantic interest. they builds trust, uses flirtation, compliments, physical proximity, promises of intimacy. the target eventually agrees to sell drugs or whatever the crime is because the seduction makes refusal feel impossible. courts have ruled both ways. some say itâs legitimate police work. others say when it crosses into sexual manipulation it becomes entrapment per se.â
he keeps going, he describes cases. like how a female officer in a bar is wearing a low-cut dress touching the suspectâs arm. whispering how much she wants him. leading him to the deal. male officer doing the same to a female suspect. lingering looks, suggestive comments. âlet me take care of you.â he lists factors courts weigh: intensity of the advances. repetition. whether the target initiated or resisted. how long the seduction lasted before the crime occurred.
the whole lecture his tone stays flat. no glances your way. he talks about âarousal as leverageâ like itâs just another legal element. âwhen sexual desire is weaponized to lower inhibitions, the line between persuasion and coercion blurs. but the test remains objective: would the average person succumb?â
you feel his stare when he asks the question like heâs personally talking to you.
added the entrapment cases you referenced in lecture. focused on the seduction hypotheticals and court splits. let me know if the analysis is on track.
[your name]
(attachment: Entrapment_Analysis_Revised.pdf)
again, no reply.
thursday you spot him at the faculty coffee stand outside the law building. the lineâs short and heâs in front. pays with exact change as he takes his black coffee. when he turns, your eyes meet. youâre three feet away. he pauses and looks straight through you. he doesn't bother acknowledging you, then he steps around you, walking away.
your hands shake holding your own cup.
friday night comes and you promise yourself that this will be your last attempt.
subject: entrapment follow-up questions â example attached
had a couple questions on the objective test for seduction-based entrapment. attached a quick example i wrote up to clarify my thinking. appreciate any notes.
thanks,
[your name]
(attachment: Seduction_Entrapment_Example.docx.)
saturday morning your inbox lights up.
subject: re: entrapment follow-up questions â example attached
you arrive at his office door at exactly 5:30 pm on monday, heart pounding like it's about to burst out of your chest. the law building is mostly empty this lateâclasses wrapped up hours ago, and the few lingering students are buried in the library or grabbing takeout from the food trucks outside. his door is cracked open, a sliver of warm lamplight spilling into the dim hallway. you knock lightly, his voice cuts through immediately.
"come in."
you push the door open, stepping inside. the office is what you'd expect from your professor.
stacks of case files on the desk, bookshelves crammed with legal tomes, a single window overlooking the campus quad. he's seated behind his desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows like always, exposing those forearms you've caught yourself staring at during lectures more times than you'd admit. his eyes flick up from a pile of papers, dark and unreadable, pinning you in place.
"close the door," he says, itâs not a request too. when you do, the click of the latch echoing too loudly in the quiet room. "lock it."
your fingers fumble on the knob, but you manage. when you turn back, he's already standing, rounding the desk with slow steps. he doesn't say anything at first, just leans against the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching you. the silence stretches, it was awkward until you can't take it anymore.
"professor, iâabout the attachments, they were accidents. i swear, i meant to send the essays, but my files got mixed up, andâ"
"accidents," he repeats, he uncrosses his arms, picking up a folder from his deskâyour emails printed out, you realize with a flush of heat to your face. he flips through them casually, as if reviewing a student's brief. "three times in one week. each one more... explicit than the last."
your cheeks burn. the first had been a simple nude, you in front of your mirror, lace panties and nothing else, snapped for your own confidence boost after a rough day. the second? you'd been bolder, sprawled on your bed, hand between your thighs, capturing the arch of your back. and the third... god, the third had been you on all fours, ass up, looking over your shoulder with a smirk that screamed invitation. you'd meant them for a situationship that fizzled out, but in your late-night haze of studying and scrolling, you'd attached the wrong files. or had you? the thought nags at you now, but you push it down.
"i didn't mean for you to see them," you whisper. his gaze drops to your lips, then lower, tracing the way your blouse clings to your curves under your cardigan, the skirt that's maybe an inch too short for a professional setting like this.
he sets the folder down, stepping closer. close enough that you can smell his cologneâtoo strong for your liking. "and yet, here we are." his hand lifts, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your chin up so you're forced to meet his eyes. they're darker now, pupils blown wide. "you didn't delete them. didn't send a frantic follow-up apologizing. just kept sending more."
before you can stammer another excuse, his thumb presses against your lower lip, parting it slightly. "on your knees."
you drop without thinking, carpet rough against your bare knees. he doesn't rush when unbuckles his belt, zipper dragged down loud in the quiet office. when he frees himself he's already hard, thick in his hand as he jerks himself watching your face the whole time.
"open."
he guides the head past your lips, you taste him as he slides deeper, filling your mouth inch by inch until he hits the back of your throat. your eyes water instantly. he groans low, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other braced on the desk behind him.
"that's it," he mutters. "take it."
he starts to move slowly letting you adjust, then faster. shallow thrusts turn deeper, until he's fucking your throat in earnest. you gag around him, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin, but he doesn't stop. his grip tightens in your hair, holding you steady as he uses your mouth like it's his to take. every time you choke he pauses just long enough for you to breathe through your nose, then pushes back in, deeper, until your nose brushes his pelvis.
"look at me," he orders when your eyes flutter shut.
you force them open. his expression is almost detached but the way his hips continuously move faster betrays him. he's close. you can feel it in the way he twitches against your tongue, the way his breathing turns ragged. one more deep thrust and he holds himself there, releasing down your throat without a warning. you swallow reflexively, choking a little, but he doesn't pull out until he's finished, until you've taken every drop.
when he finally pulls out, a string of spit connects your swollen lips to the tip. he tucks himself away, zips up then he scoops you up by the waist like you weigh nothing. your legs dangle for a second before he sets you on the edge of his desk, papers crinkling under you. he pushes your thighs apart with his knee, settling between them, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place.
"touch yourself," he says quietly.
he wants you to what�
heat floods your face anew. "w-what? here? that's... embarrassing."
his lips twitch into something almost like a smirk, he leans in closer, breath hot against your ear. "you weren't embarrassed when you sent those nudes. all sprawled out, hand between your legs, begging for attention." his fingers trail up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher, but stopping just short. "show me now or was that all an act?"
shame and desire twist in your gut, but your hand moves anyway, slipping under the lace of your panties. you're soaked alreadyâfrom the way he used your mouth.. fingers glide over your clit, circling slow at first, and a soft whimper escapes you. he watches, unblinking, one hand still on your thigh.
you pick up speed, hips rocking into your touch, breaths coming faster. but it's not enoughâhis stare is too intense like he's analyzing you. "please," you whisper, free hand reaching for him, but he catches your wrist, pinning it to the desk.
"no. keep going." his voice is low, commanding. "let me see you fall apart like in that second photo, that was my favorite one you know.â
your fingers start dipping lower, thrusting shallowly. the edge in you builds but just as you're teetering, he pulls your hand away. you whine in protest, but he silences you with a look.
"not yet." he drops to his knees then, surprising you, hands shoving your thighs wider. he drags your panties aside, not bothering to remove them, and leans in. his breath ghosts over you first, making you clench around nothing. then his mouth is on youâtongue warm and broad, licking a slow stripe from entrance to clit.
you gasp, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. he groans against you, he eats you out like he's starving. his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open as you squirm, the desk creaking under your shifting weight.
"hiromiâfuck," you moan, head falling back. he sucks your clit between his lips. one hand leaves your thigh, two fingers sliding inside you easily, curling to hit that spot that makes your vision blur. he pumps them in time with his tongue, building you back to the edge faster than before.
it crashes over you without warning, thighs clamping around his head as you come undone, crying out his name. he doesn't stop, lapping through it until you're oversensitive and shaking, pushing weakly at his shoulders.
only then does he pull back, lips shiny, eyes filled with satisfaction. he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then reaches between your legs again. he tugs your panties down your thighs, you lift your hips to help. he balls them in his fist, slips them into his pocket like a trophy.
"that's enough," he says stepping back.
you blink, still dazed, legs dangling off the desk. "what?"
"go home."
"butâ" you start, voice small and wrecked, glancing down at the obvious bulge in his slacks. "you didn'tâi want toâ"
"i will." he steps closer one last time, brushes a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. "when i decide. you'll get an email when i want you back here.â
he leans in, lips brushing your ear. "and next time, wear something easier to take off."
he steps back, opens a drawer, pulls out a tissue packet and sets it on the desk beside you. then he sits again, picks up a pen, and starts marking papers like you aren't still perched there, dripping because of him.
you slide off the desk on unsteady legs, fix your skirt, wipe your face. he doesn't look up as you unlock the door and slip out into the hallway.
you still haven't processed what happened but you know youâre going to check your inbox obsessively from now on.
IS IT A CRIME TO LET YOUR LAW PROFESSOR FUCK YOU ON YOUR COUCH?
SYPNOSIS. after that heated encounter in his office, you've been dodging his lectures and ignoring every reminder of what happened that night. higuruma hiromi is more frustrated than everâuntil he finally stops waiting and takes what you've both been circling for weeks.
â PART ONE
PAIRING. law prof! higuruma hiromi x law student! reader
A/N. art by hunnismoker on x. first post after getting flagged !!!
youâve been ghosting his class for almost two weeks.
not on purposeâŚat least, thatâs what you tell yourself. it started innocently enough when midterms starts, three back-to-back exams in four days was hell. then the cold came, a scratchy throat turning into fever. you told yourself youâd catch up once the fog cleared but even after the fever broke, you didnât go back.
a stupid group project drama piled on next. one groupmate ghosted entirely, another argued over every citation, and the third kept rewriting your sections without asking. you spent nights in the library staring at shared google docs, highlighter bleeding through pages you werenât reading, mind drifting somewhere else entirely.
and underneath all of it was the real reason.
the humiliating, pulsing truth you couldnât admit out loud even to yourself.
every time you pictured walking into that lecture hall, sliding into your usual seat, you felt his eyes on you again. the one he gave you that monday evening in his office when the door was locked and your knees were on carpet and his hand was fisted in your hair.
the memory played on cruel repeat, you could still taste himâstill feel the stretch of your throat when he fucked it.
you tried to study criminal intent the way you always had: highlighters, flashcards, color-coded notes. but every time the mens rea slides appeared in your mind, you saw him at the podium instead. black marker in hand, diagramming voluntary manslaughter like it was nothing, his voice never failing to sound low and tired.
you imagined him turning to the board and writing your name in the margin next to âreckless disregard.â imagined him underlining âguilty mindâ twice, then looking back at you over his shoulder with that unreadable stare.
your stomach would knot. your thighs would press together under whatever table you were hiding at. heat would crawl up your neck and settle low in your belly until you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom just to breathe.
so you skipped.
thereâs no way you could focus anyway.
one lecture became two. two became four. by the sixth absence you were submitting everything online. you polished every pdfs attached to curt emails with subject lines like âweek 7 reading responseâ and âtorts ii problem set.â you were still doing the work. still getting As on the assignments he graded without comment. no one could say you werenât keeping up.
but he noticed.
higuruma hiromi doesnât chase students. he doesnât send gentle âconcerned professorâ emails with smiley faces or pull anyone aside after class with a hand on the shoulder and a murmured âis everything alright?â he isnât built that way. he marks absences in neat red ink on the roster.Â
so you knew heâd seen it. knew because the last assignment you submitted came back with feedback that was longer than usual.
âstrong analysis of actus reus, but your discussion of mens rea lacks depth. consider the subjective vs objective standard more carefully. office hours are still available if clarification is needed.âÂ
was that an invitation? you donât know.
you deleted the email without replying. closed your laptop. buried your face in your pillow and tried not to think about how badly you wanted to walk into his office again.
instead you stayed away.
itâs a thursday evening and the sky is already dark by 5:30, rain hammering the campus like itâs trying to wash the whole place clean. youâre huddled under the inadequate bus shelter outside the law building. you opened your phone for the third time to check the ETA, the next bus kept getting pushed back.
your fingers are numb on the screen. the cold seeps through your hoodie, makes your teeth chatter in small, embarrassing bursts.
you keep thinking about how stupid this isâstanding here freezing when you could have easily just stayed in your apartment with the heater on and another excuse not to face him.
you only came here cause you needed air.
you needed it because every time you close your eyes all you see is him.
the tired lines around his eyes that made him look older and sharper. the way his jaw tightened right before he told you to open your mouth. the low rasp in his voice when he said âthatâs itâ while he pushed deeper, like he was grading your ability to take him.
it's making you insane.
it makes your chest ache now. itâs not just want, you actually need him. shame mixed with this stupid, gnawing need to know if he thinks about it too. if he replays the way you looked up at him with tears in your eyes, or the sound you made when he finally let you breathe. you hate how much space he takes up in your head.
headlights cut through the downpour suddenly. a black sedan slows, pulls right up to the curb in front of the shelter. the passenger window slides down with a quiet hum.
âget in.â
his voice slices through the rain noise.
you stare for a second. higuruma is behind the wheel, his face is half-shadowed, but you can see the faint crease between his brows.
you hesitate.
âiâm not waiting,â he says. âthe bus is delayed. youâll be here another half hour at least.â
you feel your pulse jump in your throat. itâs really him, sitting there in the driverâs seat with the same rolled sleeves and the same tired expression youâve been replaying for weeks. part of you wants to stay right where you are under the shelter and keep pretending none of this exists, because getting in the car means facing whatever this is head-on. but the cold is biting through your hoodie, your jeans are soaked at the bottom, and the thought of waiting out here alone while he drives away makes your chest tighten. you already know youâre going to regret it either way, but standing here freezing feels worse than whatever happens next.
your feet move before you decide. you duck out from under the shelter, yank the door open, slide inside. the door thuds shut and suddenly the world is muffledâŚeverything else gone quiet except your own heartbeat thumping loud in your ears.
higuruma doesnât look at you right away. just checks the mirrors, pulls away from the curb smooth and controlled.
silence stretches awkwardly for a few minutes.
âaddress,â he says finally.
you rattle off your off-campus place a few miles away. he nods while he inputs it into the gps without comment. the screen glows blue on the dash ⌠then more silence. the wipers sweep steady as you steal glances at him, his hands on the wheel look steady, veins standing out against his skin.Â
âsix absences,â he says out of nowhere. âconsistent, arenât you?â
âi submitted everything on time.â
âi know.â he flicks the turn signal, merges left. âyour work is fine. better than fine but youâre not in the room. thatâs still a problem.â
you swallow, âiâve been busy. you know midtermsâŚgroup stuff, also got sick for a bit.â
âconvenient timing.â he chuckles as heat floods your face.Â
âitâs not like that.â
âisnât it?â he glances over. âyou avoid the lecture hall, avoid my eyes. but you still send polished assignments like nothing happened.â
âi didnât know what else to do.â
âyou could have come to office hours.â his tone is even, you almost hear boredom in it. âasked for clarification on mens rea like i suggested in the feedback. like a normal student.â
but thatâs the thing, thereâs nothing normal about this.
âi didnât think you meant it,â you mumble.
âi donât say things i donât mean.â
the car fills with quiet again.Â
âwhere do you live?â you ask suddenly, desperate to change the subject, to make this feel normal.
he raises an eyebrow. âwhy?â
âjust curious. i mean you know where i live now.â
âapartment near the courthouse district. walking distance, itâs convenient.â
âdo you⌠drive students home often?âÂ
âno.â
another turn, the surroundings are familiar now. your complex is coming up soon.
âyouâve been thinking about it,â he says.Â
âabout what?â you play dumb.
âmonday.â he doesnât elaborate, he doesnât need to.
you press your thighs together, try to ignore the pulse between them. âyeah.â
âand?â
âand itâs hard to sit in class pretending it didnât happen.â
he pulls into the loading zone in front of your building. you hear the engine idles, rain drums on the roof. he finally turns to look at youâlike really look. eyes dark and unreadable, but you want to believe that thereâs something under the tiredness. hunger, maybe. or just patience wearing thin.
âthen stop pretending,â he says quietly.
you stare at him.Â
âcome inside,â you whisper. âjust⌠to get out of the rain.â
he studies you for a long second. then reaches for the keys, kills the engine.
the sudden quiet is deafening.
he gets out first, circles around, opens your door like itâs nothing. you step out into the downpour again, colder now after the heater. he doesnât offer an umbrellaâŚhe probably doesnât have one. just waits while you fumble for your keys, both of you getting soaked in the short walk to the entrance.
inside the stairwell itâs warmer, but your clothes are heavy with rain and dripping onto the concrete steps. you lead the way up, feeling him right behind youâclose enough that you can hear the soft squeak of his shoes on each stair, feel the faint heat coming off him even through the damp air.Â
your hands shake a little when you unlock the door. it swings open into the small entryway, string lights from the living room spilling faint yellow across the floor.
you step inside first, kick off your soaked sneakers by the mat. he follows closing the door, he doesnât take off his shoes right away, he stands there observing your place. he takes a mental note of it, looking at the stack of textbooks on the coffee table, the open laptop with his class portal still pulled up, the half-empty mug of tea.
you turn the lamp on higher, then head to the kitchenette to grab towels. anything to keep moving. âiâll get something to dry off with,â you mutter, mostly to fill the quiet.
when you come back with two towels, heâs already peeled off his wet jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. his shirt is clinging in placesâwhite fabric turned semi-transparent over his chest and shoulders, sleeves still rolled up, forearms flexing when he takes the towel from you.Â
he dries his hair roughly, then his face, eyes never leaving yours.
you try to focus on drying your own arms, but your gaze keeps dropping to the way the wet shirt outlines the lines of his bodyâthe faint definition of muscle under the fabric, the dark trail of hair visible through the damp material where it sticks to his stomach. your mouth goes dry. you remember exactly how that skin felt under your palms last time, how his abs tensed when you swallowed around him.
he notices it.Â
âyouâre still shivering,â he says, voice low. he steps closer, takes the towel from your hands, and starts drying your hair himself. fingers brushing your scalp through the fabric. itâs so gentle that you froze.
âtake the hoodie off,â he says after a moment.
your fingers fumble with the hem. the wet fabric peels away from your skin with a cold suck, leaving you in just your thin t-shirt and bra underneath. the shirt is clinging too, nipples hard from the chill and from him watching. you cross your arms instinctively.
he drops the towel on the floor. reaches out, hooks two fingers under the hem of your t-shirt, and tugs it up slowly. you lift your arms without thinking. the shirt comes off, lands somewhere behind you. his eyes drop to your chest, then back to your face.
âstill cold?â he asks.
you shake your head. youâre burning now.
he steps in until your back hits the wall by the entryway. one hand plants beside your head, the other slides down your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through the bra making you inhale sharply.
âtell me to stop,â he says quietly.
you donât.
you donât want him to stop.
his mouth finds yoursâharder than the first time he kissed you in your memory. thereâs no buildup, just pure hunger. his tongue pushes in immediately and you moan into it, hands scrambling up his wet shirt, fingers digging into the fabric over his chest. he groans low against your lips, presses his hips forward so you feel how hard he already is through his slacks.
your fingers curl into the wet cotton of his shirt, pulling him closer even though thereâs already no space left between you.
he breaks the kiss first, just enough to speak against your lips. âkitchen counter now.â
you nod, legs shaky as you lead him the few steps into the narrow kitchenette. he doesnât give you time to think. his hands find your waist, lift you onto the counter in one smooth motion like you weigh nothing. the cold granite bites into the backs of your thighs through your damp jeans. you gasp at the temperature difference.
âthese need to come off,â he mutters, fingers already working the button of your jeans. you lift your hips when he tugs, helping him peel the soaked denim down your legs along with your underwear.Â
youâre bare from the waist down now, legs dangling off the edge, thighs trembling slightly from the chill and anticipation. his eyes tracing the curve of your hips, the soft skin of your inner thighs, the way youâre already glistening for him.
âspread wider,â he says.
his palms slide up the insides of your thighs, thumbs brushing close but not quite touching where you want him most. you desperately shift forward, chasing his hands; he presses one palm flat to your lower stomach, holding you still.
âpatience,â he murmurs. âyouâve been avoiding me for two weeks. you can wait a little longer.â
âhey i told you i wasnâtââ
âah yes, right⌠you were busy, right pretty?â
his thumb finally grazes your clit and your hips jerk. he does it again, slower, watching your face the whole time. your breath comes in short pants. he circles then collects wetness on his fingers before bringing them back up to rub slowly.
âyouâre soaked,â he continues, âbeen like this the whole ride?â
âsince you pulled up,â you admit, which makes him hum in approval. two fingers slide inside you without warning, stretching you open. you moan, head tipping back against the cabinets.
âlook at me,â he says.
you force your eyes open. his expression is focused, almost clinical, but his pupils are blown wide and thereâs a flush high on his cheekbones.Â
heâs affected too.
he adds a third finger, stretching you further. the slight burn only makes it better.Â
âgood,â he mutters. âjust like that.â
his free hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you into another kiss. his tongue fucking into your mouth in time with his fingers. youâre rocking against his hand now, chasing the pressure, little whimpers escaping between kisses.
âmhmâŚso good.â
he pulls his fingers out right when youâre teetering on the edge which you whine in protest.
ânot yet,â he says against your mouth. âwant you to come on my tongue first.â
he drops to his knees between your spread legs. the sight of him there, kneeling on your kitchen floor, hair damp and messy from the rainâit does so much things to you. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, hands gripping your thighs to hold you open.
he doesnât tease this time. just leans in and licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. you cry out, hands flying to his hair. you feel him groan against you. his tongue is relentless, pointed flicks over your clit, then sucking it between his lips. he alternates, never letting you settle into one sensation long enough to predict it.
âhiromiââ his name comes out broken.
he pulls back just enough to speak. âyou can go louder, right? wanna to hear it.â
âhiromi,â you moan again, louder this time. he rewards you by sucking hard on your clit while two fingers slide back inside, curling ruthlessly against that spot.
youâre dangerously close. your thighs start to shake around his head. he doesnât let up, he keeps the same steady rhythm, tongue and fingers working in perfect tandem.
âcome,â he orders, voice muffled against you. ânow.â
your whole body tensing as you come apart on his tongue. you cry out his name, fingers tightening in his hair, hips grinding against his face. he doesnât stop until youâre whimpering from overstimulation.
he finally pulls back, his lips and chin all shiny. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, stands slowly. his erection is straining against his slacks now.
itâs obvious and thick.
you reach for his belt with shaky hands. he lets you undo it, lets you push his slacks and boxers down just enough to free him. heâs heavy in your hand, hot and hard, precum beading at the tip. you start to stroke him making him hiss through his teeth.
âenough,â he says, catching your wrist. âwant inside you.â
he lifts you off the counter, hands under your thighs again. he turns, carries you a few steps into the living room, and drops down onto the couch with you straddling his lap. the cushions sink under your combined weight.Â
his cock is still hard, pressed up against your stomach now. he lifts you just enough to line himself up. you feel the blunt head nudge at your entranceâŚthick and insistent.
ârelax,â he says, âbreathe, wonât you? let me in.â
you try. you really do. but the stretch is already intense just from the tip pressing in, and your body tenses instinctively. you bite your lip, hands braced on his shoulders.
âiâm tryingâŚâ you mutter, half-laugh, half-whine. â...youâre big.â
he huffs a quiet laugh against your collarbone, the sound rough and amused. âi know but you took it fine with your mouth before, this should be easier. just relax those hips for me.â
his thumbs rub slow circles over your hipbones, coaxing. you exhale shakily, try to loosen up, but when he starts pushing in harder.
your breath hitches and your nails dig into his shoulders.
âeasy,â he murmurs. âwhyâre you fighting me?â
âhey i-im trying,â you repeat pouting. âbut y-youâre stretching me so much.â
he pauses halfway in, lets you adjust. his hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, then back down to your ass. he squeezes gently, spreads you a little more.
âthere you go,â he says. âgood girl. feel that? youâre opening up for me already.â
you can feel every inch of him...too thick and hot, it burns in the best way, that full, almost-too-much pressure that makes your thighs shake. inside, he feels heavy like heâs pressing right up against every sensitive spot at once.Â
âfuck,â he mutters, forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second. âyou feelâshitâŚso tight. like youâre trying to keep me out and pull me in at the same time.â
you both groan at the same time when he pushes all the way inside.
âyou okay?â he asks, one hand to come up to brush damp hair off your forehead.
âyeah,â you whisper. âjust really full. you feel huge like this.â
âgood,â he says. âyou want me to move?â
you nod fast, breath coming in short bursts. âyes please.â
âthen tell me properly. use your words. what do you want, hm?â
you swallow feeling slightly embarrassed. heâs looking right at you, eyes half-lidded but sharp, waiting.Â
âi want you to fuck me,â you mumble.
he tilts his head, one eyebrow lifting. âthatâs cute but i said properly baby.â
your thighs twitch around his hips. heâs still buried all the way inside, the fullness is driving you insane. you can feel every vein, every slight shift when he breathes.
âhiromiâŚâ you whine, rocking your hips a little.
he tightens his grip, holding you still. ânuh-uh. no cheating. say it like you mean it. youâve been hiding from me for two weeksâleast you can do is ask nicely.â
you bite your lip, embarrassment and need twisting together until it hurts. âi want you to fuck me hard,â you say, louder this time, âpleaseeâŚi-i need it.â
he smirks again, feeling satisfied. the corner of his mouth tilting up just enough to show he likes hearing you beg.
âthere we go,â he says quietly, âthat wasnât hard, was it?â his hands slide to your ass, fingers digging in as he lifts you a couple inches, then drops you back down hard onto his cock. the sudden thrust makes you yelp.
âo-oh hiromi-"
he doesnât let you catch your breath. starts fucking up into you. each thrust is deep enough to make your whole body jolt while the couch groans under you both, springs protesting every time he bottoms out.
âdoes this turn you on?â he asks, âfucking your professor on your shitty little couch? hm?â
you moan louder than you mean to, head tipping back,
âthought so.â he thrusts harder, one hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck, keeping your face close to his. âbeen skipping my class, sending me perfect little assignments like nothingâs wrong, but every time you typed my name you were probably dripping thinking about this. about me splitting you open just like this.â
you can only moan in return too gone to comprehend what heâs saying. he curses under his breath when he feels you clench, pace turning rougher. the wet slap of skin on skin is loud in the quiet apartment, mixing with your gasps and his heavy breathing.
âlook at you,â he mutters, eyes locked on where youâre taking him. âtaking it so well. my good little student, finally getting what sheâs been aching for.â
he shifts his angle slightly, tilting his hips so every thrust drags right against that spot inside you. your eyes flutter shut, mouth falling open on a broken moan.
his face is flushed, hair falling into his eyes, jaw tight with restraint. but heâs watching you like heâs memorizing every twitch. like this wonât happen again.
âtell me,â he says, voice dropping lower. âtell me whose cock is making you feel this good right now.â
âyours,â you gasp. âah hiromiâs! only yoursââ
he rewards you with a particularly deep grind, rolling his hips so the base presses hard against your clit. âthatâs right,â he murmurs. âand youâre gonna come on it again. gonna soak my lap like the needy little slut you are for me.â
his hand slips between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, firm circles that match the brutal rhythm of his hips. your stomach tightens, thighs trembling uncontrollably.
âpuh...please iâm close.â
âi know,â he says, voice strained now. âcan feel you fluttering around me. go on come. make a messâŚitâs yours anyway.â
it hits fast and hard. your whole body locks up, back arching, cry ripping out of your throat as you come apart.
âfuckâgood girlâfuckââ
he keeps fucking you through it, drawing it out until youâre shaking, until his thrusts turn sloppy.Â
âwhere do you want it?â
âinside,â you gasp immediately. âplease inside.â
thatâs all it takes. he grinds deep as he comes, filling you up. he groans long and low against your neck, arms wrapping tight around your waist, holding you down on him while he rides it out.
for a long minute neither of you moves. all heavy breathing, sticky skin, the faint patter of rain still outside. you can feel him softening slowly.
he kisses your shoulder, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth.
âyou good?â he asks quietly.
you nod against his chest, still catching your breath. âyeah. really good.â
he huffs a small laugh, hand stroking slow down your back. âwhat do you wanna do?â
youâre still straddling him. the living room smells like rain and sex. your forehead is pressed to his shoulder.
âstay,â you mumble into his neck. âstay like this a little longer.â
his fingers keep tracing lazy lines up and down your spine, from the nape of your neck all the way to the small of your back, then back up again. itâs soothing in a way that makes your eyelids heavy.
his gaze drifts past your shoulder, landing on the open laptop still glowing faintly on the coffee table. the screenâs dimmed but not off since his class portal is still pulled up from earlier.
âthis where you took one of the photos?â he asks casually.
your stomach drops and flips at the same time. heat rushes back to your face so fast it makes you dizzy.
âwhat?â you whisper, even though you know exactly what he means.
he nods toward the couch. âright here on this cushion. ass up, looking back over your shoulder. the third one you sent. background looked familiar, same string lights in the corner, same throw blanket bunched up like that.â his hand pats the cushion beside you. âthought it mightâve been the bedroom at first but no kitchen lightâs wrong for that angle. had to be here.â
you bury your face deeper into his neck, mortified. âhiromiâŚâ
âwhat?â he sounds genuinely amused now, the low rumble vibrating through his chest. âyouâre the one who attached it to an entrapment analysis. i had to look closely.â
you groan, half-laugh half-embarrassed whimper. âi didnât mean for you toâi mean, i didnât planââ
âsure,â he cuts in gently, fingers sliding into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp. âbut you didnât delete it either.â
you lift your head just enough to peek at him.
âyou kept them?â you ask quietly.
he doesnât hesitate. âyeah, all three. printed them out, remember? filed them under âsupplemental materials.ââ he pauses, thumb brushing your cheek. âdon't get me wrong, it's not for grading, it's more for...reference...?"
âreference for what?â
âfor nights when iâm grading papers at 2 a.m. and wondering why a certain student keeps disappearing from my lecture hall.â he continues, âor for when i need to remember exactly how you looked when you were trying to tempt me into breaking every rule in the faculty handbook.â
âand⌠did it work?â
he looks at you for a long second, then leans in and kisses you, a simple one. when he pulls back his forehead rests against yours.
âobviously,â he mutters. âlook where we are.â
âshower soon,â he says again. âthen bed. and tomorrowââ
âiâll be in class,â you finish for him.
âget a better seat,â he adds. âwhere i can see you properly.â
embarrassing but hot fact abt izuku is that he absolutely straddles his bed and cups his fists together to make a makeshift pocketpussy and fucks into himself, moaning and going absolutely stupid as he imagines its your soft fluttering cunt around him. all because you sneered and called me 'stupid deku' in the halls earlier.
maybe even talks to himself, lost in the fantasy "you're so mean, you're so mean to me. why don't you shut up and take my cock, h-huh? not so tough now, are you? fucking take it. oh, god. milk my cock baby, yeah, yeah, yeah"
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the voice was masculine, sharp, and vaguely familiarâ just enough to make you freeze. your pen, previously scribbling smoothly on your paper, suddenly halted in itâs place, slowly bleeding down on the white sheet as your eyes slowly flickered up to the blank-faced pink-haired frat boy casually slumping down beside you.
what the fuck?
you would have considered pretending you didnât hear his voice if his sharp red eyes werenât already meeting yours, eyebrows raised just the slightest, pretty pupils just barely shifting as they slowly eyed you up and down, before his lips were tugged into a small frown.
oh, right. words.
âoh.â you mumbled, face finally tilting up enough to meet his eyes properly, almost grimacing at how quiet your own voice sounded. ââŚhi?â
he blinked once, twice, before he nodded towards your notebook. âdid you take notes last lecture?â
you nodded, almost slowly, utterly confused on why a guy known for being untouchable to girls and âthrowing the best punchesâ was currently sitting on the bench beside you, why he was even speaking to youâ and why his voice was low, almost like he was afraid to be loud. âyes?â
âcan i take a picture of them? i missed last lecture.â he grunted casually, propping his elbow on the table. you ignored how his muscles flexed at the move, and how you had the unnatural thought to fucking bite them.
when his words registered, you paused. you could have sworn you saw a flash of pink hair last lecture.
whatever, why would he lie, right?
âoh.â you mumbled quietly. âum, theyâre in my other notebook. i can get it tomorrowââ
you could have sworn you saw his eyes fucking sparkle, his lips twitching into a smirk he immediately forced into a frown, pulling out his phone. he slid it open, and you decided not to question why his contactâs page was already open. âno need. you can just send them to me.â
you paused, before slowly nodding, which seemed to make his badly hidden smirk widen just the slightest. he held his phone out, and you accepted it, quietly writing down your phone number before awkwardly holding it out.
he reached over, warm fingers brushing against yours, eyes half-lidded and smirk softening. you cleared your throat quietly, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, ignoring the feeling of your cheeks heating up just the slightest. âuh, âmââ
âi know.â he cut you off, standing up. at your confused look, he scoffed. âwe have been in the same classes for four years.â
âoh.â you mumbled. âyou⌠noticed?â
his smirk sharpened, leaning down, his hand leaning on the table again as he leaned closer, stupidly attractive muscles on view. he was just a few inches away, pretty eyes set on yours almost intensely, trailing down your face. âi would be stupid not to, sweetheart.â
before you could even respond, he was pushing himself up and walking away, leaving you to stare at his back in pure confusion.
did he just⌠flirt?
you shook your head, probably seeming stupid to the small crowd of people gaping at you due to that interaction, and returned your gaze back to your notebook.
there was no way the sukuna was fucking flirtingâ and definitely not with you.
truly, you almost forgot about the interaction by the end of the day, hell bent on insisting it meant nothing, and that he just genuinely wanted the notes. you couldnât be delusionalâ not about this.
after all, sukuna could literally choose anyone and get themâ why would he flirt with you? hell, everyone knew famous models have been in his dms beforeâ he really must have wanted these notes.
you nodded to yourself at the thought that night, fingers aimlessly scrolling through social media, sleepy eyes barely open until a notification made you freeze.
rsukuna requested to follow you.
you stared at the notification for a second, two, then breathed out. that still meant nothing, right? maybe he just lost your number.
quietly, fingers shaking just the slightest, you clicked on the account.
thousands of followers, gym photos (fuck your life, an eight pack? and why were his biceps bigger than your head?), pictures with his frat bros, but your attention was quickly falling on a much more important item.
followings: 0.
what the actual fuck?
the small ârsukuna has requested to follow youâ stared at you at the top, unmoving. he hadnât even removed it yet, even with a few minutes having passed, which meant you couldnât shrug it off as a mistake.
there was no way your university crush on four years was suddenly doing this. oh my god, did you accidentally manifest him? were the videos of âthis initial will confess to youâ actually onto something?
you almost scoffed at the thought. no way, right? he was definitely just being polite! he definitely just deleted your number and justâ
xxx-xxx-xxxx: yo, pretty. itâs sukuna.
you sucked in a sharp breath, mind stuttering and halting, unable to make up more excuses at the moment. it took a second, two, before you were quietly stumbling off bed, trying to convince yourself he was still being strictly platonic, fingers shaking as you saved his contact, then snapped pictures of the notes, and blankly sent it back to him.
he responded almost immediately.
sukuna ??????: youâre too cute for such a shitty hand writing. you should help me read it tomorrow over a coffee, my treat.
fuck. you were out of excuses.
your flushed face fell against a pillow with a quiet scream.
(a/n: i have not written in four years lol. i know heâs ooc and i do not care.)
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heian era! sukuna wants to bathe with his favorite maid...mdni.
âwhat do you think youâre doing?â sukunaâs voice booms throughout the bathhouse. his four eyes zero in on your clothed form as if youâve personally offended him. two of his arms were spread out above the large, circular bathtub, while the other two were below the waterline, hidden by the soap.Â
your fingers clutch the glass bottle of shampoo tightly, and you struggle to maintain his gaze. âmy lord, you requested for me to wash your hair-â you begin, but he interrupts before you could remind him.
âno,â sukuna corrects, raising an eyebrow. âwhy are you still clothed?â he drawls, the deep rumble of his voice making the fine hair on your arms rise.Â
he hears your heartbeat increase. sees you open your mouth, and then close it once more-stunned.
âi figured you would like to bathe alone, my lord.â you say with a respectful bow of your head, your voice polite as always.Â
he merely stares at you blankly, all four pupils quickly burning through your self-consciousness. you were one of his maids, and you knew that he favored you over the others, but he had never done this.
âmh.â he grumbles, his third arm coming up from below the water, motioning you to come closer.Â
âjoin me.â
with a bashful blush on your cheeks, you nod. you set down the glass bottle next to him and begin to slide down the layers of your clothing, not bothering to watch as they pooled at your feet.Â
it wasnât until your undergarments were removed that you looked at him for approval.
you kept your arms at your sides, fighting the urge to cover your chest and mound.Â
sukunaâs lip quirks up, and his tattooed tongue creeps out to lick his lips. âmuch better.âÂ
your shoulders relax at the praise, and you step into the soapy water.Â
the water goes up to your chest, above your hardened nipples, and you fight every instinct not to look at your master.Â
âgo on then.â he sounds pleased, finding your very human reactions amusing. sukunaâs large legs spread, gracefully giving you a place to sit.Â
âmy lord-âÂ
itâs not like you didnât want to, you had fantasized about this moment for ages, but was this allowed? you werenât one of his concubines, and if they found out they would be livid-
but they werenât here, were they?Â
you pause, and decide to go against your better judgment. your body crawls over to him, your thighs climbing and straddling his own. the mixture of the warm bath and the heat of his skin soothed you in a way you didnât want to think about.
âis this alright, my lord?â you murmur, your hands resting on his abdomen, not knowing where you should put them.
sukuna agrees in his own way- by grabbing your hips with his lower arms and placing you atop his two cocks- both incredibly stiff against your rear.
he relishes in your pupils dilating, in the way your breath hitches.Â
âi believe you have a job to do.â you donât know how you were supposed to focus on washing his hair with two thick cocks throbbing under you. how cruel the king of curses was.
your nails dig into his black markings when he decides to move his hips upwards, teasing you in the meanest way possible.
he leans his head back, a patronizing grin carved onto his divine face.Â
always watching you two with narrowed eyes, asking too many questions, starting fights over shit that never even happened.
âi know how guys think,â heâd spit, eyes flaring when you bent over near satoru. âthereâs no way heâs not trying to fuck you.â
and you? you just laughed it off. called him paranoid. said satoru was harmless.
because you knew satoru. he didnât even like you like that. you could be bent over in a miniskirt or ass out in lingerie and satoru would just throw a fry at your head and call you a dumbass.
except⌠then satoru started fucking with him.
he made it obvious. lingering stares, little smirks. grabbing your waist when he didnât need to. checking out your ass in front of your man just to watch the show.
until his hands started resting on your hips a second too long. until he started grabbing your thighs under the table. until he stopped looking away when you changed in front of him and just⌠watched.
until tonight.
yeah. maybe your boyfriend had a point.
because now youâre in satoru's lap in the backseat of his car, in some shitty fast food parking lot, getting split open on nine thick inches of cock while your boyfriendâs name lights up your phone.
satoruâs the one making you moan like a whore.
satoruâs the one stuffing you full of cock you swore youâd never take.
satoruâs the one whose cum is leaking out of you before heâs even pulled out.
and your boyfriend?
heâs still waiting at home.
âyouâre so fuckinâ full of shit,â satoru huffs against your neck, laughing through his teeth as he watches your mascara run. âalways telling him iâm just your friend. is this what you do with all your friends, baby?â
you try to answer, but your voice breaks on a moan as he thrusts up harder, the wet slap of your bodies echoing in the car.
âhe canât know about this,â you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. âfuck, heâll kill you, satoruââ
âhe wonât do shit,â he laughs, dragging you down harder onto his cock, watching the creamy ring of white at the base. âmotherfucker doesnât even know how to fuck you right. if he did, you wouldnât be here.â
your stomach twists, shame curling hot in your chest, but your cunt clenches even tighter around him. he feels it. of course he does.
âlook at you,â he grins, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging your head back. âsqueezing me like a goddamn virgin. havenât even fucked you for ten minutes and your pussyâs already addicted to me.â
you hate how good it feels.
how much you want this.
how right it feels to be wrong.
âhe trusts me,â you whisper, barely audible over your own moans. âhe thinks iâm with you because weâre safe.â
âand now youâre getting bred in my backseat,â satoru growls, thrusting up deep and slow just to feel your walls twitch around him. âwhile he sits at home playing the fool. god, youâre such a dirty little slut.â
your phone buzzes again. his name. a missed call. another text.
you donât even look.
satoru leans in close, mouth at your ear, breath hot and smug and sinful.
âgo ahead. answer him,â he says in a brutally mocking tone, grabbing your hips and fucking up into you so hard the car rocks. âlet him hear what his girl sounds like when sheâs getting ruined by her best friend.â
you should be ashamed.
you should get off.
you should go home.
but instead you wrap your arms around his neck and bounce harder, chasing your second orgasm as his cum leaks out of you.
and when you finally cum again, clenching around him with a broken sob, satoru just kisses your shoulder and laughs.
âno fuckinâ way iâm giving up this pussy now.â