#i'm so sorry for reposting this

[pinkm4ns]

[beebeedibapbeediboop]

The forest king and the postwoman

[woogiez]

[nariism]

letters from heaven — g. satoru

"i think i'm in love with you" + "wait, don't pull away... not yet." + oblivious pining

synopsis. love tastes like chocolate ganache topped with fresh strawberries. that was satoru's first thought when he accidentally blew your cake shop into smithereens.

wc. 2.4k

— for the lovely @hanrinz 🎀 | event masterlist ✉️

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

If you had asked Gojo Satoru what love tasted like two years ago, he would have answered with a lump in his throat.

Like curses, he would have told you. Like death and destruction. Fire and ash. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Satoru was surrounded by love from his very conception.

Wrapped in silk blankets and bathed in warm milk when he was born into this world—it was as if the nurses thought he had been spoonfed ambrosia by the gods themselves.

He knew what it was like to have his entire clan at his feet with their foreheads pressed to the floor; to be dressed in the finest cloth and only by the most nimble hands; to get anything and everything he ever wanted without question. 

He was above everyone and had the eyes to prove it. He knew love like it was his only purpose.

Satoru was always a head in the clouds kind of guy. He understood his place in the world better than anyone else. That he was special. Gifted. Born with a blessing that only happens once in a millennium.

He hated the righteous above all. The ones who wanted to change the world that was promised to him from the moment he took his first breath. It was insulting; an act of defiance against the gods. Against him.

That is why he hated Geto Suguru—someone who wanted to change the world.

Satoru believed that he was too down to earth. It irritated him. But he never stopped being surrounded by love and never stopped loving, either.

For some reason, there was a strange comfort in standing alongside another. 

Perhaps it was that Suguru had never once bowed down before him—the fact that he had gotten the chance to memorize every inch of his beautiful face. Or maybe it was the tender way he had spoken his name, so soft and filled with adoration.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he was more than just his eyes.

Satoru adored and despised every part of Geto Suguru. He always would, even in death.

He thought that secret would die with him. That there was no one else worthy of standing by his side. He never thought he was capable of loving another again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

(He was about to learn that love would loom over him wherever he went. It would chase him relentlessly, even if it were to the ends of the earth.

After all, Gojo Satoru was born to be enveloped in silk and sugar and everything wonderful in the world.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Love tastes like chocolate ganache topped with fresh strawberries.

That was Satoru's first thought when he accidentally blew your cake shop into smithereens with a misfired blast of energy. 

There was nothing particularly spectacular about you. There you were: horrified, head in your hands, crying over the phone to what he presumed to be your parents. He'd never seen someone doused in flour like you before, as if you had been plucked straight out of a cartoon.

Yet he remembers that his breath was stolen from him the way books described it.

Your very existence felt like it was built up from cubes of sugar. He was embarrassed that it was his first impression while you glared horribly at him.

The lawsuit came in the mail a few days later.

He paid, of course, without argument. And he tried to get your number afterwards because he really wanted to try that cake you were decorating before he blasted your shop to pieces.

You slapped him across the face and he let you. He even released his technique just so you could.

To your dismay, he kept showing up at the shop after it had been rebuilt. But he was a paying customer, and who were you to deny him a slice of butterscotch pie?

Still, he laughed at your ever-growing irritation with his presence. How he would preorder cakes days in advance just so you could anticipate his arrival. The way he would drop an extra five thousand yen on the counter and tell you to keep the change.

"Don't make me get a restraining order," you had once threatened him while he browsed the cupcake selection for the day.

"You wouldn't," he sang. And you didn't, because he knew your type.

You were the opposite of the one he loved most in the world. You wanted to make as little of a splash as you could—to bake pies and frost cakes with buttercream roses and wipe down your counters until they sparkled.

You knew your place in the world just as much as he knew his. And it seemed to be right behind the counter with a scowl on your face because of another poor attempt at flirting.

You didn't want to change the world. You just wanted to live in it, flour and all.

He found comfort in that, too.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Satoru became your midday companion when business slowed down. The sound of the bell strung to your front entrance brought you comfort when you were stressed about your little shop.

A part of you knew that this man was no ordinary human being. His eyes shimmered bluer than the sky when he would look at you with affection, nearly making your knees buckle beneath you on more than one occasion.

"What do you do at work?" You asked him curiously one afternoon as he sat on a stool watching you mindlessly pipe frosting.

"...Nothing important," he panicked, the thought of scaring you away when you had just started opening up to him too much for him to handle.

"Nothing important," you hummed, repeating his words until your eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

"I am," he admitted shamelessly.

You looked at him in confusion, not missing the way he avoided making eye contact by burrowing his head into his arms. Through the glass of your display case, you could see his shoulders bunch up in distress.

You decided to drop it. It wasn't important.

"Here," you said softly, reaching around the glass separating you to place a dessert in front of him. "Don't worry about it."

Satoru gazed at the plate before him. Chocolate ganache and strawberries layered between sponge cake.

"This is for me?" He asked, poking at it with the fork as a grin split his cheeks.

"Just for you," you smiled. "As an apology for slapping you."

"I deserved it. I blew up your shop."

Your smile only deepened. "Sometimes things need to be destroyed to be rebuilt even better."

The strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer of his time was reduced to a puddle at your next words,

"I met you, after all. Didn't I?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Love tastes like champagne-raspberry truffles and cappuccino chocolates.

On the day he planned to confess, you unconvincingly glared at him as he approached you with his hands behind his back.

You pursed your lips, expecting him to demand you make him something out of season. Outlandish requests were not new from him, but you always managed to whip up something that had fruits imported from South America, or using that expensive hojicha he insisted you take off his hands.

Instead, he held out a box of lavish chocolates he bought in Belgium.

Nervousness replaced the confidence that was permanently etched into his every feature, and your expression melted into something mellower than the warmth simmering in the pit of Satoru's tummy.

He had been pining for you for months. There was something about your company that made him feel whole again—more whole than he had been in all the time since Geto Suguru left this earth.

You laughed as if it were a joke, using your palm to hide how you flushed slightly.

"Satoru..." You quirked a brow. "What's this?"

The way you said his name stuck arrows through his heart. You could act like you hated him all you wanted, but the way you smiled at him when he wasn't being a prick was enough for him to feel comforted.

"Chocolates from Europe," he straightened up, trying to shake off his nerves.

"Why?"

Why? His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth and he sucked on it in anxious thought, suddenly unsure of the right thing to say even though he had practiced all night.

Wasn't it obvious that he liked you?

You took the box from his hands and placed it down on the counter. Then you rounded it, picked up your spatula, and continued folding your meringue.

Satoru's silence made you glance back up, scrutinizing his downcast, troubled expression. You huffed through your nose with an exasperated little shake of the head.

"Save some nice things for yourself, too."

He was surprised when you reappeared in front of him. His eyes trailed from your sneakers, up your dirty apron to your smiling face.

Chocolate was melting between your fingers.

His grunts of protest were muffled as you stuck the treat against his lips, forcing it into his mouth. He glared at you, but ate it anyway.

Sugar coated his tongue and eased his nerves. You only laughed at his fluster.

He pinched your cheek.

You didn't know that Satoru already had everything else he ever needed. The only thing left was standing right in front of him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Love is easy to taste when it's on your lips.

At least, that was the thought driving Satoru insane.

He didn't know when such an obsessive idea started plaguing him, or how to remedy it. For the first time in his life, he felt like a boy with a silly, childish crush.

Worst of all, you seemed none the wiser. All his attempts to make a move on you fell flat—though, he wasn't very good at following through with them in the first place.

It culminated in his final attempt to rid the terrible thought from his mind: he was going to avoid you at all costs until it blew over.

If he could just have the time to get over you, to move on from his feelings, he could probably act with some normalcy around you again. It was tiresome to tread on eggshells around you, even if you were blissfully unaware of it.

You, however, did not take his avoidance very well. He did not see that coming.

Satoru's phone rang at 3:24 am, well past your store hours. In fact, you were supposed to be waking up in another hour and a half to get all your prep done.

"Hello?" Your timid voice crackled through the static of his phone and he jolted upright, fisting his blanket in anticipation. "Satoru? Are you up?"

He swallowed thickly, mouth moving to formulate an answer with a strange amount of effort. "Yeah," he said, voice hoarse from sleep.

The other end of the line was silent for another moment before there was a loud crash, and he could make out the distinct clatter of metal bowls hitting tile.

He could imagine you standing there in defeat, surrounded by dirty dishes and drowning in work, trying to catch up for the next morning.

The thought was enough for him to rip out of his sheets, a flurry of limbs as he got dressed to find you.

"Hang on," he told you over the phone, then hung up.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You had not anticipated that Satoru's very obvious avoidance would take such a toll on you.

You'd let it escalate until you were overwhelmed with emotion, unfocused at work, and not able to untangle the feelings you had for him.

And now he was standing in your shop again, helping you pick up everything you had clumsily scattered across the ground.

Whipped cream and icing spilled on the floor, painting the tile an array of pastel colours. You grimaced at the mess, thinking maybe you should just close the shop for the day and take a vacation.

Satoru was dutifully wiping up cream as if he were being paid to do it. But he wasn't—he was just too kind to you. Too generous. You desperately wished he would get mad at you for waking him in the middle of the night.

Instead, he only seemed concentrated and slightly concerned.

"That's enough," you told him quietly, standing up to discard the towels you used. "I'll clean up the rest tomorrow."

Satoru stood up with you, trying to decipher the doomstruck expression on your face.

"I'll come by tomorrow to help."

You shook your head. "It's okay, you've done so much already. Thank you."

Everything about him had grown so familiar, so warm. You missed him more than you cared to admit, and that scared you. In the three weeks since you had last seen him, it finally came crashing down on you.

You liked Satoru.

The thought was heady and overwhelming in your mind. You stumbled a bit and he caught you by the shoulders.

"Woah there," he chuckled lightly, finally able to make out the look in your eyes.

"Sato—" your lip wobbled and he stopped it with his thumb. Then, he used his fingers to clean up the icing decorating your face.

"I got you."

He snorted softly at your dazed expression, drawing away from you. Your hands shot up to grasp at him, keeping him in your bubble. 

"Please don't pull away."

Satoru stilled, letting you drag him back into your personal space. "M'not going anywhere."

You weakly punched him in the chest, fist remaining there for a moment before you let it fall limp. Glaring at him, you sniffled.

"You're avoiding me."

"I was," he admitted.

"What happened?"

"I realized that I liked you a lot more than I thought."

Silence hugged your bodies, heavy and stiff. You blinked at him in surprise, having trouble processing his words.

"H-Huh?"

"I like you," he said again, more adamant. More confident.

"Oh," you breathed. Heat enveloped Satoru's heart at how relieved you sounded. "That makes me..."

Your face morphed from relief to realization. Realization of the situation, of how close your bodies were.

"Really happy," you concluded, squeezing your eyes shut as his hands adjusted to cup your face a little more intimately.

He kissed the apple of your cheek, making sure not to skip over the spot where icing lingered.

The thought entered his mind: I am exactly where I need to be.

Gojo Satoru was born to be loved. It tastes like maple buttercream. And it's spilled all over the floor, stained on his hands and knees. Between his fingers. Melting on his tongue.

[adnrewminyard]

imagine being kevin day, son of exy, born and bred to be a cog in the well-oiled machine that is the edgar allan ravens. all you know being the routine of practice and practice and practice and performance and victory alongside those you call brothers.

-and then one day you wake up in your estranged father's apartment between a bottle of painkillers and a bottle of vodka and there is a knot of bandages where your future used to be. you don't wake up at 4am anymore. you sleep until noon and vomit the remainders of life as you knew it into unfamiliar toilets. you watch orange and white clash against each other from sidelines you haven't touched since you started growing facial hair.

your brother doesn't ask you to come home. you would come if he asked. the days are longer here and the food is too rich. the colors are too harsh, the language barrier is too much. you speak and no one understands.

they feel sorry for you, but not for what you have lost, instead for what you have suffered. you try to show them what belonging means, to sever parts of yourself to fit inside a uniform, but they don't understand the necessity of the blade the way your brothers did. they don't understand that suffering feels religious if you do it right.

the therapist tells you it's survivor's guilt but the only survivors you can see are on the court in black and red and they read your eulogy after the game at a press conference. you are not a survivor in any way that matters anymore. how treacherous your heart is for continuing to beat when you can't even hold your lifeline in your hand without dropping it.

you want to go home but your key doesn't open the same door anymore. you want to sit beside your brother but there is no space on his side of the table. you want to be a raven but you are a fox.

you grieve for connection until there is a knife where your neck guard used to sit. you grieve for your life until a boy offers to show you how it feels to survive. you offer to show him how it feels to live. he tells you he won't sever parts of himself to fit the uniform, but there are telltale bloodstains in the fabric from long before you asked.

you wake up at 4am again. you take turns vomiting in the toilet, you when the alcohol level dips too low and him when his smile runs out. he doesn't speak your language but he understands it. he keeps the car running when you visit the therapist. he keeps an eye on your back to watch the 02 on your jersey turn orange. the colors don't seem as harsh anymore.

he offers you safety. he offers you belonging. he offers you the only thing he knows how to give, the only thing you know how to take.

he offers you a lifeline. you pick it up with your right hand.

[snarkspawn]

some KoD/Spirealm sketches

[ginsays]

me & @bonesblubs & @meru90 did a switcheroo meme with fengqing!! 🏹⚔️ it was super fun, thank you both for doing it with me!! 🧡

[accirax]

🌟🍬🤖🎈Congrats to Wonderlands x Showtime for finishing their 4x4!🌟🍬🤖🎈

[deoidesign]

Can you tell who my favorite character is right now...

[melverie]

I feel like I'm intruding on something

[paperbackribs]

It’s movie night for the Hawkins' party and, if the kids ever settle down, they might actually be able to hear the goddamn trailers playing before Night of the Creeps starts.

Steve’s getting the snacks from his kitchen with Argyle and Nancy helping, while Eddie is about to add an extra Coke can to the two he's currently juggling on the couch next to Robin. The condensation makes the aluminium sweaty and hard to grab, which Eddie says is the best part, but all Robin can think of is the hissy fit Steve will throw if Eddie drops one and it explodes.

She nudges Eddie with a sharp elbow, timing it so he drops only one and onto the soft cushions they sit on. It bounces and Eddie hurriedly grabs the red can before it falls to the floor, belatedly remembering Steve's threat the last time Eddie had made a mess.

“I dare you to kiss the next person who walks in through the door.”

Eddie scoffs, looking around at the room full of young teens that he’s not going anywhere near. “No, thank you, John Walsh.”

“From the kitchen,” Robin wheedles, bored and hoping for something interesting to happen.

Eddie sneers, “What am I? Some brainless jock, tripping over himself to conform with the rest of the flock. You kiss whoever walks in the door next.”

Suddenly, Steve swaggers into the living room with a bowl full of popcorn at his hip, calling out in what Eddie thinks of as his ‘dad’ voice, "Time to rock and roll.” He throws a kernel into the air and snaps it up with gleaming white teeth.

Eddie sighs quietly to Robin, “I’m throwing in the towel, Buckley.”

She snorts in amusement.

“Steve," Eddie calls with resignation warring over his excitement, "get your ass over here; we’ve got a game to win.”

Steve perks up and Eddie suddenly understands that he's the true winner, about to hold the golden crown and, even better, probably about to grab the golden ass.

Meanwhile, Robin snickers into the background, waiting for the moment that she can grandly tell the two dinguses she told them so. They'll grumble and they'll deny, but Steve and Eddie will ever be grateful for the interferance of Robin T. Buckley, platonic soulmate and goddamn miracle worker of Hawkins.

[paulmccartneyprostateorgasm]

ryan getting sentimental about his deceased dogs and shane giving him a weird little comforting gesture -> ryan immediately after saying he'd trade Steven's life to see the dogs one more time....truly watcher in a nutshell I think

[nattikay]

when u remember that Lo’ak is only a year younger than Neteyam and Kiri...like wow, they really speedran those first three didn’t they

[sencrose]

-- SAPPHIRE PASSION

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

tags: dubcon, extremely dubious consent?, idol AU, object insertion, pain, coercion, praise, masturbation, fingering, creampie

wc: 5.1k

a/n: i'm taking notes from underground jp idol culture, if you have any questions feel free to ask (would love to talk more about it despite my pretty shallow knowledge, i am begging actually). in short: chekis -> polaroids, oshi -> fave/bias, oshikatsu -> showing support for your fave. ao3 link with alot more notes here

summary: you're too eager to please, and Satoru's all too willing to take advantage.

Sometimes you wish you had a more socially acceptable hobby. It’s hard maintaining friendships when your days are constantly blocked out by concerts, when you spend all your money on chekis and oshikatsu goods. Whenever you try to explain, you’re met with looks of disgust and snide comments about how you’re throwing money into an endless pit.  

In terms of romantic prospects, it’s not like you can invite anyone over to your apartment either, cramped and covered in a plethora of merch that most people would find strange at best and downright creepy at worst. But that wish washes away as soon as you step to the front of the line.

”Oh look who’s back! How have you been?” Satoru beams with a smile that puts the sun to shame.

”I’m doing great, how are you?” you greet back, handing him your ticket.

“I’m doing great as well!” He gestures to the staff member to get ready to shoot. 

”What kind of pose do you wanna do this time?” he asks. 

”Can we do heart cat ears?”

”Oh, I don’t think I’ve done that before,” his hands press together to show his excitement, “how do you do it?” His eyes peer into yours, sparkling with anticipation.

You bend your index finger while keeping your middle straight and put them on top of your head, two halves of a heart placed to look vaguely like cat ears.

”Aw, that’s so cute! As expected of my cutest fan.” 

He says that almost every time you’ve met him. You’re sure he says it to all the other fans as well, but it never fails to send blood rushing to your face.

The cameraman counts down from three and the two of you get posed up. With a flash, the picture is taken. The film slowly slides out of the polaroid camera, and Satoru swiftly takes it, shaking a paint pen in his other hand to get ready to sign it.

”Did you enjoy the show today?”

”I did!” You exclaim, maybe a bit too excitedly as your voice squeaks unexpectedly. “It was amazing as always.” 

”Aw, that’s great. We’ve been working really hard, I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”  Satoru signs the polaroid while talking, decorating it with hearts. “What was your favorite part?”

“I don’t know, everything was so great…” you hesitate, attempting to collect your thoughts. Your nerves creep up on you, and you curse how this happens no matter how many times you’ve done this. Satoru simply nods to show he’s listening as he continues signing the polaroid.

“T-the new stage outfits are so gorgeous and they really make you shine,” you pause, trying to think of the other highlights of the night, hands gesturing in an attempt to expel your nervous energy, “but I didn’t expect you guys to perform the new single so soon, so that was a really pleasant surprise.”

“I’m glad you had such a fun time.” Satoru responds, finishing signing the polaroid with a dramatic flick of the wrist, signaling that your time together is coming to an end.

”I’ll be here to cheer you on for all your future work as well!”

“I’ll be looking forward to seeing you then!” Satoru holds the polaroid gingerly, blowing on it to aid the drying paint. “Now remember, be careful, hold the picture by the edges so you don’t smear the paint.” 

“Of course.” You grab hold of the picture, holding it carefully by the edges as he’d demonstrated. 

“See you next time! Thanks for all your support!”

”See you next time!” You wave back. You take in the view of the polaroid, slowly developing, the smiles of you and your oshi permanently encapsulated in the thin film. Just looking at it puts a cheesy grin on your face as you make your way out of the venue.

After the paint has had ample time to dry, you place the picture in your wallet, in the transparent slot that’s usually reserved for your ID. This is more important anyways.

---

You must be losing your mind. There’s no way this is real.

You were adjusting all of your chekis, moving them between your mini photo albums. The most recent polaroid had something written on the back:

Text me sometime? xx-xxxx-5429

After finding this hidden message, you dug through the rest of the chekis you’ve collected over the years, only to find nothing. It’s just this one. When did he even get the chance to write this?

You can’t help but burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all. Should you even message it? Are you willing to cross that line?

…

You are. You definitely are. 

---

you: hey, is this Satoru?

Satoru, maybe?: depends, is this my cutest fan?

Satoru, maybe?: with the heart cat ears? ♡ॢ₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

You slam your phone down on your bed in a panic, as if it’s been possessed by a demon. Your heart races as you grab on to your chest, attempting to inhale deeply to collect yourself before unlocking your phone and typing again. 

you: haha yeah

you: but wait, how do i know it’s you?

Satoru, maybe?: <1 attachment>

Satoru, maybe?: does this prove it?

You open the picture with bated breath only to realize it really is him. It isn’t a picture you recognize from his SNS accounts, considering he barely uploads anything to them. 

you: i guess it does :)

Satoru, maybe?: then i was wondering

Satoru, maybe?: did you wanna go out sometime? 

Satoru, maybe?: my treat of course

Alright, play it cool, take a deep breath. This does nothing to still your racing heart. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, after all. 

you: yes i’d love to!

Satoru, maybe?: awesome! are you free this saturday?

you: yeah i am! :)

Satoru, maybe?: cool, meet me at the station at 2?

you: sounds like a plan 

Satoru, maybe?: alright, see you then :)

you: see you then :)

---

Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. 

You spent all morning agonizing over what to wear, and you can only hope that it was the right choice. You wait anxiously by the station exit, keeping your phone on standby for any incoming texts. 

“Hey!” Satoru approaches you, although heavily obscured. Baggy black hoodie and pants swallow his figure, along with a baseball cap, mask, and sunglasses covering his face. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” He tilts his face down towards you so you can get a look at his eyes, and prove that it is indeed him – not that you need the evidence, you would recognize his voice anywhere.

“Oh no worries,” you smile nervously, noting just how close he is to you, “I just got here.”

“That’s great!” he says, punctuating the end of his sentence with a clap, “Well, let’s get going!” 

“Where are we headed?” You follow behind him, letting him lead the way.

“I thought a cafe would be nice.” He looks over his shoulder to meet your eyes. “You like sweets?”

“I do!”

The two of you make your way to the cafe, engaging in casual small talk along the way. You feel like you’re walking on clouds alongside him, the distance between you so close that his hand occasionally grazes yours.

You find yourself in a quaint cafe hidden in an alleyway. It’s a hidden gem, you’d never find it without his recommendation. A quiet oasis in the middle of a bustling cityscape.

“They have really good pastries here. Feel free to get whatever you want.”

You look into the display case, dozens of artisan pastries and baked goods lined up neatly at your fingertips. 

After a moment of deliberation, the two of you order your food, an array of pastries, along with two coffees showing up at your table shortly after.

“I ordered some extras too in case you wanna try any of them.”

”Oh, thank you.” You reach towards what you assume is a chocolate croissant, ripping a piece off. It has a light crispy skin, melting in your mouth as soon as you take a bite. 

“Wow, this really is good.”

“Right? I love coming here.” Satoru exclaims, taking off some of his layers.

“Are you sure about that?”

”Yeah, don’t worry I come here all the time. Plus,” he says, gesturing to the empty tables, “Nobody’s really around.”

You already knew you were on a date with him, but it feels so much more real when his sunglasses and mask are off. You take in the sight of him and even under the dim lighting of the cafe, his beauty shines, almost blindingly so. You notice yourself staring a bit too long at his face, eyes shifting to the side.

”You can look all you want,” he teases, placing his hands on the back of his head as if he’s trying to show off, “I don’t mind.” 

You bring yourself to look at him again, but he has that award winning smile that has heat blazing a trail to your cheeks.

”So…” you trail off, unsure how to carry on the conversation. It’s one thing when you know you have two minutes in a controlled environment, it’s a whole other beast when you have all the time in the world. Any conversation topic that you’d usually keep slotted in your back pocket eludes you.

“You’re wearing a different outfit than usual. It’s cute.” Satoru picks up where you left off.

“Ah, I guess you’ve only seen me wearing merch at concerts, huh?”

“Yeah, but this is nice too,” he says before taking a sip of his coffee, “‘lets me see another side of you.” 

“I guess we’re both seeing different sides of each other.”

“Am I that different?”

“Maybe,” you pause, a hint of hesitance to your voice, “just a little.”

“What’s so different about me?” he asks, his chin leaning on his hand, tilting his head so he can show off his sharp jawline and the sparkle of his eyes with the sunlight shining through the window. Something about him seems just out of touch, like he’s hiding behind a mask. That said, it’s a beautiful mask.

“I’m not so sure,” you answer honestly. If you really put your head to it, he’s every bit as charming now as he is when he’s performing. Maybe even more so, but you’re not sure you have the guts to confess that. 

“You wanna know what I think is different about you?” he asks, his fork cutting a slice into his tart before pointing it at you, like an accusation of a crime, “You seem more nervous than usual.” 

“Am I right?” he asks, his voice dangerously low, before taking a bite of his tart. 

How could you not be? Your favorite idol is on a date with you of all people, and you’re well aware he’s well out of your league. 

“Yeah, you are,” you confess, eyes looking off to the side, unable to meet his gaze.

“Do I get a prize?”

“What do you want?” you ask awkwardly, shifting around in your seat ruminating on the possibilities. 

“What do you think?” He grins, his eyes tracing the features of your face until he lands on your lips. 

This might be the most forward you’ve been in your life. Time feels like it slows as you scoot your chair closer to his. With your eyes closed, you steel yourself, lips pouted, lean forward, closer — this is what he wants, right?

“Ah,” Satoru’s voice breaks your trance, “but I don’t wanna force you to do anything you don’t wanna do, that’s not fun.”

“O-oh,” you collect yourself, plopping back down in your seat a bit too fast, wishing you could curl up into a ball and disappear, “right.”

---

You messed up.

You wouldn’t be surprised if he just ghosted you after this. Maybe the rest of the date went fine, you’re not sure, too preoccupied with the embarrassment hanging over your head. Why did you try to kiss him?

The jingle of the door notes your departure and interrupts your spiraling thoughts as the two of you make your way back onto the busy street. The air shared between the two of you is stagnant, a clear cut contrast to the noises of the city. 

“Um, I had a lot of fun today,” you break the silence as you continue walking, “thanks for taking me out.”

“Of course! But it doesn’t have to end just yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we could head back to yours?” he proposes casually, eyes meeting yours.

You look back at him, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as your grip on your bag strap tightens. Your gaze shoots nervously to the floor, staring at a crushed soda can that piques your interest for the moment. 

“I-it’s a bit messy,” you look back at him only to realize he’s staring right into you, “I don’t know if you would want-“

“I don’t mind a little mess,” he says, casually wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “You’re not scaring me off that easily.” There’s a tone behind his words you don’t recognize, something that doesn’t seem quite as rehearsed or put together like his usual self. You try to find it in yourself to protest, but the words on the tip of your tongue melt away as Satoru looks at you with a burning desire behind his eyes.

“S-sure.”

---

You make your way back to your apartment, with Satoru following right behind you. 

“Make yourself at home.”

Your place isn’t actually that messy, but it is small, feeling even more cramped when it’s covered in an embarrassing amount of merch. You didn’t actually expect him to come over, so you didn’t make any preparations to make your room seem like that of a normal person. Promotional flyers, album posters, concert apparel, smother your walls without a speck of empty space to be seen. 

His eyes are drawn to the display shelf in the corner, fit with several can badges and acrylic stands of his likeness, customized light sticks, and a fan with his face plastered on it. 

“Must be a little weird seeing this, huh?” you attempt to joke, but your awkwardness is too candid to be hidden. 

“I don’t think so. It makes you even cuter in my book.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he states with a conviction that catches you off guard, “you mind if I take a look?”

“Not at all.” You gesture towards the case with your hands and a slight bow, a bit too formally for the situation at hand. “Go ahead.” You swear his eyes sparkle as he looks over the case before settling on one of the light sticks.

“Did you decorate this one yourself?”

“I did! It was before you released official light sticks.”

“That’s so sweet of you. Do you mind?” he points at the stick.

“Sure.” You open the case, reaching for the light before handing it over to Satoru. Once in his hand, he taps on the buttons, cycling through the colors until it turns a beautiful shade of blue.

“Wow, this shines pretty bright.” he comments, admiration glimmering in his eyes.

“I have to show my support from the crowd.” you say, waving your fist as if you’re holding a lightstick in your hand.

Satoru mimics the chant patterns you yell at his shows with an earnestness that has you grinning ear to ear. You can’t help but chuckle as you watch him make a fool out of himself. He really is better suited to be on the stage. After a few moments of waving the light stick around he puts it down.

“God, your arms must be tired after doing this the whole show.” he says, holding onto his shoulder as he stretches. 

“I’m pretty used to it. If anything, it’s a great workout,” you say, raising your arm to flex the less than impressive muscle, “and you’re working out way more than I am!”

“Well with fans like you, I gotta be able to keep up.”

Before you know it, his face hovers dangerously close to yours. Your eyes meet his, an unreal crystalline blue you’ve never seen this close. His hand brushes against yours, fingers gently slotting into yours. His other hand caresses your chin with gentleness you’ve only dreamt of. Satoru brings his face towards you, sealing your lips with a kiss. The scent of vanilla and cardamom fills your lungs, a stark and welcome difference from the sweat and stale odor of the venues you usually see him in. 

It’s just a kiss, but you can feel yourself getting lost in his lips, heat building in your body as you press into him. He presses further into you with a fervor that overwhelms you as he wraps his hand around your waist. His kisses become more intense, like rain clouds swirling into a storm, asking, demanding for an entrance you’re all too willing to give him, parting your lips. The taste of coffee and sugar dance on his tongue, intoxicating like a spell, pulling you in further. Everything about him is overwhelming, the way his body is pressed flush against yours, his grip around your waist, how he maneuvers you closer to the foot of your bed until you fall gracelessly onto it. Satoru hovers above you, toned arms on either side of your head, white strands framing his face, eyes filled with lust. 

“Could you do something for me?” The question is simple enough, but you sense something darker behind his words. You’re not sure what you’re getting yourself into, but after that debacle at the cafe, you’re far too eager to please, to make amends in any way you can.

“Y-yeah.” 

“Show me how much of a fan you are.”

He places the penlight in your hand, wrapping his fingers against yours. His hand guides you to lift the hem of your skirt, the light now pressing against the fabric of your underwear.

“Would you do that for me?” he asks, sultry and sweet. 

Your breath catches in your lungs, face burning as if your cheeks are flint and he’s lit a match under your nose. The beat of your heart rings rhythmically in your ears, as you question if you heard his proposition correctly. Is he asking what you think he’s asking?

“I-I haven’t done anything like this.” you say, not exactly answering his question, hoping he accepts your answer. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you every step of the way.” His fingers hook into the side of your underwear, sliding up and down your slit. “I’ll even help you get started.”

You’re at a loss for words, nerves paralyzing your tongue, only able to give him a shy nod. 

He continues playing with you, fingers finding your clit and drawing languid circles that are just a bit too slow. An unfamiliar tension grows in your core, begging for release.

“You really are my cutest fan.” he whispers in your ear, honey dripping off every word.

His finger teases your hole, slowly inserting to a shallow depth before taking it out. Your muscles squeeze in anticipation only for him to play with your entrance, rubbing against your folds before entering you again. Your hole envelops his finger as he pushes it in. He starts with a curl, his finger digging around as if he’s searching for something. Within a moment, he’s pressing against the spot that has you leaning into him, chasing for more. 

You can’t keep your satisfaction hidden, low gasps spilling from your lips as you realize your hips are bucking into him. His fingers build a steady pace, and you meet him there, desperately humping into his touch. 

“So needy, huh?” he teases before inserting another finger into you. It slides in without any resistance, a testament to your arousal. 

A warmth builds in your body, your breathing labored as he has his way with you. You melt under his touch, like putty in his hands. It’s a wasted effort to keep your voice back, volume rising as you bite back on your hand.

Satoru pauses for a moment, fingers slowly exiting as he admires your arousal on his hands. He reaches out for the penlight, bringing it towards your hole. The plastic presses uncomfortably against your slit, collecting your slick he slides it up and down your lips. Your heart feels like it’s beating in your throat, and a twinge of fear hits you when you realize you’ve never had something so large inside you. 

“S-Satoru, I’m not sure about this.” You hold his wrist firmly, an attempt to have him pause.

“Don’t worry, it’ll feel really good, I promise.” Satoru ignores your grip, slowly pushing the light stick into your hole, the object feeling foreign inside of you. The stretch is uncomfortable, cold unfeeling plastic separating your walls. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, or the intrusion inside your body, eyes darting across the room to look at something, anything else — a daunting task when his likeness is plastered all over the walls. 

“Just like this.” He brings your attention back to him, patient hand holding onto yours, gripping you as he slowly fucks you with the light stick. Your pussy envelops the light, blue sheen disappearing as he pushes it in more. With every thrust, you can see your arousal glossing the surface of the light stick. You don’t recognize it as the object of your affection, custom made for him. It’s molded into something else altogether, a vessel solely there to deliver a hot tension to your core. 

The discomfort from the stretch slowly dissipates, a flare of pleasure building in its place. It starts to feel less foreign as it warms up to the temperature of your insides. Satoru starts to pick up the pace, lewd squelches escaping your cunt with each pump.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he coos. His lips graze the nape of your neck, a subtle lick to test the waters, earning a high pitched squeal that comes out more like an excited moan. You feel him grin against your skin, kisses tracing a line towards your shoulder. You can’t deny yourself the heat that builds in your core, the way your breath hitches in your chest with every kiss, every drag of the light stick.

“Show me how good you feel.” His eyes watch intently as his hand lets go of yours. You continue fucking yourself with the light stick, free hand rubbing circles on your clit, desperate to soothe that building ache for release. Satoru watches intently, his hand stroking himself through the fabric of his pants. 

Heat rises in your face, in disbelief that you’re doing this in front of him — but he’s getting off on it too, a blush painting his face as he unbuckles his belt and frees his cock from his briefs. Satoru lifts the hem of his shirt before biting onto the fabric, revealing muscles you’ve only seen on stage in fleeting moments of fanservice. Even from those short glimpses, you knew he had a well-maintained physique, but it’s much more sinful when it’s mere inches away, for your viewing pleasure alone.  There’s something arousing about watching the image of your picture perfect idol falling apart as he loses himself in the throes of passion. He moans under his breath, desperate for release as he strokes his cock harder.

The view’s enough to send you over the edge, waves of pleasure washing over your body as you gush over yourself, walls fluttering and clamping onto the illuminated plastic. Satoru’s close behind you, soft moans escaping him as he cums, hot ropes of semen covering your pussy.

You’re barely able to gather yourself, chest rising and falling at an abnormal pace, a sheen of sweat covering your back, causing the fabric of your shirt to cling to you. Aftershocks of your pleasure shoot through you, phantom spasms clamping to the intrusion inside your cunt. Your walls clings to the light stick, feeling a bit of resistance as you pull it out. Your muscles shiver at its absence, core aching at the emptiness. The light flickers before turning off permanently. Guess it wasn’t waterproof.

Satoru chuckles as he collects himself, still out of breath from his orgasm. “Wow, you actually did it. Maybe the rumors about my fans are true.”

“What rumors?”

“They’re sluts.”

His words deliver a sobering realization that brings you down from your high and back to reality. Your face twists in embarrassment, blood rushing to your cheeks in a wicked heat. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, you’re the first,” he purrs low, kissing the nape of your neck. You’re not sure you can believe him. “And for what it’s worth, I really enjoyed it.” 

“Look what you did to me,” he teases, stroking his hard cock, already raring to go. “Gotta do something about it, yeah?” His cock presses against your slit, slowly humping into it, his pre and your juices mixing together. The stimulation so close after your orgasm makes you shiver.

“You’ll do it for me, right?” His head tilts inquisitively as the tip of his cock hovers over your hole, moments away from penetrating. The size of his cock strikes fear in your chest. Even compared to the light stick, you can tell you’ll struggle to take him in. You’re not sure if you’re ready for something like this, but when he asks with that honeyed tone dripping from his words, you feel charmed to say yes. You want to make him feel good too, giving another hesitant nod blessing him with the permission he craves.

“Good girl.” With a swift thrust, he forcefully pushes himself inside you, an uncomfortable stretch building into a harrowing pain. Of course a light stick doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing. Everything about it is just too much. There’s just too much resistance, too much of him inside of you. You struggle to take him in as he presses in further, holding your breath in hopes of a relief that never arrives – just a fullness you’ve never experienced before. A pained hiss escapes you as he starts humping into you recklessly, air knocked out of your lungs with each thrust, without any regard for your comfort.

“Wait, S-Satoru, it hurts.” You’re barely able to get the words out between pained groans. You attempt to squeeze your legs shut, but it does nothing to soothe the pain or slow Satoru’s pace.

“But you’re making me feel so good.” He spreads your legs apart further, fucking you with slow but hard strokes. His hands grip onto your inner thighs, using it as leverage to push himself deeper inside you. The slap of skin only gets louder, a pain striking in your core as he hits your cervix. Any attempt to drive your attention away from the pain fails, only leading to your hands gripping onto the sheets, knuckles turning a blistering white. The cool and collected facade of your idol fades away to dust. You don’t recognize the man in front of you, all greed and desire, rutting into you searching for his own high.

”Satoru, p-please, it’s too much!” you plead, hand momentarily letting go of the sheets to push against his chest.

”C’mon sweetie, I know you can do it,” whispering in that sweet yet hollow tone that hasn’t left his lips since the moment you met him, not that it does much to soothe. His tongue licks the shell of your ear, a gasp escaping your lips. 

You attempt to power through, biting down on your lip and letting your favorite idol have his way with you, ravaging your pussy like it was made just for this, just for him. Tears swell in your eyes as you try to put on a brave face. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, clenching your eyes closed as you let out choked back sobs.

”Don’t cry, you’re being so good for me,” he says in an artificially sweet tone that now sounds alien, overplayed like a broken record. One hand gently pets your head before gripping onto your hair, only serving as a support for him to push himself deeper into you. 

“You’ll feel real good soon, I promise.” You’re not sure you believe him, not sure you can believe him until his hand makes its way to your aching clit. The graze of his fingers is already enough to have you keening into him. Little shocks of ecstasy shoot through your body as he finally slows down, his hand focusing more on the bundle of nerves. His other hand reaches up to your chest, fingers crawling under the fabric to play with your tits, kneading the flesh before catching your nipple between his fingers. With his aid, your body gets acclimated to his size, the burn from being stretched out subsiding and a dull but undeniable pleasure taking its place.

You don’t recognize this version of yourself, desperate for a high you’ve never even tasted, falling back onto base, primal emotions as you start to match his tempo, pathetically pressing your body into his. You don’t recognize the salacious moans spilling from your lips, the look in Satoru’s half lidded eyes as he watches you give in to your desire. 

”See, what’d I tell you?” he pants into your ear, warmth from his breath sending a shiver up your spine, “feels good, right?”

And you hate to admit it, but he’s right: it does feel good. Better than good even, heavenly. How his length fills you up so deep, the way your cunt anticipates him with each thrust, your walls slowly taking the shape of him. Any words on the tip of your tongue disappear without a trace, head too fuzzy and scrambled to form any coherent thoughts.

The tension in your body comes to a head, body tight as your muscles clamp around his cock like a vice, panting his name with a reverence fit for an idol. Pleasure shoots through every nerve of your body, head light and hazy with bliss as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your hands ball into fists as he teeters the line of overstimulation, a whisper of pain too quiet to be felt before it fades. Satoru’s close behind too, pace erratic as he moans a string of hushed expletives under his breath. He comes with a deep thrust inside you, warm sticky ropes of cum coating your insides.

Satoru takes a moment to catch his breath before removing himself from you. Cum spills out of your hole, and you wince at the emptiness. You both lie on the cramped bed, out of breath, sweat clinging to your bodies. A gentle yet unreadable smile paints his face, and you’re not sure what to make of it. 

“You really are my cutest fan.”

[larzuen]

WH x Sanrio collab when /j