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fushitoru · 1 month ago

Text

infect me with your love

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you have always existed in gojo satoru’s shadow. he is a physics prodigy, a person that everyone endlessly admires for his intelligence and charisma, and you hate him for taking the spotlight that you deserve to share with him. but it all changes one day at 5:07AM at your starbucks job when gojo barges in, ordering ridiculously sweet drinks and posing existential questions. is there more to gojo that meets the eye, and is it linked to the vigilante swinging around New York City?

warnings ⸺ college au, academic rivals to lovers, SMUT, tooth rotting fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, basically the holy trinity, reader works at Starbucks (BOYCOTT tho), set in NYC, both reader and gojo are physics majors, mentions of SA, attempt at SA on reader but nothing too graphic, some violence, gojo swings reader across NYC so might trigger fear of heights?. SPIDER-MAN KISS SPIDERMAN KISS, injury and mentions of blood, mentions of gun, inappropriate use of webs LOL, fingering, oral, p in v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

a/n thank you for @avaults my POOKIE for beta reading this. this has been a journey and my first longfic and i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing it it's my baby:')

if u don’t wanna read the smut just skip the part after they make up, it’s not necessary to the story and is the ending scene. but just to be clear, minors dni.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.

of course, that depends on your local hours and where you live, but in the campus starbucks you worked at, your manager fortunately didn’t really care if you showed up to your opening shift a bit late. after all, no professor or undergrad is waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get a fuckin coffee; if they really needed a pick me up, they’d go to get the free alcohol at one of the frats that was still partying.

matter of fact, your manager didn’t really give a fuck what you did as long as you didn’t get the shop blown up or the matcha spilled (it was expensive). this meant you could leisurely wake up at 4:45am and set up the display muffins and cake pops when you arrived in the shop at 5:20am. really, the manager ought to reduce the hours because all you do is finish your readings for your gen ed history classes on the canvas app on your phone. so, really you get paid for doing your homework on your shifts—not that you’re complaining or anything.

that is, until gojo satoru.

first, let’s get the record straight about who gojo is. gojo is a physics second-year—same as you–who is the bane of your existence. up until a few months ago, you never saw gojo satoru outside of classes (where he was dozing off) unless you happened to show up at a frat party, which was only a few occurrences when you got peer pressured by your friends. clearly, he was a “work hard, party hard” type person because he frequents the frats more than the library while having the grades to make up for it because he’s a prodigy. he’s charismatic and smart as fuck; right out of middle school he was studying manifolds and abstract algebra while the rest of the high school freshmen were learning the quadratic equation and the concept of variables. he probably learned what gravity was at age of two and was doing research in quantum field theory by the time he got into college.

take the last time you saw him outside of class, at office hours with professor yaga.

the air in professor yaga’s office is thick with the scent of old textbooks, the hum of the overhead lights adding to the familiar quiet. you’ve been waiting all week for this chance, and you’re armed with a question that’s supposed to signal i’ve done my homework. you lean forward, trying to project confidence as you ask, “i read in your last paper that you’re working on optimizing error correction in quantum computing systems. is there a reason you prioritized stabilizer codes over surface codes?”

professor yaga’s brow lifts, impressed, and you can feel the warmth of his approval starting to settle around you. “ah,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised, “you’ve actually read it. that’s... a complicated question.” he leans back, launching into an explanation, and for a second, you think this might actually be it—the moment he notices you for your dedication, your depth of knowledge.

but then, the door creaks open behind you.

you tense, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach even before you turn around. of course, it’s gojo satoru, strolling in like he owns the place. his bag is slung over one shoulder, and he’s flashing that easy grin that never seems to falter. he spares you the briefest glance before zeroing in on professor yaga.

professor yaga’s face shifts instantly, a mixture of annoyance and resignation flashing in his eyes as he sighs, “gojo. nice of you to join us.”

“hey, i was just passing by,” gojo says casually, though he’s clearly anything but. he doesn’t pass by anywhere without making an entrance. “thought i’d check in on how everyone’s doing.”

the glint in yaga’s eyes sharpens, and he fixes gojo with a look. “when’s that last problem set coming in, satoru? i’ve had enough late assignments from you for one semester.”

at this, another professor at a nearby desk chuckles, casting an amused glance at gojo. “don’t push him too hard, yaga,” he says as if gojo’s delinquency is something charming, a shared inside joke. “kid’s already got the department’s highest scores without trying.”

oh, for god’s fucking sake. you force yourself not to roll your eyes, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag as you sink back in your chair. of course, all it takes is for him to show up and somehow you’re rendered invisible. just minutes ago, professor yaga was engaging with you, treating you as if you might actually belong in this room with your carefully constructed question. now, he’s utterly distracted, entirely absorbed by whatever pseudo-flattering insults he’s throwing at gojo. and, for the record, that stupid, balding professor is wrong. you have the same fucking scores as gojo, so you’re equals.

you’re not even sure gojo realizes he’s doing it—that he has this magnetic, obnoxious effect on everyone in a room. but that’s exactly what grates on you the most. he pulls all eyes to him, like he’s some cosmic force everyone’s compelled to admire. and you? you’re just… there. not that it’s any different than the usual experiences you’ve had as a woman in stem, always feeling like you have to prove yourself five times over. but somehow, gojo makes it worse.

and he does it all effortlessly, like physics is some sort of playground where he can breeze through research and exams, sprinkling charisma wherever he goes. he’s probably off writing his own theories on manifolds while everyone else is struggling to keep up with quantum mechanics. meanwhile, here you are, clawing for every shred of recognition, only to watch it fizzle as soon as he steps into the room.

he flashes a grin at professor yaga. “i’ll get it in,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “i’m just, you know, prioritizing. some of us have… extracurriculars.” he doesn’t wink, but he might as well.

you resist the urge to scoff, sinking deeper into your seat as the frustration bubbles up, sharp and hot. it’s not like you’re jealous. you’d rather endure anything than admit that. but watching gojo waltz in and immediately siphon off any attention you’d managed to earn feels like a slap. if he could just stop showing up, or better yet, stop pretending to be so casually brilliant, maybe—just maybe—you’d have a chance at something other than this routine invisibility.

you let out a huff, pretending to check the time, imagining you had somewhere better to be. you have brilliant, observant blue eyes following you out the door, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself together until you reach your dorm, where you ugly cry it out.

which, of course, brings you to mornings like this one, where you actually do have to be somewhere. namely, behind the counter at the campus starbucks, opening up shop while most of the world is still asleep. you catch sight of the green mermaid logo ahead, just visible through the dim haze of a 5:07 a.m. chill.

and right beneath it, there’s a familiar head of silver hair.

your eyes have to double take on the man who seems to be looking a bit slouched, tired and leaning against the light pole while tapping his foot. the muscular yet tall stature and white hair are unmistakable; it’s the same ones you’ve dreamed about throttling. but you’re so confused as to why he’s there that you just decide to wordlessly walk towards the store and open up, ignoring his presence until his voice cuts through the morning silence.

“doesn’t this store open up at 5?” his voice sounds tired and groggy, you notice.

“uh, yea,” you answer tentatively, shrugging. “but, um, no one comes until 7 so i show up late.”

his eyes narrow and somewhat playfully (well, as playful as he can sound at the ass crack of dawn anyways), he asks, “don’t you know time is of the essence? seems pretty irresponsible to me that you’re not showing up on time.”

you just stare at him for a bit because, after all, this is the guy you’ve been having the murderous equivalent of wet dreams about for the past year talking to you in a friendly, joking, familiar way. needless to say, you’re at a loss of words in your slightly flustered state, so all that comes out is a short “sorry” before you’re walking in, getting ready to put on your apron and setting the oven on to heat up the croissants.

gojo follows in after you, choosing to sit at the table closest to the counter. he sets the backpack he had on his back down, rummaging through and whipping out his laptop and plugging it in. it’s a heavy old thing, and gojo’s biceps strain as he pulls it out and you almost snort when looking at it in its entirety. a gaming laptop.

but you don’t do that, because laughing at someone who’s a stranger to you would be mean, no matter how much you hate him, so you resort to setting up the counter and getting some powders out. bending over, you get the newly shipped box of cake pops, deigning to put them out on display until you’re interrupted with a cough.

you turn, looking inquisitively at gojo until he points down to the counter, indicating that he wants to order. you mumble, “just a second!” before you continue hauling the box to put it on the top counter where you can easily unpack it and brush your hands, walking up to gojo and getting the system ready to take his order.

and your fingers are poised on the buttons until you realize that no order is coming out of his mouth. you blink, and he blinks, keeping a stoic face that nevertheless poorly conceals an amused expression.

“…what can i get you?”

at that, he pouts. “no good morning? no chirpy hello?”

you just stare at him for a good second. what the fuck?

“what?” gojo frowns. “shouldn’t you do that to every customer?” you realize belatedly you’ve said it out loud in your shock, but shake it off nonetheless.

the silence lingers after gojo’s teasing comment, making you acutely aware of the odd situation: you’re standing there in your work apron, face-to-face with the man you’ve imagined taking down in your head a thousand times, and yet here he is, tired but playfully trying to chat you up. you should hate this—he’s getting under your skin, but for some reason, you just feel unsettled, disturbed that he’s so human.

you don’t trust your voice to not crack while making eye contact with him, so, instead, you focus on your screen. you settle on a simple, flat, “morning,” without a hint of cheerfulness, staring down at the register like it’s your lifeline.

gojo’s eyebrow quirks at your half-hearted greeting, but he says nothing, opting instead to study you with an amused glint. you can feel his gaze, like a weight on your skin, and it almost makes you shiver. he leans forward a little, propping his elbows on the counter, his posture loose but expectant. his playful energy is barely masking something beneath it, something harder.

gojo's grin is wide, almost boyish, and it makes your stomach churn more than it should.

“see? was that so hard?” he says, leaning forward on his elbows like he’s settling in for a chat. his tone is too friendly for someone who’s never exchanged more than a glance with you in class—someone you’ve been actively avoiding whenever possible.

you scowl, moving to the register to finally punch in his order. “what would you like?”

“hmm...” he taps his chin, dragging out the silence. he’s enjoying this, that much is obvious. “surprise me.”

you blink, fingers still poised over the buttons. “surprise you?”

“yeah,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “you work here. you know what’s good.”

you want to throttle him. really, truly throttle him. there’s no way this is real—no way the gojo satoru is sitting in front of you at 5:07 in the morning, asking you to surprise him with a starbucks order like he’s some quirky regular.

and yet, here you are.

“fine,” you mutter, punching in the order for the sweetest, most ridiculous concoction you can think of. caramel drizzle, extra whipped cream, a pump of every syrup in the back room—you’re not going easy on him. “that’ll be eight dollars.”

he doesn’t blink at the ridiculous price. of course, he doesn’t.

pulling out his phone, he taps it against the card reader and flashes you another grin. “thanks, i’m sure it’ll be great.”

you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “uh-huh.”

as you move to make the drink, the silence between you stretches uncomfortably. you’ve spent so much time thinking about gojo, despising him, that now that he’s here, right in front of you, you don’t know how to act. and the worst part? he seems perfectly at ease, completely unfazed by the fact that you’ve spent the better part of a year dreaming of his downfall. he’s back to looking at his stupid heavy ahh gaming laptop, and as you move over to put in copious amounts of caramel pumps, you notice that he’s on cool math games playing fireboy and watergirl and almost snort out loud. he’s locked in on his game, his legs moving up and down anxiously, reminiscent of an ipad kid.

after a few minutes of assembling his monstrosity of a drink, you slide it across the counter. “here,” you say, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.

gojo raises an eyebrow at the drink, the sheer volume of whipped cream threatening to spill over the lid. “wow,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed. “you really went all out.”

“you said to surprise you.”

“i did,” he admits, grabbing the cup and taking a slow, deliberate sip. his eyes widen slightly at the overly sweet taste, and for a brief moment, you think you’ve won.

but then he smiles again, that same irritatingly carefree smile, and you know you haven’t.

“so,” gojo begins, leaning back in his chair like he’s settling in for a long conversation. “what’s a genius like you doing working the early shift at starbucks?”

your hands freeze mid-clean, and you glance at him sharply. genius?

you can’t tell if he’s being sincere or mocking you—probably the latter, considering who he is—but the word still lingers in the air between you, unsettling.

you scoff, trying to brush it off. “gotta pay the bills somehow,” you mutter, going back to wiping down the counter. but gojo’s gaze is heavy on you, and you can tell he’s not letting it go.

you glance up at him. “look, i like having time to think in the mornings. it’s quiet. besides, no one’s lining up for coffee before 7, so it’s not like i’m missing anything.”

gojo chuckles softly, but there’s something off about it. “thinking time, huh?” he repeats your words, but there’s a strange edge to them, like he’s mulling them over. in fact, you think you just realize that he’s been acting oddly this entire morning, restlessness evident in his figure. he taps his fingers on the table, his eyes flickering to the window, watching the gray morning light spill into the shop.

“doesn’t it ever feel like…” he trails off, brow furrowing slightly. “i don’t know… like you should be doing something else? like… something more?”

his question hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken, but you get the feeling he’s not talking about you. there’s something in his voice, something that sounds like he’s grappling with his own thoughts, with his own place in the world.

for a moment, you’re tempted to brush him off. to tell him he’s overthinking things, that he’s gojo satoru and he already has everything laid out for him. but something stops you. maybe it’s the way he looks—his usual confidence slightly cracked at the edges, his playful tone masking something else. something deeper.

you shrug, turning back to the counter. “i mean… it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

there’s a pause, and you can feel the weight of your words sinking in. gojo goes quiet, really quiet, and when you glance back at him, his usual smirk is gone. he’s just… staring at you, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure you out.

“just… showing up, huh?” he repeats softly, almost like he’s testing the words. his fingers stop tapping, and he leans back in his chair, his gaze unfocused, like he’s somewhere else entirely. somewhere in his own head.

you don’t say anything else. you’ve said your piece, and somehow, you know it hit deeper than either of you expected. there’s a strange silence between you now, not uncomfortable, but heavy with understanding.

gojo stands up after a long pause, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. he looks at you, his usual grin slipping back into place, but it’s softer now. less cocky. more real.

“maybe you’re right,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing in his voice. “sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”

and with that, he gives you a small nod, turning and heading out into the cold morning. the door swings shut behind him, and for a second, you just stand there, staring after him.

something’s shifted. you don’t know what it is, but it feels like the start of something. something bigger than just a rivalry.

you shake your head, turning back to the counter. it’s too early for this shit.

…

“you know, i didn’t get your name.”

gojo’s voice cuts through the low hum of the espresso machine as he leans against the counter, that same insufferable grin plastered across his face. he’s here again, of course, only this time it’s during your closing shift. the place is quiet, almost deserted except for the occasional customer who swings by for a quick coffee before heading back out into the cold.

you look up from the equipment you were cleaning, already annoyed. “i’m pretty sure we’ve shared at least one class every semester.”

you weren’t trying to hide the pettiness. gojo, for all his academic genius, clearly couldn’t be bothered to remember you—a recurring face in his orbit. it’s not like you were expecting him to remember you, especially among the sea of faces in lecture halls, but something about the way he strolled in, acting like this was just some cute, quirky meet-cute, got under your skin.

gojo quirks an eyebrow in confusion, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling as if searching the recesses of his mind for your name—only to come up empty. “are you a grad student?”

you flash him an exasperated look. “just for that, i’m not telling you.”

grabbing a towel to wipe your hands, you step out from behind the barista counter, heading towards the trash can just behind him to restock the straws. as you make your way to the supply room, you can feel his eyes following your every move. to your surprise, gojo starts walking toward you, his presence looming as you dump the straws into the container.

it isn’t until you turn around that you realize he’s standing right next to you, bent comically at the waist and squinting at something on your chest. heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks as you realize his proximity and move to take a step back.

he wasn’t ogling you (thank god), but instead, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron.

"ah," he says, straightening up with a triumphant grin. “there it is. y/n, huh?” the way his mouth rolls over your name slowly makes you feel a bit weird, because after all, this is the guy you’ve shit talked about in your diary finally acknowledging you existed, but before you can reflect on the feeling, you bristle again in annoyance.

“really? you had to get that close just to read my name?”

gojo doesn’t seem fazed by your annoyance, in fact, it only seems to amuse him further. “hey, i was just trying to be thorough. gotta make sure i get it right, you know?” his grin widens, and you swear he’s enjoying this way too much.

“thorough. sure.” you turn away, trying to busy yourself with the straws again, but the heat still lingers on your face. his proximity had been… unexpected. and a little too close for comfort.

when you’re done with the straws, you steel the courage to turn your body so you’re facing him, making an indication with your hands for him to move out of your way. instead of him giving you space to leave the cramped corner, he leans against the counter now like he practically owns the place. in doing so, he effectively pins you against the corner of the coffee shop, leaving you no option but to fiddle with the straws while pointedly avoiding his gaze, but not before you see the pout on his face. “you’re not going to ask me for my name?”

“i know it. it’s gojo.” you immediately curse yourself for letting your lips loose.

fuck. he squints his eyes in what you perceive as suspicion. “how do you know my name?”

“i saw it on your credit card information.” you couldn’t exactly tell him how you’ve stalked him (as well as how inefficient you found a function in his 6th grade robotics code), so that would be a plausible enough reason.

but gojo, of course, doesn’t let up. “so, y/n,” he starts. “you going to the party next week? you know, for halloweekend?”

ah, halloweekend. the ultimate weekend for getting excuses to dress slutilly, excessively drink, and get laid. at your college, it was an even bigger deal, with people partying for all three days of the week’s end as well as the weekend before and after halloween. you shook your head. “i don’t think so.” that phys 321 assignment was not going to finish itself, nor were parties really your scene.

“what?” he immediately crosses his arms across his chest, frowning and leaning closer to you to squint at you. “why?”

you sigh inwardly, awkward at the prospect of him bugging you further about your life. “i’m bu—”

you’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening and instinctively move to get behind the counter to take the new customer’s order; at first, you thank the heavens that you got a distraction from gojo, that you’re not alone anymore, but seeing who the customer was, the hope extinguishes like a candle face with wind.

you both see a man swagger in, the same guy you’ve noticed hanging around far too often lately. his eyes immediately lock onto you, and a slow, sleazy grin spreads across his face.

“hey, look who’s still here,” the man says, sauntering over to the counter like he owns the place. “my favorite barista.”

you tense, forcing a smile. “what can i get you?”

he doesn’t answer right away, his gaze sliding down your body in a way that makes your skin crawl. “i was thinking…” he drawls, leaning in closer than necessary, “you and i should hang out. you’re always here, and i’m always here, so it’s like fate or something, right?”

your stomach churns, and you take a small step back, maintaining your composure. “i’m good, thanks.”

but he doesn’t let up, leaning further across the counter. “come on, don’t be like that. just one drink. you deserve it after a long day.”

“i really can’t—”

“don’t be shy,” he interrupts, a grin spreading wider. “i’m a nice guy, i promise.”

before you can think of another polite rejection, gojo steps forward, his body language shifting entirely. the playful air around him evaporates, replaced by something colder, more dangerous. he positions himself squarely between you and the guy, effectively cutting off the man’s view of you.

“she said no,” gojo says, his voice firm, low. “so why don’t you fuck off?”

the sleazy guy blinks, clearly not expecting the sudden shift. his smile fades, and he glares at gojo, sizing him up like he’s considering pushing back. but one glance at gojo’s unwavering stare, and the guy decides it’s not worth it. with a muttered curse, he turns and leaves, the door swinging shut behind him.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. the guy’s been bothering you routinely; part of you thinks that he’s still not going to leave you alone, but the rest of you visibly relaxes, the weight of this guy’s harassment lifting off your shoulders under gojo’s protection.

gojo turns back to you, the usual teasing smirk creeping back onto his face, though his eyes are still sharp. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you manage, though your voice is quieter than you’d like. “thanks for that.”

“don’t mention it.” he shrugs it off like it was nothing, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you now—something protective. “i know you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, but i figured i’d speed things up a bit.”

you roll your eyes, trying to shake off the tension. “you’re such a hero, gojo.”

“always,” he replies with a wink. and just like that, the moment’s lightened again, the balance between you restored, though there’s a subtle shift in the air. something unspoken between the two of you—an understanding, maybe.

you don’t acknowledge it out loud, but as you go back to restocking, you find yourself glancing at him more than before. and for the first time in… well, ever, you don’t completely mind his presence.

…

fast forward a few hours, and after a bit of conversation, gojo finally leaves the fine institution that is your campus starbucks. right now, you’re alone and finishing cleaning up. you lock up, the starbucks finally closed, finishing your last task for the night. it’s quiet—too quiet, actually, with the usual streetlights casting strange shadows across the empty sidewalk. the air feels heavy, like something unseen is lingering just out of reach, watching from the dark. you shake it off, telling yourself you’re just tired and letting your nerves get to you.

as you start your walk back to your dorm, the feeling only grows. the street’s nearly empty, and with each step, the silence presses in closer. it’s fine, you tell yourself, picking up your pace. but then you hear it: the echo of footsteps, faint but unmistakable. heart pounding, you speed up, every instinct telling you to just get back. almost there. you just have to cross the alley—

“hey there,” a voice drawls, and your stomach sinks. a hand moves to grab at your shoulder, making you turn quickly. what meets your vision is the same guy from earlier, his grin widening in a way that makes your skin crawl.

you try to move out of his grip, but he grabs you harder, cutting off any escape. “aw, don’t be like that. i just wanted some company.”

your throat’s dry, but you manage, “i said no.”

he doesn’t even pretend to listen, his gaze trailing over you with that same leering interest. “no need to be so uptight. i could make this fun for you.”

your back hits the wall of the alley. trapped. he leans in, his breath warm and sour against your face, one hand reaching out as he says something sleazy that you can barely hear over the pounding in your ears—

and then a voice cuts in from above, all easy humor. “y’know, i always thought this city’s trash problem was bad, but this is something else.”

your heart leaps in your chest at the small flicker of hope, that someone has the balls to try to rescue you. but as you—and this creep—turn, you find no evidence of another party present, only his mysterious presence.

“who’s there?” the guy snarls, his grip tightening so much that you wince. “why don’t you get lost if you know what’s good for you—”

“dude, don’t you have any rizz?” the mysterious boy retorts.the stranger has a youthful voice, someone of your age. “the way you have to resort to sexual harassment is just sad. you guys are always sooo predictable, you’re so gonna tell me to scram or something.”

the man scowls, hand leaving your arm in an effort to search for the stranger in the dark. “why don’t you mind your own business, punk—”

and he’s interrupted, because a shiny, silver something flings out in the darkness and lands on his face, sending his arms in a frenzy to uncover what it is. the man rips the sticky, silver webbing off his face with a growl, looking around wildly, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. his eyes dart through the dark alley, searching for the source of that cocky voice, but there’s nothing—just shadows and the faint flicker of a streetlamp somewhere down the block.

“who the hell are you?” he snaps, twisting his neck as if he could scare whoever’s hiding out there into the open. “show yourself, you bastard!”

a chuckle echoes from the darkness, bouncing off the brick walls. “wow, real tough guy, huh? but you should work on those anger issues. they’re, uh…a bit unbecoming.”

the man spins around, and another burst of webbing flies out from somewhere unseen, sticking to his shoulder this time. he yanks it off with a frustrated grunt, his head whipping from side to side as he tries to locate the stranger.

“you think this is funny?” he spits, voice raised in a mix of fear and fury.

“depends. do you?” the voice is closer now, almost like the stranger is right above you, yet no one’s there. “or is this just a big overreaction? all i did was suggest you rethink your approach. go to therapy or sum’.”

the man snarls, fists clenched, starting to look downright unhinged. “get down here and say that to my face, punk!”

“as you wish.”

with a soft thump, a figure drops from above, landing directly in front of the guy in a low crouch. in the dim light, all you see at first are the blue and black accents on the otherwise white suit, his head tilting up, illuminated just enough that his white, wide eyes glow with a certain playful menace. and then, your eyes widen as you gasp to yourself.

you’ve seen him before.

okay, pause.

you’re a busy college student, one who stays entrenched in the bubble of upcoming exams, assignments, and problem sets that you don’t check the news often. in the off chance you do turn from your usual consumption of social media during your breaks to the news, you only have time to read the big headlines.

so you did read somewhere that in your university’s city of new york city, there was a masked menan—vigilante that had beat up a few guys near a shawarma joint or prevented some shootings at a nightclub. new york city was full of incompetent cops that were on the lookout for him (a/n acabbbbbb) since this guy was a vigilante, some kind of superhero slinging around on webs. some name—spiderman.

but before you could read more into the article, your soul almost left your body when you got a canvas notification saying your midterm was graded, so that was the end of that.

alright, pause over. back to now.

“hi!” spiderman chirps, giving him a friendly wave before ducking just as the man throws a punch. the swing goes wide, and spiderman straightens up with a disappointed sigh. “see, this is why i’m the one with the web powers. you’d hurt yourself with these moves.”

without warning, the man charges again, swinging in rapid succession, but each one misses as spiderman easily sidesteps, practically dancing around him. “oof, dude, how did you make it this far in life with reflexes like that?” he ducks another blow, slipping behind the guy to give him a light tap on the shoulder as he passes.

the man stumbles, eyes flashing with frustration, and lets out a roar, reaching down to pick up a loose brick from the alley floor. he raises it above his head, face twisted in a snarl.

“oh, so we’re improvising now?” spiderman quips, and before the man can bring the brick down, a strand of webbing shoots out, sticking to the brick and yanking it from his grasp. it flies off somewhere into the alley, landing with a dull clatter.

the guy stumbles forward, off balance, and spiderman takes the opportunity to web his feet to the ground, immobilizing him in place. the man struggles, pulling his legs, but he’s stuck fast.

“ever heard of boundaries?” spiderman asks, tilting his head with mock innocence. “or, like, self-restraint? you should look into it.”

the man glares, seething, still struggling against the webs. “you think you’re some kinda hero?” he sneers.

spiderman shrugs, glancing over at you, catching your gaze in a way that makes you feel both strangely comforted and seen. “nah, hero’s a big word. i’m just your friendly neighborhood guy with slightly above-average reflexes.”

with a frustrated yell, the man finally wrenches one arm free and makes a desperate lunge, his fist connecting with spiderman’s side. spiderman lets out a small grunt but only wobbles slightly before grinning. “okay, buddy, playtime’s over.”

before the man can even react, spiderman sends out another web, this time at his wrist, effectively pinning him to the alley wall. he struggles, face twisted in anger, but spiderman just raises a gloved hand to his lips as if hushing a child. then, in the lull that follows, you remember the thick quantum mechanics textbook in your bag. without thinking, you yank it out and, in a burst of adrenaline, swing it at the man’s head. the book lands with a solid thud, and he slumps, finally, into silence.

spiderman looks at the unconscious man, then at the textbook in your hand. he lets out a low whistle. “you know, i’ve always thought textbooks were a weapon of choice, but that’s next-level dedication.” that’s when you realize just how tall he is compared to you, and you can’t help your excitement when you realize that he’s here in the flesh.

“nice hit, by the wa—”

“it’s you!” you exclaim.

“what?” he sputters, white eyes widening almost comically. “me? oh,” then he straightens up, “yea, yea. just your friendly neighborhood spiderman. rescuing pretty girls from creeps, kinda my thing. ” he shrugs.

you continue, excitedly, “right, you’re the one on the news—” you move your hand to point at him but quickly wince, the pain of the man’s grip catching up to you.

he doesn’t miss the movement, eyes squinting at you. “hey, we’ll have to get you home. do you trust me?”

you look at him, clutching your arm in pain, and really take a moment to check him out. he’s saved you, he’s probably six feet tall, and his ass looks fantastic in his suit. at this point, you’re looking at him with heart eyes. but you can’t exactly tell him you want him to propose, so all you utter out is a “y-yeah. my dorm’s randall.”

he doesn't waste any time. with a quick nod, he hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you close as he aims a webline up toward the buildings. “hold on tight, randall’s just a swing away,” he murmurs, his voice light but steady. his hand settles on your hip, and you can't stop the way your stomach flips at the contact.

before you can even process what’s happening, he launches the two of you into the air, the city blurring beneath your feet as you cling to him, fingers gripping the fabric of his suit for dear life. his arm stays solid around you, his grip somehow both gentle and strong. he lands lightly on the roof of your dorm, setting you down carefully like you’re something fragile. and he steps back, dusting his hands off in the most nonchalant way possible, like he didn’t just take you on the most exhilarating ride of your life.

“this is your stop,” he says, that signature, almost cocky smile playing in his voice.

“uh… yeah. thanks. for the rescue,” you manage, your voice a little shakier than you’d like. you don’t know if “thank you” is enough—it doesn’t even come close to covering what you feel.

but he just shrugs, taking a step back. “all in a day’s work,” he says. “or night’s work, i guess.” he pauses, giving you a quick once-over. “get some sleep, yeah?”

and just like that, he gives you a small, almost playful salute and vanishes, swinging off into the night as easily as he’d appeared, leaving you standing on the rooftop with your heart still racing.

back in your dorm room, you drop onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling as tonight’s events replay in your head: the alley, his voice cutting through the dark, that cocky smirk, the way he felt holding onto you as you soared over the city lights. a tiny part of you wonders if you imagined the whole thing—if maybe you’re just the victim of some wild, sleep-deprived hallucination.

but no, your arm still aches from where the creep grabbed you, and you can still feel the ghost of his hand on your waist, steady and reassuring. you bite your lip, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself.

just before sleep finally claims you, you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. “the city’s vigilante, huh?” you murmur, as if he’s somehow still listening.

the thought is wild, a bit surreal—and strangely comforting.

…

“one caffe americano!” you call out, reading the label on the cup before handing it over with a small nod. the customer takes it with a quick thanks, and you return to the counter, barely holding back a yawn. the events of last night flicker through your mind—a web-slinging hero, an alley, the lingering ache in your arm—and you shake it off. there’s no room for distractions. life as a college student means the grind never stops, especially on a morning shift right before class.

when your coworker finally arrives, you let out a quiet sigh of relief, grab your bag, and step out into the brisk morning air. the chill helps wake you up as you make your way across campus, hoping to catch up with your friends before the lecture starts. just outside the building, you spot utahime, sitting on a bench, waiting with her usual tired smile.

“hey, finally off the clock?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, barely,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “i’m still running on fumes from last night. you guys save me a seat?”

“of course. nanami’s already inside,” she says, gesturing toward the building.

you sigh. “you won’t believe the things that happened last night.”

she gives you a look, in the traditional utahime protective-mother-hen type way. “what happened?”

you give her the rundown of what happened, the guy (who she bristles at, gives you a slap at your hand to tell you that you should’ve told her earlier, kento would’ve been able to beat his ass if she hadn’t gotten to it first) and how spiderman saved you. “i would give him what he’s missing,” you sigh, dreamily.

utahime looks at you in a judgmental way. “and that’s all you got from this? for fucks sake, he’s a vigilante, you don’t know if he’s started to tail you or not. pooks, he could literally be dangerous. try to convince your boss to let someone else get your night shift.” as soon as you open your mouth to protest, she cuts you off immediately. “and no, i don’t give a fuck about your people pleaser tendenci—”

“we’ll revisit this conversation later.” you give her a sweet smile as you start to speed walk, door of the lecture hall of the 9am section of phys401: intro to quantum algorithms, falling in with the usual stream of students after you hear an irritated “yea, cause i’m gonna kill you otherwise.” the familiar chatter and echo of footsteps make the day feel almost normal, grounding you as you weave through the hall.

inside, you quickly spot kento’s shining, disney prince-like blonde hair, who has saved seats for the three of you near the middle of the hall, away from the ugly, smelly grad students who always crowd the front. he gives you a quick nod as you settle down beside him, flipping open your notebook. the reliable calm on his face helps ease the lingering jitters you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

“long night?” he asks, glancing at the dark circles under your eyes.

“you could say that,” you mumble, not quite ready to get into details. instead, you wave it off. “just work assignments, and getting jumped, the usual.”

nanami breaks into a series of shocked coughs, and you hurry to pat his back as he undeniably burns his tongue on the coffee he was taking a sip of. “what?”

his rather loud exclamation sets off stares from people sitting closer to you both, so you give utahime, who lets out a quiet groan as she’s settling into her seat beside you, a knowing look. “it’s a long story, i’ll tell it to you later.”

he reluctantly settles in after that, not because he has a choice but because yaga is starting to address the class by asking about the weekend and getting his usual blank stares in return until a voice you recognize as suguru geto’s is saying something to undeniably piss him off, but you don’t register quite what it is exactly because the door opens and any attention on geto is directed to the boy with white hair and blue eyes tiredly walking into class.

he’s about ten minutes late to the lecture, which is already weird because he’s usually about 27 seconds late, not that you keep count. but also, normally gojo is the picture of confidence and cockyness, making some of the female grad students whisper things about him that you don’t think they should be for the five year gap between them and gojo.

but today, he looks different—messy, unkempt, with shadows under his eyes and a weird angle to his torso, the way he walks, and the way his opposite hand is subconsciously hovering around his side.

your brows knit together as he heads to an empty seat rows behind you next to geto, ignoring the stares of half the room. it’s so out of character for him that you can’t help but wonder what’s going on. you shoot utahime a knowing look, and she stifles a laugh, barely managing to keep a straight face as she watches gojo slink to his seat. nanami’s usually impassive face exchanges a look with you as well before he turns his attention back to professor yaga’s opening remarks. gojo slides into the row behind you without a word, avoiding everyone’s gaze—or so you think, until you feel it.

as you attempt to listen to professor yaga, you can’t shake the sensation of eyes boring into the back of your head. you resist the urge to turn, telling yourself it’s probably nothing… except the feeling lingers, so strong that your pulse ticks up a notch.

“okay, now that we’re all here,” yaga says in a dry tone, barely able to hide his irritation as he glances pointedly in gojo’s direction, “let’s begin with today’s lecture on grover’s.”

professor yaga taps the board, and the projector switches to a set of slides titled quantum speed-up and the grover search algorithm. he launches into his explanation, voice clipped. “grover’s algorithm provides a quadratic speed-up for unstructured search problems, a notable advantage in quantum computing. but can anyone tell me why this isn’t considered an exponential improvement?”

you raise your hand, as does nanami. a subtle shift of movement in your peripheral vision draws your eye to gojo, who’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. yaga’s attention lands on nanami first, and he gives a succinct answer about how grover’s algorithm yields only a quadratic speed-up in terms of computational complexity. as he answers, you swear you catch gojo watching you, again, through the corner of your eye.

determined not to let him get under your skin, you lean over to whisper to nanami. “what’s with him today?”

nanami, still watching yaga, raises a brow. “maybe he finally realized that he can’t get by without skipping class today.”

utahime snickers quietly. “doubtful. more like he thinks it’s funny to waltz in whenever he likes and still ace every test.”

“exactly.” you sigh, drumming your pen against your notebook. gojo’s rare absences don’t even seem to faze most professors. and despite his unpredictable attendance, he’s always managed to stay miles ahead. today, though, something’s… different about him. like he’s made a life changing decision in the past 48 hours.

“moving on,” yaga says, pointing to the board where the next slide materializes. “the heart of grover’s algorithm lies in its use of an amplitude amplification technique, where we iterate a search oracle along with an inversion process. pay attention—this concept of iterative improvement will become key when we start covering variational quantum algorithms.”

as yaga delves deeper into amplitude amplification, you manage to focus, jotting down notes on the necessary steps in grover’s search. yet each time you settle into the lecture, you feel gojo’s gaze pricking at you. the first time you turn around, there’s nothing there—just him slouched, seemingly absorbed in whatever he’s staring at on the ceiling. but then, you sense it again and, on your second glance, you catch his blue eyes meeting yours, and he quickly looks away.

what’s his problem? you give him a questioning look, but he’s adamantly not looking at you, trying to look nonchalant as he’s pulling out his laptop. he might look like a student taking latexing notes of what yaga’s yapping about, but the way he’s using his mouse more than he is his keyboard tells you that he’s probably on papa’s freezeria instead.

you decide that you’re going to waste your time wondering how gojo’s brain functioned, so you instead focus back on the lecture. after all, you didn’t understand any of the lecture notes you took notes on before and what it said about the diffuser in the circuit.

“now,” yaga’s voice sharpens, pulling you back into the room, “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of being late.” his eyes slide back to gojo, who remains oblivious, leaning back with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as the sound of his name brings him back to the lecture.

gojo doesn’t even look phased. instead, he raises a hand casually, like he’s about to ask a simple question. you can feel the anticipation ripple through the room—half the students are waiting to see if he’ll fumble, and the other half already know better.

“professor yaga,” he drawls, “don’t you think amplitude amplification is a bit of an oversimplification? the way it’s typically presented, you’d think grover’s algorithm was just… guessing with style.” he flashes an infuriatingly smug smile, drawing out the pause before continuing. “but we both know it’s more about quantum phase inversion, right? the oracle reflects about the mean state, iterating with a precision that isn’t just luck. or maybe that’s all too technical?” he leans back, feigning innocence.

the smugness in his tone makes something flare up in you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots up.

“actually, gojo,” you interject, your voice louder than you intended, “calling it “guessing with style” is a very gross oversimplification. grover’s algorithm isn’t about intuition or luck. it’s about optimization. it’s not just about spotlighting a target like a rando guess, it’s more like rotating the probability in a controlled manner—with iterations—to amplify the correct solution. not just some quantum trick or guess.” you cross your arms, leaning back in your chair as you stare him down. “it’s not even that bad, compared to what we have classically.”

as soon as you spoke, it seems that the fight and mischievous look in gojo’s eyes fades, replacing it with something that shockingly looks like him being flustered as he averts your gaze, looks to the ceiling, and murmurs something like “yea, that’s basically most of quantum computing, desperately trying to prove we’re not just wasting our time” but yaga interrupts him, clearly a bit annoyed at the two know-it-alls that you and gojo were acting like.

“now,” yaga says, shifting back to the lecture as if nothing happened (probably because he wasn’t paid enough to deal with this shit), “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of missing lectures.”

you’re just left confused as to why the conversation didn’t escalate like the typical academic rivals in movies, because you’ve definitely seen gojo bully some people who didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about instead of just blushing like some schoolgirl. regardless, you can’t help but notice the thrill that you felt, having finally argued with him, having been seen as someone worth arguing. you try to temper it as yaga continues onto the rest of the lecture.

…

“i can’t believe you’re making me go.” you tug at the hem of your white corset, paired with a matching skirt, still incredulous at how utahime managed to talk you into attending one of the infamous halloween frat parties. the night air is crisp against your exposed shoulders, and despite your complaints, you shiver more at the thought of wasting the next few hours among sweaty strangers than the actual cold.

utahime, walking beside you in a devil-red version of your outfit—complete with horns perched precariously on her head—looks far too satisfied with herself. she adjusts the horns with one hand, giving you a sidelong glance that practically drips with smugness.

“stop pouting,” she chides. “i’m not going to let you waste another night holed up in your room, buried in manhwa or quantum physics. i’m pretty sure there are cobwebs growing in your—”

“utahime,” you hiss, cutting her off with a mortified glance around.

“pussy,” she finishes, completely unbothered. “i’m going to find you a guy to hook up with. i’m not saying you have to go all the way, but flirting? kissing? maybe something more? very healthy. highly encouraged.”

your mouth falls open in protest, but before you can get a word in, she fixes you with a sharp glare, her dark eyes flashing with all the authority of a disappointed parent. “don’t even think about arguing with me. i swear, if you don’t at least try to enjoy this, i’ll make it my personal mission to find someone for you.”

“i can’t believe this,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “you’re supposed to be my friend, not my pimp.”

“oh, i’m your friend. that’s why i’m doing this. you’ll thank me when you’re sixty and not crying about how boring your college life was.”

“i’m not boring,” you counter. “i’m selective.”

“sure,” utahime drawls, clearly unconvinced. “and whatever weird sexual tension you’ve got going on with gojo doesn’t count.”

you scoff, stopping in your tracks to stare at her. “what tension? we’ve literally talked once this week. and that was the first time we had a conversation.”

she doesn’t respond, already scanning the scene ahead. the street of frat houses looms just ahead, glowing with gaudy orange lights strung up across balconies. the bass from the nearest party reverberates through the pavement underfoot. it’s already crowded, hordes of people shuffling in and out, laughing, shouting, and showcasing their half-baked halloween costumes.

you follow utahime’s gaze to the nearest house, packed with enough people to make the windows fog up. just the thought of squeezing into that humidity makes your stomach churn.

“looks crowded,” you mumble. “maybe we should—”

before you can suggest retreating, utahime grabs your wrist and practically drags you toward the house. “nope. you’re coming in. no backing out now.”

the moment you step inside, the smell hits you. sweat, stale beer, and an undercurrent of what you can only describe as frat-house musk. your nose wrinkles, and you instinctively recoil, pulling your arm free from utahime’s grasp.

“god, it smells like a gym locker in here,” you say, covering your nose.

utahime doesn’t seem fazed. she’s already scanning the room, her eyes landing on a beer pong table set up in the corner, surrounded by cheering students. “this is perfect!” she says, beaming.

“for what? contracting a fungal infection?” you mutter.

but she’s no longer listening, her focus shifting as a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a makeshift cowboy hat approaches her and then stops in front of both of you, his stare fully enthralled by utahime. “hey,” he says, a bit suavely, in the way that makes you inwardly roll your eyes because you know she’s going to eat it up. she likes it when they’re a little ugly, and this guy fits the bill.

“hey,” and she giggles, making you have to physically fight the urge to puke, “what’s up?”

they exchange a few words, and before you know it, she’s smiling in that way that tells you she’s found her entertainment for the night.

“go ahead,” you say dryly, waving her off. “i’ll just fend for myself.”

utahime starts to protest, but you’re already beelining for the kitchen, trying to get a drink that’s not too crazy to survive the night. it’s surprisingly less chaotic in the kitchen, though the counters are cluttered with half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and some questionable punch that looks radioactive. you scan the room, your eyes landing on a cupboard that might hold something simple—like water. a series of ding! ding! ding!’s go off in your mind as you find the pack of plastic water bottles.

standing on your toes, you reach for the handle, but it’s just out of your grasp. you huff in frustration, shifting to get better leverage when a hand way bigger than yours suddenly appears above yours, effortlessly grabbing the item you were reaching for.

“let me get that for you.”

you turn to thank the person, the words dying on your lips when you see who it is.

gojo.

he’s standing impossibly close, his signature smirk firmly in place, but there’s something almost casual in the way he looks at you, as if this is the most normal interaction in the world. you swear you’re so close that you can see like the two open pores on his otherwise flawless skin, as his eyes inevitably drag themselves downwards to scan your outfit for the night—a shitty angel without wings and halo (you couldn’t be paid two shits to put in the effort; both of the top and skirt were utahime’s, anyways.) then, his eyes meet yours again, a bit of playfulness in them.

“well, well,” he drawls, handing you the water bottle. “never thought i’d see you here.”

you take the bottle, trying to ignore the brush of his fingers against yours. “didn’t have much of a choice. utahime dragged me.”

his grin widens. “classic. let me guess—she’s off trying to find her soulmate at the beer pong table?”

“something like that,” you mumble, not wanting to give him the entire story. twisting the cap off the bottle, you take a sip, hoping he’ll just leave you alone, but instead, he leans against the counter, looking entirely too comfortable.

“so,” he says, tilting his head, “i heard through the grapevine that you had a run-in with that spider-man guy this week.”

that makes you pause mid-gulp of water, instead coughing a bit as you try to swallow it down without basically drowning in kirkland signature natural spring water. you’ve only told like, three people outside of kento and iori, so you’re confused why he knows this information, but you continue on regardless. the memory of spider-man swinging in to save you flashes through your mind, and you can’t help but smile softly to yourself. “it was amazing. he’s—he’s incredible, honestly. the way he just swooped in and handled everything? so fast, so precise. he’s like a real-life superhero.”

you’re basically gushing to him, and you realize that a bit too late as you look at his face to gauge his reaction. he’s looking at you with a newfound interest, albeit a bit too conflicted to fully tease you about it when he says, “sounds like you’re smitten.”

“maybe i am,” you admit, laughing. “i mean, who wouldn’t be? he’s brave, he’s kind, and he doesn’t even stick around for the credit. it’s like he’s this selfless, untouchable figure.” you also kind of want to give him a sloppy toppy for saving you like that, but you spare gojo the details.

“untouchable, huh?” gojo echoes, his tone turning a bit wry and…jealous? “sounds like someone’s got a crush.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted, and you think gojo can tell with the way you’re heating up and bashfully looking at the ground. “don’t be ridiculous.”

“i’m just saying,” he continues, leaning closer, “if that’s your type, you might want to raise your standards. superheroes are overrated.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and what, you’re not?”

he grins, that infuriatingly charming grin that makes you want to simultaneously punch him and laugh. “i’m better. i’m real.” he then puts his hands on the counter behind you, caging you between them until your knees are lightly brushing, and suddenly his face is so close that small little breaths from his nose are fanning across your face. “i can prove that to you.”

and you hate your body for being so…reactive and enthusiastic to his smooth-talking, face flushing. despite that, you try to put on an air of nonchalance. “god, you’re insufferable.”

“really?” he teases. his hand leaves the marble counter to hover at your hip, his hand subconsciously tracing your curves an inch above your skin. the motion, firm but tentative as if he’s waiting for you to give him the green light, makes you shiver as you subconsciously move your hips to finally have the skin-to-skin contact. and your skin sings in happiness as he draws circles into the area right below your skirt, even momentarily dipping just below, to which you realize that he’s treading very close to your panties, since your skirt’s really short.

"yea," you basically sigh, hating yourself for how breathy your voice sounds.

it seems to have an effect on gojo because his eyes darken as he murmurs, "wastin' your time on that spiderman guy."

maybe it's the fact that it's late (you've been getting sub four hours of sleep this past week) or the lights in this humid frat bring a heady air, but all academic-rivalry-overshadowed-woman-in-stem history between you and gojo disappears in your brain as you rake your eyes up and down his torso and then look at him through your lashes. "who should i spend my time on instead?"

he gives you a little smile as he stares down at you, eyes raking over your face, catching at your lips and then going back up again to meet yours. “i don’t know, someone who’s as smart as you,” he murmurs.

“yea?” you laugh out breathlessly. your faces are so close that in normal circumstances, you would worry about how you both looked so close together, one hand on your thigh and the other splayed on your waist. “and how would you know how smart i am?”

satoru starts, lips coming closer and closer. “because i—”

but he’s interrupted, because you both hear a “satoru” and pull apart, breathing heavily as you both turn to look at the offender standing in the entrance of the kitchen: suguru geto, gojo’s best friend, looking more tired than anything as his eyes catch on you, then going to gojo with a pointed look. it’s not hard to figure out what was going on based on how disheveled you both look, your skirt crooked and his shirt crumbled, and your cheeks heat. before you can say anything, however, suguru sighs and says to gojo, “there’s a burglary happening nearby.” then, he turns but not before giving you a nod. “make sure to stay safe.”

he promptly leaves, leaving you confused standing there. was this such an emergency worth noting that he interrupted his best friend?

you try to seek the answer in gojo’s face, but he has this conflicted, annoyed countenance and you suddenly feel kinda of insecure because he’s raking his hand through his hair, staring painfully at the ceiling then at you. at the same time you utter out a “uh–” he says “i have to go.”

“oh.” you blink. a why brews on top of your tongue, but you temper it, reminding yourself that you’re not close to gojo like that. needless to say, you feel a little embarrassed as you watch him jog out of the kitchen with a little wave to you. you want to overanalyze gojo’s last look to you, the one that looked a bit like disappointment and yearning, but you shake it off, staring at the 16.9 oz plastic water bottle in your hand that you forgot about.

taking a sip, you cringe as you become more aware of your surroundings and the state you’re left in because of gojo. that your panties are a bit more sticky—you reach under your skirt to adjust them so they don’t stick to your crotch so much—and you’re hot all over.

then reality comes crashing back. what the hell did you and gojo just do right now?

you groan out loud, banging your head against the fridge, but as you reel back, in your peripheral you see someone there. your head shoots to see the guy who’s now looking at you with a weird expression as he undeniably waits for whatever freaking out you were doing to gain access to the fridge.

“sorry,” you blurt out, and gather yourself to beeline for the exit. god, you needed to find utahime.

…

the soft hum of a tv in the corner of satoru’s apartment provided the only sound, save for the faint rustle of suguru flipping through a textbook. the remnants of takeout—boxes of half-eaten pad thai and a pile of discarded chopsticks—littered the coffee table between them. satoru leaned back on the couch, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling like it held answers he hadn’t thought to ask yet. he held a small foam ball, tossing it up and catching it over and over. his mind, however, wasn’t focused on the ball but on you.

it was starting to feel like an obsession. he’d always been able to compartmentalize things—his studies, his friends, his other responsibilities. but you? you’d broken through the usual barriers in his head, wedging yourself firmly into every free thought he had.

“do you think she likes me?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

suguru glanced up from his book, his expression unreadable. “who, starbucks girl?”

satoru scoffed. “she’s not starbucks girl. she’s…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers against his knee. your name lingered on his tongue, oddly weighty in a way that felt almost unfamiliar.

suguru smirked. “oh, she’s got a name now? progress.”

“shut up.”

but he couldn’t shut his mind off, not when you kept taking up space in it. it wasn’t just that he’d noticed you now—really noticed you, for the first time. it was more than that.

satoru had always known who you were. you weren’t exactly easy to miss. in a program full of ugly guys who didn’t shower and loud personalities, you had carved out your niche by being the cold, unreachable one. the one who didn’t bother with group projects unless she had to, who barely engaged in conversations beyond what was strictly necessary. other guys in the program talked about you, of course. they always did.

“frigid,” they called you. “too serious. probably thinks she’s better than us.”

they weren’t entirely wrong. you were better than most of them, but not for the reasons they assumed. satoru had read your work—papers that brimmed with insights that most of their half-baked theories could only dream of. he could tell you put in the effort in your classes and research, while all the guys left shit-talking had to rely on their grad student mentors to be able to write a legible paper. for fucks sake, he doesn’t even thing anyone could code in qiskit or cirq like you could; he had skimmed your notes once, left them behind after a lecture, and found them meticulous and sharp before he turned them into the professor to return to you.

and yet, despite the brilliance you carried with you, you had never given him a second glance.

that day at starbucks, though.

satoru rolled his head to the side, gaze drifting toward the window. he hadn’t expected to see anyone at five in the morning, let alone you. he’d been desperate for answers then—he had spent his night staring at his hands, which had seemed to keep ejecting spider-like webs after he’d been horribly sick. he knew he shouldn’t have gone fooling around in new york’s subway tunnels at 3am with suguru and shoko, but after a seemingly-harmless spider had bit him, he had been reeling from the discovery of his newfound powers and grappling with the weight of what they meant ever since.

and there you were, unlocking the starbucks, bleary-eyed but no less composed.

you’d handed him his coffee, not interested in him the entire time, and he remembered blurting something out—something ridiculous about fate or responsibility, his usual bravado faltering in the quiet of the moment. he had been spiraling, unsure of who he was anymore, and you’d said something.

what was it again?

“it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

the words had stayed with him, carved deep into the corners of his mind. you didn’t know it, but they had pulled him back from the edge that day. since then, he’d started noticing you in ways he hadn’t before.

the way you brushed your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. the furrow of your brow when you argued as respectfully as you could with a professor (gojo knew you were holding back, though, and the thought always made him smile to himself because if he wasn’t an idgafer he would be incensed like you at the idiotic teacher). the smile—rare, fleeting, but utterly disarming—that occasionally lit up your face when you talked to utahime or that guy you were too friendly around, nanami.

“you’re doing that thing again,” suguru said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“what thing?” satoru asked, sitting up straighter.

“brooding. you’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

“no.”

suguru arched an eyebrow. “you’re a terrible liar.”

satoru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “fine. maybe i am. but it’s complicated.”

“how is it complicated?”

“she doesn’t like me,” satoru said, shrugging. “at least, not as me. she likes spider-man.”

suguru blinked, clearly unimpressed. “you’re being stupid bro.”

“i’m not being stupid,” satoru argued. “she thinks spider-man’s this amazing, selfless hero. she doesn’t know i’m just some guy who can’t even figure out how to flirt with her without making an ass of himself.”

suguru leaned back in his chair, regarding satoru with an almost pitying look. “so let me get this straight. you’re worried that she only likes spider-man, even though spider-man is you. like it’s some kind of split personality thing?”

“well, when you put it like that—”

“it sounds dumb,” suguru finished. “because it is dumb.”

satoru glared at him, but suguru only shrugged. but how could he not think about you? even now, the memory of your voice—calm, steady, and unexpectedly warm—echoed in his head. you had this way of looking at him, like you were peeling back layers he didn’t even know he had. and that smile... he groaned inwardly. he wasn’t supposed to be so drawn to you, wasn’t supposed to imagine what it’d feel like to have you smile at him like that all the time.

“look,” suguru continued, “if you like her, shoot your shot. you’re already overthinking this, and you haven’t even done anything yet. what’s the worst that could happen? she says no?”

“or she laughs in my face,” satoru muttered.

“which would be deserved, honestly,” suguru said, smirking. “but seriously, you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.”

satoru didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the takeout boxes on the table. he wanted to believe suguru was right, but there was a small, stubborn part of him that wasn’t so sure.

because it wasn’t just about rejection, or even whether you liked him as satoru or spider-man. it was about what came after. if he let you in and something happened to you—if his double life brought danger to your doorstep—he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself.

but then there was suguru’s voice in his head, steady and persistent: you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.

…

amidst a week of endless projects upon projects and other miscellaneous assignments from your research group partners (since the grad students loved to pile their work on top of you, the helpless undergrad), you find yourself nursing a hot chocolate while on top of your dormitory building’s roof.

you find sanctuary, coming on here for time to yourself whenever you find yourself stuck in a busy week. quiet, solitary, with a view of the city lights flickering like scattered fireflies. you hugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as you stepped onto the roof, your laptop tucked under one arm, a mug of tea precariously balanced in the other hand. the air was crisp, biting just enough to sting your cheeks.

setting your mug down on the ledge, you perched beside it, pulling up your knees and balancing the laptop precariously as you typed. the words on the screen blurred after a while, blending into the chaos in your mind. frustrated, you closed it with a snap and leaned your head back to gaze at the stars.

“rough night?”

you startled, spinning your head around so fast your tea nearly toppled. but you can’t find anyone, just the sound of soft footsteps landing somewhere not visible to you.

“you scared the hell out of me,” you sighed, clutching your chest.

“sorry,” he said, though his tone didn’t sound all that apologetic. “didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“then maybe don’t sneak up on people like that,” you muttered, still trying to calm your racing heart.

he chuckled, and the sound was warmer than you’d expected. “noted. so, what’s got you out here at three in the morning? don’t tell me you’re pulling an all-nighter.”

you sighed, the initial shock fading into a dull thrum of shyness. “it’s not an all-nighter if the night isn’t over yet.” then, you squint at a random spot, pretending it’s him. “besides, why are you here? shouldn’t you be out stopping robberies or saving cats from trees?”

“done and done,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the ledge. “now i’m just enjoying the view.”

you turned your gaze back to the skyline, hoping the darkness hid the faint heat creeping up your neck. “so, what’s a guy like you doing on a random rooftop at three in the morning?”

“could ask you the same thing,” he countered.

you hesitated. for some reason, admitting the truth to him felt easier than admitting it to anyone else. “just…needed a break.”

“from?”

“everything,” you said, exhaling slowly. “classes. expectations. people.” you paused, then added with a faint smile, “not you, though. you’re an exception.”

“oh?” his voice lightened, carrying a hint of playful intrigue. “should i feel honored?”

“maybe,” you said. “it’s not every day you get to meet a real hero.” then, “okay, but why do you always hide in the dark?”

his voice is smug, meant to be playful. “it adds to the mystique?”

you pout. “what if i call the police?”

“it’s not like the cops can catch me anyways, baby. their shitty coffee and donut filled asses aren’t enough to keep up with me.”

you really try not to flush when he calls you that pet name. “is success getting to you?”

“what success? most i hear is everyone debating whether or not i should be experimented on.”

“really?” you teased. “that’s not what i saw on my for you page last time. there are girls out there who want you to sign their tits after you rescued that baby.”

then, you hear the soft thud of nimble feet dropping onto the ceiling and turn your head to see him in all his glory. he has a muscular figure highlighted in his white suit, blue and black lines traveling their way across his body. casually, he stretches and then drops down to the floor, sitting cross legged from across from you as if joining you in a regular gossip sesh. he puts his elbow on his knee and rests his head on his hand. “are you one of those girls?”

you laugh sheepishly, turning away as heat creeps up your face again and your heart hammers, because you can’t exactly tell him that, yes you’re absolutely enamored with him after he saved you that day and yes, you do indeed want him to sign your tits.

“you should do that more,” he said.

“what?” you look back at him, wide eyed in confusion.

“laugh.”

the way he said it, low and almost reverent, made your cheeks heat. you busy yourself with toying with your cardigan, scooting yourself away from the edge and closer to him. “and you should stop being such a flirt,” you said, though there was no bite in your voice.

“can’t help it,” he said, leaning closer. “it’s kind of my thing.”

“is that right?”

“mm-hmm.” he paused, then added, “you know, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“take my mask off.”

the words hit you like a gut punch, dissolving the playfulness that had filled the air seconds ago. you blinked up at him, searching his face—or at least what you could see of it—for any sign that this was some elaborate joke. but there was no hint of humor, no smirk tugging at his lips. he meant it.

your fingers hovered at your sides, hesitant. “are you sure?” the question came out soft, barely audible, but it felt like it echoed in the quiet night.

“never been more sure of anything,” he murmured, voice low and steady.

you swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. slowly, almost against your better judgment, you reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of his mask. the fabric felt smooth, warm under your touch, but your nerves were anything but.

with a deep breath, you peeled it back. bit by bit, his face came into view—a shock of white hair, impossibly sharp features, and finally, those eyes. those unmistakable, infuriatingly familiar blue eyes. your breath caught, and for a moment, the world tilted sideways.

“gojo?”

the name fell from your lips before you could stop it, unsteady and disbelieving. your mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible puzzle that had just landed in front of you.

he grinned—that grin, the one that always made you want to slap it off his face and yet somehow managed to disarm you every single time. “hey.”

“hey?” your voice cracked as you took a step back. “that’s all you have to say? hey?”

“would you prefer, ‘surprise’?” he quipped, his grin widening as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

you laughed, the sound a little hysterical but real, like you couldn’t contain the storm of emotions rushing through you. “surprised? you’ve been… you’ve been spider-man this whole time?” the words felt foreign on your tongue, like they didn’t belong in the same sentence as gojo satoru—the one you’d argued with in class, the one who had no problem making you want to tear your hair out. and yet here he was, standing in front of you, the last person you ever would have suspected to be the city’s most infamous masked hero.

gojo gave you that crooked grin, the same one he wore when he thought he had won—when he thought he had it all figured out. “i know. it’s a lot to take in.”

you stared at him, trying to make sense of it, but no amount of logic could bridge the gap between the gojo you knew—the guy who drove you up the wall in class and always had a cocky comeback—and the masked hero who had saved you and the one you had a crush on.

you didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, or cry.

you take a shaky breath in, still trying to process everything. “you... you saved me, gojo. you’ve been right there, all these times, and i had no idea it was you.”

“guess i’m just that good at keeping secrets,” he said, his tone playful, but there was something more there, something softer, that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. his eyes held a flicker of something—maybe vulnerability, maybe uncertainty.

the weight of the moment hung thick in the air between you, and for a long second, you didn’t know what to say. this revelation was like the ground beneath you had cracked wide open, and you were left staring into an abyss that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

finally, you shook your head, letting out a short breath. “this is insane.”

he didn’t seem bothered by your reaction, though his eyes darkened just slightly, the smirk still there, but with something a little more honest creeping into his expression. “yeah. but you’re handling it better than i thought. kinda thought you would faint, or something.”

the world had shifted, but somehow, with gojo now sitting in front of you like this, with the mask off and the man behind the myth revealed, it felt like the pieces were finally starting to fall into place. even if they didn’t make perfect sense yet.

and yet, something about his presence—his undeniable realness—felt oddly grounding. he wasn’t the invincible spider-man anymore. he was just gojo. the gojo who had somehow become more than just your academic rival, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit more than that.

something in gojo’s facial expression shifted to something a bit more hesitant, a little nervous as he stands and extend his arm out to you. softly, he asks, “do you trust me?”

“yes.” you took his hand, standing up as he flashes you a charming, yet mischievous grin, one so shit eating that you regret saying that. “why?”

“i’m taking you for a ride. consider it an apology for freaking you out earlier.”

you hesitated, looking between his outstretched hand and the city skyline just beyond your college campus. “i don’t think this is a good idea—”

“you trust me, don’t you?”

and somehow, against all logic, you realized that you did.

��fine,” you said, stepping closer to him to cling onto him.

he pulls you closer, and as he does so, he cranes his neck down to meet your eyes, smiling giddy. “anywhere you wanna go?”

you think for a moment, but know immediately the place where you’d like to visit that’s open at this ungodly hour. “do you know that one shawarma joint—-”

before you can even finish, the wind whips around you as gojo slips his mask back on, pulls you closer to him, and uses his free hand—that is, the one that’s not clinging onto your firmly—to shoot a glistening web, one that you saw when he used it on the man who harassed you in the ally. it clings onto a nearby building, and then you’re off the ground, soaring through the air.

you let out a scream of terror against gojo’s chest, tightening your arms around him. you can feel a laugh rumble in his chest, a boyish chuckle as he peers down at you and shouts, “are you having fun?”

“gojo,” you whine, burying your head into his chest further. despite your initial fear, exhilaration creeps its way into you as you the city blur, skyline jumping and dipping as gojo effortlessly swung you both around.

when he finally stopped, landing gracefully on a secluded rooftop, you were breathless—not just from the ride but from the way he was looking at you.

“you good?” he laughed, panting from the exertion and tenderly using his hand to rake his hand through your hair, which, you note out of embarrassment, must’ve been messed up from the wind passing through it.

“i hate that you made me dizzy, but yea, i’m good,” you mumble, pulling out your phone to open your camera, fixing your hair.

when you’re done, gojo looks at you with the manic buzz you can only have at 3am. “ready to get some shawarma?”

…

the streets were eerily quiet, the kind of silence only a city at 3am could have. just the two of you, your footsteps echoing against the pavement, the occasional glow of a streetlamp painting your path.

“okay, that shawarma was like, mid at best,” gojo walks alongside you. he’s thrown on a sweatshirt and gray sweatpants over his suit, walking alongside you on the street. your stomachs are full, and you suggested a walk to be able to digest the bigass bowl you both ate.

“nothing tastes better than something you’re eating when you’re supposed to be studying, instead,” you shot back, hiding your little smile as you cross your arms while strolling. the shift between you and gojo was so jarring that you’re still reeling at it, but what is 3am if not for big life changes?

“yea, that’s fair,” he sighs, crossing his hands behind his head as he continues strolling beside you. “so,” he continues, “now that i’ve officially blown your mind with my secret identity and fed you some incredibly mid shawarma, what’s next? should i fly you to paris, or is that too cliché?”

you roll your eyes, but deep inside, you’re really biting back a grin. “relax, bugboy. maybe first let me recover from being swung like a human pendulum.”

gojo stopped walking, turning to face you with a playful glint in his eye. “you’re still thinking about that, huh? admit it—you loved it.”

you raised an eyebrow. “i screamed into your chest for a solid ten seconds. does that sound like love to you?”

he tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “i dunno. there’s a fine line between terror and thrill. and judging by how tightly you were holding onto me…”

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your voice lacked bite.

“and yet, you’re still here.”

his words hung in the air, the playful edge softening into something quieter, more sincere. your steps faltered, and you looked up at him, the absurdity of the night fading into the background as your gaze held his.

“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.

“curious, huh?” he said, taking a step closer. “careful. curiosity killed the cat.”

without thinking, you blurted, “at least i’ve got a fifty-fifty shot, right?” the words barely left your mouth before the regret hit, your inner voice screaming at you for making a lame quantum mechanics joke at a time like this. schrödinger would be proud, you thought bitterly.

but then gojo laughed—not the teasing, obnoxious kind of laugh or the weird look you’d expect, but a genuine, boyish chuckle that reached his eyes. he smiled at you, soft and unguarded, and suddenly, the space between you seemed to shrink.

the flickering streetlamp cast a warm, uneven glow over the two of you. in that moment, the sprawling city felt impossibly small, narrowed down to just him and the pounding of your heart in your ears.

gojo reached up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “you know,” he murmured, his voice low, “i’ve been wanting to do this for a while now.”

your breath hitched, heart thundering in your chest. “do what?”

“this.”

before you could respond, he closed the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was somehow both soft, yet electrifying. for a moment, time seemed to stop, the city around you fading into nothing as the warmth of his touch anchored you in the moment.

when he finally pulled back, his grin was back in full force. “so, was that better or worse than shawarma?”

you blinked at him, still trying to find your footing in the aftermath of what just happened. an immediate feeling of bashfulness crept over you because not only did you just kiss spiderman, you just kissed gojo. there are girls who would kill to be in your position, and that makes you flustered as you turn your head away from him so you don’t have to make eye contact. “i hate you,” you mumble half heartedly, cheeks burning.

gojo doesn’t let you off so easily. his thumb brushes gently along your chin, coaxing your face back toward his. his touch is warm, deliberate, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“oh my god,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “are you embarrassed? you’re so cute.”

when the warmth of his hand leaves your chin, you open your eyes, shocked as you find out that he’s nowhere to be seen. you call out a tentative, “gojo?”

somewhere behind you, to the left, comes out a muffled shout. “i’m here!” you whip around, your brows furrowing as you follow the direction of his voice. it’s coming from an alley just off the street, dark and bathed in shadows.

“seriously?” you mutter under your breath, your annoyance half-hearted, making your way toward the sound. you find yourself at the mouth of the alley, the dim glow of a distant lamp barely illuminating his silhouette.

gojo’s perched on the side of the wall like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one leg propped up, his mask pulled halfway up to reveal that damn smirk. “you’re slow,” he teases, his tone light and infuriatingly smug.

“what are you doing?” you ask, crossing your arms.

he gestures toward himself. “you came looking for me, didn’t you?”

you roll your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. “what, did you think i’d just leave you lurking in some alley like a creepy insect?”

“well,” he says, shooting a web to stick on the bottom of some stairs of one of the buildings to hang upside down, “you could’ve left, but i had a feeling you wouldn’t.”

before you could retort, he shoots his web closer to something on top of you, now dangling upside down yet again but his proximity even closer, stealing the air from your lungs. his fingers brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just long enough to make your knees feel unsteady.

“so,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “are we doing this again, or are you gonna keep pretending you hate me?”

your heart stutters, but before you can overthink it, you pull his mask down even further to uncover more of his lips, and you join them together—this time, softer, slower, as if savoring the moment. you grab at his chin to pull him closer to you, you both sighing into the kiss, and then smiling giddily each time you pull back, only to come back in.

and just like that, you start to fall into…something with not only the vigilante that’s swinging around new york, but also gojo satoru, your long-time rival.

…

when satoru swings by your dorm next, he doesn’t expect his heart to lurch so much at the view of you so cozy.

it’s undeniable; you and satoru have been dancing around each other. you’re not exactly a hook-up to each other—you two haven’t had sex—but you’re not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. and it’s not something casual, either. he doesn’t reveal that he’s spiderman just to get into girls’ pants.

you’ve both developed a sort of rapport, he supposes. it’s been stolen glances during phys401 and late nights spent talking or, occasionally, making out. you’ve even started to nurse his wounds, if he ever shows up with bruises and blood matting his suit. one of the perks of you having a single.

he’s even fallen asleep overnight, especially on friday nights when he doesn’t have lecture in the morning. some of his things, like some spare equipment and suits, have even found their way into your closet.

you’re both on a dangerous roller coaster, and satoru is closing his eyes on the fall down.

but right now, he’s perched outside your window like a creep. you’re sitting on your bed, cross-legged and squinting at something on your laptop, and satoru smiles to himself as he sees your tank top and shorts and just how homey you look. you probably know satoru is coming, but you’re so comfortable around him that it makes his heart ache. he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t stop.

satoru lightly taps on your window, his knuckle brushing against the glass softly, not wanting to startle you. you glance up, catching sight of him, and there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips.

you get up, and satoru follows the movement of your bare legs with his eyes as you slide the window open. “you know, most people knock on doors like normal humans,” you say.

“i like to keep things interesting,” he shoots back, climbing in effortlessly. the faint chill from the night clings to him, and his hair is slightly disheveled from the wind.

he glances around your room, catching sight of your scattered notes and the distinct look of frustration etched across your face. “what’s got you looking so miserable?”

“phys401,” you reply with a resigned sigh, flopping back onto your bed. “this problem set is impossible.”

satoru smirks, peeling off his gloves and mask and plopping down beside you. “let me see.”

acquiescing, you hand over your notebook, watching as he scans your work with intent, eyebrows scrunching as he tries to understand the statement to prove. he makes a few thoughtful noises, before grabbing a pen and scribbling something down. “here,” he says after a moment, “you’re overcomplicating this step. instead of doing the tensor product you did, you could just make this zero by taking an inner product, since they’re orthogonal states. the rest will fall into place.”

you squint at his messy, rushed handwriting, and sure enough, the proof seems to come together. “how are you so good at this?”

“physics prodigy, remember?” he teases, leaning back on his hands as he lays down on your bed.

“thanks for the help,” you say softly, your eyes lingering on him a beat too long. he’s kind of dreamy, you think. the moonlight filters across your window, giving his platinum hair a sheen as his cerulean eyes look into yours with kindness.

his smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something unspoken. “anytime.” he then makes a show of stretching out his limbs, purposely bumping into you with one eye open smugly to observe your reaction, to which you glare at him. he spots your notebook, picks it up, and flips through it. “you know, for someone who complains so much about phys401, you’re not half bad at it,” he teases, scribbling something in the margin of your notes by grabbing a stray pen next to him.

you roll your eyes, shifting so you’re cross-legged on the bed, facing him. “not all of us are physics prodigies, satoru. some of us actually have to work hard.”

he chuckles, handing the notebook back to you. “hard work is overrated when you can just charm your way through everything.”

you snort and joke, “if charm was all it took, i’d have aced the midterm.”

there’s a beat of silence as you glance down at his notes. he’s corrected a mistake you hadn’t even noticed, and his scrawled proof flows so effortlessly it makes you a little envious. “how do you do that?” you ask, more to yourself than him.

“do what?”

“make it look so… easy,” you say, frowning slightly. “everything. physics, life, swinging through the city.”

satoru leans back on his palms, his smirk softening. “trust me, it’s not as easy as it looks.”

you glance up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. “what do you mean?”

he shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the way his gaze flickers away from yours. “i mean, everyone sees the guy with the jokes and the perfect test scores, but no one sees the late nights or the bruises.” he gestures vaguely to his chest, where you know the bruises from his spider-man escapades hide. “guess i’m just good at pretending.”

you sit with his words, the weight of them settling between you. “you don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you say softly.

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the mask—the real one—drops. “i know,” he says, just as softly.

the air between you feels heavier, like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. you’re hyper-aware of how close he is, the faint smell of the night clinging to him, the way his knee brushes against yours.

“thanks,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “for letting me be here. for…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up.

your breath catches. “satoru…”

“yeah?” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice lower now.

“i…” you trail off, not even sure what you were going to say.

he leans closer, and it feels like everything around you stills. his hand finds its way to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “can i?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

you nod, and then his lips are on yours.

the kiss starts tentative, almost shy, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens, his hand sliding to your waist as you pull him closer. the tension that had been building for weeks—months, maybe—finally snaps, leaving nothing but heat and want in its wake.

his weight presses you back into the bed, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pins you to the bed, now on top of you. his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and as his thumb traces shapes into your circle and closer to more sensitive areas, a sigh escapes you.

that’s when he freezes.

he pulls back, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide and filled with something like fear. “we can’t,” he says, his voice hoarse.

your heart drops into your chest.

“why not?” you ask, trying to catch your breath.

“because,” he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair and he’s heaving. “because i’m spider-man, and you—” he breaks off, looking anywhere but at you. “you deserve better than this. better than me.”

you sit up, pulling your shirt back into place and looking at him, hurt. “that’s not your call to make, satoru.”

“i’m trying to protect you!” he says, his voice rising in agitation. he sits back onto his heels, raking a hand through his hair as he looks at the ceiling, as if in pain.

you can’t believe him. his self-righteousness irritates you to no end, especially after you’ve bared your soul, and now your body to him, something you considered intimate. you feel conflicted—whatever you had, it didn’t have a label. but that didn’t mean that you didn’t want that to be true. badly.

“and who asked you to?” you snap back. “i’m not some damsel in distress who needs saving.”

“i know that,” he says, his tone softening. “but if something happened to you because of me…” he shakes his head. “i couldn’t live with that.”

the anger bubbling in your chest boils over, and you snap. “so what? you’re just going to walk away? after everything?”

he stands, his expression pained. “i’m sorry,” he says, heading for the window.

“don’t you dare apologize,” you say, your voice trembling as you stand by the foot of your bed, hating how your eyes brim with tears. “if you leave, don’t bother coming back.”

he pauses, his hand on the window frame, before glancing back at you. “i’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time, before slipping out into the night.

the window clicks shut behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence, the ache in your chest threatening to swallow you whole.

…

the whir of the espresso machine and the gentle hum of background music fill the mostly empty starbucks, the occasional customer wandering in like clockwork. it’s a quiet shift, the kind you’d usually relish—except today, the quiet only makes the knot in your chest tighten.

you’re stationed behind the counter, staring blankly at the milk steamer as it hisses, lost in your thoughts. that is, until utahime’s voice breaks through.

“alright, spill,” she says, leaning her elbows on the counter beside you.

you glance at her, eyebrows raised. “spill what?”

utahime rolls her eyes, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “oh, please. you look like someone stole your favorite pen and broke it in half. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you lie, turning back to the steamer. “i’m fine.”

utahime’s skeptical gaze bores into you. “you’re a terrible liar. nanami, back me up.”

from his spot at a nearby table, nanami looks up from his book, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto you. “it’s boy trouble,” he says flatly, like he’s solving an equation.

your head snaps toward him, a glare already forming. “excuse me?”

“it’s obvious,” he says, setting his book down and regarding you with his usual piercing gaze. “you’re distracted, you look upset—it’s boy trouble.”

utahime perks up, leaning closer. “wait, is he right? is this about a guy?”

you let out a groan, leaning your elbows on the counter. “can you two not gang up on me right now?”

“so it is a guy,” utahime says, her tone turning smug.

“i didn’t say that,” you retort, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

nanami raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. “you might as well just tell us. it’s not like we’re going to let it go.”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “fine. it’s… someone i liked. someone i thought liked me too. but he freaked out and said it was too…dangerous to keep going.”

utahime frowns, her curiosity replaced by concern while kento snorts. “dangerous? what does that even mean?”

“that’s what i’d like to know,” you say bitterly, the frustration bubbling up as you speak. “he acts like he cares, but the second things get serious, he bolts. like i’m some fragile thing that can’t handle it.”

nanami leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “he might not be scared of you. he could be scared of what it means for him. of responsibility and commitment. some people run when they feel too much.”

utahime nods, her hand resting gently on your arm. “whatever his problem is, it’s not fair to you. if he can’t get it together, that’s on him, not you.”

you glance between them, the weight of their words settling in your chest. “i know that,” you say quietly. “it just… sucks.”

“of course it does,” utahime says, her voice soft but firm. “but you’re not the problem here. don’t let him make you think you are.”

nanami picks up his book again but pauses before opening it. “and don’t let him live rent-free in your head. if he can’t see what he’s giving up, that’s his loss.”

their support feels grounding, like a steady hand in the middle of a storm. you manage a small smile, nodding. “thanks, guys.”

“anytime,” utahime says, flashing you a reassuring grin. nanami simply nods, returning to his book but keeping an eye on you like always. for the first time all week since gojo left your room, the heaviness in your chest feels a little lighter.

…

the knock at your window is faint, almost timid, but it jolts you out of your daze. you sit up in bed, your heart pounding as your eyes dart toward the window. it’s late—so late it’s early—and for a moment, you think you imagined it. you hate to admit it, but because of your boy troubles you haven’t been able to sleep all week. you’re also no stranger to imagining ants crawling up your body or phantom noises, so you adjust in your bed, trying to go back to sleep.

then it comes again, a little louder this time.

you throw off the blanket and pad over, the chill of the floor biting at your bare feet. when you pull the curtain aside, your breath catches.

satoru.

he’s crouched outside, his suit torn in places and soaked with blood. his head lolls slightly, like he’s barely holding himself up, and when he lifts his gaze to meet yours, it’s tired and pleading.

you don’t think—there’s no time for that. you unlatch the window and shove it open, reaching out to help him inside. “satoru, oh my god,” you breathe, your voice shaking.

“hey,” he mutters, his grin weak but still so unmistakably him. “sorry for the mess.”

“shut up,” you snap, guiding him onto your bed and setting him down with gentle hands, ones that contrast your tone with him. “what the hell happened?”

“nothing i couldn’t handle,” he says, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter and flashes you a sheepish smile. “you should see the other guy.”

“you’re bleeding everywhere, satoru. you clearly didn’t handle it.” you grab your first aid kit from under the bed and yank it open, your hands trembling.

“i’ve had worse,” he murmurs, but his bravado is thin, cracking at the edges.

“stop talking,” you say, your voice trembling and cracking. “just—just stop.”

for once, you thank the gods that he listens.

you work quickly, cutting away the shredded fabric of his suit and cleaning the worst of the wounds. it’s not pretty—his torso is littered with bruises and gashes, the kind that make your stomach turn—but you keep your focus.

when you press a disinfectant-soaked pad to a particularly deep cut, he hisses, his hand flying to grab your wrist.

“sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him with a tender look in your eyes. his expression matches yours, and your faces are so close to each other that you can’t bear it anymore, going back to your work.

his fingers loosen but don’t let go, his grip warm and grounding. “you’re good at this,” he says softly, his voice rough.

“yeah, well,” you mutter, ducking your head to avoid his gaze. “you’ve given me plenty of practice.”

the silence stretches as you finish bandaging him up. when you’re done, you sit back, your hands still trembling as you place them in your lap. “you’re an idiot,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

he laughs, soft and hoarse. “yeah. i get that a lot from this girl i know.”

you look up at him, and the weight of everything—his injuries, his secret, the distance he tried to put between you—crashes over you. “you can’t keep doing this, satoru. you can’t keep pushing me away just to show up like this.”

his smile fades, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “i know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i know, but…”

“but what?” you demand, your voice cracking. “you’re spider-man? you think that’s an excuse to keep shutting me out?”

“it’s not an excuse,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair, matted with even more blood. his or someone else’s, you’re not sure. “it’s a reason. i don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“you think i’m not already hurting?” you snap, the anger bubbling to the surface yet again. “you think it doesn’t kill me to see you like this and know i can’t do anything to stop it?”

his eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like a little boy, lost and unsure. it is then that it hits you that he’s just twenty. a college student, not someone who’s wanted by the cia or someone who’s battled terrorists. for fucks sake, he can’t even legally drink.

and your heart can’t help but melt as he says, “i just… i don’t want to lose you.”

“then stop trying to,” you say, your voice softer now. “stop pretending like you’re protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length. let me in, satoru.”

he stares at you, his breath hitching like he’s holding back a thousand words. then, in a rush, he closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as he presses his forehead to yours.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.”

you exhale shakily, your hands finding their way to his wrists. “just stop being an idiot, okay? stop trying to do this alone.”

he nods, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “i promise,” he says, and for the first time, you believe him.

…

a cramp gripping satoru’s entire leg is what wakes him up.

he winces in memory of the injury; one of those stupid terrorists had too good of an aim, grazing his leg while he was mid-air. it hurts like a bitch now, and he moves to lay on his back, until something stops him. roses.

he looks, bleary eyed, to you. the floral scent coming from you, making him dizzy. his body cocooning yours.

you both unconsciously moved in your sleep so that you were spooning, your fragrant hair, soft from shampooing, tickling his throat with your ass in his crotch.

nestled right against his morning wood.

good fucking lord, he groans to himself, then starts to panic because if you wake up and realize he had a raging hard-on while you were sleeping, you would definitely think he was a creep. he’s already on thin fucking ice. so naturally, he starts to recite the star spangled banner while trying to will his boner away.

oh, say can you see—

to no avail, because you huff softly in your sleep, soft and warm body unconsciously leaning back to grind your ass against his lap, turning his dick to steel.

“oh, fuck,” he curses out loud, using his hand to cover the lower half of his face and clench his eyes shut. you feel so sweet, innocently adjusting while he can’t even control his lust for you.

but once the grind seems to continue for a bit too long, more than what can be chalked up as adjusting in your sleep, he peers down at you. you’re awake.

and because satoru’s selfish, his hands creep up your tank top, settling on your bare stomach, where he knew you were ticklish. as a result, you wiggle, and he uses this opportunity to pull you even closer to him, right up against him.

“baby,” he says, making his voice all deep and sighs on purpose, just to be unfair to you. “is this okay?”

you whine, and he settles his face in your hair, the strands of it tickling his skin as he inhales in the scent of you. “i thought it was a dream.”

he smiles into your hair. you make him feel like sunshine incarnate, and the rush he’s getting right now is akin to the one he gets jumping off the empire state building. “no, this is very real.”

“hm,” and you continue to drag your ass into him, murmuring in a soft voice that makes him want to take you right there and then, “it still feels like a dream. like you’re not real, right now.”

oh, what he would do to make you say his name in that same voice; he wants to whisper all the things he wants to do to you right now. “i know, baby. you feel like a dream.” his hands continue to slide up and up your torso, groaning at your sharp intake as he gently fondles the softness of your breasts.

you overwhelm his senses, teasing him, and when you let out a whine of his name, satoru snaps.

“i’m going to make you feel good right now. tell me if it’s a fucking dream,” he grits out, ignoring whatever cramps that were screaming at him to get on top of you.

you gasp out a “satoru,” wriggling in his grasp, and he can’t take it anymore. he brings up one of his hands. shoots a web that lands right on your left hand. then your right hand.

satoru just tied you up using his webs.

you look at him in whatever version of shock you can muster in your tired state. “satoru, what the—” but you’re muffled, because he’s kissing you, hard, roving his hands up and down your body and grabbing whatever he can as if he’s devouring you while making out with you.

“do you know,” and his eyes flash dangerously while looking down at yours, “how you’ve teased me with these shorts?” his hands trails down to the waistband of the offending piece of clothing, pulling it to make it snap against your skin. you jump, looking at satoru desperately, who’s left you bare at his mercy, subject to his super human strength as he grabs your shorts with both his hands again. “every fucking time i’ve sneaked up in to your room, it’s been so hard to not fuck you senseless in these flimsy things. it’s only fair you pay the price, right baby?”

it’s not like you have anything to answer him with, having lost all brain cells being fucked out like this. he pulls them down, and if he had laser vision, he would have stared through your panties long ago, eyes fixated on the crotch that was nearly translucent with the amount of slick going through it. burying his face right in between your thighs, he noses at your cunt before groaning. then, he uses his teeth to grab onto the middle and pull. until your pussy is bare to him.

“oh, fuck you’re so pretty,” he curses, lapping at your sweetness. his tongue roves up and down your folds, and if your hands could, they would be pulling at his hair solely because you were so sensitive. but you were trapped, thighs gripped in his strong hands and your arms trapped by his ultra-strong webs. “my good girl.”

then, you feel pressure at your opening. “sato—” you squeal but are immediately interrupted by your own moan as he curls his long, thick fingers, eyes observing your every movement as you squirm, electric shocks running up and down your body as he hits your spot dead-on.

and he notices, because the motherfucker chuckles. “oh, so that’s the spot, huh?” he purrs, visibly pleased as he memorizes it and abuses it, hitting it with every stroke. you barely notice him add one finger, add two fingers as he starts to suck on your clit. overwhelmed with pleasure, you’re only brought back to reality when he rips all contact away from you.

“what—” you mumble mindlessly, until you see what he’s doing. he pulls his sweatpants down. and he’s not wearing boxers, so you drool when his cock springs out, leaking copiously and hard. without taking his eyes off you, he pumps it to its fullest length, and you’re just staring in awe at its sheer length.

“what’re you looking at, baby?” he teases, using his hand to wiggle his cock in front of your face to mock you. “want it so bad, isn’t that right?”

you glare at him half-heartedly, but whine regardless. “just put it in, gojo.”

“oh,” and he flashes you a smile that makes a big danger sign in red flash across your mind. “it’s gojo, now is it?”

“satoru,” there are tears brimming in the corner of your eyes, the ones that make satoru even more aroused at your want, “please. i need it.”

a boyish grin and a forehead kiss that has you reeling at his duality. “anything for my woman in stem.” with that, he pushes in, both of your eyes rolling back as his cock is engulfed by your gummy walls. soon after, he starts thrusting, desperation fueling both of you as you cross your legs behind gojo’s back, the deeper angle making his thighs shake while fucking into you.

he grabs your face, gives you a tender kiss. “fuck, i love this pussy. so sweet for me.”

you give him a wanton moan in return as he continues to thrust deep, tender strokes into you. “satoru, ‘m not gonna last long.” with the amount of foreplay he’s done alongside how sensitive you are, you’re steadily reaching your orgasm already, and with the way satoru’s now tightly gripping the sheets beside you while thrusting inside you, he is too.

wet squelching noises echoes across the room, and you know the neighbors can hear the obscene plap! plap! plap! coming from skin meeting skin, your hips against his. he buries his face into your neck, panting at your ear until he uses his hand to wrench your face towards his.

“i love you,” he groans, forcing your eyes to meet his. “i love you forever and will do so. so you can’t break my heart,” and he’s desperately thrusting again, “and you can’t leave me. please.”

at his confession, you break, back arching as you also squeal out a iloveyou while gasping loudly, hips rolling to rise against his as he fucks you through your orgasm. quickly, his thrusts veer into overstimulation and you whine. “toru.” he takes one look at your state—face impossibly flushed, hands tied, and pussy absolutely engulfing his cock, and his orgasm hits him like a truck, making him gasp and bend and break as he goes to heaven and back with the aftershocks of your orgasm making your pussy clench around him so beautifully. his cum enters you in hot spurts, making you exhale sharply at the feeling as he comes down from his orgasm, collapsing next to you.

for a few minutes, heavy breathing fills the room, both of you catching your breaths. until satoru breaks the silence. “so, what’s it like to fuck a superhero?”

you take one look at him—all smug and propped up on his elbow—and spidey sense be damned as you try grab a pillow. key word is try because you’re then wrenched back with a reminder that you’re still bound. “satoru,” and you give him a sickly sweet smile, the one that he knows means he’s in trouble, “when are these going to dissolve?”

and satoru pretends to be deep in thought, but you can see him trying to inch off the bed slowly, as if to escape your wrath after his answer. “uhm…maybe five hours?”

if it weren’t for the damn spidey sense that he had, he wouldn’t have been able to escape the swing of your legs as you looked at him murderously. “satoru gojo you will unhand me from these webs this instant—-“

“i don’t know,” he shrugs, shit eating grin in his face. “you look kinda sexy in bed like this. mad at me.” but when your eyes flash with anger, he hiccups nervously, telltale of the fact he won’t mess with you.

“i hate you,” you groan out, pouting like a petulant child while you glare at the ceiling.

satoru comes close to you to bend at his waist and give you a forehead kiss. “no, you don’t.”

you give him a pointed glare, telling him not to be testy. “clean me up. now.”

at your expression, his eyes widen in fear and he salutes. “anything for you, ma’am.”

at his retreating form, you giggle and sigh to yourself. you never would’ve known that spider-man would be the one fetching a clean up rag for you after fucking the shit out of you, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

when satoru comes back, he cleans you up, tenderly, as if he is afraid that you will break. you’re a little drowsy when he returns to you, but he doesn’t dare try to wake you up when he hears little breaths from your nose indicating you’ve fallen asleep. after he finishes his job, he admires your features.

satoru lingers for a moment, his gaze softening as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. the weight of his responsibilities presses on him, as it always does, but tonight, it feels heavier—like a tether pulling him between the life he’s chosen and the life he craves.

you, so peaceful in sleep, represent something fragile, something precious. and that terrifies him. because what if he fails? what if the cost of being spider-man is losing the one thing that feels real?

still, he knows he can’t walk away—not from this city, not from you. with a deep breath, he leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead, a silent promise lingering in his chest.

“i’ll keep you safe,” he murmurs, barely audible. “no matter what.”

instead of leaving, satoru settles down beside you, careful not to disturb your rest. the city can wait, just for a little while. for now, he wraps an arm around you, grounding himself in the warmth of your presence. as your breathing evens out against him, he lets his own eyes drift shut, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifting. today, he chooses to stay.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

a/n ok if you're ever curious what being fucked in the ass with a wooden dildo no lube is like, just try to write this fic or any longfic. it's 4am, this a/n is short and unintelligble just like most of this fic but it's been a journey, im very sentimental because of this fic and i hope you guys like it. ok im going to pass out so pls ignore all typos xoxo but please flood my inbox im excited to see yalls reactions when i wake up

plspls pls comment and reblog!!!

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@r0ckst4rjk @callmeagardengnome @rottmntrulesall @blankwashed @sindulgent666

@honeynanamin @obsessgurlll @starrnai @herefor-tojis-tits @ramonathinks

@creamflix

#aashi writes #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru

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tonycries · 1 month ago

Text

The Initiation - G.S.

Synopsis. From now onwards, you’re the madam of the Gojo clan - and your clan leader husband is going to prove it to everyone.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, EXHIBÍTIONÍSM, initiations, aphrodísiacs, wedding nights, oraI (fem + male), face-sítting, p talking, BRÉEDING, creampíes, matíng presses, first times (Gojo), use of “my wife” and “ma’am”, spítting, cúmplay, MARATHON S, overstím, Gojo is FÉRAL (and slightly ínsane), the elders are awful, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.0k

A/N. This was NOT supposed to be this long but yk what I’m not mad.

“I vow to love. I vow to heal. I vow to stand by my wife with a respect not deserved of even myself.” Every single elder at the shrine shivers when their clan leader’s blazing gaze narrows. Gojo Satoru. Death, himself, in his hauntingly beautiful form. “And I vow that everyone here - everyone - will know that.”

---

“A-an initiation?”

The sweet older women surrounding you don’t look even the tiniest ounce as confused as you feel right about now. They hum a low tune, bustling around you in a whirlwind of hands that tug and pull at your decadent robes.

“Ah, it’s just a long-held Gojo tradition, madam-” Madam - the word seemed so strange still. “-and the young master will make sure to take good care of you.”

“But-”

“Very good care.”

Maybe it was the way the fussing crowd around you burst into titters, maybe it was the way your silky yukata was left ever-so-slightly open - in a way you were sure the elders would cry scandal at. But, somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something different to this clan initiation.

Something more.

And it’s something that plagues your mind over and over even by the time your make-up is finally perfected, and your reception robes brushed down for non-existent dust.

“Beautiful.” your attendants breathe, gracing you with a synchronized bow so low that it almost looked painful. And with a few more appreciative nods, they’re guiding you out of the sweetly-perfumed dressing room, wordlessly leading you into the uproarious traditional meeting hall.

“You’re not following?” you turn to ask, once you had almost one foot stepped cautiously into the room.

At this, the woman stood at the very middle of your entourage flushes. A bright, blinding red that matches the way her lips sputter helplessly, “I- I’m honored, madam. But this is er- as far as I can go.”

Strange.

And with that, the sliding mahogany doors shut.

Despite what you may think about the council of elders, you had to begrudgingly admit that they’d decorated the chamber lavishly. Fit for a king - or, more likely, fit for the new leaders of the household, after your marriage today.

Dimly-lit with lanterns, and already heady with the smell of expensive sake, your eyes dart around the seated upon seated of clan leaders, elders, and prominent officials you couldn’t even name. All positioned around a long table encircling a strangely raised platform in the middle - as if a stage - it seemed that everyone and anyone was here to assess the new Madam of the Gojo household.

To watch. To wait.

And at the head of it all - your husband.

Gojo Satoru was known by none to be a soft man, not even by those foolish enough to claim themselves close to him. More accurately fabled as the most vicious young clan leader in history; an angel of death that you’d be lucky to so much as even snatch a glimpse of before you never can once more.

Yet, the way he beams once his summer blue eyes lock on yours made him seem like anything but.

“Ah- my wife. My wife is here.” Gojo’s deep baritone sounded so reverent - out-of-breath, like he’d been whispering those very words to himself like a mantra all night. In the middle of it all, you hadn’t even noticed the way the hall had quieted deafeningly - not until his words echo throughout your ears. Rich blue yukata rippling when he’s patting softly at his chair, and you notice with a jolt that there’s no seat next to him.

Damn elders.

“Hah? Elder Tanaka really did it!”

“You know I never wanted the riffraff to sit at the table- not a place for-”

“Well what else? A madam should be as a madam is.”

You’re gritting your teeth, making determined strides past all the withering stares and hushed whispers. Stepping closer and closer up to your shifting husband-

“Take-”

And then you sit.

Plopping yourself down unceremoniously onto the clan leader’s lap - from behind you, you’re hearing Gojo suck in a feverish breath. Panting. You’re washed over with his piney, syrupy sweet scent when his strong forearms immediately wrap around your waist to steady yourself comfortably onto his large, manspread lap.

And in front of you, you stare defiantly back into every wizened snarl shot your way. If looks could kill, then this would be a massacre.

It takes him a few gulps to regain his senses - hell, it takes you a few more. And Gojo was so warm, practically burning when he whispers in a rasping voice against your ear, “I was going to tell you to take my seat but…whatever my wife wants, hm?”

“The look on their faces,” you try to hold back what would be deemed an utterly unlady-like smirk. Back pressing up against every hardened curve and ridge down Gojo’s washboard abs through his clothes. “But, I-I’m sorry if-”

His arms around you tighten. “Why would you ever be sorry?”

CLAP! CLAP!

“The reception shall now commence.”

Perhaps it was to stop your quiet muttering, but soon enough your vision is promptly being filled with delicacies that make your mouth water.

“I would advise you not to drink the sake, pretty.” Gojo waves off an attendant that offers another chair, starting to sift around the steaming contents of his own plate. And despite how you seemed to be the main scrutiny tonight, you let him feed you tiny bites, anyway - all for the haughty council to scoff at. Their master being so happily used by his wife “Seems we’ve been gifted with something special to drink for the initiation tonight.”

Something about his tone was strained. It makes you bat your lashes up at him in a way that has Gojo adjusting his lower robes with a gulp. “Something special? Is it poisoned?”

He chuckles out, “No- even worse-” Lowering. And you jolt when his gleamingly sharp canines sink into your earlobe. Dangerous. “-one sip of that for both of us and I’ll be showing this scum here exactly how you’re mine.”

Oh.

Shit, your spine sits ramrod straight at that purring little undercurrent in his tone - the implications. And just that slight jostle of your hips makes Gojo urgently dig one set of his slender fingers into your waist. It makes him hunch over, it makes him gasp, “O-or we might not even need that sake, heh-”

Eyes drifting to the platform, “I want to, though.”

And for just a second, the entire meeting hall stills.

Every figure around the table barely even bothering to hide their blatant staring right now, some covering their gaping mouths - because the infamous leader of the Gojo clan was smiling.

Smiling. A humorless, crazed little smile directed at you. “Then…” Barely drifting an inch even when his own free digits clasp around a tiny sake bowl, he cheers his sake cup with yours. Echoing over the twinkling clink! “-whatever my wife wants.”

And yet, you feel nothing out of the ordinary in the first few minutes - nothing but those billowing stares and Gojo’s warm proximity to you. Huffing out tiny bouts of laughter that tickle the crook of your neck, and your face burns at the stray peck or two he’s leaving down your exposed skin.

Not even in the first hour.

Or the second, and you’re half-wondering whether this initiation was nothing but a hoax.

But veering into the third-

It happens.

Something snaps.

“S-Satoru?” you breathe out unsteadily when he’s suddenly growing quiet. Head craning to take in just how pretty Gojo looked right about now - robes hanging off his sculpted deltoids. A sweet strawberry blush taking over his high cheekbones, his collarbones, down further. “Are you okay?”

Of course, he wasn’t. Right now, Gojo Satoru felt so ruined he thinks he could faint.

“Shit-” Gojo hisses from above you, snowy brows knitting together. You can’t even react before his muscular thighs bounce ever-so-slightly, shifting you just a degree higher on his lap. Just enough for him to seat you prettily by the edge of something big. Curved. Rock-hard. “Shit- shit shit- m’- m’feeling so-”

Gojo’s chopsticks clatter onto the tatami mats with a soft thud! And those fingers find themselves latching onto you.

You, you, you - burning down the curves of your waist, sliding up your trembly thighs and just below where your robes were hiking up. He couldn’t get enough.

“Sa-toru-” your words come out wobbly. Clutching at the slight opening of your yukata to drag in a useless attempt to drink in some cooler air. You felt like you were melting, and so were your words now. “Toru, I feel so-”

“What did you say?”

It takes you a few syrupy moments to even realize that it’s your husband speaking - because Gojo’s voice was several octaves higher than usual. Husky, like he was on the verge of shattering into a million pieces. Spitting a pained, “What did you say, honey?”

You bat your teary lashes - shit, when did you even get so stimulated - up at the thoroughly drunken elders that were sneaking peeks at the two of you.

Just for a split-second - barely enough to catch anything.

But enough for Gojo to curl the thick pads of his fingers around your throat, pulling in a roughened tug to have your back hugged even more flush against him. “Hey hey hey- look at me, pretty. Look at your husband.” Flexing his powerful back muscles in a drool-worthy way, bowing over in two to practically shove you into the cool surface of the table when he puffs up against your ear. “S-say that again?”

You’re pinned on top of the mahogany with his full body weight - and you can barely breath, barely even think before uttering out. “T-Toru?”

And that makes Gojo Satoru shiver.

Entire body wracking so violently, his nose buries into the tender column of your neck. Not just breathing you in - basking in you.

Muffling out, “Again.”

“Toru.”

“Again.”

“Toru–”

It makes the strongest snap his glassy, cerulean eyes almost-comically open in a flash - winking his droopy gaze through molasses once, twice at the platform right in front of him.

And Gojo’s barely even in control of his limbs when the mountains of his palms glide hurriedly underneath your thighs. In only a split-second, you’re carried in his arms in the easiest princess carry - but Gojo doesn’t stop there.

No, he doesn’t simply walk out of the room like you’d expected him to - he does the complete opposite.

Every widened eye in the room can only watch as the clan leader steps swiftly upon the now cleared-out table and onto the raised platform in only two treads. Splaying you out gently onto the firm tatami, you’re gazing up at a heaving Gojo.

Because despite the rich dinner tonight, Gojo was starving.

The soft yolky glow of the lanterns overhead illuminates that greedy glint in his eyes - the way that his lips glisten with the slightest trail of translucent drool at the very ends of his parted, rosy pink lips.

He’s never looked more ruined.

“Please.”

And it’s all but whimpered out into your mouth - pathetic and raw.

You’re gasping sharp heavals of air when his candied lips attack yours, and through that delicious thumping between your legs that you could feel in even your ears - you hear the gasps. With a sweet, sweet whine you’re blinking your eyes open enough, “Th-they’re watching.”

“Oh.” But Gojo’s more worried about losing contact with the heaven that was your lips, chasing after to press wet peck after French peck. “S’what? You wan’ me to kill them all?”

The room drops a few chilling degrees in temperature for everyone but the two of you.

He could - he would. If you hadn’t shaken your pretty head frantically, that is, not quite ready for a bloodbath on your wedding night. Yet, you needed him so bad.

“Then- m’only gonna show them who ya belong to- who I belong to.” Calloused, rounded tips of his fingers bearing down your yukata, Gojo’s slipping in one of his cold digits between your robe to snap! snickering at your low keen. “And you’ve made it so oh- easy f’me to.”

He was so greedy.

Stealing little spying looks down at the way your legs were splayed out, Gojo utters out a guttural, “Open- open up f’me, my wife. Show them how wet your husband’s made ya.”

And shit, you didn’t know whether it was that sake acting out on behalf of your limbs, or whether it was the way that you were so needy right now. But you could feel your thighs jittering open as soon as those humming syllables were out of Gojo’s mouth.

“S-so embarrassing-” you whine, one hand swiping away your thin layers to show him that glistening wet plump of your pussy. Drenched. Seeping through the useless fabric of your panties to wink up at him- and oh, that makes Gojo groan.

It makes him throw his head back with a hiss - for only a split-second, as if he couldn’t take it. Before drunkenly shifting back to your pretty cunt no matter what.

“Oh, shit.”

THUD!

The body of the one such rowdy clan heir that’d dared speak up right now hits the ground faster than your eyes hit their target.

Fuck, you didn’t even see Gojo pull out one of his famed daggers from beneath his sleeves - but the thought of what more might hide underneath made your thighs clench.

And Gojo notices - of course, he did. Why the fuck wouldn’t he?

“F-fuck. What a naughty pussy gettin’ drenched from just that.” he shrills - before bursting out in a bout of laughter. Laughter, humorless and feral. “Gonna be the death of me- f-fuck- you’re gonna-” For a second, you feel your skin burn in embarrassment, and your legs cross. Only for his eyes to glow a burning blue in disagreement, tutting out a low, “Tell me- hah- tell me what you want.” He’s burning up with every slow kiss down the edge of your mouth, thumbing open your glossy maw further to wrap his lips around your tongue and suck. “Anything- I’ll get ya anything.”

You’re pretty sure that everyone is gaping at the worshiped leader of the Gojo clan on his knees and begging.

But you didn’t care - not when his solid index was drawing a slow line down the middle of your sopping slit. Bucking your hip up into an arch off the platform that makes Gojo’s achy cock twitch, and the aphrodisiac rush back to him with full force. Mewling, “Wan’ y-you, Toru-”

Eyes twinkling, “Me what, honey? The madam’s gonna hafta use m-more hah- big girl words than that.”

You want him.

You need him now.

“So mean.” you’re huffing and puffing, yet Gojo only grins at the way he can feel your sloppily wet lips down there kiss him even wetter. Dribbling a soaking sheen down to his wrist, “Want you t-to touch me- p-”

You don’t get to say that magical word “please” because Gojo Satoru would never have you say it.

He’s plunging out his long digits to hold up to the attractively dim lighting - yet, they’re already dazzling with the slick coating from your pre-soaked cunt. And he’s looking at a few elders right in their downturned bows as Gojo sticks his long, tender tongue out and licks. “W-whatever the madam wants. Dontcha think, elder Tanaka?”

You were the madam, and you’d be treated as such.

And shit, what that old man’s response was - whether he even responded - Gojo doesn’t give a shit.

Because just one ounce of your sweet, sweet juices on Gojo’s tongue shoots his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Hips bucking up with a low moan, a few slurring swears falling from his lips when he feels his achy cock gush-

“Need you-” he’s gasping wetly, shuffling urgently down the expanse of the platform. Moves frantic - needy. Down, down, down until you feel his hot pants down at your cunt. “Need to- wanna- gimme a lil’ peck, m’kay?”

The syrupy ends of his sentence are slurped up down a long glide of the very edges of Gojo’s tastebuds down your swollen folds. Through your panties.

Barely even shifting them even an inch to the side when he lets your glissading juices down his tongue, drawing a sultry circle. He’s letting his eyes droop half-closed, murmuring a little growl at the very back of his throat. “Just one more-” Gojo’s voice cracks, two sets of nails pressing crescents down into your thighs with just how hard he pulls. Kisses. “-and me more-” And another. “J-jus’ one more- oh-” Another.

And you’re barely even realizing it before Gojo’s latching his pretty lips with yours, squelching wet noises ringing in your ears and throughout all four corners of the room.

“Th-tha’s” you manage to scoff, fingers threading into his cloudy locks and pulling. But not even that’s enough to get Gojo to part even a millimeter, in-fact he’s pushing himself even more nose-deep, rolling his tongue down your slit - like he’s trying to push through your panties. “-more than one.”

And fuck - he titters out a pussydrunk giggle down into the edges of your sloppy hole. Teasing tongue dipping just barely to circle around the very edge and then-

“Can you blame me?” Gojo smiles with his rubbed-raw lips. So fucked-out that you hear yourself gasp. Your slick was already drip! drip! dripping down his curved chin, smearing a wet gloss that sits all prettily on his features. “M’gettin’ practice to do this fer the rest of our lives.”

And everyone could see just how addicted the clan leader was.

Everyone.

Slack-jawed and moving like he was mindlessly drawn to your pretty cunt, you’re being faced with a wet drawl of his lips down your sodden folds. Pressing the pointed tip of his nose against your plump clit he’s breathing you in all filthily.

“Could get used ta th-this-” he spits. Once. And then literally, salivating down a wet glob right inside your snug cunt that makes you shiver. “-heh, fuck that- s’too heavenly to. I need-”

And then you’re flipped.

So fast - so sudden that you barely even register what’s happening before you’ve got Gojo Satoru smushed onto the tatami platform. Bleary eyes gazing up at you and fixating right onto your pretty face, your hips sat shamelessly on his face.

“Toru what-”

“T-take those- off f’me, honey- please-” He couldn’t even bear to specify right now. You looked so unfairly pretty on top of him like that, even prettier when your soft, luxury robes are hitting the floor. Well, everything except those panties-

“Toru, those are gonna rip-” you yelp when you feel the stinging clench of his teeth biting down the plush of your thighs. Resting onto the sopping wet fabric of your underwear, it smears down a wet glide at his cheek. “-they’re so expensive.”

RIP!

Gojo spits back the tatters of your flimsy excuse of panties beside him - and then another saturated wad of saliva up into your cunt. “Have ya forgot that you’re the ah- madam now?” He’s snickering, curved fingertips swatting a wet smack! onto your ass, cold wedding band branding. “-jus’ use my black card ta buy the whole fuckin’ store. Dip into the hah- council’s funds fer all I care.”

And for those shocked elders snapping their eyes up - they’re met with the most obscene sight of Gojo’s gleaming tongue spreading your puffy pussy lips wide and proudly open.

“Shit-” he’s bursting out in whiny keens. Spitting and sloshing the wet waves of every pearlescent slick that beads of you - and there’s so much of it. “Gonna get my face s-so soaked heh-” So much that Gojo was utterly ready to feed with his sliding tongue, swirling past your wet rim of muscle and fucking up into you languidly. “-didn’t even need a fuck- ch-chair, anyway.”

Your cunt sloshes all around his tongue, dragging up and down up and down up and- Thoroughly done teasing out your hole pliant, he’s dragging his lips up to suck around your peaked clit - before pinching it in a light bite.

“Oh!” you yelp. Searing a grip into his scalp, “S-so mean-”

“Mhm— m’your big, bad mean husband- fuck-” Such syrupy, desperate whines that Gojo really can’t help but babble - over and over. “-that sake…feels like m’burning- m’dying-” He can’t stop, won’t stop, roughly attaching a hand onto the globes of your ass to help you ride. “-n’ m’fuckin’ addicted- so won’t ya toy with this hah- p-pretty pussy a lil’ n’ get even wetter for me? Please?”

God, it’s so subconscious the way that your fingers toy over your clit - tight, pressurized circles just the way you like it.

“Like this?”

“Ohhh, yeah, wifey- let it all down m’tongue-” And Gojo’s in a hypnotic trance at how much more of your honeyed glosses of precum that soak and travel down his tongue. It works. Even more. More and more. Maddeningly.

Until he just can’t fucking take it-

“S-stop that f’me. None of that t-touchin’ anymore oh-” he gruffs out, throat dry. “Let me-” Fucking jealous of you that he’s pushing his fucking sanity to gritting through his teeth. Gojo meanly slaps away your hand before taking it over with his own. Absolutely no warning before feeding your drooling pussy with inch after inch of his fingers.

Two at a time.

Three.

Your gooey depths are clinging to him so tight, taking him like a fuckin’ champ when they’re curling at the very knuckles to press deeply. “Oh yeah- makes me w-wonder jus’ how nicely you’ll take my fuckin’ cock, too, hm?”

You’re barely able to even babble out a few incoherent moans before the very tips of his digits brush up against the bulging bullseye of your g-spot. Hard.

“There-” you gasp. You all but cry. “R-right there, Toru-”

Swat!

“I love you, honey- oh, I love you- but right now…” Gojo’s petering his voice away, too in a heady trance with the sight of that rapidly thumping pulse at your cunt to focus on stringing any sentences together right now. And he’s licking back into your snugly-filled entrance, squeezing past the jostlie of his thickened digits to doubly penetrate you. “...jus’ wanna hear this c-cute cunt speak.”

It’s like Gojo couldn’t decide where he wanted to be next - licking up every wet dredge of your juices smearing down his wrist, hollowing his cheeks out when he sucks on your neglected clit, or drawing out the prettiest moans when he joins back in to fuck your quivering hole ragged.

Every movement bruising - claiming.

They’re cold inside your toasty walls. Reaching mushy nooks and crannies inside you that you didn’t even know were possible, rolling his tongue into your tight channel to drape your gummy walls with a sheen of his spit. His six-inch fingers pressing harsh against your sweet spots, you could scream-

“Oh she’s real talkative- s-so cute-” But your swashing cunt was doing all the talking for you, wringing out drippingly wet slurps and squelches that Gojo nods along drunkenly to. Maybe it was the aphrodisiac, maybe it was the way he was squeezed oh-so-tightly between your thighs - a lightheaded way to go that Gojo definitely wouldn’t mind. Because he was agreeing. “Mhm- I agree- hah- oh, I agree with ya, cutie-” Thick, white lashes bat innocently up at you, “-my wife would look s-so pretty when she cums, hm?”

And he’s right.

Drunken.

Because when you do, the sight is so pretty that Gojo himself thinks that he could cum right there and right now in his boxers - the only thing holding him back being the stabbing need to cum inside you more than anything.

Your thighs are desperately attempting to close around his ravenous head, greedily slurping up every bit of your juices. Every bead, every splatter, every slow gush with your mess of an orgasm.

“D-didn’t even ngh- see it-” you whimper, wave after wave of white-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes and making your spine arch in such a slutty way. “-didn’t even think I’d- oh-”

“S’quite alright-” he’s murmuring wetly. Head lolling all the way back to let you fuck your high on Gojo’s pretty face, convulsing cunt slobbering a translucent pathway all down the middle of his face. “Heheh- could never get mad- c-could never- oh fuck- use me.”

You’re gasping over distantly shocked mutters, “W-what?”

“Use me-” Gojo’s crying out, hips rutting up into the air like an animal. And he’s dangling helplessly onto the curve of your hips, jostling you desperately to fasten your vice-like grip on his hair. To ride him faster. To use him. “M’begging, my wife- fuck- let em’ see- let these fuckers see the way you u-use me.”

Voice breaking pathetically, eyes fighting not to scrunch shut, gasping and gulping for you to grind your dribbling pussy in smooth, sultry gyrations down rougher across his mouth.

And when you do, Gojo thinks he could faint.

He’s letting out a rasping ah! ah! ah! curdle at the very back of his throat with every jolt of your hips, with every push of your cunt down his mouth that has him gasping for air. Every drawn circle making his fat head swell even girthier. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

It’s everything he could ever think about even when your high evolves into mere tingles, when the twitches of your legs slow down, and you find yourself lifting ever-so-slightly off of Gojo’s red, red flushed face.

He looks so wrecked underneath - happily, so.

Flashing a brilliant smile that was dripping with all the coatings of your sloshing wet slick towards that little audience that you’d even forgotten you had. “Heh, next time my madam wants a hah- s-seat, she’ll have one. One way or the other.”

“T-Toru–” you’re whining, clamoring off to seat yourself down on his painfully hard lap. “-think they got the ngh- point.”

But, oh, the very moment your glossed pussy lips were meeting the thick bump of Gojo’s angry head through his clothes, you feel the syrupy rush of the aphrodisiac boil through your veins once more. You couldn’t even imagine how Gojo felt right now without even cumming once.

Slotting over to resound a damp schwf! of skin on fabric. Barely giving you a moment to even recollect before you need him. You want to ruin him.

Purring lowly, “Toru…”

And the strongest gulps - Gojo Satoru gulps - a shiver thrumming down his hulking body and onto his gushing cock. It twitches up in a sodden little perk underneath you, and Gojo’s fingers attach themselves to your waist. “Y-yes, ma’am?”

“Really wanna taste you-” your lips drag across his and he keens with a slow suck on your bottom lip. “-wanna see if the r-rest of you is just as sweet?”

“Fuck!” You bounce up precariously when Gojo bucks up wildly, like he’d rip through his wedding robes and fuck you right now if he could. “Such filth from such a s-sweet mouth- ya really are gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

And to hear the most notorious clan leader admit shamelessly like this. To hastily untie his yukata and let it fall to the side, hear him break out in a sullen whimper when you kiss your way down his toned body, down, down, down his bulging pecs, his heaving abs, all the way to those soaked tufts of white at his pelvis-

“D-don’t tease-”

Gojo just gasps at the hit of cool air when you’re shuffling down his stickily wet boxers in a fluid, sudden pull. Head throwing back before meeting your own widened ones - he was so big.

You don’t think you’d ever get used to the sight, to the way that his swelling hot girth expands up a few sizes fatter at the hot puff of your feverish breath. Thumping veins prominent and blushing strawberry pink in flavor. Reddened and bulbous tip already slick with a gleam of precum, and one swipe with your thumb makes him gush out in a stringy gush of more and more-

“Shit-”

Gojo’s letting his pathetically drooling lips sag open, eyes widening when your deft digits circle around that creamy white ring down Gojo’s length - down his underwear.

He didn’t even realize.

Curling his fingers around his thick base to glide over your lips like he was painting it in a pretty white lipstain. Letting your open lips drool and make a syrupy mess with his excess ribbons of cum. “Fuck- look what you do to me-”

You’re gasping with the realization that Gojo Satoru had cum in his pants from just eating your pretty pussy out - and it makes you grin.

Pressing a sweet, sweet peck onto one remnant of his thick dredges of his slightly salty seed, it makes him rut at each of your kittenish peck after peck on his weepy head. Circular and hot. “Ya are sweet.”

And then you can’t speak anymore - because Gojo didn’t want you to speak anymore. Doesn’t think he could manage it without his hefty balls clenching dangerously once more - it was his first time, after all.

“Handle- ah, handle me delicately, m’kay? Never done this b-before-” Biting down on his swollen lower lip when he’s watching your mouth stretch. Bulging out through your cheeks with the solid inches he was feeding you - throbbing length disappearing into your plushy mouth.

Gojo’s so ridiculously big when the rotund ends of his cock kiss wetly against the very back of your throat. Branding a bittersweet bruise. You were sure that had it not been for just how needy you were with the sake, it would have been physically impossible to milk the entirety of his fucking soul out of him like the way you were right now.

“O-oh-” he gasps - he pants. Chest caving it at how swelteringly hot you were inside, hugging around his sensitive cock so hard that Gojo sees stars. “Is- is this what it feels like?”

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru’s voice shiver just this way, you’ve never seen him so broken. Bouncing off the elders that see their precious leader this defiled.

Thighs juddering up and flexing in a way that makes you salivate to lock around your neck. He’s practically headlocking you - whimpering out tiny pleas as if you could answer. “Can’t believe you’ve been holding out- can’t ah- A lil’ deeper- please? Please I know you can-” Shifting his hips up in a slow gyration of back and forths until your tongue was flattening to slide over every vein down his underside. Twirling over particularly sensitive spots at the jagged crevices that make Gojo whine. “-aww, tha’s right. My good girl- my good fuckin’ wife.”

He’s never felt like this before.

And when you hollow out your cheeks and suck - oh, it has him hunching over rapidly. Shoving your nose up against that neat white happy trail, you’re breathing in his addictively masculine musk.

Moaning out a throaty, “Mmpf-”

“Shhh shh sh-” Gojo massages his finger down your neck, sneaking greedy feels for the outline of his thick cock down your throat. “Jus’ take it- fuck fuck fuck- don’ hafta do anything else, lemme take care of it, pretty.”

He didn’t even know what - he didn’t know how.

But fuck-

You swirl your tongue over and underneath the sensitive bump of his slit, lathering it in a slow glissade of your salivating tongue that makes him jump. And he feels like he’s already seeing cloud nine and the pearly gates itself by the time you steady yourself into sultry, sucking bobs.

Dancing a hand up to rub over his tight, cum-filled balls - and maybe it was the aphrodisiac, maybe it was just him - but it felt like he was about to burst already.

He was going to.

A slight hiss - not from you, not from him - manages to emanate its way into his melty mind, and Gojo’s finding it in himself to let his head throw back with a sudden laugh. Glassy eyes barely even focusing on the jaw-dropped figures around the table, “Y-your madam’s hgnh- taking me so well, isn’t she?” Head tilting drunkenly back at you, “Wontcha say she’s doin’ a damn good job-”

Only a few mutters - a few scoffs.

And Gojo’s finding his digits twirling tightly to latch onto your scalp, hissing through clenched teeth. “Say it.”

A unanimous, humiliating “yes” echoes from all sides of the platform.

And one from your wrecked husband right in front of you - “Yes- hahah-” he giggles. Brushing over the splattered mix of precum and cum that drips down the side of your thoroughly open mouth when you suck all his fat inches. Popping it into his mouth to taste. “-doin’ so well f’me I think- hngh- think I might-”

Of course, at this, you’re speeding up your greedy bounces. Fucking Gojo so heavenly with his mouth that he thinks he’s memorized every curve and twist of your tongue, every single tastebud-

“Naughty girl-” You’re being gifted with another smack! on your ass, and he’s having to haul you off of his reddened, angry cock with a tightened grip around your throat. With one, two slow pumps right in front of your face. And then up, up, up enough for him to hum into your mouth in an attacking French kiss. “-I like that.”

Gojo’s bulging biceps ripple when he seats you all prettily on his lap - just like earlier on tonight. Except, this time, you were facing him - and feeding your drooling cunt all angry inch by inch of his rock-hard cock.

“O-open up those hngh- pretty legs.” he murmurs in a heaving hot breath into your ear. Eyes blaring down at the way your squirmy legs were adjusting and readjusting around slender hips. “Open ‘em and t-take me-”

The way you do makes him gape, makes him gasp, makes him impatiently wrap two arms around the small of your back to fuck up past that tight little ring of resistence and into your walls depravedly.

Just hitting the very back of your spongy cervix with the upwards curved tip of his head before gushing out thick, wet splatters of cum. The gripping cling of your cunt too good, the way you were sucking him up still fresh.

And perhaps because of the aphrodisiac, but he was cumming so much.

Such voluminous loads of seed that dump out into your gooey insides, it sloshes all around him and makes such squelches that reaches his ears. Drooling through the very edges of your sopping wet slit-

“S-see what happens?” Gojo’s whimpering in a way that a clan leader decidedly was not known for. Being the strongest, too. Driving a thumb along your bulging slit, he’s taking the opportunity to smear your pussy lips even wider to swallow more of him. To plug his cum back in. To show off. “See how ah- see what you do to me? Let everyone see-”

And Gojo sounded so desperate, gasping out little utterances and praises into your mouth while he’s shoveling his swollen cock upwards into you. Taking the lewd advantages of years of combat to pummel every recoiling wall of yours with punishing, pressurized thrusts.

“Wh-what do I do to ya, Toru?” you hum curiously, half-delirious.

“Drive me fuck- insane, tha’s what-” he’s hissing, sparks behind his eyes. Swiping down to where he could feel the drilling nudge of his weepy cock, pressing down- hard. He’s mushing over the sensitive slit of his cock accidentally, “Oh- makes me wanna do this forever-” He’s nosing down the crook of your neck now, hiding away that innocent blush of his. “-to fuck you, make love to you, to breed you.”

You sputter out a sudden clench that has Gojo falling back down onto his elbows. Back hitting the tatami mats, your hands hitting his cushiony pecs. “Y-you wan’ to breed me? Hngh- you w-want an heir, Toru?”

An heir - an heir.

An heir, an heir, an heir. God, it’s thundering throughout his mind and syrupy slowly turning into just about all he can think about.

“M-me? Want an heir?” He’s shuddering out, massive palms splaying out on the two globes of your ass to stretch your taut pussy further down his cock. “What makes you think- oh- what-” Until your perky lips were kissing his heated pelvis, your pulsing clit scratching deliciously down his tufts of white. And at this very second, peering up at you through hooded eyes, gaze half-curtained with his hair, drunken - all that Gojo can imagine is how pretty you are. And how much prettier you’d be as a mama. “C-can I get you hngh- p-pregnant- please, ma’am?”

Mere seconds of his thrumming shaft stretching you open pass as he looks dazedly to the side, “After all- s’what th-this initiation is for, right?”

And then you feel like you’re being spearheaded all the way to your lungs with all of Gojo’s girth.

“Toru-” you whine, nails dragging little red lines down his broad neck and all over his shoulders. “-deeper. More please- it feels so-”

“More?” Gojo chuckles, hysterical. “You want m-more?”

He’s barely even answering his own question - let alone allowing you to answer.

Because Gojo’s taking this as the cue to restrain your two wrists behind your back with one of his own, forcing you to whine and shudder out little sobs when your thighs strain to meet his jackhammering cadence.

Ass stinging at the bruising slap! of his sharp hip bones, the way his heated cunt was swirling around your sweet spots so right. It felt like you were burning from the inside out-

“Ah ah-” Gojo tuts, snapping you out of your woozy reverie. Free hand coming to knock away one of your trembly palms snaking down to your neglected clit - when did you even start that? “Can’t ask me for m-more n’ do this. Move that hand so I can f-fuck you proper, honey-”

You barely even have the time to whine about it before he’s spitting a streaming waterfall of saliva onto his fingers, pinching at your clit.

“Heh, don’t think I f-forgot about ya-” You whine at the way he was drawing dizzying circles, the cool burn of his matching wedding band. “Th-they say ya needa have the hngh- mother cum, too, ta make kids.”

Plural.

“K-kids?” you muse.

“Mhm-” he’s nodding like he doesn’t even realize. “How about- six-”

Maybe from the shock, maybe from the way that he was filthily spearing against your g-spot so good, you collapse readily onto your elbows. Feeling every slick and slide of Gojo’s abs rubbing up against you.

Each singular thrash into your cervix has Gojo’s babbles running more nonsensical - more pussydrunk. “Thinkin’ wh-whatever ya want- hngh- to fill ya up- Have you all r-round and ha- glowing.” Like it pained for him to even say, like it hurt with every sloppily wet thwack! of his heavy balls on your ass. “Have you be m-my madam- the mother of my kids- hngh- all with your pretty eyes-” he’s sobbing now. Swirling around his rounded tip till it hits sweets spots you didn’t even know you had. “-n’ my hair and hah- your personality- c-can’t imagine fighting over them for ya- wh-what do you think, cutie?”

But as soon as you’re cracking your mouth open to fervently agree - at least, as much as your hazy mind could at this point, Gojo’s raising his right hand to palm over it.

With a drunken smirk, “M’askin’ her, my wife- dontcha w-worry-” Nuzzling your cheek, “-haven’t forgotten about the mother of my kids.”

And the saccharine-sweet sloshing is enough to ring throughout Gojo’s ears like his favorite melody - and he’s memorized every note. Pumping out more and more spurts of hot precum to stain your insides and dribble uproariously. Sleazing a grin your way, “Almost there- almost- but first-”

Every single elder he’s glaring upon jumps when Gojo graces them with one of his looks - even as barely-lucid and fucked-out as he was. He leers, “How about it? Heh, wanted a-an heir so bad n’ now you’re gonna get it. Happy now?”

As expected, no answer.

But Gojo didn’t need one anyway - not when your ringing slurps as you swallow up his cock thunder across his ears. “O-oh, she’s tellin’ me something-”

“Wh-what is she sayin’, Toru-” you whine, lips wobbling uncontrollably in much the same way that your pussy folds were right now.

“She’s sayin—” Gojo’s voice takes on a whimpering lilt, and he has absolutely no idea how you haven’t noticed that determined clenching of your gummy walls, the breathless pants of yours. So he only smiles, teeth sinking playfully into your ear lobe, “-that my gorgeous wife’s about to cum.”

Stars flurrying behind your lids, your toes curl and hips slam with enough force to rock the platform rickety.

But if you didn’t notice your high - then Gojo certainly didn’t notice his, either.

Too caught-up, too busy rutting up in solid strides into your dripping cunt to notice that he was splattering your squeezing walls to be sopping wet with oozes of cum. There are so many gushes of it that Gojo feels dizzy, he feels like he’s about to break.

“Wait- wait wait m’cumming again-” he gasps. Pinching your clit with two fingers to feel the way that jittery convulsion has Gojo’s potent seed coating his cock a glistening white. Something marshmallow creamy that makes him swallow. “D-didn’t even know I could hngh- c-cum again-”

Didn’t know if he even wanted to but- but of course, he did.

He’s hissing at the dredges of wispy white that drip from between your slit, the very sight itself tipping Gojo over to sprinkle out a few more velvety ribbons that knock at your womb.

“Heheh- think this t-took?” Those mere words feel so sinful on his tongue, and Gojo’s ears flush a ruby red. But he can’t find himself stopping when he plugs out of your snug cunt, whimpering at the sensitive cling of your cunt as if she didn’t want to part ways. “Whoops-”

You whine at the warmly wet gush of your still-convulsing cunt, “Don’t think it t-took if you’re pulling out-”

SLAM!

You don’t know who’s actually gasping - the elders, Gojo, or you. Still reeling from the way you’re immediately flipped over onto all fours, cheeks smushed against the tatami mat so hard that Gojo wonders whether it’ll leave a mark for tomorrow.

Assuming the two of you get out of this alive, that is.

“Let them see-” he’s hissing, cupping your pussy to leave a few wet smacks that smear your abundance of his cum down onto the platform. So much of it. “-let them see how th-their heir is made since they wanna hah- see so badly.”

And god, the sight was supposed to taunt those in the fucking audience - but it has Gojo’s slick-sheening cock twitching up in interest once more. Barely even knowing what he’s doing before spreading open your pussy lips with one swipe of his bawling tip, and then inside-

“You d-didn’t think we were done, ngh, did you, my wife?”

As if you could ever be done with him.

Pound after pound.

Gojo was so painfully hard right now he felt like he was going to explode - and he wanted- no, needed to be deeper than he ever has inside of you.

Which is what found him placing an unapologetic foot on top of your head, the slight jostle in angle making him swoon in a probing push against the very ends of your cervix. And every shaky thrust too hard made you feel like he was going to fuck an heir right into your awaiting womb.

“M’sorry-” he gasps, tearily. Wet splatters of the salty substance hitting the side of your shoulder as Gojo bends - and folds and folds you pliantly right along with him. “Don’t mean to- hngh- didn’t- fuck but I need it so badly- s-so deeply- don’t think I’ve bred this cute cunt ‘nough.”

Pushing you down with his utterly full bodyweight, you’re pinned to the platform. For every eye to see the snapping, creamy strings that connect his glossy cock to your overfilled cunt. It sprinkles across your ass and down your legs, and he’s eyeing down at the glossy pool of mess sticking between your two sweat-sheened bodies from before.

So badly.

It’s so much - too much.

Placing kiss after gliding kiss of his syrupy precum down the very bottom of your pussy, whining at the slight recoil that has him pushing back from the elastic depths of your cunt. Such a splitting stretch that bullies you wordless.

And it could’ve been hours - it could’ve been minutes until all that you can manage is a tiny huff that leaves your pouty lips with every wet squelch, and only makes his fat cock bludgeon even harder. He’s fucking you thoroughly, almost as if he hates you.

Yet, sounding so badly apologetic that you can’t help but crack a smile - at least, as much as you could when your sweet insides were being ravaged by him. “S’all f-for an heir, isn’t it, Toru–?”

God- and then he’s cumming.

Embarrassingly, almost-painfully - but still so needily.

It’s splattering and overfilling you so much that you feel your elastic walls pull taut at the sheer inflation, making you strangle out a sudden moan. Splat! splat! splattering a thin sheen down your inner thighs, the wet pumps have him fucking it even harsher to coat your spongy womb with his cum, knocking- begging for any sort of entrance.

Messy. So fucking messy that you feel your skin burn.

He can’t help it - oh, he can’t control himself when he’s pulling out for just a split-second to shuffle downwards and press his face right into your sopping folds. Latching his spit-slicked lips around your sensitive nub of a clit. Humming, sucking-

And through it all - you can just barely make out Gojo’s voice. Raw, broken. “D-don’t think it took…don’t think my h-heir took.”

“...”

It slowly evolves into Gojo’s own personal little manga - the very same that he gasps out over and over into your open mouth on the third round. Just a few more tears, a few more of his sloppy strokes in a prone bone that his aching body can barely even hold up.

Now well past the aphrodisiacs, and the allotted time for your initiation. But your audience was still seated, and the fatigue setting into both of you as you both cum with strangled cries - and Gojo’s stream of sweltering hot seed now noticeably wispier than usual.

But still - still it wasn’t enough.

And by the fourth round, you’re wondering how the hell it was that neither of you had broken any bones, yet. Especially considering the sloppy full nelson that your greedy husband had somehow managed to wrangle you into.

Slipping and sliding across one another in a way that had Gojo crying out in frustration, drool dripping down the side of his lips - all he really wanted to do was stuff his angry cock into you again.

The fifth and sixth rounds start before the previous one had even ended, you think. And you’re riding on a constant wave of high while Gojo’s weepy cock sobs out a few more spurts of seed all throughout.

Teeth clacking against your own in a mess of a kiss, voice dragging in tiny breaks at the very end of his throat. Gojo doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the rounded divot at the end of his overstimulated cock shivers out nothing.

And Gojo knows he should be cumming - he feels like he should be cumming.

But all his poor, half-softening cock can do is let out a gush of nothingness. Big, fat tears glistening down Gojo’s cheeks when he cums dry in the meanest mating press possible for both your tired bodies. Yet, still fucking you like he was with his cum again and again-

“You all-” Everyone jumps at the sudden, hoarse voice coming from the leader, having resigned himself to mere whimpers of your name and “heirs” by now. And the elders can’t even hold his droopy, barely-there gaze. Dangerous. “Bow. Bow to your new madam.”

A/N. Hope you all have a lovelyyy day.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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coffee-and-geto · 4 months ago

Text

“HAVE YOU SEEN MY PANTIES?”

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: in a lazy, hot summer afternoon, it’s your boyfriend’s turn to do the laundry. but why doesn’t he respond when you’re asking where’s your panties?

warnings: +18, smut, nsfw, gojo is your boyfriend, needy! gojo, cute! gojo, fluff, nipple play, panties sniffling, masturbation (m), oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, sex (p in v), also based on a @/yunonoai’s comic!

wc: 2,128

“Babe, can you do the laundry? I have a call.”

“Sure,” Satoru replies, standing up from the couch where he was lazily lying down, chilling out in front of some tiktoks.

He steps towards the bathroom, the laundry hamper waiting for him to be emptied and washed. With a resigning sigh, he looks down at the heap of dirty clothes. One of them overhangs them all: your favorite panties — the one he bought you last month.

The lace surrounds with finesse the satin fabric of your favorite color.

So how can he not be hard at the only sight that reminds him how long you both haven’t had sex?

Fuck.

His breathing becomes heavier, each inhaling being a trial to not pay attention to the prominent bulge swelling down his gray jogging pants. Of course, the memory of your whimpers will always be like music to his ears, the fwap sounds of his cock buried deep, so deep, inside of your wet pussy, and his balls, so much filled with his cum and tightening when he's about to climax, slapping against your ass at each pound into you.

He is grouching now, at the edge of whining in need of your full attention — but of course, you needed to have a call at this very moment.

His hand twitches to his crotch, palming his already hard erection through the soft fabric of his pants, electricing at quiet moans, Satoru’s beautiful face wincing in pleasure. He swallows thick, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and gives in. With messy movements, he lifts up his black shirt to grab the hem at his watering mouth and muffle his cute sounds between his clenched teeth and jaw. The fresh air blow at his hard abs, making him tensing his belly with scorching skin.

His big, calloused hand fiddles with his erection, so ready to free himself from the torturous sensation of your pretty panties, which he holds between his fingers and brings to his nose to inhale your scent, which makes him like a little puppy for you. Satoru utters a desperate whimper and finally buries his hand under his clothes to release his quivering cock.

It’s much bigger than usual, beads of precum glistening on the angry red tip, and veins sinuating the flesh. Of course, it’s perfect. That’s why it will never seem strange to anyone to see him stroke himself. He lazily fucks his tight fist, picturing your sweet pussy as he closes his eyes, beads of sweat leaking from his temples a flush spreads all over his cheeks.

His length girth throbs between his digits, coursing waves of lust through him as Satoru quickens the pace, as the same as his heartbeat. Saliva damps the fabric of his black shirt, and the idea of substituting the hem of his shirt with your panties carries out straight away, increasing his arousal until it’s twitching in a maddened way. With each stroke, the pre spreads along his shaft to allow it to be lubricated, at the point that if you all of a sudden show up in the bathroom, you both can skip the foreplay but damn!

“Toru? Did you see my panties?” Your voice echoes through another room.

But he doesn’t answer anyway.

“Fuck,” he grunts in a quiet whine, “miss you so much, babe.” His balls tighten, following the next moment — and it doesn’t take that much time he expected, because a few seconds after he twists his wrist in an upstroke movement — the exact way you’d do to him — he’s already cumming on the heap of laundry, dirtying them even more they already were, puddles of a viscous liquid, spreading out in droplets as the orgasmic peak subsides.

Panting heavily, he doesn’t hear you burst into the bathroom as you exclaim, “Satoru? You serious? Look at the state of the laundry now!”

With a swift gesture, he removes your panties from his mouth and turns his head suddenly towards you. He’s unable to justify himself and simply watches your disapproving pout ruffle your pretty lips. “Sorry babe, I'll clean it up.” He also notes how your mere presence makes him hard immediately despite having softened a moment earlier with the moment of “relief” he wished to provide for himself.

“Where are my panties?” you ask a second time as you rummage, eyebrows furrowed, through the basket of dirty laundry.

Satoru rubs the back of your neck nervously and hesitates to hide your underwear in his palm. “Uh... here,” he murmurs softly, slightly discomfited as you pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

“You’re that much needy?”

Satoru looks down, a little boyish pout on his lips that breaks your heart. “Sorry...”

Your frown softens. “Oh, um— No, Toru, please don’t gimme that look,” you whisper, walking over to him, your hands instinctively cupping his cheeks to make him look down at you. “I’m sorry, my love. You need to tell me when you need me, okay?”

Satoru nods slowly, still guiltily pouting. “Can I have you? Please? Just one round, I swear I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs.

His request makes your lips curl up. “My boy does want me? You’re cute, almost begging like this.” You graze a kiss on his cheek. “Get on your knees.”

“Like that?” His knees make contact with the floor, his cock still outside his dangling jogging suit. He so fucking cute, listening to you so obediently.

“Good boy,” you coo, sliding pants down your thighs. Your black panties hug the swell of your hips, your intoxicating scent spreading toward Satoru’s nostrils.

He moves towards you using his knees to grip your hips and sniff your scent once more. The action makes you giggle so much that it makes you suck in a breath when he pulls down your underwear to kiss your groin. “Love you,” he whispers. “I want to taste you, please.”

“Satoru, just wait I—” But he cuts you off, darting out his tongue to lick a strip enough to feel your bundle of nerves. A moan escapes your lips, driving your breath as crazy as he’s doing with his skillful mouth.

“You’re dripping,” Satoru comments, kissing your lower lips swiftly before grabbing you by the thighs and lifting you up, dropping you off the washing machine. “Spread your legs,” he mumbled, all needy and flushed to eat you out.

And how long he hadn’t—

It’s like he’s drunk on you, ignoring your moans and whimpers as he rests his cheeks on your inner thigh to wrap his wrist around your thighs. His fingertips dig into the flesh of your thighs, trapping you firmly. “Keep ‘em spread, baby,” he purrs, lapping your soaked core and sensitive, puffy clit. “It tastes s’good, I’ve missed you.”

His dick twitches and throbs afterward, your sweet sounds re-hardening him and making him more swollen than he was even after the few rubs he did to relieve himself.

“Hmm, ah, Satoru, you—” you trail off, throwing back your head against the wall, your hands grabbing the washing machine’s edge until your knuckles turn white. “I’ll be close, I—” you babble, and the realization of how much not having sex with him for so long is turning you into a virgin-like. And also, the clenching feeling of your pussy, lips parting and closing around nothing hits you so hard.

You need to cum on his cock.

“Satoru, stop,” you gasp, your fingers snaking gently through his white lock and tugging them carefully.

He stops the moment after your whine reaches his ears — a sound ringing like music to his ear. “But… I haven’t made you come yet,” he murmurs, rubbing your clit slowly with his forefinger and middle finger. His cute pout is now begging you to give him grace.

“I want to cum on your dick,” you clarify, leaning in, your lips pressing down a gentle, loving kiss on this beautiful forehead of him.

“You sure? I haven’t stretched you beforehand.” He rises from his former crouching position and holds his sensitive length closer to your core.

“I don’t mind, I just want you right now,” you blow out, kissing his free hand.

Satoru blushes — and oh, how can anyone fall in love with this cute little face you want to madly shower with cuddles and kisses? “Can we put it in while I kiss you?” he requests, bringing his lips closer to yours.

You let out a little laugh, pressing a first kiss on his lips. “You’re so cute.”

But something makes your eyes drop lower, and you feel it. Satoru’s hand holds his shaft enough well to tap the tip and the length below on your core, teasing your squelching cunt.

“C’mon, don’t tease me, I want you n— Ah!” He shuts you down by crashing his lips on yours and sliding himself easily in you, stretching you impossibly wide. “S-Satoru, you’re bigger than usual,” you whimper.

Your hands grab his broad shoulder, nails sinking in his compressed black shirt, lips moving on their own to taste yourself on his wet lips. His tender tongue asks to enter you, and you allow him, soft strokes on each other’s tongue.

Satoru moans in the melting kiss, waiting for you to adjust, and starts gentle back and forth hips moves, hissing through his teeth by the sweet, delicious tightness of yours. “You feel so good,” he squeals between kisses. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You gasp, swallowing hard because of the different paces your brain can’t focus on — stolen kisses and perfect pounds into you. It’s so deep, so mastered, that it’s driving you mad and making you see stars.

Breaking the kiss, Satoru wraps his muscled arms around your back and encircles you flush against him, your heartbeat matching with his, and your fingernails slide down his back as you almost lose strength and balance every time his tip brushes against your cervix, etching red scratch marks for sure on his back as soon as he will remove his shirt.

With another buck before pulling out fully, he slides back in and manages to reach your deepest point, making your back arch and cry out. “Satoru, please, I’m so close,” you whine, wincing because of his hips rocking in you faster and harder.

The washing machine sways to the same rhythm, threatening to give way under your weight. Your heavy, ragged breaths fill the air in a kind of steam room. Blood beats at your ears, your gummy walls clenching around his long, big dick without ceasing and have mercy for you.

But as if that wasn’t enough, Satoru slides your top off with a swift movement of his hand to free one of your breasts and taste the nipple. He sucks hard, tongue pulling and swirling at the nub like no other. The action makes you roll your eyes, the overstimulation engulfing you like a wave would.

He then uses his head to tease your nipple with a gentle tug, his cerulean-blue eyes captivated by your curve. You squeal, your walls swallowing up his thrusts inside you, tightening more and more until he gives in and takes you back into his arms, but this time with a hand under your thigh to lift it up and enable him to reach an even more precise and deep angle, making you scream out his name.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” Satoru warns you, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and his jaw tense from clenching. “Please, where—”

“Inside me, Satoru,” you whimper in the hollow of his neck, closing your eyes before the following ride crashes the two of you.

Pussy clenching around his length, you squirt on him with a small cry, and Satoru does likewise, twitching as he grunts and his hips jerk to reach your womb and fill you up with his cum.

Muscles trembling from the aftermath, you pant against him, as weak as after an intense workout. “I’ve missed you so much,” Satoru whispers in your ear, in the same state as you. His large, quaking hands stroke your hair, soothing you.

White strings escape from your full, swollen-lipped pussy, the sound of trickling filling the silence of the room.

“I promise I’ll do the laundry, but please, can we have cuddles?” Satoru demands, blinking down at you with puppy-dog eyes.

You rest your cheek on his shoulder and nod, a smile stretching your lips, as you reach out to stroke his cheek.

“Of course, my baby.”

DING DONG.

The ringing of the front door echoes in your ears and a memory pops into your head, slapping you in the face.

“Wasn’t Suguru supposed to come to borrow the washing machine here because his is broken?”

Satoru froze, flickering his eyes. “Huh?”

a/n: feelin to write something cute and smutty haha! i think writing things easy like this is unwinding me.

see how he’s so cute? 🥹 pls God give me one…

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobees @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t

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rowarn · 1 year ago

Text

EXPERIENCE (m.)

könig x inexperienced!reader

tags: age gap, acquaintances to lovers, afab!reader but gn

cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, fingering, hand riding (hear me out), pussyjob, talking u thru it, praise, pet names (liebling, little one), size kink/difference, handjob, reassurance/encouragement kink, wet&messy, konig is uncut hehe, squirting

note: konig is in his 40s and reader is in their 20s!

;in which you live in the same building as a really hot, older, military man

9.5k

When you met König, you never expected the harmless interactions to ever evolve into anything substantial. He lived somewhere in the same apartment building as you did, though you didn’t know where exactly. Most times, you would find him in the elevator or cross paths with him in the lobby.

You knew he was in the military, most of the people living in the building were. It was close to the nearby base and had rent for a damn good price. The way he carried himself, back straight and body seemingly always at attention gave him away.

He was massive, standing much taller above you with broad shoulders and thick thighs. A lot of the time he was wearing a hood over his face, mostly when he was coming or going from work – which was seemingly all the time.

On the few occasions that you caught him without the hood, you could tell it was him solely by his build. There was no one else in the building who looked anything like that.

He was handsome, in a rugged, tired kind of way. He was a lot older than you were expecting him to be – probably in his early to mid forties, you guessed. He had salt and pepper hair, fine lines etched onto his face, and stern eyes from (no doubt) many years in the military.

You had never properly spoken to him before. Hell, you didn’t even know his name. You greeted him when you saw him and smiled in passing when you made eye contact. Occasionally, he would respond in an accented voice that you longed to ask about.

The event that changed everything was a fun little night out you had with your friends. You had maybe had a bit too much to drink before finally conceding at your friends’ behest to call yourself an Uber.

By the time you reach your apartment building, you’re still very buzzed and starting to feel a little nauseous. You stumble to the elevator and impatiently slam your thumb on the button over and over again, losing count as you do.

“It’s not going to come any faster,” an accented voice drones next to you, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you wheeze, hand over your racing heart.

“You should be more aware of your surroundings then,” he says, “Especially when you are intoxicated.”

You huff through your nose, growing annoyed at the prospect of being lectured. The elevator grants mercy and dings before slowly opening. There's a rowdy group of men inside who quickly walk out of the elevator, seedy eyes immediately finding their way to you, scanning your body up and down as they pass by.

You feel that nauseous pit in your stomach twist as you finally step onto the elevator. Nothing to ruin your jovial mood from a nice evening more than a group of leering men. Living in an apartment building filled with soldiers, it wasn’t unusual to have them stare at you – didn’t mean you liked it.

You cross your arms over your chest as König steps on, the elevator creaking and groaning under his immense weight.

“What floor?” he asks softly, glancing at you over his shoulder as he stands in front of the button panel.

“3,” you mumble, leaning against the back wall. You watch him punch in the 3 but not anything else, making you raise a brow, “You live on 3 too?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say another word. You narrow your eyes at his back, if he feels you looking, he doesn’t give it away. The elevator is plunged into silence aside from the quiet sound of the shaft moving up and up until it dings and the doors slide open.

He steps out first, standing in the threshold to keep the door from closing as you push yourself off the wall. Your head swims for a second and you stumble past him, keenly aware of his eyes on you.

You wander down the hallway, glancing over your shoulder to see him slowly stalking behind you. His arms hand limply by his sides, his fists clenched into fists but he remains a respectable distance.

“Why are you following me?” you ask, unable to hide the nervousness in your tone, “You said you don’t live on this floor.”

“Young recruits are tools,” he supplies simply, “I am making sure you make it to your door without any problems.”

That causes you to hum and for a little flutter in your stomach to manifest. You brush it off and pause at your door, pulling your keys out so unlock it. You push it open and step in, letting it hit your back to keep it from closing as you turn to look at your companion.

“Thank you…um…” you clear your throat and look at him expectantly.

“König,” he supplies simply, arms tucked behind his back, making him look even wider.

“König…” you repeat, feeling the words on your tongue, “Interesting name. Where are you from?”

“Austria,” he replies almost mechanically, “I will be going now.”

You don’t get to say another word before he’s stalking away and down the hallway, heavy footfalls practically rumbling the ground beneath him. You slowly close your door and lean against it, hand placed over your racing heart – when did that start up?

You blame it on your inexperience when it comes to men. You’d had a couple boyfriends, pretty standard for someone in their 20s. Your problem was none of them were ever good enough. The over-zealous types who wanted their dicks sucked as gratitude for paying for dinner. Then would turn around and either give you the most lackluster head of your life, barely any foreplay before trying to shove his dick into an unprepared hole.

You had never given them the chance, once they showed they were only interested in their own pleasure and would more than likely not even think about touching your clit or angling for your g-spot, you stopped them and kicked them out. More often than not, you woke up to a break-up text because of course you did.

So that was how you were still a virgin and more or less, at this point, given up on dating. You’d been single now for the better part of 6 months and had no intentions of giving any men your own age a shot at it.

But…you hadn’t considered an older man. Like König.

At that thought, you pushed yourself off the door and kicked your shoes off, intent on taking a shower to hopefully wash these drunken thoughts out of your head. So he’d been nice and walked you to your door, no questions asked, so what? Didn’t make him any different from men your age.

As you made it to the bathroom, you felt your stomach finally churn for the final time and found your head buried in the toilet. You cursed yourself for not listening to your friends, who apparently knew your own limits better than you did.

The next time you see König is just a few days later. You walk into the apartment’s gym on the ground floor, and there he is – sitting lifting weights. You pause when you see him, feeling that traitorous flutter in your chest you were sure you puked out that night you had learned his name.

You watch the way his biceps flex, bulging so large you’re sure not even two of your hands could wrap around the girth of it. There were some scars littering his skin, most of them white and raised from age but a few that still had that new tissue pink color. You also noticed some fading tattoos encircling his forearms. Fuck, he was hot.

You hung your head and scampered over to the treadmill, intent on getting your cardio up.

As you run, you notice a group waltz in, laughing and shoving each other. You glance over at them, rolling your eyes when some of them make eye contact and nudge their buddies. They lean in close and whisper to each other with shit eating grins on their faces and you find frustration building up so you try to ignore them.

“Quiet,” you hear an accented voice snap, full of authority, “You are disturbing everyone.”

The rowdy young men quiet down immediately and clear their throats, “S-Sorry, Colonel,” one of them utters.

‘Colonel? Is that high ranking?’ you find yourself wondering, making a mental note to look that up later.

Either way, König manages to make the gym peaceful once again and you finish your workout with no other hitches.

You grab your towel and dab at the sweat on your face and neck as you swiftly make your way out of the gym, completely unaware of the shadow following closely behind.

You slow to a stop at the elevator, punching the button to call it as you sip on your water bottle, mindlessly going over what else you need to do with your day. The shadow behind you remains stagnant, still and silent as it lurks behind your unsuspecting form as the elevator opens and you step on.

He follows, hefty weight causing the elevator to groan as usual. That gets your attention and you jump, placing a delicate hand over your racing heart just like you had before, eyes wide in shock at his appearance.

“You’re doing it on purpose now!” you whine at him and he has to fight back a smile at it.

“I told you that you needed to pay more attention to your surroundings,” he replies smoothly, pressing the 3 button for you before pressing 5 for himself.

“How is a guy as big as you able to be so quiet?” you ask softly, making note of the floor he lives on.

“Years of training,” he gives a quick response that you hum at. There is a beat of silence before he finds himself speaking again, “You never gave me your name.”

He sees the way you look at him in surprise and he almost wishes he could rip the words from the air as soon as he says them. He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea that he actually wants to get to know you.

But you smile softly and give him your name with a kind nod of your head before the elevator grants him mercy and dings at the arrival on your floor.

“See you around, König,” you say as you step off.

He doesn’t respond.

Once back in the safety of your apartment, you find yourself going through the entire interaction in your head over and over again. Your heart races as you think back on him.

It's as you’re making dinner for yourself that you finally have the coherent thought of revelation that you may have a crush on König.

The revelation is almost enough to have you groaning out of frustration into the quiet sanctity of your apartment but you manage to refrain. But you can’t deny you don’t quite know what to do about it now. You had sworn off of men but…that was men your own age. König was…older than you, surely at least 15 years your senior, possibly more. You figure it couldn’t hurt to ask him out for some coffee one of these days.

Except, the next time you see König is almost 2 weeks later. You don’t see hide nor hair of him at all. It definitely puts a damper on your confidence and you almost think your crush was just a fleeting little thing and for that you’re grateful for.

Until the elevator opens one day and there he is. He’s wearing his hood but his eyes look even more exhausted than usual – beyond the general tiredness that comes with age. You carefully step on, joining him in the downward descent to the lobby. It’s just the two of you and feel that fluttering in your chest start up again and your hands begin to sweat. You scour your brain for something to say — anything to start up a conversation after so long of not seeing him.

“Haven’t seen you around,” you mutter softly. He hums softly in acknowledgement but doesn’t supply much of a response beyond that, “Where have you been?” you try again.

“Deployed,” he finally responds after several seconds of silence.

You can’t find any way to respond or keep the conversation going but it’s sure that he has no intentions of doing so anyway. Still, it surprised you that he had been deployed, you hadn’t considered that. It made sense now that you thought about it.

The elevator opened and you both stepped out. He walked much faster than you, beelining out of the apartment and you briefly considered letting him go but another part of you wanted to stop him and ask him out.

You cursed to yourself and jogged forward, calling his name. He stopped in his tracks at the sound of you calling for him. He looks down at you over his nose, a burning gaze that makes your nervousness spike. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good time after all.

“What?” he snaps, clearly impatient.

“Oh um…” you clear your throat and slow to a stop, “N-Nevermind…”

He huffs through his nose and resumes storming out of the apartment. You find yourself sighing deeply, following his lead. When you get outside, he’s nowhere to be seen and you once again find yourself wondering how a man of his size is so good at not being seen.

A few nights later, the weekend rolls around and you find yourself standing in that damned elevator with him once again. He’s maskless and it gives you pause before stepping on.

It’s silent for a few seconds before he says, “I am sorry for the other day.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, “Um…what do you mean?”

“I was not polite towards you,” he answers, casting a soft gaze towards you that makes your heart flutter, “I took my bad mood out on you and I should not have. So…I am sorry.”

“Oh…” you clear your throat and give him a smile, “it’s alright, König. I shouldn’t have bothered you with something silly.”

He frowns at you, “Something silly?”

“It’s nothing,” you assure him, smiling kindly at him.

He wants to ask you what you mean but the elevator door opens and you step out, making him realize that you reached your floor. You wave your goodbye to him as the doors close and he lets his head fall back with a sigh once he’s alone.

Yet another bad day weighed heavily on his shoulders when you came waltzing into the elevator, bright eyed and happy. His fists were clenched behind his back and he did his best to avoid looking at you, hoping you would take the hint and not speak to him like you usually did. It hadn’t been but a day since he had apologized to you for making an ass of himself in the lobby and he didn’t want to do the same thing so soon after.

But then you say something that sends it all crumbling down.

“Hey…” you start, fidgeting your fingers in front of you, “Would you like to get coffee sometime? Maybe lunch?”

You ask it so sweetly and softly. For some reason, that grates on his nerves even more than anything.

“What?” he snaps, cold and sharp in a way that makes you visibly freeze.

You look up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, “Um…w-well, I just…it’s…I would like to…”

Your nervous babbling only serves to piss him off even more as his glare narrows down on you, making you shrink in on yourself where you stand. Suddenly, the elevator feels much smaller than it had ever before – even with him filling most of the space as usual.

“You want to go out with me?” he spits, his accent growing stronger with every venomous word that he can’t seem to stop from spilling from his lips, “I am twice your age, what the hell makes you think I would want to date you?”

You swallow thickly around the lump forming in your throat and bite back the tears that threaten to form. He hears you sniffle and promptly snaps his head to look at you. Under the ugly, yellow light of the elevator he can see the tears trickling down your cheeks and he suddenly wants to slap himself into the next decade.

He wants to open his mouth so badly and apologize for being so cruel to you. He knows he could have told you no in a much softer way rather than making your feelings seem like something revolting or stupid. But the elevator doors open and you’re slipping out before he even has a chance. He decides not to chase after you.

It’s for the best, he assures himself.

It only takes a few days before he’s vehemently regretting not stopping you then and there.

It happens on a Friday night, the elevators are closing just as a hand jumps between them, sending them opening again. You step on, giggling in a way that tells him you’re just a little inebriated. You freeze when you see him standing there, maskless and cold gaze as he watches you tug a young man into the elevator behind you – clearly a little drunk himself.

You pointedly stand in front of König, keeping your back to him to show that you’re not even willing to look at him. König feels his heart clench painfully in his chest before it’s replaced by a wash of anger as he watches the young man paw at you. He slips his hand down your back to grope at your ass, making you giggle breathlessly before you’re batting his hands away with a little bat of your lashes.

König wishes he had an excuse to step off the elevator at the same time as you – anything to prolong his time with you. He’s never felt the desire to cockblock someone more in his whole entire life.

But he doesn’t move. He just watches you step off without a single glance in his direction before you’re vanishing around the corner and the elevator doors close silently, leaving König alone with his thoughts.

You couldn’t believe you brought this guy to your apartment. You especially couldn’t believe you were letting him strip you of your clothes and paw at your body like some kind of mindless dog. You had sworn to yourself that you were not going to fall into this trap again – a 20-something year old guy buying you a drink, complimenting you a little, teasing and groping you in the club until you caved and brought him home. It wasn’t your first go around – and it always ended the same way.

But you were drunk and you needed to get your mind off that stupid, giant Austrian military man that lived in your building. And wouldn’t you know it, he was on the elevator as soon as you got in. It was almost enough to sober you up, your wounded pride and feelings still so prevalent even after a few days of nursing the hurt.

You could only hope that this would relieve you of your hurt feelings.

Unfortunately, you quickly realized that this was a mistake.

As soon as he started groping you, spreading your legs and trying to stuff his cock inside you without so much as a single finger of prep – you knew this wasn’t going to happen.

You tried to lead him, thinking maybe he was a little too tipsy to actually think about it.

“How about a little prep, hm?” you ask softly.

He pauses what he’s doing and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, “Oh…you’re one of those…”

He says it in disgust and you feel yourself bristle in annoyance, “One of what?”

“You want me to eat you out, right?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, “That shit’s gross, c’mon just let me stick it in, already.” It was that moment that you felt any minute desire you had to have sex evaporate.

You don’t even bother walking the guy out, leaving him to limp to the elevator in shame with a hard cock and blue balls.

It takes you a few days to find it in yourself to crawl out of your apartment. The only reason you actually do leave is because you’re in need of food – your little supply of ramen has depleted and you have to bite the bullet.

After your little shopping trip at the nearby convenience store, you find yourself waiting for the elevator when a dark shadow looms over you. You feel a pit of dread in your stomach as you smell the musky, sweet scent of his cologne. But you don’t dare acknowledge his presence.

He doesn’t give you long to ignore him, however, before he’s talking to you.

“How was your little date?” he asks, voice dripping in a tone of condescension that immediately puts you on edge.

“What’s it to you?” you hiss, still not daring to look at him.

He scoffs, “You went and found yourself a little toy to play with awfully fast. Seems your interest in me wore off quickly, no?”

That gets you to finally turn around, meeting his cold, indifferent gaze with your hot, teary one. You miss the look of surprise that flashes over his face.

“What is your problem?” you snap, “You rejected me, what the hell do you care what I do? And for your information, the date was shit. He was shit, like I should have expected any difference. God, I really am a fucking idiot,” you find yourself rambling, a lamenting spiel that you can’t seem to stop no matter how badly you want to, “Just like every prick before him, he was selfish and revolting. I thought I could finally get fucking laid and just call it a day but no, my stupid standards are too high and I find myself asking out the hot older guy in my building only for him to find me revolting!”

By the time you’re done ranting, the doors open and you storm out of the elevator, angrily gripping your bag of groceries. König is frozen where he stands, watching you leave as the doors slowly close – almost begging him to put his hand between them and stop them so he can chase after you.

But he doesn’t.

It’s creeping up on midnight when there’s a knock on your apartment door. You’re curled up on the couch, watching some random show that you weren’t really invested in but couldn’t be bothered to change.

The knock makes you jump, startled, but get up nonetheless. A quick peek in the peephole tells you exactly who it is before you even open it.

You briefly consider not opening it period but find yourself opening it before you actually settle on a decision.

König stands in front of you, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand, looking comically small. The sight is almost enough to get you to crack a smile. Almost.

But the residual hurt from the last few interactions you’ve had with him is enough to keep you stoic. You raise a brow and you practically see his confidence falter. A pang of guilt goes through you at the sight and you step aside, waving him in with a quiet huff.

He closes the door behind him softly, kicking his boots off as he watches you wander into the living room. You take a seat on your couch, covering yourself with your throw blanket once again as you watch him wander in, gazing around at your decor before finally settling on you.

“Um…” He clears his throat nervously and places the flowers on your coffee table, “I think that we should talk…”

“Should we?” you quip back.

He sighs, broad shoulders heaving with the movement before he takes a seat beside you, taking up a hefty amount of space on your small couch.

“I want to apologize,” he says softly, folding his hands in his lap, “When you asked me out…I-I should not have spoken to you like that.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “If that’s all this is about, König, then you can go. I-I don’t really want to hear a half-assed apology about the way you rejected me. You’re not interested, let’s just move on from it. I’ll get over it.”

He shakes his head quickly and curses under his breath, a word you don’t understand – German, your brain supplies, helpfully.

“You are wrong,” he says, “I do not want you to get over it because I am interested.”

The gets you to perk up, eyes wide, “What do you mean? You said you–”

“I know what I said,” he mutters, “I am…twice your age…”

“So you mentioned before…” you reply.

“I do not think…you should be with someone old like me,” he continues softly, “You should be with someone your own age. That is what I thought. It is not that I don’t find you attractive; I think you’re sweet and lovely. But it's just…our age difference…”

“König,” you stop him from continuing, “I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

“I understand that but…” he trails off, casting a sideways glance across the room, away from you.

“I’ve tried dating men my own age, König,” you say, “It always ends the same – I send them home blue balled.”

He huffs out a laugh through his nose and finally sets his gaze back on you, “Why do you do that?”

“I don’t plan to…” you begin, running your hand along the soft fabric of your blanket, “it’s just that...I bring them home and then we start getting into it and it fucking sucks!”

“Sucks..?” The question is soft and drawn out.

“He wants to fuck my throat and won’t even give me his fingers before trying to stick his dick in,” you spit, angrily glaring at the tv as you remember all your shit encounters, “I’ve never even let one of them go all the way.”

“You’re a virgin…?” he asks.

You shrug your shoulders, “I guess. I mean I’ve had shitty oral and stuff but…”

“I see…” he trails off, shifting in his seat, hands still folded in his lap, “Well, I would like to take you out for a date after all.”

You find a smile spreading across your face faster than you can stop it. You jump to your knees and throw your arms around his shoulders with a squeal of happiness, “Really? You mean it?”

He laughs breathlessly, a husky little sound that makes your heart race, “Does this weekend work for you?”

You eagerly nod your head and lean in. You catch the way his eyes widen briefly before your lips meet. You think he’s going to pull away from you but instead he cups the back of your head and deepens the kiss.

You feel a shiver go through you at the feeling of his big, strong hand holding you there in the kiss. You couldn’t keep yourself from getting wet even if you wanted to.

With your hands pressed against his firm chest, you toss one leg over his lap and find yourself seated on top of him. He breaks the kiss at that, hands migrating to your waist where he mindlessly strokes his thumb over the skin exposed by the way your shirt rode up.

You lean down and kiss him again and he groans against your mouth. You grind down against him in response to the throb that makes your pussy clench around nothing. You whimper into the kiss when he suddenly stops your movements with a firm grip.

“We shouldn’t, liebling,” he whispers softly.

“Why not?” you whine, settling in his lips. You briefly realize that you can feel something hard beneath you and that makes you start dripping in your panties, “Don’t you want to?”

“I-I do…” he assures, “I just…want to properly court you…”

He couldn’t get any sweeter if he tried. Still, you quip back with a teasing little smile, “Wow, you are a lot older than me, huh?”

You feel giddy when the sweet look in his eyes melts away into something darker. One hand clasps the back of your head before he pulls you in for a much rougher kiss. You keen as you feel the way he exudes experience – the kiss like nothing you have ever experienced before.

The way he moves his lips and slips his tongue into your mouth to taste your mouth, it’s not gross or too much the way it sometimes is with men who don’t know what they’re doing.you find yourself moaning into the kiss before you even realize it.

He pulls away at that, a heady look in his pretty, blue eyes. You find yourself briefly lamenting the loss of his mouth but that thought disappears quickly when he moves to begin peppering kisses along the length of your neck, making sure to nip at your jaw and kiss your shoulder.

He tugs the hem of your t-shirt down just a bit so he can have access to your collar bones, nipping and kissing there as well. Your head falls back as you surrender yourself to him completely.

“Oh,” he coos softly, lips brushing against your ear, “You are just so sweet for me, aren’t you, little one?”

You practically whimper at his words as his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, fingertips barely grazing your skin. You squirm in his lap as his touch tickles you on his way up to your breasts, skirting over your ribs before fully cupping them in his roughened palms.

You sigh into the quiet room, arching your back to press deeper into his hands. His thumbs graze over your nipples and you moan.

Sure, you’ve had guys grope your tits before but it had never felt like this. The mindless squishing and squeezing was replaced with soft cupping and gentle brushes over your nipples until they hardened followed by pinches and flicks that left you absolutely dripping in your panties.

He takes mercy on you quickly, one hand sliding down your body to slide under your sweatpants and beneath your panties. Your hands grip his shoulders, blunt nails biting into them when one broad finger slides down, the sticky noise of your folds separating enough to send heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers in a tone so soft you almost think it wasn’t meant for you, but then he tacks on, “Do you hear it?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimper, embarrassment flooding through you at the sticky, clicking noises that come along with his prodding, “N-Never been this wet before, König…”

That causes him to pause, blue eyes gazing at you through his eyelashes, “Is that so..?” You desperately nod your head, slowly beginning to rock your hips against his hand, but he doesn’t move again and you whine, “Has anyone ever made you cum on their fingers?”

“J-Just me,” you answer breathlessly without a second thought.

He hums thoughtfully and after a second, he begins moving his hand again. This time he introduces more fingers, spreading your folds apart with his index and ring so he can pet your hardened clit with his middle. The feeling makes tremors run through your body and he huffs a laugh, “I guess I will show you what it feels like then, yeah?”

He doesn’t give you a moment to think let alone answer before his middle finger is sliding into you. The one digit alone is enough to stretch you, given how massive he is in whole. He crooks his finger forward and a moan rips from your chest when he hits that gooey little spot inside you.

“A-Another, please, König!” you beg shamelessly.

“Shh,” he hushes, shaking his head, “Let me work you open on this and then you can have more.”

You practically wail in despair, letting your forehead drop forward onto his shoulder. You suddenly wish you had rid yourself of your clothes so you could see the way his hand worked against you. All you could see now was the faint movement under your pants but the mental image of that thick finger inside you, slick with your juices was enough to have you clenching desperately around him.

After a moment, he adds a second finger and you feel like you’re in heaven. The stretch is phenomenal and his palm bumps against your clit every time he sinks them into the last knuckle.

However, before he can set a rhythm to really start getting you off, he stops. You angrily lean back and glare at him – the sight has his lips quirking up.

“Ride my fingers,” he orders you, leaving no room for arguing.

You can tell he’s not going to give you anything unless you take it for yourself so you sit up higher on your knees so you can have the clearance to move. Your hands remain on his shoulders, clinging to him for stability as you clumsily begin to rock your hips. The only time you’ve ever done these movements is when you tried humping your pillow once after seeing it in some porn. It didn’t really do much for you so you never tried again.

König can tell your movements are clumsy and it makes his cock throb against his thigh. He helps you along, crooking his fingers just right to grind the tips against that sweet little spot inside you. It makes you moan beautifully and he files the noise away.

His other hand comes up to grip your hip, steadying you as you continue to hump his fingers. You’re growing more and more frustrated as you quickly realize that you’re not able to make it feel as good as he had earlier. The tearful little gaze you give him has him breaking, using the hand on your hip guiding you into more seamless movements.

“Like this, liebling,” he directs softly, “Grind down like that, mhm, give that little clit some love, yeah?”

You become increasingly breathless as you work yourself higher and higher under his expert guidance. He can feel your juices dripping down his wrist, the snug hold around his fingers growing even tighter with every little rut of your hips.

“You’re so precious,” he coos, feeling the way you clench up at the sound of his voice. Your body is so honest, telling him what you like without you having to say anything, “You’re going to cum, I can feel it. Be good and give it to me, yeah?”

You surge forward and desperately kiss him, one hand reaching down and gripping his wrist. It takes only a few more, desperate thrusts of your hips for you to topple over that edge. Your body trembles on his lap and you cry out in pleasure.

He moans alongside you, watching with rapt attention as you cum all over his fingers just like he told you to.

You slump against him as you come down and he pulls his hands out of your pants. He presses a kiss against your temple in silent praise, hands rubbing your back to soothe you through the aftershocks that run through your body.

You lean back and meet his gaze, an opportunity he takes to slip his cum-soaked fingers into his mouth. At that, you surge forward and kiss him, running your hands down his body to pull at the button of his jeans. He grunts into your mouth, brows furrowing at the release of pressure when you tug the zipper down.

You’re absolutely speechless when you finally pull his cock free. He watches in poorly concealed pride as you gawk at the length in your hand. You give him a slow and tedious tug, watching the foreskin roll over his head, forcing a bead of precum from the tip.

“You’re so…big,” you whisper breathlessly.

“I know,” he grunts, unable to hide the ebbs of pleasure you give him as you play with his cock.

“Cocky,” you tease softly, continuing with your soft touches.

“N-Not cocky,” he whispers, licking his suddenly dry hips, “Just aware of my size.”

You drop your eyes back down to his cock, hot and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don't even touch each other when wrapped around him. Precum drips from the tip, leaking down the side to meet your palm and aid in the movements.

He leans his head back against the couch, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows. It wasn’t often that he got to indulge in someone else’s hand. Your palm was so soft, much softer than his own, and delicate in your inexperience.

He reaches down with one his hands, wrapping around yours to make you squeeze tighter, “Just like that, little one, that’s how I like it.”

You could have drooled as he said it. His hand dwarfed yours and the sight made you clench around nothing, more slick leaking into your already ruined panties.

“Let me see you, liebling,” he whispers breathlessly, fingers hooking on the hem of your top.

You release his cock to lift your arms, letting him tug the fabric over your head. His hands are on your tits immediately, mouthing at your nipples without wasting a second.

“So pretty,” he coos with his mouth full, rolling his tongue over your nipple before nipping the bud with his lips.

He switches to the other one, wrapping his mouth around it, sucking sharply before pulling back, taking your nipple with him before releasing it with a pop. You watch with lidded eyes as he drools all over your tits. His cock flexes and twitches against your thigh as he plays with your tits.

Suddenly, with a firm grip on your waist, your whole world flips and you find yourself on your back on the couch with König on top of you. You lick your lips at the sight of his big, broad form hovering above you, caging you in as he leans down to kiss you again.

You sigh contentedly into his mouth, threading your fingers through his short, messy hair, using the grip to pin him against you. He lets you kiss him to your heart's content, only pulling back when you need air – a string of spit connecting your lips that breaks when he leans back between your thighs.

His fingers took into the band of your pants, tugging them down, taking your panties with them until you’re completely bared before him. He’s still completely clothed aside from his cock that rests against his abdomen, occasionally twitching as his eyes rake over your nude body.

“Tell me, liebling,” he says, strong hands running up the length of your thighs, “Has anyone ever eaten you out?”

You clumsily nod your head.

“Was it good?” he asks, biting back a smile when you shake your head.

“Guys always think it’s gross or something…” you whisper softly.

He hums softly, “That is because you’ve been messing with stupid little boys.”

“You gonna eat me out, König?” you ask him, biting your lip in a poorly concealed excited grin.

“Would you like me to?” as he asks, he slowly spreads your legs open. The position causes your folds to spread apart, opening you up for his greedy eyes.

You feel your breathing speed up as he kisses down your body, starting with your lips and ending right above your clit. You feel the little bud twitch in anticipation as he tongues the skin above it, giving you a sneak peek on what is so close to it.

“Tell me,” he says.

You whine, “Y-Yes, I want you to eat me out, König!”

He chuckles softly but doesn’t bother teasing you anymore. He meets your gaze and moves his tongue lower finally, sliding the flat of the muscle of your clit. You gasp and toss your head back into the cushions, eyes rolling back as he noisily slurps at your cunt.

“O-Oh god!” you wail, hiccuping out noises of pleasure that you can’t seem to quiet.

König is in heaven. It’s not every day that he gets the opportunity to eat such a pretty, inexperienced little cunt. Your reactions to everything are so strong and loud. Your pussy is loud too, squelching in the room, making an intoxicating melody with your moans. He moans against you, swallowing down everything your messy little pussy drools out for him.

“Th-That feels so good, König!” you sob, kicking your feet mindlessly against his back as he captures your clit in his mouth, suckling at the bud, “You’re so good, so good, oh god!”

Never in a million years did you think being eaten out could feel this good. The mindlessly, halfhearted licks and kisses you had received in the past did nothing to prepare you for what it felt like to really have a man’s tongue on you.

He pulls away suddenly, giving you a moment to actually breathe, “You taste so sweet, liebling.”

“König…” you whimper, looking up at him with lidded eyes, “Please, please don’t stop.”

You tug at his hair and attempt to pull his mouth back down on your pussy. You don’t care how pathetic and desperate it is, he has given you a taste of pleasure you’d never experienced before.

He has the audacity to laugh at you, brushing your hands away so he can sit up straight again. He scoots closer and you realize then that he is not planning to continue and it practically draws a sob out of you.

“We can focus on that another time, liebling,” he promises, making you clench around nothing, more slick dribbling out for him to see, “You are so messy, you know that? Never had someone make such a mess all over me before. You must really enjoy being eaten out, huh?”

You feel your face burn hot with shame at his words, shyly hiding your face away. He smiles softly at that, “Nothing to be ashamed of, liebling…I love it, I do.”

“Really?” you quiver out the question and he nods his head.

“Yes, little one,” he coos, “I’m glad that I can make it feel good for you.”

You practically feel hearts in your eyes as he says that. You don’t think you’ve ever had a man tell you that he actually cared and enjoyed your pleasure. That was the final nail in the coffin for you – you really should have been going after older men all this time.

He disrupts your thoughts by suddenly stripping his shirt off. Your mouth goes completely dry at the sight of his bared skin – firm muscle, hair speckled all over his torso, and numerous scars from untold stories of his time in the military. You take note of the faded tattoos that become visible on his pecs and biceps; you’d always noticed the tattoos on his arms but you’d never really been given the opportunity to look.

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper.

He pauses while ridding himself of his jeans and smiles, “Thank you, little one.”

When he’s completely bare to you, you slowly rake your eyes down the entirety of his newly exposed body. His cock hangs heavy under its own weight, glimmering at the tip with his precum. You’d never been with a guy who was uncut but the sight made you drool.

“Now, liebling,” he says suddenly, getting your attention. He scoots closer, spreading your legs as wide as he can before laying the hefty weight of his cock against your cunt. It’s hot and throbbing and your entire body trembles at the sight, “You have to understand something.”

“What..?” you ask, breathless and unable to look away from his cock.

“I am not like those little boys you were running around with,” he explains, hips slowly beginning to rut against you, length parting your folds and rubbing over your clit, drawing a sweet little moan from you, “I don’t stick my cock in a tight little cunt and blow my load, do you know what I’m saying?”

You shake your head, too lost in the sight and feeling of him practically fucking the outside of your pussy. He doesn’t stop the mind-numbing rolls of his hips, letting you get lost in the feeling of him stroking over your clit, saturating him in your cum.

“That means,” he sighs, reaching up to grip your throat, forcing you to look at him as he leaned over your body, sandwiching his cock between the two of you, “I don’t cum easily, liebling. I am a grown man, I will fuck you until you cannot cum anymore. Are you prepared for that?”

The fact this man was so confident in his abilities in bed has you clenching around nothing again. You were sure the guys you almost slept with would never have been able to have the pure confidence that came from König. He knew what he was doing – he knew how to make you cum and he was going to use that experience well. You knew his age played a factor in how long it would take him to cum and you couldn’t wait to experience it.

“I want it so bad, König,” you beg softly, “Please?”

“Very good,” he praised, “You’re so good for me.”

He finally gripped the base of his cock and you watched excitedly as he pressed the tip against your entrance. You reached down and wrapped your arms around your knees, pulling them back for him so he could comfortably begin pressing into you.

The stretch is beyond anything you’d ever felt before. You knew his cock was big but watching the bulbous tip press against you and slowly spread you wide open was something else entirely. It burned in a way that had you wincing, furrowed brows making your face pinch up, making König pause.

“It’s okay, little one,” he whispers, bringing a big thumb up to roll over your hard little clit, “Just relax for me, don’t clench up or it will hurt more.”

“I-It’s so big, König!” you wail helplessly, tearily staring up at him as he methodically works you open on his cock.

“I know,” he assures, still stroking your clit with the pad of his thumb, “But you can take it.”

You tearfully nod your head and do your best to relax your body, letting yourself sink into the couch.

“Good, liebling, very good,” he coos, “Just let me in, nice and slow. Doesn’t it feel nice? The little burn of being stretched open but the pleasure of having this pretty little clit played with? Just lay back and enjoy it, little one.”

He’s right, of course. The burn aches, yes, but the pain and pleasure mixes the more he rubs your clit. You clench around him, an involuntary reaction that causes the head of his cock to finally pop in. Your eyes widen as you watch your cunt swallow it and with a perfectly timed tap against your clit, your back arches and you’re cumming.

“O-Oh König!” you squeal, eyes rolling back into your head as you cum around the head of his cock and nothing else.

“Oh, that’s good,” he grins, “That’s perfect, little one.”

As you come down with a tremble in your thighs, you finally fix your gaze on him once again.His eyes are lidded and pupils are blown so wide you can’t even tell they’re blue anymore.

“That looked like a good one,” he comments almost flippantly before he rolls his hips forward, “Now you’re nice and ready for me.”

You choke on a gasp as he rolls his hips forward, fitting half of his cock inside your still spasming cunt. Your cum coats him in a slick sheen that aides in allowing him to pull back and slide back in, settling on fucking you on half his cock.

Your mouth falls open and you watch as a thick, milky ring forms around that fat middle part of his shaft, “M-More, König! Please!”

He knows you want all of him, want to know what it’s like to feel all of him stuffed deep inside you. But he knows you’re not quite ready for that yet, fucked out of your head from the intense orgasm he had just given you with ease.

“Not yet, liebling,” he coos, keeping his pace slow and steady, “Let’s work you open a little bit more, yeah?”

“No,” you whine, “Please, I want it all, König.”

“Aww, I know you do, little one,” he pants, already feeling dizzy from spearing you on his cock, “But I know what’s good for you, just listen to me and be good, okay?”

“Okay…” you pitifully whimper, sinking back into the couch.

You abandon your hold on your legs, letting them rest around his hips limply now. He continues moving like that, inching deeper and deeper into you with every thrust. Your cunt makes embarrassingly loud squishing noises the move he works his hips against you.

Before you know it, you’re watching with wide eyes and an open mouth as his pelvis presses against yours. Your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl in pure pleasure as you finally experience the entirety of everything König has to offer.

You’re speared wide open and the head knocks against your cervix painfully but the little bit of pain only makes the pleasure that much sweeter.

“There we go, little one,” he coos sweetly, “I’m so proud of you, took all of my cock so well.”

He’s so big that he presses against every sweet little spot inside you without even trying. But, oh, his experience is crystal clear in the way he moves. He may be naturally gifted with a nice, fat cock but he knew how to use it.

Seamless, rhythmic thrusts had your brain going fuzzy before you even knew what was happening. You wouldn’t have been able to be quiet even if you wanted to. You knew you would be absolutely horrified to face your neighbors later because it would be impossible for them to not know you got fucked real good.

Suddenly, König leaned over you, resting one forearm above your head to hold his weight off of you. The position caused his pelvis against your clit every time he sunk balls deep. Sticky strings of your cum stuck to his skin but he didn’t seem to even notice how wet you were.

But, oh, he did. He was absolutely obsessed with the way you creamed and gushed around him. A nice, pliant little pussy that was more than eager to swallow every inch of his cock.

The change in position had you grappling onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you wailed into his shoulder. Every mind-numbing snap of his hips hit that gooey, tender spot inside you that had your entire body twitching from the pleasurable stimulation. Your nails bit into his back and he briefly thought about the prospect of his recruits seeing them.

“Are you going to cum for me?” he whispered in your ear, pressing a sweet kiss underneath your ear.

You nod your head, “Y-Yes! You’re gonna make me c-cum again, König!”

He chuckles under his breath, “I know I am, little one. I’m going to make you squirt.”

“C-Can’t,” you heave, twitchy legs kicking against his back.

“Yes, you can,” he assures, leaning away to sit up once again, “I can make you squirt, trust me.”

The whine you emit pitches into a squeal when he presses his palm against your lower stomach. You reached down in a panic to grab his wrist, not used to the strange feeling of him pressing down while he fucks you.

“W-Wait!” you wail.

“Wait for what?” he asks, but doesn’t slow even a bit in his movements.

“F-Feels weird!” you gasp, hiccuping as you squeeze his wrist.

“I know,” he grunts, brows furrowing at the feeling of you clenching around him, “It’s supposed to. Just lay back and let it happen, liebling. I’ve got you.”

Your whole body trembles and your jaw drops as you meet his gaze, a look of wonder crossing your face as you feel an orgasm like you’ve never felt before crash over your body. It’s long, drawn out and almost painful from how good it feels. You squeeze tight around him, your clit twitching and pulsing, completely untouched as he makes you squirt. It splashes against his abdomen and drips down his thighs.

“There we go,” he laughs, a sound that sends a flush of embarrassment to your face, “See? I told you you could do it.”

“König…” you slur, feeling as if you’ve been fucked completely braindead.

It finally dawned on you that you would never, ever be fucked by anyone as good as König has fucked you. The first cock you’ve ever been stuffed full of and he made you squirt with terrifying ease. You were completely ruined, no dick would ever be able to compare to his.

He sees the way your gaze turns completely enamored, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars. He grins, sharp canines poking out as he leans down again, kissing your temple.

“What is it, baby?” he coos, “Dick so good it’s got you in love?”

You keen at the pure condescension that drips from his voice. But he’s not wrong, you can practically feel the hearts in your eyes as you gaze up at him.

You have no idea how long you’ve been pinned beneath him, speared open on his cock while he fucks you absolutely stupid. You notice the change in him quite suddenly. His deep, concentrated thrust changed into something less calculated, messy almost. He loses his rhythm and falters in his pace.

“I’m going to cum, liebling,” he grunts, tone pitchy and gruff, “Where do you want it?”

“Inside!” you immediately cry, not missing a beat. He sees your eyes light up at the prospect of being filled up completely by his cum. You’re so sure it’s going to be a lot, you want to feel it drip out of you as a reminder that he had claimed you.

“Is it safe?” he huffs, but you can feel his cock twitch inside you at the idea of cumming inside you.

You desperately nod your head and he allows himself to fall over that edge. He teeters on his knees before collapsing with his hands on either side of your head. He no longer tries to thrust, settling for desperate, deep grinds that stirs his cock within your walls. Your eyes roll back in your head at the feeling, another orgasm washing over you before you even realize you’re that close.

“Oh, fuck,” König gasps, voice breaking as your orgasm sends him over the edge.

You’re panting and whimpering, trembling as you feel the heat of his load filling you up. His cock twitches with every spurt of cum. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in a long time, his balls throbbing with every pump of cum his cock spits out.

It oozes from around the tight seal you have around him, dripping onto the couch. He’s trembling by the time the intense orgasm comes to an end. He opened his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them, to see you sleepily staring up at him with a dazed smile on your lips.

“Mein Gott…” he huffs out, lowering his body to press his lips against yours sweetly, “That was incredible, liebling.”

You beam under his praise and wrap your arms around his neck, “It was, wasn’t it?”

He chuckles and strokes his thumb against your cheek, “Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you agree.

The care he gives you afterwards is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. He wipes your body down gently, careful not to rub your skin too hard. He stands with you in the shower, towering over you as he lathers your exhausted body with soap.

“Can we do that again sometime?” You ask softly when he crawls into bed beside you – which you were shocked about, but didn’t complain.

He raises a brow and chuckles, “Yes, liebling. But not right now, I could not go another round so soon.”

You giggle and snuggle into his broad chest, practically preening when he wraps you up snug against him. You sigh softly and speak up again, “Can we…still go on that date..?”

He’s quiet for a moment before you feel a kiss on the top of your head, “Of course, liebling. I would love to.”

You smile to yourself and close your eyes, content to fall asleep wrapped up in his arms. The last thing you feel before you succumb to sleep is another soft kiss against your head. You realize, sleepily, that you’ve never felt more cared for by a man in your life.

property of rowarn; do not modify, repost, or translate.

#könig smut #könig x reader #konig smut #konig x reader #cod x reader #cod smut

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gojonanami · 6 months ago

Text

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 ! ❞

❝ THE FOUR TIMES YOUR NEIGHBOR TRIES TO HOOK UP WITH YOU AND THE ONE TIME HE SUCCEEDS !! ❞

✧ pairing: uncle! sukuna x neighbor! reader

✧ summary: you had grown up next door to the itadoris, but you never had met their uncle. and for good reason, he had spent the majority of his life in and out of jail. but now he was finally out, and he only had one goal in mind -- getting you in his bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, modern au, uncle sukuna, degradation (slut, whore, brat), freshly out from jail sukuna, implied age gap (sukuna probably like late 30s / early 40s, reader is like mid twenties), wet dreams (f!), masturbation (f! +m!), dom!sukuna, sub!reader, dirty talk, oral (f + m), spanking (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, orgasm delay (f! receiving), implied multiple rounds, swearing, fanart found on pinterest (let me know if you know the og artist)

✧ w/c: 8,939

You were a pretty little thing.

That’s what he thought when he first saw you. And when he saw you smile, his second thought was — how could he have you?

You were the girl next door. Literally. Grew up next to the Itadori family, you watched the brat on weekends, helped around the house after the mom had left, and even slept over some nights in the guest room.

The very room you were in now, pinned underneath him, legs spread as your cunt gushed as if you had been the one doing time instead of him.

“Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly?” He clicks his tongue, the glint of his piercing in the low light of the moonlight that illuminated the barest hint of the room. It was by that light that you could not only see the way his lips curled into a smirk as his hand came down on your needy pussy, but the noticeable bulge in his pants, “g’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.”

“Are the cookies almost done?” Yuji asked, rubbing the back of his head, squinting at the cookies through the oven window, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, “sure you’re not burning them?”

“I know how to bake cookies, Yu,” you roll your eyes, as you clean the counters off of the flour and bits of dough and sugar that smeared the surface, “why are you so impatient anyway?”

“He wants to leave before the wrecking ball blows through, and you should do that same,” Choso adds, emerging from his room with a yawn, and you tilt your head, his gaze slides to Yuji, “she doesn’t know?”

Yuji shakes his head, “I thought Dad was—”

Choso glances at you, gesturing to his face to tell you that you had something on your own, before his eyes slide back to his younger brother, “You know Jin can barely remember to tell us, much less—”

You cross your arms, wiping the flour and sugar from your cheek, but you only manage to make it worse, “Can you guys just tell me instead of having an argument about who should have told me?”

Yuji sighed, leaning against the counter, elbow propped up as he held his head up with his fist flat against his chin, “My dad’s brother is coming to stay for us for the summer,”

“Your uncle?” and you miss the way Yuji grimaces at the question, too busy pulling on oven mitts, “Your dad’s great — I can’t imagine your uncle being any different,” you pull the cookies from the oven, swatting Yuji’s hand as he tries to take one off the still burning rack, “you’ll burn yourself, just wait,”

Your own family was scattered here and there now — and the Itadoris had been like your own family as you grew up — Jin was like a second dad to you, he had always looked after you, even after you had graduated from college. The quiet man didn’t say much but he did a lot, and you couldn’t imagine his brother being much different.

And then the door swung open, a large man caught in the backlight of the summer sun, casting a long shadow across the entryway made your breath stick in your chest as if it was where it belonged — pinned under his mere presence.

“Looks like you’ve done nothing to change the place, did you?” He takes a step or two in and finally his body is cast into view — tattoos bound like ribbons against his skin, muscles are heavy cords that look more monstrous than human — as no human should be as hulking as he was. But that was nothing compared to his face itself — black tattoos lining both sides of his face in an intricate pattern that stole your breath from your lungs, while his eyes were black holes that cut right through you than at you, a flicker of flames burning underneath, “tch, brat, take my things up—“ he tosses the duffle bag slung over his shoulder at Yuji who catches it with a glare, before his gaze slides to Choso, “and he’s still here?”

“Don’t be rude to my son and his brother, Sukuna,” Jin sighed, entering behind him as he shut the door, “Choso is welcome, and don’t forget you’re a guest here,” he takes the bag from his son, and takes it upstairs instead.

And Sukuna’s gaze finally falls on you. It’s heavy, the sharp tip of a sword tracing every inch of your body as it circled its weak points — his eyes lingers on the curves of your body — and perhaps the points he liked too.

“And who’s this?” he jerks his head towards you gruffly, as if you couldn’t answer yourself.

You say your name, “I’m their neighbor,” and he nods, eyes darting to Choso, his body growing tense, as he gritted his teeth, but Sukuna was only all smiles, he took steps forward. You can’t help but avert your gaze, as he approaches, fingers outstretched, a slight flinch but it’s gone soon enough.

You glance up, and find him taking a bite of one of your cookies, tongue darting out to lick the chocolate from his lips, “sweet,” he devours it, “not bad, brat,” and he leans close again to grab another, “but probably not as sweet as you.”

And your eyes widen, as he bears no reaction, except for a small smirk that graces his lips, as he follows his brother upstairs, “You better not be fucking around in my things,”

You don’t hear Jin’s reply, still utterly consumed by what just happened.

“You okay? He’s just like that,” Choso murmurs, “he won’t bother you, I promise,”

“No, no, I’m okay,” your lips curl in an offer of reassurance, but you’re sure it falls flat, as your eyes glance back at the stairs.

And that was your first time meeting Sukuna.

But far from your last.

The next time you saw him was at a summer barbecue the Itadoris always had to kick off summer break. And most of your time was spent chatting with Choso and kicking Yuji’s ass at Mario Kart, until it grew dark, and Choso was stuck carrying a slightly tipsy Yuji inside.

You laid back in the patio chair, scrolling on your phone to the symphony of cicadas filling the silence, the smoke from the barbecue still lingering in the night — and then you hear the creak of the back door open.

“You want another drink, Choso?”

“I’d love a drink, girl,” and your eyes snap over to spot Sukuna, standing with hands tucked into his pockets, a black tank you assumed was several sizes too small.

“Sure,” you say, slipping from your chair, “but we only have the mix for a sex on the beach,” and his eyes find yours, a ghost of a gruff chuckle on his lips.

“Sounds perfect if it’s from you, sweetheart,” and you have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes — he may be nice to look at, but he isn’t smooth, you make the drink in relative silence. Until you sense his presence behind you, your head whipping back to find him looming, your breath caught in your throat.

“Uh—“

“Just wanted to see a master bartender at work, you seem like you really know what you’re doing, with, what’s the drink called again?” And you force yourself to look forward, ignoring the weird mix of his musk and alcohol, with the clink of the ice cubes against the glsd breaking the silence.

“Sex on the beach,” you offer it to him, and fuck, you don’t like it — don’t like him and his smug grin, the way your eyes can’t pull away from his, the way your heart clenched, and the way you wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug smile on off his face.

“Good girl,” he plucks the drink from you, his fingers brushing yours, “want to have one with me?”

And you almost find yourself saying yes, find yourself buckling under the heat of his gaze and the summer humidity that clings to your skin and strangles the sense from your head — and you can’t help but think how nice those fingers of his would feel around your neck—

“No, no, I probably should head home. It’s late—“ and just then the back door opens again, Choso standing in the doorway, “Choso, where’s Yu?”

“I got him to bed. Come on, I’ll walk you home,” and you nod, grabbing your bag with a slight nod to Sukuna before disappearing inside, and you don’t catch the way your best friend glares at Sukuna.

And you don’t see the way Sukuna stares at you as you walk away either.

The third time you meet Sukuna is a few nights later — and it wasn’t for lack of trying to avoid him.

“Can I have some popcorn?” you ask, eyes still glued to the TV, a movie that the two of you had seen a million times before during movie night, “Choso?” you glance over at him, but he’s staring off into space, “hello?” you nudge him, and he finally comes to.

“Sorry, what?” And you sigh, leaning over and grabbing the popcorn bowl, “sorry I was just—“ he shakes his head, “nothing,”

“You’re so convincing,” and you see a flush crawl up his neck, “C‘mon, what’s bothering you?”

You toss a pillow at Choso, the pillow bouncing off his face to land in his lap, the glow of the TV in his dark bedroom giving you enough light to see the glare on his face, “Cho, you’ve been brooding all night — did Yuji call you by your name instead of big brother?”

He scoffs, “I only got upset about that once,” or twice or maybe ten times, “it’s Sukuna. He’s been really grating on my nerves,” and your eyebrows knit together, as you put the volume of the TV down.

“What has he done?” and Choso hesitates, several emotions flicker across his face before a stoic look glazes over his face, as he presses his hand to his lips, “you can tell me—“

There’s a knock at the door, and Yuji sticks his head in, “Hey, Dad has to sleep now for a meeting, so move to the living room,” and you throw popcorn at him, but he only catches one or two in his mouth and leaves.

You sigh, “I should probably just go home anyway, I have to get some sleep,” you glance at Choso, who is fascinated with his floor all of a sudden, “you okay?” He moves to get up, but you shake your head, “just chill, I’ll walk back.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it, “I’m fine, just get home safe okay?”

You snort, “think I’ll be fine walking the ten feet to my door,” you grab your things, “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

And you close the door softly, turning to head up the hallway and out of the house, bag slung over your shoulder, and you’re turning the corner, when you nearly crash into someone.

A hand curls around your wrist to steady you, “You should watch where you’re going, brat,” and your eyes flit up to find a dark gaze looking back down at you, lips curled in a small grin, “don’t know what you’ll find wandering these halls,”

You pull your arm away, “I’m pretty familiar with these halls and what wanders them,”

“Not all of them,” the low tone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, as you brush past him, avoiding his piercing gaze, cutting through you with practiced ease, “what were you doing here so late anyway?” You ignore him as you go to grab your shoes, but find them missing.

“Have you seen my shoes?” and he only tilts his head, arms crossed, muscles inked with tattoos that littered up and down, and you knew he could pin you down with barely an ounce of effort.

“Maybe answer my question and I’ll tell you,” and your lips twist into a scowl, as you begin to look around, checking the coat closet, under the couch, “was he really that bad?” And his question makes you pause, “the cursed brat, in bed? Did he not do the job for you?”

You haul yourself to your feet, “What is your problem?”

And his expression is as milquetoast as ever, as if he had asked you about the weather as opposed to asking if you had fucked your best friend, “You don’t have to be fucking sensitive, it’s just a question,” he runs his painted nails through his dyed cropped hair, low light glinting off the black sheen, “unless it was that bad,”

“Fuck off,” you scoff, trying to walk past him but he blocks you, “what?”

“Maybe I’ll help you find your shoes, if you have a drink with me,” and you cross your arms.

“Did you go to jail for stealing? Because with all those muscles and tattoos, I’m surprised you weren’t caught sooner,” and he’s leaning closer, breath warming your lips and your blood alike, boiling under your skin as if he had set you on fire without lying a single finger on you.

“Didn’t take you to be one to admire me, little one, after all, I’m just your neighbors’ uncle aren’t I? Jailbird, criminal, fucking lowlife, right? And his fingers ghost over your jaw, “but I don’t see you pulling away, do I?”

And you aren’t. But why aren’t you? Every brain cell is telling you to fucking run, but your body wants nothing more than to lean into his touch, to give in, let yourself be engulfed by him—

The creak of the door has you jumping back, “hey, you forgot your shoes—“ Choso starts, and his gaze snaps between you and Sukuna.

“Thanks, Cho,” you slip past Sukuna, grabbing your shoes, “i was wondering what I did with them,” you step into your shoes, cheeks still burning as you can’t quite meet your best friend’s eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

And you’re gone without another word, the silence of your exit hanging overhead as the screen door clicks closed behind you. Sukuna watches you leave, and as he turns he’s met with a glare from Choso.

Sukuna only gives a gruff chuckle, walking past as he lets his shoulder bump against Choso’s, “What are you fucking looking at?”

And now he had visited you in your dreams too.

“S’fucking wet,” Sukuna has you pinned down with one hand, face hovering over your drenched cunt, as he toyed with it, tugging your folds apart to let some of your pre drip onto your bedspread, “fucking slut, you were begging for this, weren’t you?”

And a thick digit sinks into you with little resistance, making your back arch as pleasure rips up your spine, “fuck off,” you manage, between pants.

“I know, brat, that’s what I’m trying to do,” he laughs, as he works a second finger inside you with practiced ease, “like I was made to fuck this cunt open, my fingers are already fucking drenched, and all I’ve done is open you up,” and to punctuate his point, he’s scissoring his fingers to stretch your walls out, dragging against them, as your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“A-ah, please—“ and he’s grinning now, a purr as he leans down to meet your blown out gaze. His fingers begin to fuck you open, his thumb rubbing against your clit as your body rocked against his hand. And a grunt has you looking at him, only to see him palming his erection, slit dripping with precum, “Sukuna, please—“

“Knew you’d be a good girl f’me, good little slut gonna break my fingers in two,” and his other hand spanks your clit, “now cum,”

And you do, muscles clenching as you do, a cry of his name on your lips that does nothing but stroke his ego, your orgasm soaking his hand. Eyes fluttering open to find him licking your release from his fingers, as his other hand undoes his pants and tugs down his boxers, his cock already dragging against your still twitching cunt.

“Fuck,” you mumble, under your breath, and he only smiles.

“Now you’re getting it, baby.”

And your alarm jolts you awake, you stare at your ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin, while you glance at your side to find nothing but your comforter beside you. Not to mention, as you shifted, feeling the telltale stickiness of your arousal and the dull throbbing of your cunt, the aftermath of your dream — your very wet dream.

“Fuck,” you say, this time out loud and to no one but yourself. This was going to be a problem, if you let this go on. And you couldn’t. Not after the last time — you swing your feet over the edge of the bed and stand, glancing back at the stain of your pre that you flipped your comforter over — and not after that.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

Yes, you have done a good job. Until now.

You gritted your teeth, as you stood in the doorway of the room. But how could you have avoided him in the guest room of the house he lived in?

And as he loomed in the doorway of the kitchen, dwelling in the shadow of his form, you were kicking the ass of past you, the one that had convinced you it was okay to stay over because Sukuna had been out.

“Had” being the operative word.

It had been a few days since you had found yourself at the Itadoris. And more than a few days since you had found yourself dreaming of Sukuna — waking up with his name on your tongue and your panties uncomfortably drenched. You had gone through more underwear this week than you had in a month. And it didn’t help that you felt the need to get off once you did wake, the ache between your thighs was too much to bear before sleep.

And now here was the subject of your dirty dreams darkening your doorway, as if your dreams were some naughty prophecy waiting to unfold (though you were sure he could fold you).

“What are you talking about?”

And you knew exactly what he was talking about. You had made sure Sukuna wasn’t around when you came over (the absence of his motorcycle is a telltale sign), and always left before he returned. But tonight you made the mistake of drinking with Choso, the two of you finishing two bottles of sake before being completely fucked.

Your head was spinning — you could barely have made it to the bathroom, much less your home. Choso had corralled you into taking his bed, before going and collapsing on his couch. It had been only a few hours into the night before you got up in a haze of confusion with your mouth drier than the Sahara. You pulled yourself up, slipped on thin sleep shorts that you had thrown off at some point due to the summer humidity, before finding your way to the door.

You made your way to the kitchen, the squeak of the fridge as you pulled it open to grab a water bottle. And that’s when he spoke.

“And here you are,” and the water bottle nearly slipped from your grasp, “no need to jump, brat, I’m not a monster or a shadow,”

No, but he’s so much worse, he’s real.

“I was just getting something to drink,” you murmur, and he tilts his head, as he takes a step closer.

“Just water?’ That’s not the kind of drink you still owe me,” and why was his presence so intoxicating? Several drinks in and you could still hold your own, still speak in complete sentences, and even make your way home on foot. But Sukuna comes near, and suddenly you can barely form a fucking syllable, your limbs feel far too heavy, and your body is nearly burning, as if he had turned your blood to wine without any miracle needed.

No, it was more of a curse.

“I don’t remember owing you anything,” and he’s tilting his head, amusement flickering across his lips, a step closer and then another, until you’re utterly engulfed in his presence. You can smell the mix of exhaust and sweat off of him from his motorcycle ride, the way his jaw tenses as if he is holding himself back from taking a bite, and the way his gaze pierces into you as if he has you pinned like a butterfly under glass.

“Do I need to give you a reason?” And when his fingers ghosted over your swell of your cheek, a featherlight brush from rough, calloused skin that makes a shiver roll down your body, “didn’t think I had to with the way you were nearly melting into my touch when I saw you last, girl,”

“I wasn’t the one begging for me to be there,” and he clicks his tongue derisively, and you wonder what else he can do with it, before his fingers grip your chin roughly, forcing your gaze to his.

“Tch, so pleased with yourself just for resisting, are you, sweetheart?” he tilts his head, while his other hand slithers down your side until he finds your waist and tugs you close, lips hanging close, a forbidden fruit begging you to take a bite, “imagine how good you’d feel if you gave in,” and you almost do, melting into his touch, as if you were made to fit in his arms, leaning up so you could feel the warm breath of his welcome—

SLAM!

You’re sent stumbling back again, clearing your throat, as the sounds of footsteps grow close, and Yuji wanders into the kitchen, mouth pulled open by his yawn, as he blinks as he spots the two of you.

“Hey, I thought you were asleep upstairs,” he walks past the two of you to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, and sparing a short glance at Sukuna, “and I thought you had plans,”

“Plans can change, brat,” Sukuna sighs, his eyes still trained on you — a homing missile with a target, and Yuji was an obstacle in the way, “shouldn’t you go back to bed?”

“I could ask you two the same,” he leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment, while you only shook your head.

“I’m going to go to bed,” your only exit opportunity and you’d take it — there had been enough mistakes made, and you didn’t need another to add to the list, and you’re slipping back into your room without another word.

You don’t see the way Sukuna glares at his nephew, cursing the day of his existence with only his eyes, only gaining a confused stare in return, “What? Ow!”

And you’re only left questioning why Yuji is holding a bag of ice to his head the next morning.

But you knew you couldn’t avoid Sukuna forever — and you couldn’t avoid how you felt either.

Especially when he gave you exactly what you wanted — space. You had barely seen him for the next week, the former criminal making himself scarce, apparently telling his brother that he had grown tired of “rooming with a bunch of brats,” and had found himself another place to stay for a while.

Jin had sighed when you had asked over breakfast a day or so after he left, “I don’t know how long he’ll be gone, but we’ll see. The only requirement of his release was to stay in the prefecture—”

“And that’s already far too close,” Yuji muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from his dad, “so we don’t even know if he’ll be back huh?”

Jin shrugs, as he sips his coffee, “I don’t know — your uncle isn’t one to stay in one place — unless there’s something that he wants,”

“I’ll take any amount of time that he’s not here,” Choso shakes his head, offering you a small smile, “and this way you can stay over in the guest room now,”

“Yeah, true,” you offered a weak smile, as you continued to pick at your food. This was good news, things were going back to normal, but even so, as you pushed your food on your plate — why did your chest ache so much?

“Yuck, do people’s heads really explode like that?” Yuji sat with the two of you in the living room, TV playing the movie Yuji had chosen, shoveling popcorn by the fistful.

“How would we know that?” you snort, stealing popcorn from his bowl, “why did you even choose this movie anyway?”

“He heard there was a Megan Thee Stallion cameo in it,” and Yuji’s cheeks flushed, visible even in the dim illumination of the TV, as he got to his feet.

“I’m gonna get a drink, do you two want anything?” And you both shake your heads, as you stifle your chuckle.

“You wanna stay over tonight?” Choso asks, and you tilt your head, toying with a popcorn kernel between your fingers.

You shrug, “we’ll see,” your eyes drift back to the movie, but you feel the creak of the bed as he shifts.

“You don’t have been avoiding staying over, even though it’s just us,” Fuck, your eyes still found themselves on the screen instead of him, anywhere but him, and you can hear the unspoken words — even though Sukuna is not here, “are you sure we’re good?”

And you couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t him that was bothering you. It wasn’t him keeping you up at night, it wasn’t him who had been tempting you the last few weeks, and it wasn’t him that you wanted to see — no matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, even to yourself.

So you don’t.

You smile as best you can, “Everything’s fine, Choso,” and he frowns, still unsure, and you know there’s only one thing that will assure him, if only a little, “I’ll stay over,”

And so you end up in the guest room — far too late. Even though Sukuna no longer lingered here, his scent still did, even with the sheet change and the small amount of his things gone, he was still very much here.

And it did little for your sleep. Or maybe too much.

Again, you dreamt of him, his large palms dragging down your sides, lips pulled in a smirk that he pressed to the hollow of your throat before it’s consumed by a flash of canines that pinch and tease the softness of your flesh.

“S’fucking wet,” he huffs a chuckle out, “such a little slut, been wanting this for far too long haven’t you?” And he’s undoing your robe with ease, a single tug has your body revealed to him, “haven’t even laid a finger on you and look at the mess you’ve made,” he clicks his tongue, and a whine parts your lips, “already whining like a bitch?”

He shoves two fingers inside you, a gasp ripped from your throat, thick digits stretching your walls, clenching around the intrusion, “Sukuna—please,”

“Silly girl,” he murmurs in your ear, “I’m not even the one touching you now,” and fantasy melts into reality as his hand cups your chin, eyes fluttering open, “but I know I can make you cum faster than any dream,”

Wait. What?

And suddenly the touch down your body feels all too real, pain ribboning from the fingers squeezing your hips hard, and a gasp as your body trembles, still caught between sleep and reality. Your body can’t move, but it’s not the weight of your own limbs keeping you still.

Your eyes shoot open completely, sleep shed completely from your mind.

And you found Sukuna, his lips curled in a smile that was far too familiar from other sleepless nights. But was it? Or was it another dream that he had invaded, far too real as you slept in his bed, rather than your own.

Your hand reaches out for him shakily, fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw, “Is this real?” you mutter, more to yourself, but he takes it upon himself to answer, his hand darting out to curl around your wrist, squeezing, while the other holds himself up, mattress creaking a divot where his hand pressed in, body heat all too close.

“Want me to pinch you? Can’t say it’ll be the cheek you’re thinking of,” he chuckles, unable to meet his gaze, “don’t go acting like a shy virgin now, woman. You’re the one having wet dreams about me,”

“No, I-I, it wasn’t—“ but your brain is short circuiting and his laugh that rumbles against you tells you he’s enjoying this far too much, “what are you doing here? I thought you left,” the statement comes out far too biting, and he raises an eyebrow.

“I did, but it was just for a week. I had some business to deal with,” and a grin pulls at his lips, “why? Did you miss me, brat? Is that why you’re dreaming of me?”

You’re squirming underneath him trying to look anywhere but him, “I’m not, it wasn’t—“ and he only hums, dragging a hand down your front, until he’s reaching your shorts, a brief pause to see if you’d pull away, but you don’t, and fingers pressing against your soaked shorts.

“That why you’re soaked through your fucking shorts?” And the rough pads of his fingers grind against your eager hole, nearly swallowing you in, only the thin fabric of your shorts keeping his fingers from fucking you then and there, “least your body’s honest — so eager to get fucked,” and he’s teasing your drenched entrance, drawing his fingers back to have your pre like spiderwebs between the two digits.

“Sukuna, please—“ and his lips curl.

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll go,” a small whine left your throat, the throbbing between your thighs growing with the way his gaze undid you — unscrewed you by your hinges and watched you fall apart, only to ask you to put yourself back together.

But you couldn’t. Not without him.

“Sukuna—“

“I didn’t ask you to whine, are you going to answer my question—-“

“Fuck me,” the words fall from your lips as if possessed, and you can’t find it in you to regret them.

And he smiles all the same.

“About fucking time,” and his fingers meanly rub against your clit through the paper thin fabric of your shorts, “didn’t even fucking put on panties and you expect me to think you didn’t want me fuck you open,” and embarrassment burns at your cheeks, “did you get this wet from dreaming about me?” And no words come to your mind, and he gives you a sharp spank to your clothed slit, drawing a sharp gasp to your lips and slick flooding from your folds, “better use your words, woman,”

“Fuck, please, I need—“ and his fingers practically rip your shorts off, letting your cunt gush onto the sheets.

“Need me to fuck you that bad? G’nna beg this criminal to fuck you open?” And he’s toying with your folds, tugging your tight hole apart as his eyes rake over your pussy, exposed for him, “after all of your teasing, what makes you think you even deserve to be fucked? Maybe I should leave you like this, fingers buried in your cunt, wishing they were your neighbor’s uncle’s,” and a sadistic smile graces his features as it only can his, “fuck yourself for me,”

You whimper, as his fingers leave your hole, clenching around nothing as if begging for his touch, “what? But—“

“Fuck yourself until you cum, wanna see what you’ve been doing when you’re fucking me in your sleep,” the absence of his touch leaves you keening and needy, for something, anything to get you off. Want overcomes inhibition, and your shaky fingers find their way to your cunt, fingertips tracing the outer lips, a gasp you barely recognize as your own when you rub against your clit, “c’mon girl, gotta open yourself up for me — think I’ll fit if you just rub yourself like that?” And he’s pressing his clothed erection against your thigh — and he’s fucking big — rock hard cock rubbing against you through damp damp sweatpants.

And his fingers grabs your own, guiding them to your slick hole, letting them slip past your fluttering walls, while his own teased your outsides, “Good girl,” and the praise makes your walls clench, and he’s chuckling, “want to be a fucking good girl, then fuck yourself until I see you cum for me,”

You swallow your whines, beginning to move your fingers in and out, your insides clinging to you, as if begging for something longer, thicker, better — and you knew his fingers would be. A moan falls from your lips, and he clicks his tongue.

“Gotta be rougher than that,” and his fingers curl around the base of your own, using your fingers as a glorified fuck toy. Your head lolled back, as he controlled the pace of your fingers, fucking you hard and fast, reaching places you didn’t think were possible with your fingers, “that’s it, you’re close aren’t you? Like being fucked with your own fingers, don’t you, you slut?” And you’re shuddering, soft cries and moans filling the silence of the night with the loud squelch of your cunt.

“Sukuna, f-fuck, ngh, I can’t—“ and he only begins to rub on your clit with his thumb.

“Yes you can,” he gruffly chuckles, murmuring in your ear as he leans forward, “cum on your fingers like you have every night for me,” and he forces your gaze to meet his as your fingers brush that one spot that has your back arching, “say my name,”

And you do, cumming hard around your fingers, as he uses them to fuck you through your orgasm, the wet noises of your folds growing louder as your thighs shake. Your eyes meet his, glassy with tears from your high, and Sukuna leans down to lick the salty tear from your cheek.

He pulls your fingers from inside you, your sticky cum coating your digits and even dripping onto his own. He smirks as he eyes them, before sliding them into his mouth. A moan pulled from your lips as he sucks your essence clean from them, tongue dragging up the length of your fingers.

“Shit, that was a nice moan,” and his eyes fall back to your drenched cunt, “Still so fucking tight,” he clicks his tongue, Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly? G’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.”

he hums, taking in your ruined state — tear stained cheeks, your dripping cunt, and your red ruined lips from biting them, “so fucking pretty like this,” and you hear him shift, the distinct sound of his phone camera, making your eyes snap open.

“No, fuck, no don’t—“ and he’s turning the screen around to show you how absolutely fucked you look, “please—“

“It’s a little too late for that, can’t have anyone buying your little virgin act anymore huh?” he’s grinning as he leans forward, pinning your thighs in place as you try to squirm away, “don’t move,”

His order makes your muscles tense, unable to move your body under the heavy grasp of his hands splayed against your hips. The pads of his fingers dig into your soft flesh, as his lips dare closer to your weeping slit.

“Fuck, are you a virgin though? You’re still so fucking tight even after that little show you put on for me,” and he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, his breath warming your twitching cunt, “either way, you won’t be one soon,” and he’s burying his mouth in your pussy.

You moan, covering your mouth before he sucks on your clit, tongue teasing your hole open, a wave of heat flooding your body. The sounds of his licking and slurping fill your ears — and you wonder how the whole house isn’t awake yet.

You can’t stop your hips from nearly fucking his face, but he spanks your thigh, hard, as he pulls his mouth from your dripping slit, “I told you not to move,” and he spanks your clit for good measure, making you yelp against your fingers, “tell me when you’re about to cum,” and you whimper, “or I can open this door and let the house hear us,”

You nod, but he doesn’t miss the way your slit twitches at the thought, and his mouth curls in a nasty smirk, “such a fucking slut, maybe I will,” and he’s plunging two thick fingers into your greedy cunt, a gasp ripped from your throat at the intrusion, walls fluttering as they attempt to accommodate his digits. But it’s all squeezing and barely any stretch, as his fingers work you open.

And it doesn’t take long to get you worked up, his digits knuckle deep and dripping wet, “gonna fucking break my fingers in two with your virgin hole, girl,” he grunts, your body burning with his touch alone, nails dragging against your walls, curling so they can bully that sweet spot just right, “you’re gonna cum aren’t you?” the telltale squeeze of your cunt tells him so, and you’re nodding, and his fingers slip from inside.

You’re whining, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, “Please, fuck, wanna cum,” the pleasure that had built was throbbing, a dam close to bursting but denied its relief, so it remained, begging and waiting — “please, Sukuna—“

“So you do know how to beg like a good little whore, gonna fuck you again, but you can’t cum until I tell you,” and he’s sinking three fingers into you now, eyes rolling back as your back arches, but he’s fucking you meanly, curling and twisting his fingers, until the pleasure is a tight knot in your belly, barely hanging on from snapping, “wait,” he grunts, and it’s as if your warmth is made for him — or now it was, because he’s made it his, “wait,” and you’re sure he’s reached your cervix somehow, fingertips reaching places you’ve only dreamed of (literally), and then he leans down lips around your clit as he orders you, “now, cum,”

And you do, hard, as he sucks around your clit while fucking you through your orgasm, cum flooding his fingers and face alike, drenching him, even as he slurped and sucked up every bit.

He finally pulls away, a shiver slips down your spine as he slips his fingers from inside you, pink tongue flicking against his lips, still slick with your cum, What a fucking mess you’ve made,” he sneers, but he’s licking his lips clean all the same, “should make you clean up the mess you made, shouldn’t I?” And he’s pressing the pads of his fingers to your lips, you’re too fucked out to fight, lips parting with ease, “suck,” and you do, opening wide to let his fingers inside, lips and tongue curled around the same fingers that had explored your cunt.

He watched as you obediently sucked every drop of your juices off, a trickle of drool slipping down the corner of your lips makes his already hard cock twitch in his pants, and he’s pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“Better than your dreams, huh, sweetheart?” he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, he can’t fucking wait a minute longer, “turn around, gonna fuck this slutty princess cunt from behind,” but you only can watch as he tugs down his sweatpants and boxers alike, his cock slapping against his stomach.

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you had imagined. Mushroom tip red and hard, as pretty veins run up the sides, and he was looking as if he’d not only split you open, but break you all together.

Your thighs quaked at the thought, more slick slipping from your needy cunt — and you wanted him to.

Your knees shake, as you turn slowly, much too slowly his pace, and he grunts, his hands gripping your hips, as he flips you onto your stomach, a yelp leaving your lips as you bounce on the mattress. “have to fuckin’ do everything myself for this whore’s pussy,”

You’re gripping the sheets, nails surely tearing holes in the thin fabric of the sheets, as his calloused palm comes down on your ass, hard, the smack echoing in the silence of the night, a mewl you don’t recognize as your own, “Sukuna, please, I can’t—“

“You can, you’ll take whatever I give you, brat,” and another smack finds your ass again, as he pinches the flesh for good measure, drawing another moan from your lips and another chuckle from his, “and you’ll take this cock too,” and he doesn’t spare you a moment as he presses his swollen, dripping cockhead to your drenched hole, smearing his pre all over your ass — as if to erase any doubt you were his, because there wasn’t — before finally sliding in.

God, fuck.

Your arms were already shaking, barely able to hold yourself up, but your face nearly plants into the mattress as he sinks into you — he was too fucking big. Even all the prep he had given you was nothing, nothing compared to how much his dick was stretching your cunt.

He hummed, as your insides swallowed him eagerly, even with the slight resistance of your tight little pussy, watching as your walls parted for him with almost practiced ease, sucking him deeper and deeper, as if you were made for him. And you would be, after he fucked your cunt to his shape again and again — because this was far from the last time he would take you.

It was only the first.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight — am I the first to fuck this pussy?” he grunts, grasping your hips tightly, your warm, wet pussy wrapped around his dick — he had waited far too long for this, too many nights spent grasping at his cock, thinking how much better it would be buried in your pussy.

“H-hngh, Sukuna, s’big,” you’re nearly babbling as he works himself into you, inch by inch, not even halfway in, and you were gonna cum just from him putting his dick in, “can’t fit—” and he’s scoffing, watching you squirm against his length, but he only continues to fuck his way into your tight hole, another sharp slap to your ass as a warning.

“I’ll make it fit, girl,” he growls — like fuck he was stopping now that’s gotten this far, there was only one way this was ending — and it was with his cock fucking you full of his cum, “c’mon, did the dream not compare to the reality? Did you think I had a tiny dick?” and he thrusts shallowly against you, sending another inch inside your already stuffed folds, drawing a needy whine from your throat, “so fucking loud, you gonna let the whole house know what we’re doing at this rate,”

he murmurs, bending down to your ear, and your walls squeeze around him, a vice grip that has him nearly cumming then and there, but no he won’t, not yet, “fuck, did you think about letting Choso know? Maybe I’d let him watch me fuck you, only way he’ll ever see you like this,” and you whimper as he slams into you, finally bottoming out as his tip bullies your womb, making you cry out against your fingers, “to think the pretty girl next door is on her hands and knees like a slut for me now, getting split open by my dick. What would Choso think?”

You’re whining, “Please, fuck, slow down—” but he only pulls out a little to piston back in, balls slapping against your ass as he does, setting a mean pace, as he chuckles in your ear.

“You’re saying that, but we both know that’s not what you want — slutty fucking pussy trying break my cock in two,” the sounds of your skin slapping against you as his tip brushes against your cervix rings in your ear, even as he murmurs in it, “y’’know he wants to fuck you right? The little brat is always watching you, nearly fisting himself at the sight of you,” he’s forcing you upwards, pressing your back to his chest, “he wants you, but he’ll never have you, because this pussy is mine,” and his hand finds the bulge in your stomach, pressing down, as you keen, head falling back against his shoulder, as tears pooled in your pretty eyes, “but he’d never be able to reach here and fuck you like you want — like a whore,” his other hand pinches and teases your pebbled nipples, before sliding up to your neck, squeezing lightly, “say you’re mine,”

You can’t find the words, all of them fucked out of your body to make room for his cock seemingly — the only words remaining his name and “please,” but you have to do better than that, and he slows his pace to nothing, as he pulls out so only his tip teases your entrance, a whine leaving your pathetic mouth.

“If you’re not mine, guess I don’t need to let you finish, do I?” and you’re shaking your head, frantic and repentant.

“I’m yours, i’m yours, Sukuna, please—” and he’s sliding right back into you, fucking you harder, balls slapping against your ass and sweet cunt swallowing him up to the base, a white ring of your pre cum forming around it — and he just knows you’re close, by the twitch of your sweet pussy — and his hand reaches around to rub at your clit, “I’m—”

And he ruts into you, hard and deep that you’re sure his length brushes against your womb — and you’re cumming, falling apart around him, but he doesn’t relent — but had he ever? He didn’t relent over these past few weeks, and he wouldn’t now, not until he was filling you up and watching his cum drip out of your hole—

You’re slipping back forward, face forward into the pillow and mattress, as he grunts watching your slick drip down your ass and thighs and onto the sheets — his balls tense with his release, “Fuck—” and that’s all the warning you get before he slams back into you to bottom out, as he blows his load.

His release is hot as it fills you up, never ending it seems as he slowly fucks you through his orgasm, his spurts slowing with time, until he’s finally stilling, a soft grunt, as he pulls himself from inside your warm cunt. A soft groan at the sight of his seed spilling from inside you — you’re boneless and spent, until he has you jolting forward from the press of his fingers gathering his cum and stuffing it back in.

“Kuna, fuck, I can’t—” and he scoffs, retracting his fingers for a moment, before he’s deftly flipping you onto your back, “too sensitive,” you whine as his fingers work their way back into you.

“Did you think I was done, woman?” and his softening erection is already standing tall again, and you’re almost wanting his fingers now at this point, even as your body disagrees, pussy squeezing at the thought of him buried inside you again. He leans forward, lips brushing against yours, a kiss full of nothing of tongue and teeth, the faint taste of your own release on his lips, “we’re far from done.”

The sound of your name catches your attention, your eyes snapping up from your breakfast, “what?”

“Are you okay? Choso frowns at you, as he holds his rice bowl, the rolled tamago sliced on his plate, “you look tired,” It was another morning like always, but

You shake your head, “I just didn’t sleep well, I kept waking up from my dreams,” and it wasn’t exactly a lie — yesterday was the culmination of a million dreams you had. Dreams that only ended when the sun began to come up, with his cock still buried in your cunt as you rode him, back pressed to his chest, as he worked you up and down his dick.

And finally when he came again, this time all over your back, he finally pressed kisses up and down his back, easing himself out, as his toned arms engulfed you.

“Should clean up and I should head to Jin’s room,” he murmurs, “I have a feeling I won’t have a place to live if he finds me in here,” and you chuckle, too fucked out and tired, “we’ll have to get used to sneaking around.

“Oh will we?” you had mumbled, and he answered your question with another bruising kiss to your lips.

Yuji tilts his head, scratching it, as you lift your glass to take a sip of water, mouth far too dry now, “Is that what those noises were? It sounded like you were having nightmares,” and you nearly choke on it, but force it down, hoping the embarrassment wasn’t evident on your face, stabbing your egg.

“Yeah, I had a couple last night,” you lied, and even as you suddenly found your breakfast far too interesting, you could feel Choso’s gaze still on you — your cheeks burning as Sukuna’s words about him still rung in your ears — along with the distinct ache between your legs and on your ass he left behind, “I’m fine, I’m just going to need a nap,”

“You’re not the only one, girl,” Sukuna walks into the kitchen from the rooms, as Yuji and Choso balk at his presence.

Choso’s eyes narrow, “What are you doing here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sukuna’s eyes find yours, the corner of his lip pulled upwards, as his gaze rakes over your form, “what’s for breakfast?” and you knew he only wished that you were the thing placed on the table for him to eat. Jin barely pays any mind, too preoccupied on his phone with his work email, as he passes a plate to Sukuna.

“When did you even get in?” Yuji asks, as he finishes his own breakfast, leaning back on his two palms. And your insides begin to tie themselves in knots at all of these questions — knowing Sukuna would like nothing more than to tell them exactly what he was doing last night.

“And where did you sleep?” Choso glares, adding fuel to the fire, as Sukuna looks down on him, lips a thin line, “you didn’t bother our guest, did you?” and your cheeks burn all the same, a flicker of amusement on Sukuna’s features, lips parting only for Jin to cut in.

“He got in early this morning. He slept in my room,” Jin says with a sigh, “Don’t you two have to get ready? You’re going to your mom’s this morning,”

“She’s not my mom,” Choso grumbles under his breath, “more like a leech,” but he still gets to his feet all the same, as Yuji follows suit, picking up their plates, a comforting hand on his older brother’s shoulder.

“I should get to work,” Jin sighs, sparing a sharp glance at his brother, “behave,” and he turns to you, “feel free to stay as long as you want. Yuji and Choso will be back this afternoon,”

And the three of them find their way out of the house, a rush of bags and feet, as Choso spares a glance at you.

“I’ll be back soon — you can hang out in my room if you want,” Choso says, before scowling at Sukuna, “let me know if you need anything,” and you nod, waving him off, and the door shuts behind them all.

Sukuna slides into place beside you, sitting as the two of you eat breakfast in relative silence. You finish up your meal, and move to get up, but Sukuna’s hand finds its way onto your thigh, holding you in place.

“Are you done?” and you glance at him, plate empty and food untouched, “with eating?”

“I am,” you raise an eyebrow, “And you?”

“My appetite wants something else, sweetheart,” he leans forward, fingers inching higher until his thumb grazes your inner thigh.

“And what’s that?” and he nearly growls his next words, thin patience already tearing in two, just as he would your clothes if you weren’t careful.

“I’m done playing coy, woman,” he’s lifting you with ease, slinging you over his shoulder as you gasp, and he’s gotten you on top of the counter, the very same counter you had baked cookies on the day he had arrived, but now his hulking body was quickly pressing your legs apart, “there’s only one thing I want to eat in this kitchen, and it’s between your fucking thighs.”

“Not sick of it yet?” you chuckle.

“Think I could bury myself in your slutty pussy for days and not get sick of it,” and he looms over you, just as he had that first day, and he leans down to kiss you, stealing the logic from your mind and leaving only the need for his touch behind, “it is the sweetest thing I ever tasted after all.”

“Really?” and he smirks, as his fingers dig into the fabric of your shorts ripping them and your panties down, the cool air against your already wet cunt.

“Want me to prove it?”

And oh, he would. Again and again.

✧ a/n: i have a problem. i really wanted to write something with degradation ok?

✧ taglist: , @k0z3me , @monstrousbuu , @abiiebibie , @strawmariee , @luciiferslover , @sxnkuna , @psychxbby , @addehehe , @cpu1d , @dreamtardisspace , @authorintheshadows666 , @arcielee , @trxnmagic , @smilk01 , @abcdbleh , @elisaj313-blog , @jinslunv , @n3ptunxe , @pinkyvomit , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @rat-loves , @spider-fan72 ,, @niks1673 , @lafffyyytafffyyy , @miseraa , @astraxa-xx , @fushitoru , @hanxyy , @milky-milkyway , @nakariabnrb , @johannakhalafalla , @tojicvmbucket , @flyingtranscatofeffed , @vampzys , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @k1ttybean , @catsgomurp , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @forest-fruits-jam , @mua-for-now , @pricetagofficial

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