saving!
đȘđłđ¶đŒđ« đ”đ°đ”đŹđ»đŹđŹđ” đđ: đșđšđ»đ¶đčđŒâĄ
âȘïžâage gap, mean teasing satoru, dumbification, overstimulation, possessiveness, creampie, heâs too good at sex, established relationship
"sex with older! Satoru can't be too bad right..?"
âYouâre so pretty when you cry,â Satoru murmurs, palm flat against the arch of your back as he pushes in again, slow and deep like heâs trying to ruin you.
You whimper into the pillow, drooling into his sheets with your lashes soaked, mascara smeared all under your eyes. You donât even care anymore, because all you can feel is him.
Heâs bigâtoo big. Always has been. The kind of stretch that makes you see stars when he first slides in, the kind of pleasure thatâs way past your limit ten minutes in. But he doesnât let up. He likes seeing how far you can take it, how stupid and ruined and pliant he can get you.
ââToru!" you cry again
âAww. Canât even talk right now, baby?â His voice is smooth and a little cruel, and he reaches around to grab your throat, not hardâjust enough to make your little brain stutter. âWhat happened to all that attitude you had earlier, hm?â
You blink, dumb and empty, drool sliding from your mouth when he pulls you up just a little by your neck, whispering right into your ear.
âGod, youâre so cute like this. So fucked-out already and Iâm not even close to done.â His hips snap hard and you squeal, whole body jolting forward.
Satoru loves this part. Not the way you take himâthatâs a given, he knew from day one that no one could ever make you feel the way he doesâbut the way you fold. Act like a brat all week,always tease him about the gray in his hair or the way he groans when he sits too long⊠and yet here you are, crying into his mattress because heâs fucking you dumb.
âThis is what happens,â he pants, hand fisting in your hair now, pulling your head back so he can see your face in the mirror. âWhen you act like you donât know what this dick does to you.â
Your eyes roll. He knows how good he is at sex. The worst part is that he doesnât even have to tryâheâs confident, cocky, and has more experience than any guy your age could dream of. He knows exactly where to touch, how to angle his hips, when to slow down or speed up.
âYou needed this, didnât you?â Satoru breathes, and now his handâs between your legs again, his fingers rubbing tight little circles over your clit. âNeeded me to fuck the brat outta you.â
Your whole body seizes when he hits that spot again, that perfect spot that only he can reach, and you choke on your sob as you cum around him for what feels like the thirdâno, fourth time tonight. Youâre not even sure anymore. Everythingâs hazy, glossy, soaked in heat and tears and the loud slap of skin and his voice in your ear.
âThatâs it, baby,â he growls, holding your hips so tight you know thereâll be bruises. âYou love when I fuck you like this, donât you?â
You nod, still crying, still moaning, still grinding helplessly into his cock because you donât even know how to stop.
âYou wanna be my dumb little girl forever, huh?â
You nod again, sob out something that sounds like âyes, yes, âtoru, please,â and he snaps.
âFuckâgonna fill you up,â he groans, burying himself deep, so deep, and your nails claw into the sheets as his cock twitches inside you. âGonna fuck a baby into you, yeah? Show everyone what happens when you act like a slut around me.â
You scream. Genuinely scream. Because heâs so deep, so hot, so good, and heâs not even pulling outâheâs just holding you down, grinding his cum into you, whispering sweet, filthy things as you fall apart underneath him.
đđĄđ đđđ đđđđ đđ« ~ đšđžđŸ đ«đźđ”đžđ·đ° đœđž đ¶đź. đšđžđŸ đłđŸđŒđœ đđžđ·âđœ đŽđ·đžđ đđźđœ.
Gojo Satoru is a fucking liar.
He acts like he doesnât give a shit about you. Like youâre nothing. Like youâre just another bug beneath his shoe, something to step on and leave behind.
Thatâs why he makes your life hell.
Thatâs why he trips you in the halls, why he plucks pens straight out of your hand during exams, why he calls you ugly little nicknames and twists his words like a knife, carving them into your skin. You flinch when heâs near, shoulders always tensed, waiting for the next hit. You hate him. You should hate him.
But Gojo Satoru is a fucking liar.
Because the moment heâs out of your sight, heâs memorizing the way your body moved beneath that skirt, the exact shade of pink on your lips, the way your breath hitched when he leaned in too close. The moment youâre gone, heâs pulling his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through the hundreds of pictures heâs taken of you without your knowledgeâhidden camera feeds, blurry shots of you in class, close-ups of your sleeping face.
He loves watching you cry.
Loves the way your brows furrow when youâre frustrated, the way your lip trembles when he rips into you, the way your eyes go glassy when youâre about to break.
Itâs fucking beautiful.
You donât realize how much of your life heâs stolen.
The cameras are the worst. Theyâre everywhere. In your apartment, in your showerhead, in the fucking toilet. Heâs watched you at your most vulnerableâwatched you wake up, stretch, rub the sleep from your eyes. Watched you undress, fingers skimming over your own skin, completely unaware that heâs breathing hard on the other side of the screen, cock twitching in his pants.
And in public, he plays the part of the asshole.
If anyone knewâif anyone even suspectedâheâd kill them. Without hesitation.
You belong to him.
Thatâs why no one else is allowed to look at you. Why he slashed that guyâs tires when he saw him flirting with you at the cafĂ©. Why he grabbed that classmate by the collar and whispered something in his ear after he asked you out, something that made the poor bastard turn pale as death and drop out of the course.
Youâre his little pet. His toy. His perfect, untouchable secret.
You have no fucking clue.
Not when he watches you through your webcam as you study. Not when he follows you home at night, walking just close enough to hear your footsteps quicken. Not when he licks his lips at the thought of shoving you against a wall and splitting you open, hearing you scream.
You think heâs your worst nightmare.
You have no idea.
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hi đ very very sorry for being inactive my beautiful squirtlings, iâve been recovering from a bad leg injury but i am ALIVE. partially. also, THANK YOUU guys for 50k thatâs insaaane. thank you guys immensely for giving me this platform and i hope you all are having a good tuesday !! â
I lost most of my family. I'm afraid to lose my son too đ„ș .
I need your help please donate and share, evry contribution, no matter how small, brings us hope in these dark times.
Mohammed deserves to live a happy and healthy life, just like every other child on this earth.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
â ïžMy campaign is vetted by el-shab-hussein& Nabulsi's, my number verified on the list is ( #355)â ïž đ
https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/1yYkNp5U3ANwILl2MknJi9G7ArY4uVTEEQ1CVfzR8Ioo/htmlview
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
With him, thereâs no ânoâ. Only âyes, sirâ.
â€ïž Synopsis. Obsession unfolds as a powerful figure locks his gaze on you, intent on bending your will and breaking your resistance. In his world, love is just a tool for control, and surrender is inevitable.
⥠Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.
⥠Pairing. Yandere! Itoshi Rin x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Itoshi Sae x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Michael Kaiser x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Isagi Yoichi x Fem. Reader
⥠Headcanons. A Slave to His Will - Part 1
⥠Word Count. 4,056
⥠TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, degradation, verbal abuse, mature language
⥠Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.
⥠Itoshi Rin.
The air around you was frigid, oppressive, each breath you drew cutting sharp like shards of glass in your lungs. The room itself felt less like a space and more like a voidâa place where shadows bled into each other and time slowed to a crawl. It wasnât empty, though. It was filled with him. Rin Itoshiâs presence didnât just occupy space; it consumed it, swallowing every ounce of air and light until all that remained was the unbearable gravity of his attention.
He stood across from you, his posture deceptively calm, but his eyesâthose glinting, venomous tealâspoke volumes. They didnât see you; they scorched you, flaying you open inch by inch, revealing every fear, every insecurity you thought youâd buried deep. He didnât need words to tell you what you already knew. You were his focus now. And Rinâs focus was a weapon more devastating than any blade.
When he finally moved, it was with the deliberate, measured precision of a predator closing in on wounded prey. Each step seemed to reverberate through the space, the sound of his soles meeting the floor a dark metronome marking the seconds before you unraveled.
âYou donât understand yet, do you?â His voice slid through the room like oil, suffocating and smothering. It wasnât booming; he didnât need to be. Rin spoke with a low, simmering intensity that demanded silence, demanded submission.
He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smirk as he studied you like one might study a puzzle missing its final piece. âDo you know what itâs like to burn so absolutely for something that it becomes the only damn thing that matters? To be willing to destroy yourself and everything else just to take it, to own it?â
The silence stretched as your breath caught, your lips parting, though no sound escaped. He didnât need a response. He wasnât asking for permission. His gaze dropped to your trembling hands, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his face.
âYouâre afraid,â he murmured, the statement dripping with satisfaction. âGood.â
Rin was suddenly in front of you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the glacial tone of his voice. His fingers brushed against your jaw, soft at first, barely a whisper of contact. It wasnât kindness, thoughâjust a mockery of it. When his hand tightened, tilting your face upwards to meet his gaze, there was no softness left, only an unyielding grip that said everything he didnât.
âYouâve already lost, you know.â His eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw something deeperâsomething feral, desperate, and wholly consuming. âFrom the moment I decided you were meant to be mine, it stopped being a choice. Not for you. Not for anyone.â
His free hand moved to your wrist, encircling it with ease. His strength wasnât overbearing, not yet, but the implication of it was clear. He didnât need to hurt you to make you understand just how powerless you were. That realization crept over you like ice, numbing and inescapable.
âYou think this is about affection? About love?â His laugh was razor-sharp, cutting through the smothering tension like a blade. âYou really are naive.â
He leaned closer, his breath warm against your temple, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver crawling down your spine. âThis is about control. About devotion. I donât care if you fight. I donât care if you wail or beg. Youâll stay exactly where I want you until you understand what it means to belong to me.â
Rinâs hand slid down your arm, his fingers intertwining with yours for the briefest moment before pulling your hands together, binding them in his grip. There was no tenderness in the motion, only an inexorable assertion of dominance. He didnât look at you like a person. He looked at you like an extension of his will, a piece of his identity he was determined to carve into shape with his bare hands.
âYouâll break,â he said simply, as if it were an inevitability. His tone was soft now, almost contemplative. âAnd when you do, Iâll revamp you into someone worthwhile of standing at my side.â
His lips hovered just above yours, tantalizingly close yet deliberately distant. He wasnât giving you what you wantedâor what you feared. This wasnât about the act itself. It was about the power in withholding it, in watching you crumble under the unbearable weight of his attention.
âSay my name,â he commanded, his voice as sharp and unyielding as tempered steel. âSay it like you acknowledge who you belong to alone.â
You hesitated, the words caught somewhere between your throat and the pounding of your heart. His grip tightened, just enough to remind you of how easily he could crush you. âSay it,â he growled, his patience fraying at the edges.
When you finally whispered his name, barely audible, a flicker of triumph danced in his eyes. His smirk widened, splitting his face into something cruel, something monstrous.
âGood girl,â he murmured, his tone laced with mockery and satisfaction. âNow, letâs see how far youâre willing to fall for me.â
And as he pulled you closer, as his touch turned rougher, hungrier, you realized too late that Rin Itoshi wasnât a man. He was a storm, a force of nature that would consume everything in his path. And you? You werenât just caught in its wake. You were the eye of it, the singular focus of his ruinous obsession.
ââââââââââââ
⥠Itoshi Sae.
He watches you like a predator studying its prey, his teal eyes narrowing with the precision of a sniperâs scope. In the dim light of his apartment, the air is heavy with unspoken tension. His presence feels suffocatingâan invisible hand curling around your throat. Itoshi Saeâs gaze is unwavering, dissecting every twitch of your fingers, every shallow breath, every faltering word that escapes your lips. He doesnât speak right away. Silence is his first weapon, sharp and calculating, cutting into your composure like a scalpel. When he finally does speak, his voice is soft, measured, but each word lands with the weight of a falling guillotine.
âYou donât even realize how pathetic you look right now, do you?â he mutters, his tone devoid of empathy, yet laced with a hidden clinical curiosity. He steps closer, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the hollow quiet. âItâs fascinating, really. How easily someone can be stripped of their pride.â
You flinch as his hand reaches out, but thereâs nowhere to run. His fingers trace the line of your jaw, their touch featherlight, but you can feel the intent behind themâcold, assessing, as though heâs handling a fragile object he intends to shatter. His lips curve into the faintest semblance of a smile, but itâs a lifeless thing, a grim mockery of warmth.
âDo you even understand what youâve done to deserve this?â he asks, tilting his head. The question hangs in the air, rhetorical and cruel. He doesnât wait for an answer. Sae doesnât need your words; he thrives on your silence, on the way your trembling body speaks volumes.
His hand slides lower, over the curve of your shoulder, down your arm, his touch methodical, almost mechanical. Each movement is deliberate, precise, as though heâs memorizing the map of your body. When his grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin, itâs not enough to bruiseânot yetâbut the promise of pain lingers in the air like static before a storm.
âWeak,â he speaks, almost to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. âI thought youâd be different. But in the end, youâre just like the rest of them. Fragile. Pathetic.â
He takes a step back, his hand falling away, but the reprieve is an illusion. The distance between you is a leash, not freedom. His eyes remain locked on you, dissecting every reaction, every flinch, every unsteady breath. Saeâs control is absolute; even in his silence, he commands the room, bending reality to his will.
âLook at me,â he commands, his tone low and cutting. When you hesitate, his lips curl into a sneer. âDid I stutter?â
Your eyes meet his, and the intensity of his gaze feels like a physical blow. Thereâs no mercy there, no compassionâonly an abyss of calculated cruelty. He steps forward again, closing the distance, until youâre forced to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. His hand rises, fingers curling around your throat, not tight enough to choke, but firm enough to remind you of the power he holds.
âStruggling would be pointless,â he says, his breath warm against your ear. âBut go ahead. Try. Amuse me.â
Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, your hands pushing against his chest in a futile attempt to create space. His grip tightens in response, the pressure against your windpipe making it harder to breathe. He doesnât flinch, doesnât waver. Instead, he watches with a detached curiosity, as though observing a lab experiment.
âPathetic,â he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. âIs this really the best you can do?â
When he finally releases you, you collapse against the wall, gasping for air. He doesnât give you time to recover. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back until youâre forced to look at him again. The smirk on his lips is faint, almost imperceptible, but the malice behind it is undeniable.
âYou should thank me,â he says, his tone deceptively calm. âIâm teaching you your place.â
The words cut deeper than any physical wound, and he knows it. Saeâs cruelty isnât born of chaos; itâs calculated, surgical. He doesnât just break you; he dissects you, piece by piece, stripping away your defenses until thereâs nothing left but raw, trembling vulnerability.
And then, when you think heâs finished, he rebuilds youâbut not as you were. No, Sae shapes you into something else entirely, something that fits his vision. His obsession isnât love; itâs a dark, twisted form of control, a need to possess and dominate every aspect of your being.
âYouâll learn to obey,â he says one night, his voice a venomous whisper in the dark. âOr Iâll make sure you never forget the consequences of disobedience.â
The words linger in your mind, a constant reminder of the cage heâs built around you. Even in his absence, you feel his presenceâan invisible hand guiding your every move, a shadow that looms over every thought. Saeâs control is absolute, his dominance inescapable. And in the rare moments when his mask slips, revealing the depths of his obsession, the darkness in his eyes is enough to make your blood run cold.
âYouâre mine,â he says one night, his voice trembling with an emotion thatâs almost human. But the glint in his eyes is anything but tender. âEven if I have to break you to keep you.â
His kisses are bruising, his touch possessive to the point of pain. He marks you, both physically and emotionally, until thereâs no part of you left untouched by his influence. And yet, despite the horror, thereâs a part of you that canât escape him. Because Sae doesnât just break you; he makes you believe that you were never whole to begin with.
And in his mind, that makes you hisâirrevocably, undeniably, his.
ââââââââââââ
⥠Michael Kaiser.
Michael Kaiser is not a man who plays by halves. Perfection, domination, and the art of dismantling his rivalsâthese are the tenets of his life, the doctrines by which he reigns supreme both on and off the field. Control is his lifeblood, his religion, and for as long as he can remember, the world has bent to his will, obedient to the designs of its self-crowned emperor.
Until you.
You, with your fragile defiance and trembling courage, have carved a fissure in his perfect, unyielding universe. He hates you for it, as much as he is enthralled by you. You are an anomaly he cannot ignoreâa splinter lodged deep beneath his skin, festering, driving him mad.
And tonight, as the air grows heavy with the weight of unspoken words and dangerous promises, he watches you like a predator. His gaze lingers on the way you shrink back, cornered yet refusing to crumple entirely. It is infuriating. It is intoxicating.
âDo you even realize,â he begins, his voice a low snarl that echoes through the dimly lit room, âwhat youâve done to me?â He steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate, a calculated menace radiating from every fiber of his being. The light catches on his tattoos, twisting chains and roses that writhe across his skin like living things. âYouâve turned my life into chaos. My life. Do you know how unacceptable that is?â
You say nothing, your lips pressed tightly together, though your trembling form betrays you. It fuels him, this tiny rebellion. He could crush itâcrush youâwith ease, but where would be the satisfaction in that? No, he wants to see you fight. He wants to see you lose.
âAnswer me,â he commands, his tone icy now, each word a blade slicing through the silence.
When you finally stammer a response, itâs barely above a whisper. âI didnâtââ
âDidnât what?â he interrupts, his laughter sharp and humorless. He takes another step closer, and the distance between you vanishes like smoke. âDidnât mean to? Didnât notice? Or didnât care?â His hand shoots out, gripping your chin with a force that leaves no room for resistance. âBecause I can assure you, liebe, Iâve noticed. Iâve noticed every single time youâve made me feelââ He cuts himself off, his jaw clenching as if the very idea repulses him.
There is something feral in his eyes now, a hunger that makes your breath catch. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, the touch almost gentle, but the tension in his grip is unmistakable. He leans in, so close that his breath warms your cheek. âDo you want to know what itâs like?â he murmurs, his voice a venomous whisper. âTo have everything under your control, everything perfect, only for someone like you to come along and ruin it?â
You try to look away, but his grip tightens, forcing your gaze back to his. âNo,â he says, his voice a low growl, âyou donât get to look away. You donât get to pretend this isnât your fault.â
His other hand moves to your throat, fingers splayed against the delicate curve of your neck. He feels the erratic rhythm of your pulse beneath his touch and smilesâa cold, cruel thing that bares his teeth like a wolf. âAh, there it is,â he breathes, his thumb pressing just enough to make your head tilt back. âFear. It suits you.â
He doesnât give you a chance to respond before his lips brush against your ear, his voice dropping even lower. âYou make me weak,â he hisses, the words filled with venom. âDo you understand how disgusting that is? How infuriating it is to crave something as broken and defiant as you?â
The mask of control he wears so effortlessly slips, just for a moment, revealing the raw, seething obsession beneath. âBut donât worry,â he continues, his tone softening in a way that only makes it more terrifying. âIâll fix that. Iâll fix you.â
Before you can process his words, he moves. His hands slide down your arms, his grip firm and unyielding as he pulls you closer. His lips find your skin, leaving a trail of bruising kisses and sharp bites. Each mark is deliberate, a claim etched into your flesh. He revels in your protests, in the way you tryâand failâto push him away. âKeep fighting,â he murmurs against your collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. âIt only makes it more satisfying when you finally give in.â
Your struggles only seem to amuse him, his laughter rumbling low in his chest. âDo you know what Iâll do to them?â he asks suddenly, his voice taking on a darker edge. âAll those fools who think they can touch you, who think they can have you? Iâll destroy them. Iâll make them regret ever looking at whatâs mine.â
The possessiveness in his tone is suffocating, the weight of it pressing down on you like a physical force. He steps back, just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression a twisted mix of adoration and hatred. âYouâll see,â he promises, his voice soft but deadly. âIâll show you what happens to anyone who thinks they can take you from me.â
And then heâs on you again, his touch alternating between cruel and tender, his words a dizzying mixture of threats and endearments. He breaks you down piece by piece, his dominance suffocating, overwhelming, until you are left with nothing but the reality of his obsession.
When he finally pulls away, his hands still lingering on your skin, he smiles. It is not a kind smile. It is the smile of a man who has won. âThere,â he says, his tone almost gentle. âThat wasnât so bad, was it?â
But you know, deep down, that this is only the beginning. For Michael Kaiser, love is not a gentle thing. It is a war, a game of control where surrender is the only acceptable outcome. And you are his trophy, his prize, his victim.
You may have defied him once, but in the end, there is no escaping him.
ââââââââââââ
⥠Isagi Yoichi.
The room was steeped in silence, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the faint, rhythmic ticking of a clock buried somewhere in the shadows. It was the kind of silence that amplified everything elseâthe quickened hitch of your breath, the faint rustle of fabric as you tried to edge back, and the subtle scrape of his shoes against the wooden floor as he closed the distance. Isagi Yoichi was nothing like the boy you thought you knew, the one with the eager, boyish grin and the kind of enthusiasm that made people underestimate him. That version of him had been shed, discarded like dead skin. What stood before you now was something raw and unrelenting, a creature shaped by obsession and honed by the cold, unyielding weight of his own ambition.
His presence was suffocating, a wall of quiet menace that pressed down on you, leaving no room for escape. He tilted his head slightly, watching you as one might a trapped animal, his sharp blue eyes reflecting a glint of something darker, something that thrived on your fear. There was no anger in his gazeâno fiery outburst, no theatrics. It was colder than that, infinitely more chilling. Isagi didnât need to raise his voice; the intensity of his silence spoke volumes.
âYou donât get it yet, do you?â His voice was low, almost gentle, and that softness made it infinitely more terrifying. Each word felt deliberate, precise, like the ticking of the clockâunavoidable, inescapable. He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing you whole. âYou think you have a choice here? That thereâs some world where you can walk away from me? What are you? A damn idiot?â
Your back hit the wall, the cold surface biting through your clothes, and you realized youâd run out of space. His body was too close now, towering over you, his scent invading every breath you took. It wasnât unpleasant, but it was overwhelming, a mix of sweat and something sharper, metallic, like adrenaline distilled into a tangible form. His hand reached out, skimming along the edge of your arm with a touch that wasnât quite gentle. It wasnât cruel, eitherâit was assessing, clinical, as though he were studying the tension in your muscles, savoring the way your body betrayed you.
âYouâre shaking,â he murmured, the corner of his mouth curling upward into a smirk that didnât reach his eyes. It wasnât the kind of smile that reassuredâit was cruel, mocking, the kind of expression that turned the air around him icy. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. âWhat is it? Fear? Shame? Or are you just starting to realize what this means for you?â
You swallowed hard, but your throat felt dry, constricted, as though even that small act of defiance might provoke him further. His fingers moved upward, brushing against your jaw, and your body froze under his touch. It wasnât a question of whether you could fight back; it was the knowledge that resistance would only make things worse.
âYou think I donât see it?â he asked, his tone sharper now, though his voice never rose above that measured, calculated calm. âThe way you look at people. The way you laugh, like itâs nothing, like Iâm not standing right here, watching you give them parts of yourself that donât belong to them. That donât belong to you.â
His grip tightened, his fingers curling under your chin to force your gaze upward. Those blue eyesâsharp, unyielding, like frozen shards of glassâbored into yours, peeling away every layer of defense you might have built. âLook at me,â he demanded, though the command was almost a whisper. âI said, look at me.â
You obeyed, if only because there was no other option. The intensity of his stare was suffocating, like standing on the edge of a cliff with the ground crumbling beneath your feet.
âDo you know how long Iâve been waiting for this?â he asked, and there was something unnervingly reverent in his tone now, as though you were the culmination of some grand, twisted dream heâd nurtured in secret. âDo you have any idea what it feels like to need something so badly it fucking hurts?â
His hand moved again, this time skimming down your side, his touch possessive, leaving behind an invisible trail that burned like a brand. When he kissed you, it wasnât a kissâit was a claim, raw and feral, a battle for dominance youâd already lost. His lips were demanding, his teeth grazing your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, though you couldnât tell if it was intentional or simply a byproduct of his hunger. When you tried to push him away, your palms pressing weakly against his chest, he caught your wrists with ease, pinning them against the wall above your head.
âDonât,â he warned, his voice dropping to a growl, the sound rumbling through his chest like the distant echo of a storm. âDonât fucking fight me.â
His weight pressed against you, his body a cage as much as his words were. His breath was hot against your neck, his teeth dragging along your skin in a way that made your heart lurch violently in your chest. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, his expression dark and unreadable.
âYou think this is love?â he asked, his voice dripping with something bitter, almost mocking. âLove is weak. Love makes people hesitate. And I donât hesitate. Not when it comes to you.â
He tilted his head slightly, as though considering his next move, his eyes never leaving yours. âNo, this isnât love,â he said finally, his tone softening, though it only made the words more chilling. âThis is something better. Something stronger.â
When he moved again, it was with deliberate purpose, his hands rough and unapologetic as they claimed every inch of you. His touch left no room for doubt, no space for protest. He wasnât gentleânot because he couldnât be, but because he didnât see the need. You werenât something to be coddled, not in his eyes. You were his, and he was going to make sure you understood that in every way possible.
âYouâll thank me for this one day,â he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. âMaybe not now, maybe not tomorrow. But eventually, youâll see. Youâll see that you were always mine.â
When he pulled back, his grip still firm on your chin, he studied you like an artist admiring their masterpiece. His thumb brushed against your lip, smearing the faint trace of blood heâd left behind, and his smirk returned, darker and more dangerous than before.
âYouâre perfect,â he said, almost to himself. âAnd I donât lose perfect things.â
Then, leaning in so close that his lips barely ghosted against yours, he whispered his final, bone-chilling promise: âAnd I donât fucking share.â
If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.
General TAG LIST: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling
â€ïž Fang Dokja's Books.
⥠For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:
⥠Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology
⥠Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.
⥠Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.
⥠Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.
⥠Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.
⥠Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarianâs Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.
⥠Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblrâs link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution
⥠Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.
⥠Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourselfârepeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.
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synopsis : you crushed on him for months, watched him dodge every advance like you were malware. so you dressed up a little, played a little dumberâand now heâs got you spread out in pixels and moaning in surround sound. worst part? you kinda want him to do it again.
tags/cw â masturbation, degradation, praise kink, dacryphilia, marking, overstimulation, explicit language, filming, voyeurism, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, rough sex, dirty talk, power dynamics, obsession, lingerie, virgin weeb satoru, questionable but effective way of seducing ur crush. 13k wc, 18+ only, minors DNI.
a/n : plz don't nitpick about how a fashion vlog shouldn't be like that bc that's the point. toru doesn't know the difference because all he watches is 2d girls
the compressorâs peaking again.
satoru squints at the waveform, drags the threshold down two decibels, then listens back to the same three-second clip of voiceover for the tenth time. itâs a podcast intro, some wannabe influencer droning about mindfulness. he doesnât care. heâs just here to make it sound less like it was recorded in a bathroom.
âsounds like shit,â he mutters, even though itâs clean. crisp. perfectly balanced.
it doesnât feel right. nothing ever does. he tweaks the bitrate, checks the export codec, wonders if he should build a custom ffmpeg preset. maybe write a quick script to batch clean all future filesâsomething to shave off a few milliseconds of his life. his fingers hover over the keyboard, itching for efficiency, for control.
ping.
discord overlay glows in the corner of his ultrawide monitor, a neon-green intrusion on his meticulously organized desktop. he freezes. the notification pulses like a heartbeat.
you.
he stares at it, lets it sit there like itâs radioactive. doesnât even remember keeping you added. your usernameâsomething stupid with a heart emojiâfeels like a splinter under his skin. he shouldâve purged his contacts months ago, but here you are, slipping through the cracks of his digital fortress.
hey. remember when u edited our project? can u help me trim some vids plsâŠ
his jaw tightens. of course youâd ask now, at 2 a.m., when heâs neck-deep in audio plugins and caffeine. his fingers hover over the keyboard, poised to dismiss you.
âno,â he types, then erases it.
âwhat kind of vids,â he tries, but deletes that too. too eager. too curious.
after a solid twenty-five seconds of overthinking, he finally sends:
i guess. send what you have.
he leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. his room is a cave of glowing screens and scattered energy drink cans, the hum of his overclocked pc the only sound besides his own shallow breathing. he shouldnât care. youâre just another art student, another distraction. but his pulse betrays him, thudding a little too hard in his throat.
flashback.exe
he hated group projects. despised them. a bunch of useless art students in overpriced streetwear, trying to make films with no understanding of pacing or continuity.
theyâd fumble with premiere pro like it was rocket science, leaving him to clean up their shaky cuts and mismatched audio tracks. he always ended up doing 90% of the work, and he preferred it that way. control was his god, and he worshipped it.
but you were different.
not better. just... a different kind of stupid.
you showed up late to the editing suite, glitter pens spilling out of your bag, heart stickers plastered on your water bottle like a middle schoolerâs diary. you called the lav mic a âweird nipple thingâ and giggled when he glared at you. once, you spilled your lip gloss on the soundboard, leaving a sticky pink smear he had to scrub off with isopropyl alcohol. another time, you asked if uploading to drive made your data heavier, and he almost threw you out.
but.
you let him do whatever he wanted.
you didnât hover or micromanage. you just sat there, cross-legged on a swivel chair, watching him cut scenes like it was magic. you leaned over his shoulder, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath, your wide eyes reflecting the glow of the timeline.
âwhoa... you made it feel like a real movie,â you whispered, like heâd just parted the red sea.
you smelled like something artificial. strawberries, maybe, or some overpriced body mist from a mall kiosk. your hair was always tied with a ribbonâpink, blue, sometimes yellow, always obnoxiously bright.
he didnât care.
he told himself he didnât.
but he remembered. every fucking detail.
the zip file lands in his downloads with an obnoxious ka-chunk, snapping him out of the memory. he doesnât rush. just opens it like itâs any other favor, like his heart isnât clawing at his ribcage. the folder name stares back at him: âpls help <3â
typical.
he clicks it open, expecting shaky iphone clips of cafes and shopping hauls. maybe some cringe tiktok dance you think is cute. heâs ready to hate it, to scoff at your lack of framing or shitty lighting.
but thenâ
you appear on screen.
not just appear. you perform.
youâre biting your lip, laughing into the lens like itâs your lover. wearing something stupidly shortâa skirt that barely qualifies as fabric, hugging your thighs like itâs painted on. you spin around in front of your mirror, the camera catching every angle, every curve, like youâre being filmed for someone else. someone whoâd appreciate it.
you pose. cock your head. giggle. the sound is loud, breathy, smiling when you speak. âdo you think this is too short?â you ask, tugging the hem of your skirt, your fingers lingering just a second too long.
he blinks.
backs the video up three seconds.
watches again.
your laugh echoes through his headphones, a little distorted, a little too close. he pretends heâs checking the audio, tells himself itâs for sync, that heâs just doing his job. but his eyes are glued to the screen, to the way your skirt rides up as you twirl, to the flash of skin that makes his breath catch.
he watches again.
his mouth is dry, his tongue heavy against his teeth. your skirt flips up higher this time, and you gaspâlike youâre surprised, like you didnât mean to show that much. but you donât stop filming. donât cover up. just... laugh, a sound that curls around his spine and sinks into his gut.
he doesnât even realize his hand is moving until itâs there, slipping under the waistband of his sweatpants. his fingers brush against himself, and he hisses, the contact sharp and sudden. heâs already half-hard, his body betraying him before his brain can catch up. the room feels too warm, the hum of his pc too loud, but he doesnât care. he canât care.
he rewinds the clip again, pauses on the frame where youâre mid-spin, your skirt flared just enough to show the curve of your ass. his hand wraps around his cock, slow at first, tentative, like heâs testing how far heâll let himself go. the texture of his own skin is rough, familiar, but itâs not enough. not when itâs you on the screen, laughing like you know heâs watching, like youâre daring him to lose control.
he strokes himself, a tight, deliberate rhythm, his thumb brushing over the tip where heâs already leaking. the sensation jolts him, makes his hips twitch in the chair.
he imagines itâs your hand, your fingersâsmall, soft, probably clumsy, but eager. he pictures you kneeling between his legs, looking up at him with those wide eyes, your lips parted like they are in the video, glossy and pink and begging to be kissed. or more.
the video plays on. youâre bending over now, adjusting your hair in the mirror, your skirt riding up to expose the thin strip of your underwear. he groans, low and guttural, his hand moving faster.
the sound of your voiceâteasing, playfulâfills his headphones, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting it wash over him. âdo you think this is too short?â you say again, and he wants to answer, wants to growl that itâs perfect, that youâre perfect, that heâd rip it off you if he could.
his grip tightens, his strokes growing erratic. heâs not gentle with himselfânever is. itâs all pressure and friction, chasing the edge as fast as he can.
his free hand fumbles with the mouse, scrubbing the timeline back to the moment you gasp, to the split-second flash of your thighs. he loops it, the clip stuttering in time with his breathing, with the slick sound of his hand working himself over. his cock throbs, hot and heavy, and he imagines itâs youâyour warmth, your wetness, the way youâd probably whimper if he touched you like this.
heâs close. too close.
his vision blurs at the edges, his pulse hammering in his ears. he shouldnât be doing this, shouldnât be jerking off to your stupid video like some desperate creep, but the shame only makes it worse, makes it sharper.
he pictures you catching him, walking in right now, seeing him with his pants down and his hand on his dick. would you laugh? would you blush? would you get on your knees andâ
he comes with a choked gasp, his hips bucking up into his hand. itâs messy, spilling over his fingers, onto the hem of his shirt. his chest heaves, his head tilting back against the chair as the aftershocks ripple through him. your laugh loops in his headphones, oblivious to the wreck heâs become.
itâs filthy. itâs desperate.
ten minutes later, heâs cleaned himself up, his hands steady again as he trims the file like a good little editor. he cuts out the shaky parts, stabilizes the footage, adjusts the audio so your voice doesnât clip. itâs clinical now, professional, like he didnât just fall apart to the sight of you. he names it something sterile: âvlog_cut_1.mov.â
he exports it twice. once normally, for you. once... not. the second version is raw, unedited, every twirl and giggle preserved in crisp 4k. it gets copied to a different folder, buried in a directory labeled âshader_study_2022.â he tells himself itâs in case you need a re-edit. a backup. thatâs all.
when you text back:
thank u!! lol i owe uuu :3
he stares at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. his heartâs still racing, a faint tremor in his fingers.
he types âanytime :)â and erases it. sends:
np.
what he doesnât say: he rewatched the part where you bend over six times. he had his dick in his hand by the second loop. he renamed the close-up to âtest_render_asscloseup.movâ and hid it behind three layers of subfolders.
he doesnât even like tiktok girls.
heâs into 2d, girls with big swords and bigger tits, drawn in sharp lines and impossible proportions. he once bought a dakimakura because the shipping came with a free pin, and itâs still shoved in his closet, one corner stained from a late-night mistake. real girls are messy, unpredictable, too much work. but now?
heâs thinking about the way your laugh dipped when you turned around, the way it caught in your throat like you were nervous. the way you looked into the lens like you knew someone was watching.
someone like him.
next day, you walk in like a fucking weapon.
pink fuzzy shrug, low-rise jeans that sit dangerously low on your hips, a sliver of stomach peeking out like itâs 2004. your hairâs up in a ribbonâpink, of course, swaying as you move. youâre all glitter and confidence, a walking distraction in a lecture hall full of tired students and flickering projectors.
he scoffs under his breath. âtacky.â
but his heartâs pounding, a traitor in his chest. his fingers twitch against the edge of his laptop, betraying the calm heâs trying to project. you slide into the seat two rows ahead and twist around, grinning like a cat, like you know something he doesnât.
your eyes catch his for a split second, bright and teasing, and he forces himself to look away.
he opens his laptop, types random garbage into a terminal windowâsome half-baked python script he doesnât even care about. he runs a fake compile just to feel busy, to drown out the way his blood is rushing too fast.
you lean over to whisper to the girl next to you, your laugh spilling out, loud and careless. your hair tosses, and he swears he catches the scent of your perfume drifting past in invisible waves. saccharine, overwhelming, like strawberries dipped in sugar syrup.
his brain short-circuits. he snaps his headphones on, the cord tangling in his haste. not to listen to music. not to block you out.
to replay your giggle.
heâd isolated the audio last night, cleaned it up with a high-pass filter, boosted the mids to make it crystal clear. exported it as a high-quality .wav, tucked it into a folder labeled âaudio_ref.â he tells himself itâs for study, just good reference for future projects. but he loops it now, the sound of your laugh layered over faint lo-fi static he added for texture. itâs you, distilled into a three-second clip, filling his skull.
he closes his eyes and pretends youâre saying his name. satoru, you giggle, breathy and soft, like youâre leaning over his shoulder again, watching him work. satoru, you made it feel so real.
the lecture drones on, but heâs not listening. heâs lost in the rhythm of your voice, the way it dips and rises, the way it makes his skin feel too tight. he shifts in his seat, adjusts his hoodie, tries to ignore the heat pooling in his gut. heâs not supposed to want this. not supposed to want you.
but he does.
the thing about addiction is that it never announces itself.
no dramatic thunderclap. no internal monologue screaming, ah yes, now i am a pervert. itâs quiet. insidious. it sinks in like static, crackling at the edges of satoruâs brain until heâs not sure where his old self ends and this new, wretched version begins.
itâs not like heâs not already a pervert who gets off from pixels. this simply wasnât his brand of perversion.
that night, he stayed up longer than he shouldâve. stared at code for so long his ide crashed, the screen flickering to black as if it knew he was wasting his time. not that he got anything done.Â
he just kept switching tabsâyour final cut in vlc, some useless bash script in vscode he pretended to care about, then back to your video, the timeline frozen on that twirl, that gasp. his fingers shook when he closed the laptop, but sleep never came.
and now itâs the next day. mid-afternoon. the sun is doing that thing where it turns his apartment into a blinding box of heat and regret. his ac hums like an old man, wheezing against the sticky air. heâs sprawled in his chair, one leg slung over the armrest, staring at the ceiling fan like it might tell him how to stop.
ping.
another discord notification. he doesnât even flinch this time. your username glows, and the filename attached makes his stomach do a weird little roll: âtry-on2_raw.movâ. his eyes linger on the heart emoji youâve tacked onto the message, like itâs a personal invitation.
hiii! ty for the last edit, ur a lifesaver <3 can u check and trim this one too? iâm trying smth new but idk if it works⊠lmk what u think pls!!
he clicks download. no hesitation. doesnât even pretend to care anymore.
the file loads into his editing software like second nature, the premiere pro interface blooming across his screen. muscle memory. routine.
heâs done this a hundred timesâexcept never like this, never with his pulse hammering in his throat and his mouth already dry.
the video starts the same way as the lastâhandheld, messy lighting, your voice trailing in from offscreen as you fiddle with the camera angle. no mic, of course not. just raw cam audio, unpolished, real, every breath and rustle amplified. he leans closer, like proximity to the screen will make it less dangerous.
âokayâwait, hold on,â you mutter, slightly out of breath. thereâs a plastic rustle, fabric scraping skin, the light jingle of a zipper. he catches the sound of your nails tapping the digicam accidentally, a faint clack-clack that makes him picture your fingers, probably painted some ridiculous color, fumbling in that endearing way you do.Â
âugh⊠come onâŠâ your voice drops, a frustrated huff, low and throaty. âmmâsorry! this oneâs hard to pull up.â
thenâzipper slides. metal on fabric, slow and deliberate, like itâs teasing him on purpose. you let out a sigh, long, slow, just a little too satisfied, like youâre savoring the release of pressure. the sound coils in his gut, tight and hot.
he freezes.
his mouse stays hovering over the playhead, the cursor trembling slightly. blood is already rushing south, his sweatpants tightening in a way he canât ignore. his breath catches, shallow and sharp, and the worst part?
you giggle.
âprobably got the wrong size,â you say, tugging the dress up higher. the hem catches on your thighs, rising indecently, the fabric clinging to your skin like itâs reluctant to let go. âdonât tell anyone i didnât try it on in-store first.â
he swallows nothing. jaw tight. the room suddenly feels suffocating, the acâs hum drowned out by the thud of his own pulse. your lip catches between your teeth, a flash of white against pink gloss, and the camera catches that too, lingers on it like it knows what itâs doing.
you glance at the lens, eyes half-lidded, like youâre waiting for approval, like youâre asking him directlyâdo you like this?
satoruâs fingers twitch.
one hand stays on the mouse, scrubbing the timeline back three seconds to hear that sigh again. the other hand moves before he can stop it, slipping under his waistband, brushing against the heat of his skin. heâs already hard, achingly so, the kind of hard that makes his head swim.
he wraps his fingers around himself, slow at first, testing, like heâs not sure heâs really doing this again. but the sound of your voiceâbreathy, teasingâloops in his headphones, and heâs gone.
he strokes himself, deliberate and tight, his grip almost punishing. the video plays on, and youâre stepping into frame now, the dress half-zipped, hugging your curves in a way that makes his throat burn. your thighs shift as you adjust the hem, and he imagines them under his hands, soft and warm, parting just for him.
his thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, slick with precum, and he groans, low and broken, the sound swallowed by the hum of his pc. he pictures your fingers instead, clumsy but eager, your nails grazing his skin as you try to keep up with his rhythm.
heâd guide you, show you how he likes itâfast, rough, no mercy.
you sigh again, and he speeds up, his hand moving in time with the rise and fall of your voice. âthis oneâs kinda tight,â you murmur, tugging at the neckline, and the fabric stretches, exposing the swell of your chest.
he wants to rip it off, wants to hear you gasp for real, not for the camera but for him. his strokes grow erratic, desperate, the slick sound of his hand filling the room, obscene and unstoppable.
he scrubs the timeline back again, pauses on the frame where your dress slips, where your underwear peeks outâa thin, lacy thing that makes his vision blur. he imagines pulling it aside, imagines the heat of you, the way youâd whimper if he pressed himself inside.
heâs close, too close, his hips twitching up into his hand. the video loops your giggle, that satisfied sigh, and heâs drowning in it, in you.
he pictures you catching him like this, walking into his apartment right now, seeing him with his pants down and his cock in his hand, flushed and leaking. would you laugh? would you blush? would you drop to your knees and let him finish on your lips, glossy and perfect andâ
he comes with a muted groan, his head tipping back, eyes screwed shut as his release spills over his fingers, hot and messy. his breath shakes, a ragged exhale that leaves him hollow. the aftershocks pulse through him, and he slumps in his chair, the video still playing, your voice oblivious to the wreckage youâve caused.
he pauses the frame. your mouth is mid-word, forming the shape of âoops,â lips parted just enough to make his chest ache. he wipes his hand on a paper towel from his desk, crumpled and stained from earlier sins. doesnât look at himself. doesnât think.
exports the file without touching a thing. names it âfinal_edit.mov.â then saves another copy, the raw footage, every sigh and rustle preserved. he names it âjesusfuckingchrist.mp4â and buries it in a folder labeled âmisc_ref.â
he tries to normalize it.
âitâs just grading,â he mutters the next time he opens the project, the lie sour on his tongue. âjust adjusting white balance.â but the playback bar hasnât moved from your thighs. he doesnât touch the colors. not really.
he zooms in under the excuse of checking âgrain smoothing,â but itâs just your lip, caught between your teeth, your breath clipped at the edges like youâre holding back.
he tells himself heâs just learning.
every artist has their muse, right? except now he edits to your audio. he used to play podcasts, background noise to keep his brain from spiraling.
now? your breathing is layered into the timeline, a track heâs labeled âvox_ref.â he loops your laugh in reverse, lets it pan from left to right like itâs some surround sound experience.
âthis is practice,â he whispers, dragging eq curves around nonsense, boosting the highs until your voice is sharp and intimate. âiâm experimenting with filters.â
right. filters. filters until your voice sounds like itâs right by his ear, like youâre whispering in bed, your breath warm against his skin. he plays a clip of you saying âdo you like this one?â over and over, the words detached from context.
he doesnât even care what youâre referring to anymore. heâs got that part memorized, the way your voice dips, soft and unsure, like youâre asking him to love you.
the next class is worse.
you walk past him in that fuzzy pink shrug thing, one sleeve slipping off your shoulder, and itâs like a bomb goes off in his chest. the fabric clings to you, soft and teasing, and he wants to grab it, pull it down, see how much skin youâll let him have.
you lean down to plug your charger in, your jeans riding lowâtoo low, the kind of low that makes him wonder how theyâre even allowed on campus. he catches a glimpse of your underwear, a flash of lace, and his brain whites out.
he glares at his laptop, scoffs under his breath. âthat outfitâs⊠desperate.â the word feels like a blade, sharp and mean, but itâs all heâs got to keep you at a distance.
your head tilts, innocent, eyes wide like youâre genuinely curious. âyou think so?â you say it like you mean it, like you donât already know the answer, like you havenât watched your own footage and seen what heâs seen.
he shrugs, keeps scowling, doesnât look at you. his fingers grip the edge of his laptop too hard, knuckles white. behind the screen, heâs got a paused frame of you licking lip gloss off your thumb, minimized in the corner. itâs been open since he got here.
his file structure is disintegrating. he used to name things with logicâtimestamps, project codes, version numbers. now his desktop looks like a manifesto, a digital shrine to his unraveling. âvlog_tryon_final.mov.â âedit_3alt.mp4.â âfuckmeagain_laughcut.mov.â thereâs a folder called âNOT work (unless)â that he doesnât even open anymore, too afraid of what heâll find.
he tries to draw a line, but itâs blurry. always blurry. he doesnât know where the edit ends and obsession begins. when he dreams, he dreams about zippersâexcept theyâre not zipzers. theyâre your legs, parting slow and deliberate, your breath hitching as he pulls you closer.
a new text lights up his screen:
 hey! idk if the last one looks good⊠should i redo it? it felt kinda awkward lol sorry T_T
you sound insecure, unsure, your words dripping with that self-conscious charm that makes his chest hurt. he stares at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, his mind spiraling.
you donât know, do you? you donât know what youâre doing to him, how your voice alone is enough to make him hard again.
he types:
looks clean. donât worry about it.
satoru watches the word clean sit there like a fucking lie. his dick twitches, traitor that it is.
he hates himself.
but he opens the raw file again. scrubs through, frame by frame, until he finds that timestampâwhere you moan, soft and accidental, like you didnât mean to let it slip. he watches it, his headphones sealing him in with the sound of you. he exports that single second, names it âmoan_finalgodhelpme.mp4,â and tucks it away like a secret heâll never confess.
the timeline sits open, your frozen frame staring back at him. he doesnât close it. doesnât want to.
it starts with static in his skull.
not the loud, electric kind that chokes you up or begs to be noticed. itâs quiet. a whir, like an old fan that never shuts off, humming behind his thoughts. when satoru drags his mouse across the screen and sees your name still on the folder, it buzzesâfaint, familiar, a sickness with your scent.
he changes the name from âNOT work (unless)â to âARCHIVE_21,â moves it to a different directory, pretends itâs work, or dead, or both. but the static doesnât stop. it clings, sticky and warm, like your laugh looping in his headphones.
it doesnât help.
not when he dreams in highlighter gloss and those half-bitten whines you make when stretching, your body arching just so. not when he wakes up rutting into damp sheets, mouthing your name like a damn prayer, his hips jerking against nothing. the shame burns, but itâs not enough to make him stop.
satoruâs trying.
really.
he takes up freelance gigs, edits wedding footage for some guy he hasnât spoken to since second year. overlays cheesy filters, mutes the groomâs ugly laugh, syncs the vows to some overused acoustic track. itâs clean. respectable. sterile enough to make him itch, like heâs wearing someone elseâs skin. but the folderâs still there, buried in his drive like it knows heâll come back.
2:03 a.m.
his inbox pings, a sharp sound that cuts through the drone of his pc fans. your name lights up the screen, and his chest tightens before he even reads the message.
hiii satoru!! sorry for the late send, been sooo busy <3 can u take a look at this haul vid? i tried smth spicy but idk if itâs too much⊠lmk what u think pretty pls!!
march haul (raw).mp4
he knows he shouldnât. thereâs no logical reason, no business context, just the weight of your wordsâspicy, pretty plsâsinking into his gut. but his hands move on their own, clicking download, the progress bar filling like a fuse burning down.
click.
of course he does.
the video starts soft, your bedroom light diffused to a golden haze, casting shadows that dance across rumpled sheets. it looks like youâve been tossing in them all day, the fabric creased and inviting.
youâre in laceâbarely. something soft pink and flimsy, a slip of fabric that clings to your curves like itâs begging to be torn off.
your thighâs out, one leg bent just enough to draw his eye, and the cameraâs angled low, too low, like you meant to frame it this way.
âgod, i hope this one fitsâŠâ your voice is breathy, a little strained, like youâre fighting the fabric. you adjust a strap, your fingers lingering on the lace, and your lip catches between your teeth, glossy and pink, a casual gesture thatâs anything but. his breath stutters, a sharp inhale that burns his throat.
âoops, sorryâtoo much cleavage?â you laugh, not to yourself but at him.
he knows it.
his cock knows it, twitching against the seam of his sweatpants. the screen shakes as you set the camera on something unsteadyâa stack of books, maybeâand it rocks just as you turn around, hips swaying, your ass hugged by that tiny thong, the lace cutting into your skin like a claim. you glance back over your shoulder, smirk poised like a dagger, eyes glinting in the soft light.
âi bet youâd pause right here, wouldnât you?â
he does.
the video cuts mid-breath, and he doesnât hear the silence. heâs frozen, hand halfway down, brain wiped clean. the frame lingers on your ass, the curve of it framed by lace, and his mouth is dry, his pulse hammering so loud it drowns out the static.
ping.
march haul (real).mp4
oops. wrong send lol. this is the real one!
his screen is still painted with the freeze-frame of your ass. his dickâs straining so hard it aches, a dull throb that makes him shift in his chair. he doesnât respond, doesnât move for a full minute, just stares at the message, the word oops taunting him. thenâ
he saves both files. drags them into âARCHIVE_21â with a trembling cursor, his fingers clumsy on the trackpad. he opens the raw one again, slower this time, one hand on his lap, the other fisting his sheets until the fabric creaks.
youâre back on screen, adjusting the strap again, your laugh curling through his headphones like smoke. his hand slips under his waistband, and heâs already leaking, the tip slick and sensitive as he grips himself.
he strokes slow, deliberate, savoring the friction, but his mindâs elsewhereâon the hentai heâs spent years jerking off to, the doujins with dog-eared pages and cum-stained corners.
he pictures you like those girls, bent over and begging, your lace thong pushed to the side as he fucks you from behind, your moans louder, needier, than anything youâve let slip on camera.
he imagines pinning you to those rumpled sheets, your thighs trembling under his hands, your ass bouncing with every thrust. no teasing giggles, no coy glancesâjust you, fucked out and whimpering, his name on your lips as he buries himself deep, so deep you canât think.
his hand speeds up, the slick sound obscene in the quiet of his room. he scrubs the timeline back, pauses on the moment you turn, your smirk sharp and knowing.
he wants to wipe it off, wants to fuck you until youâre too wrecked to smile, until youâre clawing at the sheets and sobbing his name. he imagines your cunt, tight and wet, gripping him as he pounds into you, the lace of your thong rubbing raw against his skin.
itâs not enough to watch you anymore, not enough to stroke himself to your voiceâhe wants to ruin you, wants to feel you break under him, wants to make you his in a way those 2d girls never could.
he cums with a low, breathy whisper of your name, his hips jerking up into his hand. itâs intense, almost painful, spilling over his fingers and onto the hem of his shirt.
his chest heaves, his vision blurring as he slumps back, the video still playing, your laugh oblivious to the mess heâs become. he opens it again, doesnât touch himself this timeâjust watches, memorizes, eyes glassy and mouth parted.
at one point, he swears he moans with you, a soft sound that slips out unbidden, his body betraying him even when heâs spent. when he edits the ârealâ file, heâs a machine. no stutters, no slips, just sharp keystrokes and surgical cuts, trimming shaky frames and boosting your voice until itâs crisp.
the guilt claws at him, a dull ache in his chest, but it only makes the next orgasm worseâand better. he exports it, names it âhaul_march_final.mov,â and saves the raw file to a new subfolder: âstills_ref.â he doesnât name the second copy. doesnât need to. itâs just for him.
he plays it cool in class. âwow. another fit straight outta your grandmaâs closet,â he scoffs as you pass, voice dripping with mockery, lips curling into something lazy and mean.
but his gaze flickersâjust once, low and quick, like heâs checking for danger. and there it is. a flash of soft pink lace against the curve of your thigh as you shift your bag higher up your shoulder. just a sliver. deliberate.
he knows that lace. knows it from the raw footage, from the way it hugged your skin under golden light. his smirk falters for half a second, a crack in his armor.
you turn your head, slow as syrup, and smile at him over your shoulder. itâs airy, innocent, ditzy enough to play dumb, poisonous enough to feel like a threat. âmm? that bad, huh?â your voice is light, but your eyes linger a moment too long, sharp and knowing, like youâre peeling him open.
you take your seat two rows away, crossing one leg over the other with careful grace. your skirt rides up, just enough to show the edge of that lace again, and your fingers toy absentmindedly with the hem, brushing the fabric like itâs a game.
he doesnât blink.
he knows whatâs under that skirt, knows the way that lace bites into your skin when you move just like that. heâs seen it in soft lighting, tangled with shadows and sighs. he knows, and you know, and neither of you say a word.
he canât breathe.
his hand trembles as he grips his pen, scrawling nonsense on the corner of his notesârandom numbers, jagged lines, anything to keep his fingers busy.
someoneâs asking a question about identity and performance, something about how we present ourselves versus how we wish to be perceived, and satoruâs already halfway to standing.
âsorry. washroom.â his voice cracks halfway through the lie, too sharp, too rushed.
satoru stumbles into the menâs room like heâs escaping a crime scene, the door clicking shut behind him. palm flat against cold tile, forehead pressed to the inside of his wrist, he tries to breathe, tries to think of anything elseâcode, deadlines, the wedding edit heâs behind on.
but itâs you.
always you. your smile, your laugh, the lace peeking out like a taunt.
heâs already hard, already leaking, the front of his jeans tight and unforgiving. he fumbles with the button, shoves them down just enough, and grips himself, his hand shaking as he strokes.
he closes his eyes and sees youânot the you in class, not the you playing dumb, but the you from his fantasies, the you heâs built from hentai panels and late-night desperation. he imagines you on your knees, lace thong pulled down, your cunt glistening as he fucks you against the bathroom sink.
no giggles, no teasingâjust raw, desperate need, your moans echoing off the tiles as he slams into you, his hands bruising your hips, your body arching to take him deeper.
he wants you messy, wants you marked, wants to fill you until youâre dripping, until youâre his in a way thatâs permanent.
he strokes faster, his breath hitching, his teeth sinking into his knuckles to muffle the groan clawing up his throat. he cums hard, too fast, his knees buckling as it spills over his hand, hot and shameful. he shakes, gasping, his forehead slick against the tile, and thinks of lace. thinks of lip gloss. thinks of your voice saying âoopsâ like itâs a sin.
it doesnât take long for his desktop to become an altar.
the backgroundâs still you, a freeze-frame from the first video, your lip gloss shimmering and fingers caught mid-twist in your hair. he tells himself itâs temporary, just a visual reference.
itâs been three weeks.
folders on folders: âhauls > favs > zoom_ins > stills > pantyshots.â âaudio_samples > moan_loop > breath_only.wav.â âcolor tests > gloss_ref > lips.png.â
some nights, he replays a single frame just to watch your mouth form the word âfuck,â slows it down, isolates the syllables, pretends youâre saying his name instead.
the worst part?
youâre still pretending nothingâs changed. still calling them âfavors,â still sending content like itâs work, like itâs nothing.
but your outfits are shorter, your giggles stick to the air longer, your eyes linger like youâre testing something. and when you purr, âyouâre sooo good at this, satoru,â with that saccharine lilt, your voice curling around his name like a caress, he bites the inside of his cheek just to keep quiet. fists the sheets at night and prays.
he moans your name in the dark, face hot with shame, and hates how much he wants you to hear it.
satoruâs become sleep-deprived, dark smudges nesting beneath his eyes like fingerprints left behind by guilt or obsession or both. he wears his glasses more lately, less out of need and more as a buffer between him and the worldâbetween him and you.
the lenses catch the glow of his new triple-monitor setup, a sleek beast he told himself was for coding, for editing, for multitasking. not for keeping your videos looping on the side monitor while he pretends to work on the main one. not for that at all.
your folderâs pinned in quick access, a permanent fixture in his file explorer. he keeps it open in the background at all times, a digital pulse that hums alongside his pc fans. second nature now, like breathing or wanting. not unlike a shrine.
in class, he pretends to take notes, his stylus scratching nonsense on his tablet. heâs not. heâs watching a gif on his phone, hidden under the deskâa loop of your tongue dragging slow across lip gloss, eyes soft with focus like youâre painting yourself pretty just for him. the gifâs only three seconds, but heâs memorized every frame, every flicker of your lashes. his thumb swipes to replay it, again, again, until his vision blurs.
ctrl+shift+eject brain.exe.
three days pass, and you havenât messaged. he checks your chat thread more than he breathesâopens, closes, re-opens, scrolling through your old texts like theyâll reveal something new. every flicker of hope is a false start, a phantom ping that makes his chest lurch. heâs pathetic, he knows it, but knowing doesnât stop the itch.
then:
ping.
april haul (suits).mov
hii satoru!! new haul vid for u to check <3 tried some swimsuits this time, hope itâs not too boring to trim hehe. lmk what u think!!â
he nearly drops his phone, his thumb smudging the screen as he fumbles to download. his new setup hums to life, the main monitor flashing with code he hasnât touched in hours, the side monitor already open to your folder.
he drags the file into premiere, the timeline blooming across the screen, but his eyes are on the raw video, already playing on the right monitor, your voice spilling through his headphones like honey.
the videoâs different this time. the cameraâs lower, like itâs been left on a desk or shelf, pointing slightly upward to frame you from your knees to just above your head. your bed makes a cozy blur in the background, sheets tangled like an invitation.
youâre in a bikini top that isnât trying very hard to stay on, thin strings knotted loosely at your neck and back, the fabric barely containing you. âmmm. does this scream summer, or slut?â you giggle, feigned innocence like frosting over heat, your voice curling around the words like you know exactly what theyâll do to him.
you play with the strings at your chest, tugging, adjusting, your fingers brushing the swell of your breasts. then, softer, breathier, to the lens: âbaby, help me pickâŠâ
baby.
it breaks him all over again, a crack that runs straight through his chest. his cock twitches, already hard, straining against his boxers.
everything after that gets softer, lazier, dangerous in how intimate it feels. thereâs no performative energy nowâjust casual, candid seduction, your movements slow, like youâre not hurrying for anyone. like you know exactly whoâs watching and how long heâll linger.
when you shrug a dress off your shoulders, you sigh, the sound catching in your throat. when you twist to adjust a strap, you hum, low and absentminded. and when you struggle with a clasp at your back, your fingers fumbling, you moanâsoft, unintentional, a sound that slips out like it surprised even you.
satoruâs thumb slams the spacebar, pausing the video, rewinding three seconds to hear it again. he watches the way your lips part, the way your brows twitch, the way your body shifts like youâre chasing the sensation.
heâs already leaking, his boxers damp as he shoves them down, his hand wrapping around himself. the side monitor loops the raw footage, your moan playing over and over, while the main monitor holds the paused frame of your parted lips. he strokes slow at first, his grip tight, his thumb swiping over the tip where heâs slick and sensitive.
his mind slips to the doujins heâs hoarded, the hentai heâs spent years chasingâthe girls with flushed cheeks and desperate eyes, fucked raw and begging for more. but now itâs you, not some inked fantasy, and itâs so much filthier.
he imagines you sprawled across your bed, that bikini top ripped off, your thighs spread wide as he fucks you deep, relentless, your cunt clenching around him as you sob his name. no teasing, no gigglesâjust you, wrecked and dripping, your nails clawing his back as he takes you again and again, each thrust harder, messier, until youâre nothing but his.
his hand speeds up, the slick sound loud in his room, mixing with your looped moan. he wants you pinned beneath him, wants to feel you squirm, wants to fuck you until the bed creaks and your voice breaks, until youâre begging like those hentai girls, your glossed lips trembling as you say his nameâsatoru, please, more.
he imagines filling you, his cum leaking down your thighs, your body marked by him in ways he canât unsee. itâs not enough to watch, not enough to strokeâhe wants to own you, wants to make you his in every way those 2d fantasies taught him to crave.
he cums hard, forehead pressed to his desk, a low groan tearing from his throat as it spills over his hand, his keyboard, the edge of his new setup. his breath is ragged, like heâs run a marathon, his glasses fogging slightly as he gasps.
the side monitor still plays, your voice oblivious, your moan looping like a hymn. he doesnât stop the video, just slumps back, spent and shaking, and watches again, his hand twitching like itâs not done.
it doesnât take long for his room to reek of sweat and sin.
he edits shirtless now, sometimes in boxers, always hard, always leaking. every fileâs renamed with trembling hands: âwifey_take7.mov.â âwifey_raw.mp4.â
he syncs your sighs to his lo-fi playlist, turns it into a lullaby, falls asleep to the sound of your breath. sometimes he slows your voice just to hear âbabyâ dragged out into velvet, makes gifs of your hands skimming your hips, kisses the screen when heâs drunk enough to forget shame.
you, on the other hand, donât break character.
in class, you chew your pen and lean forward, the arch of your spine exact, your cleavage subtleâbarely a tease, just enough to make his throat tighten. he looks away with a clenched jaw, adjusts himself under the desk, twice, his jeans unforgiving.
you whisper to a friend and giggle, and he lipreads, thinks he sees the words âcanât wait,â but maybe heâs hallucinating, maybe not. it doesnât matter.
he starts responding to the clips aloud.
âfuck yes, that one.â âspin again, baby.â sometimes he mumbles your name like a prayer, sometimes he chokes it into his pillow. every orgasm has your name carved into it, a brand he canât erase.
one night, he opens a file to edit, drags it into premiere, but he doesnât touch it. just watches, headphones in, barely breathing. not a content creator now, not a student, not even a manâjust a creature of need, and you his ritual, his muse, his goddess.
the screen shows you adjusting the straps of a silky babydoll, the lighting warm, your thighs bare, half-tucked under you as you sit prettily at the edge of your bed.
âokay, so this oneâs⊠like, totally giving âcome to bedâ energy, right?â you giggle, voice light, teeth sinking into your glossed lip as you bounce once, soft and natural, the fabric barely covering your chest.
satoru groans low in his throat, not even trying to hide it. âitâs giving bend over,â he mutters, lips twitching, his side monitor looping the raw footage, his main screen frozen on your smile. âfuck, look at youâŠâ
you reach behind you, struggle with the clasp, wiggle your shoulders like youâre teasing whoeverâs behind the camera. âoof. thatâs tight⊠should i size up?â a breathy laugh follows, your sigh melting into it.
he licks his lips, your audio crystal-clear in his headphones. youâre right there, talking to him. ânah, baby,â he croons, eyes fixed on the curve of your spine as you turn. âtightâs perfect. keeps the goods in place.â
you blow a kiss at the lens. âhope youâre not bored yet,â you say with a wink. âi saved the cutest for lastâŠâ
you bend off-frame, your ass peeking just above the edge of the bed, round and inviting in cotton panties with lace trim, and when you rise again, your hands hold something sheer and tiny. âtadaaa,â you whisper, eyes glinting with mischief. âthis oneâs for my favorite viewer.â
00:05:46âsatoru slams the shortcut, timestamp saved. a second later, he screenshots, then again, then again, frame by frame, until he finds the exact one where your lipâs caught between your teeth and your ass is still halfway in the air.
âfucking perfect,â he mutters, breath uneven. he pulls the image up on his main screen, zooms in, sharpens it, runs it through noise reduction. the side monitor loops the raw video, your voice sweet and teasing, while the right monitor plays a gif of your earlier moan, your lips parted in that soft, accidental sound.
his handâs already moving, shoving his boxers down, his cock springing free, hard and leaking like itâs been waiting for this.Â
he grips himself, rough and urgent, no pretense of patience. the new setupâs perfectâyour video on the side, his code on the main screen like heâs working, but itâs all you, every pixel, every sound.
he strokes in time with your giggle, his eyes flicking between the gif of your moan and the screenshot of your ass, his mind spiraling into the filthiest corners of his hentai-soaked brain.
he imagines you on that bed, face down, ass up, the babydoll hiked to your waist as he fucks you so hard the headboard cracks. he wants you screaming, wants your cunt pulsing around him, wants to pull your hair and make you look at him as he fills you, over and over, until youâre a mess, until youâre his completely.
his strokes are frantic, his breath hitching, his hips bucking into his hand. he pictures you tied to the bed, like that one doujin he read last month, your wrists bound with those same bikini strings, your thighs trembling as he fucks you through one orgasm into the next.
he wants to cum inside you, wants to watch it drip out, wants to push it back in with his fingers and make you lick them clean. itâs not enough to jerk off anymore, not enough to dreamâhe wants to break you, wants to make you real, wants to fuck you until youâre as addicted to him as he is to you.
he cums with a choked growl, his head tipping back, glasses slipping down his nose as it spills over his hand, his desk, the sticky mess splattering his keyboard.
heâs shaking, gasping, his chest heaving as the side monitor loops your voice, your âbabyâ purring like a mantra. his wristâs sticky, his room a haze of sweat and shame, but he doesnât care. heâs not even really here.
youâre everywhere nowâthree monitors, three altars, your image burned into his retinas. heâd worship on his knees if you asked.
the next day, another file:
april haul (closeups).mp4
sorry! idk if this oneâs helpful but i liked the shots hehe
he doesnât unzip his pants. doesnât need to. heâs already throbbing from the inside out, his body reacting to your name alone. he clicks, watches, kneels, and whispers your name like a benediction, the static in his skull louder than ever.
it starts with a ping.
innocuous. a single pixel shift on the main monitor mid-code, just as satoruâs debugging a script for a deadline he already missed. his side monitor hums with your last video, paused on that frame where your lipâs caught between your teeth, and the third monitorâs open to a half-finished render he hasnât touched in days. he glances lazily at the notification, expecting another reminder from suguru to shower or eatâ
but no. itâs you.
hey⊠do u do filming too?
his fingers freeze. heart jams, a dull thud in his chest. the cursor blinks, waiting, mocking. he doesnât think. doesnât breathe. his glasses slip down his nose, and he doesnât fix them. the words burn into his retinas, and his cock twitches before he can process why.
yeah. totally. what kind of shoot?
he sends it, his thumb trembling over the enter key. no reply. not for five whole minutes. the wait is a crucifixion, each second stretching into eternity. he keeps opening and closing the chat, rereading your words like they might shift into something dirtier, something more.
his triple-monitor setup glows, your frozen frame on the side monitor staring at him, lips parted, eyes glinting. heâs already leaking in his pants, a damp spot spreading against his thigh.
then:
just a casual thing. home setup. come over?
he reads it twice. three times. his breath catches, sharp and shallow, like heâs been punched. come over. your dorm. your space.h eâs hard, achingly so, his boxers tight and unforgiving. he doesnât reply, just slams his laptop shut, grabs his camera bag, and stumbles out the door.
he shows up twenty minutes later, barely remembered to wear deodorant, definitely forgot his dignity. his high-end sony alpha mirrorlessâloaded with a lens that costs more than most peopleâs rentâbounces against his chest as he knocks. his palms are slick, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat of his own nerves.
you open the door with a giggle, wrapped in a pastel pink robe that might as well be air. it clings to the curve of your waist, parts at the thigh, revealing soft skin that makes his throat burn. your hairâs still damp, sticking to your collarbones, and the scent of vanilla lotion hits him like a drug. âthanks for coming! iâm kinda nervousâŠâ
he wants to bark out same, but his jaw locks. he swallows instead, the motion too loud in his ears. âno problem.â his voice is gravel, like heâs choking on his own want. he steps inside, and your dorm swallows him wholeâwarm, cutesy, a pastel fever dream of plush throw pillows, fairy lights, and a pink velvet couch that looks too soft, too inviting.
heâs already imagining you bent over it, your robe hiked up, your moans echoing off the walls. it smells like you sprayed your strawberry perfume over every surface, dizzying, suffocating. his glasses fog again.
he sets up the tripod with shaking hands, the sonyâs weight grounding him just enough to keep from falling apart. you bounce around the living room, humming, fluffing pillows on the couch, fixing your gloss in a heart-shaped mirror propped against a shelf.
âdoes this lighting make me look washed out?â you ask, stepping back, tilting your head. then you bend to adjust a lamp, and your robe parts just enough to reveal the gentle curve of your ass, bare except for a sliver of lace.
he sees. pretends he didnât. fumbles the lens cap, twice, the plastic clattering to the floor. his face burns, but he keeps his eyes on the camera, adjusting settings he doesnât need to touch.
you brush past him again and again, your bare arm glancing his, silk whispering across his knuckles when you pass. he smells shampoo in the air, thick and sweet, and itâs you, all you, sinking into his lungs. âyou nervous?â you tease, voice light, a giggle curling at the edges.
he scoffs, wiping his palm against his jeans, the denim rough against his slick skin. âpfft. nah. iâve filmed worse.â a lie, bold and brittle, his voice too tight to sell it.
âworse than me?â you pout, stepping closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth of your breath. âouch.â
âi didnât say that.â his voice cracks, a hairline fracture. heâs too aware of you, of the way your robe slips an inch, of the way your eyes glint like youâre playing with him.
you tilt your head, wide-eyed, all fake innocence. âsooo⊠you have filmed pretty girls before?â
he falters, breath stuttering in his chest. heâs a virgin, hasnât touched a girl in years, hasnât wanted toânot when hentaiâs been enough, when doujins have been his only lovers. but youâre real, and youâre here, and youâre breaking him.
âno one like you,â he says, unfiltered, raw, the words slipping out before he can stop them.
your lips curl, slow and sweet, a smile that says i know. âhm. figured.â
you disappear into your bedroom for a few minutes, the door clicking shut. he pretends to adjust the white balance, tweaking settings on the sony that are already perfect, but really heâs staring at the door like it owes him salvation.
his cockâs throbbing, a dull ache that wonât quit, and he shifts, trying to ease the pressure. the living room feels too small, the pink couch too soft, the fairy lights too intimate. heâs imagining you sprawled across that couch, your robe gone, your thighs spread, his camera capturing every gasp.
the door opens. you emerge. lingerie set, pale and sheer, a mini skirt that barely qualifies, lip gloss freshly reapplied. you look like a doll, saccharine and sinful, every curve a taunt. âcan you help me zip this?â you turn, bare back exposed, the zipper halfway up, your spine a perfect line that begs to be touched.
he steps forward, too close, his exhale brushing your shoulder. his fingers graze your skinâsoft, warm, realâand you shiver, a small, deliberate tremor. he pulls the zipper up with trembling hands, the metal catching once, his breathing uneven. the distance between you shatters into nothing, the air thick with static.
âyouâre doing this on purpose,â he rasps, low in your ear, his voice rough with want.
âdoing what?â you whisper, fake innocence thick as honey, your head tilting just enough to catch his eye.
you look back at him, lashes fluttering, lips parted, glossy and pink. he breaks.
âfuck.â
he grabs you, his hands rough on your hips, your mouths crashing togetherâteeth, tongue, gasps. your lip gloss smears against his cheek, sweet and sticky, and he groans into the kiss, devouring you.
you moan into his mouth, legs wrapping around his hips as he lifts you onto the counter, the edge biting into your thighs. youâre silk and heat and sin beneath his hands, and heâs forgotten everything elseâhis camera, his code, his shame. only you exist now.
you feel his hard-on through his jeans, pressed against your thighs, and heâs panting, his breath stuttering against your skin as he kisses down your jaw, your neck, the ridge of your spine. his mouth is everywhere, like heâs starved, like heâs trying to memorize you with his tongue.
his glasses slip down, and he grins against your collarbone. âneed to get a better look,â he mutters, a flimsy excuse to lean closer, until the fog of his breath warms your skin. he bites your collarbone, hard, groaning when he leaves a mark. âwanna see that in playback.â
he drops to his knees without hesitation, a virginâs worship, reverence born from years of hentai and nothing else. his fingers dig into your thighs, spreading them wide, and he groans like heâs just found salvation. he runs his tongue along the inner part first, slow and teasing, so close to the lace of your panties but not touching what you want.
you try to close your legs, but he forces them open, his grip bruising, his mouth finding the wet spot through the fabric. âfuck, youâre soaked,â he growls, voice muffled, his tongue dragging heavy and slow, the lace rough against your clit. âbeen wet for me this whole time, huh? fuckinâ tease.â
you whimper, hips bucking, and he moans into you, the vibration making you gasp. he licks through the panties, relentless, his glasses slipping halfway down his nose but he doesnât care.
âyou taste better than i dreamed,â he says, his voice hoarse, hentai dialogue spilling out like itâs natural. he sucks at the fabric, tongue pressing harder, and youâre trembling, your hands fisting his hair as you grind against his face. heâs messy, desperate, his moans louder than yours, like heâs the one about to cum. you do, hard, a cry tearing from your throat as you shudder against his mouth, and he doesnât stop, lapping at the soaked lace like itâs his last meal.
he presses his cheek to your thigh, sticky and glistening, looking up at you with glassy eyes. âfirst oneâs mine,â he says, grinding his hips into the floor, his jeans tight with his own need. you donât think he even realizes heâs doing it. he spreads you open with his fingers, peeling the panties aside, watching your hole twitch with a hunger that makes his mouth water.
âlook at that,â he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice dripping with awe. âfuckinâ perfect.â he slides two fingers in, slow at first, then deeper, curling them just right, like heâs memorized every doujin panel that showed him how. âshitâiâve seen this in hentai but itâs better. fuck, itâs real.â
his fingers pump, slick and steady, and youâre moaning, head thrown back, the counter digging into your hips. he adds a third, stretching you, his free hand jerking himself through his jeans, matching the pace of his fingers inside you. âso tight, baby. youâre gonna feel so good around my cock.â
he spits on your pussy, a quick, filthy gesture, his eyes locked on yours as it drips down. âthey never show that part right in hentai. had to test it myself.â you moan, loud and broken, and he moans louder, his fingers slipping out with a wet squelch. he licks them clean, slow, eyes fluttering shut like heâs savoring you. âfuckâwant it all.â
he stands, trembling, his jeans tented painfully. âcan i?â his voice is small, almost pleading, a crack in his bravado. you nod, and he fumbles with his belt, shoving his jeans down just enough. he lines himself up, his cock thick and leaking, the tip brushing your entrance. âyouâre so warmâholy shitâyouâre squeezing meâfuckââ
he slides in, slow at first, gasping as you take him, your cunt tight and slick around him. heâs a virgin, but he knows this, knows the rhythm from years of jerking off to scenes just like this. he freezes, trying not to cum, his glasses fogging as he pants. you clench down, deliberate, and he slaps your thigh, a quick, sharp sting that earns him a whine.
âdonâtâfuck, donât do that yet.â
he pulls out, just to slam back in, harder, the counter creaking under you. his rhythmâs sloppy, desperate, but he finds it, each thrust deeper, rougher. âlook at you,â he growls, his voice pure filth, hentai dialogue spilling free. âtaking my cock like a good little slut. you love this, donât you? fuckinâ made for me.â he licks the tears running down your cheek, his tongue hot and greedy. âcrying already? baby, iâm not even close to done.â
you moan his name, and he loses it, his thrusts turning frantic, messy, like heâs trying to ruin you. âfilm it. show me what you see,â you gasp, and he fumbles for his phone, almost dropping it with how hard heâs shaking.
the camera app opens in a blur of fingers, then steadies, the lens catching you spread wide beneath him, thighs trembling, pussy stuffed full of his cock. he holds it there, watching the way you flutter around him, his breath ragged. âwatch this later and see how ruined you look, baby,â he pants, voice hoarse, wild.
he leans in, still recording, whispering filth against your ear. âthatâs right. take it. cry for me. i want you loud.â his other hand drags the mic closer, the sonyâs external recorder capturing every slick thrust, every broken sob, every wet squelch, loud and obscene.
he fucks you harder, the counter shaking, your tits bouncing with each thrust. âgonna fuck you on every piece of furniture in here,â he growls, his voice low, unhinged. âthat couch? gonna bend you over it. that table? gonna spread you wide. your bed? gonna fill you till youâre screaming.â
you clench around him, and he groans, his hips stuttering. âfuck, you like that? you want me to wreck you everywhere, donât you?â you nod, gasping, and he slaps your thigh again, harder, leaving a red mark. âsay it, baby. tell me you want it.â
âi want it,â you whimper, voice breaking, and he grins, feral, his thrusts turning punishing. you cum again, a shuddering mess, your cry echoing in the mic as your cunt pulses around him, slick dripping down your thighs. he doesnât stop, doesnât slow, his cock throbbing as he fucks you through it.
âgonna fill you up,â he pants, his voice cracking, hentai fantasies spilling out. âgonna cum so deep youâll feel me for days. you want that, donât you? want my cum dripping out of you?â
you nod, moaning, and he loses it, slamming into you one last time as he cums, a guttural groan tearing from his throat. itâs hot, messy, spilling inside you, and he keeps thrusting, shallow and desperate, like heâs trying to push it deeper.
satoru doesnât stop.
in fact, he lifts you, his arms wrapping under your thighs like youâre weightless, his cock still buried inside you, slick and pulsing. your head lolls against his shoulder, your breath hot against his neck, and he groans, low and guttural, as he carries you toward your bedroom.
the air shifts as he crosses the threshold, your perfume hitting him harder hereâfloral and sugary, the same scent that clings to your pillow, your wrist, your everything. itâs thicker in this room, curling around him like a trap, and he kicks the door shut behind him, the click loud in the quiet.
he pushes you toward the vanity, your back meeting the cool glass of the mirror with a soft thud. he bends you over it, slow and deliberate, his hands guiding your hips until your cheek presses against the surface, your breath fogging the reflection.
âlook at you,â he groans, angling his phone to capture the sceneâyour flushed face, your glossed lips parted, your eyes half-lidded in the mirror as you whine in embarassment.
âpretty little thing, still trying to act innocent.â his voice is rough, edged with hunger, and he shifts his hips, thrusting shallowly, keeping you pinned, reaching for your lip gloss.
you mumble something, a weak protest or plea, but he shuts it up with a swipe of your lip gloss across your mouth, his hand trembling as he paints your lips pink, the applicator slick and messy.
âperfect,â he says, pulling back just enough to admire the shine, the way it catches the light. then he pushes in again, deeper, and you both moan, the sound mingling in the air, caught by the sonyâs mic still recording from the tripod in the corner.
he kisses you messilyâgloss smearing, lips hungry, teeth clashing as he grinds his hips, slow and torturous, never breaking the rhythm. the camera stays on, the phone propped against a perfume bottle, capturing every gasp, every shudder.
âtaste so fuckinâ good,â he mutters against your mouth, his tongue chasing the sticky sweetness. âgonna kiss you till youâre dripping everywhere.â
satoru lays you on the bed next, gentle but urgent, his hands shaking as he props his phone against a stack of books on your nightstand, the camera app open, framing you perfectlyâyour body sprawled across the pastel sheets, thighs parted, lingerie barely clinging to your skin, the sheer fabric of your top stretched tight over your chest, the mini skirt hiked up to expose the lace of your panties.
he climbs over you, his glasses slipping down his nose, and pushes your legs up, hooking them over his shoulders, the angle forcing you open, vulnerable.
âfuck, you feel like heaven,â he says, voice cracking, almost reverent, as he slides back inside you, slow and deep, the heat of you pulling a groan from his throat. âiâm never gonna stop, baby.â
each thrust is deliberate, his hips rolling to hit that spot that makes you arch, your nails raking down his arms, leaving red trails heâll stare at later.
he kisses you through it, his mouth sloppy and desperate, swallowing your moans like theyâre his lifeline. the bed creaks under you, the fairy lights casting a soft glow over your tear-streaked face, and heâs lost in it, in the way you clench around him, so tight itâs like youâre made for him.
âso fuckinâ perfect,â he pants, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and uneven. âtaking my cock like you were born for it.â
he tugs at the straps of your lingerie top, pulling it down until your tits spill free, the sheer fabric catching under them, and he groans, his mouth latching onto a nipple, sucking hard until you whimper, your hips bucking against him.
but it doesnât lastâhe needs more, needs to see you break in ways heâs only imagined in the dark of his room, his hand on his cock and your videos on loop.
he pulls out, his dick slick and throbbing, and grabs your hips, flipping you with a low grunt. he drags you up by the waist, positioning you on your knees, your ass high, your face pressed into the sheets, the skirt still bunched around your hips. his hand slides up your spine, pushing your chest down, arching you just right, and he yanks the lace panties to the side, not bothering to take them off.
âthis is what you get for teasing me all these days,â he growls, his voice unhinged, as he lines himself up and thrusts in, hard and deep, the slap of skin sharp in the quiet room.
you whimper, muffled against the pillow, and he fucks harder, each thrust rocking you forward, the bedframe rattling, your moans spilling free despite the fabric. his phoneâs still recording, propped precariously, catching every angleâyour arched back, your trembling thighs, the way his cock disappears into you with every brutal snap of his hips.
âlook at that pussy,â he says, his free hand gripping your ass, spreading you open for the camera. âso greedy, swallowing me whole. you love this, donât you?â he tugs your hair, pulling your head back, forcing your cries to echo. âlouder, baby. let the whole fuckinâ dorm hear you.â
he slows, just to torment you, his hips grinding deep, making you squirm, your overstimulated body shaking under him. youâre teary, sobs catching in your throat, but he doesnât careâhe wants you loud, wants you broken. he leans down, his chest pressed to your back, and bites your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.
âcry for me,â he whispers, his voice rough, his hand slipping around to pinch your nipple, twisting until you gasp. âwanna hear you fall apart.â he pulls out, leaving you empty, and you whine, a desperate, keening sound that makes him smirk.
âpatience, princess,â he mocks, slapping your ass lightly, the sting making you clench around nothing.
satoru guides you up, turning you to face him, and pushes you back onto the bed, climbing over you. âwanna see you ride me,â he says, lying back against the headboard, his hands gripping your hips as you straddle him. he tugs the skirt off completely, tossing it aside, leaving you in just the stretched-out lingerie top and soaked panties.
âbounce,â he growls, his eyes locked on where you sink down onto him, slow and deliberate, your cunt stretching around him as you take him inch by inch. âshow the camera how you fuck me.â
his phoneâs angled to catch it allâyour tits bouncing, still half-caught in the sheer fabric, your thighs trembling, the way you gasp every time you drop down, taking him to the hilt.
you move, your hips rolling, your hands braced on his chest, and heâs sweating, his glasses slipping, his breath ragged. he doesnât let you slow, his hands lifting you, slamming you back down, making you take him deeper. âthatâs it,â he says, voice hoarse, his fingers digging into your ass, leaving bruises. âfuck yourself on my cock. show me how bad you need it.â
youâre sobbing now, tears streaming down your cheeks, but you keep going, your moans loud and broken, your body shaking from the overstimulation. he reaches up, ripping the lingerie top off completely, the fabric tearing with a sharp sound, and gropes your tits, squeezing hard, his thumbs brushing your nipples until you shudder.
âthese are mine now,â he says, his voice pure filth. âgonna mark âem up so you canât hide.â
heâs close, too close, but heâs not done.
he pushes you off, gentle but firm, and stands, pulling you with him toward the full-length mirror by your closet. he spins you, pressing your chest to the glass, your hands splaying against it, your tear-streaked reflection staring back.
he kicks your legs apart, his cock nudging your entrance, and slides in, slow and deep, his breath hot against your ear. âlook at you,â he says, his lips brushing your neck, his hands caging you against the mirror. âlook at my cock ruining your pussy.â
he thrusts, slow at first, watching your reflectionâyour tears, your drool, your gloss-smeared lips, the way your body shakes with every snap of his hips. âyou wanted a nerd? this nerdâs gonna fuckinâ break you.â
he fucks you harder, the mirror rattling, your moans bouncing off the walls, loud enough to wake the neighbors. âso fuckinâ pretty,â he pants, one hand slipping to your clit, rubbing messy, relentless circles. âgonna cum all over my cock, arenât you? gonna make a mess for me?â
you nod, sobbing, your body trembling, and he slaps your ass, the sting sharp, making you clench around him. âsay it, baby. tell me youâre mine.â
âiâm yours,â you gasp, voice breaking, tears streaming, and he cums with a raw groan, spilling inside you, hot and thick, his hips stuttering as he rides it out.
he doesnât pull out, doesnât stop, his cock still hard, still twitching as he fucks his cum deeper, the slick sound obscene. ânot done,â he mutters, his glasses fogged, his voice wrecked. âgonna make you cum again.â
he keeps going, relentless, his thrusts slower but deeper, each one pushing his cum back inside, making you shake. his fingers on your clit are merciless, circling fast, and youâre oversensitive, your body convulsing, your moans turning to desperate cries. âsatoruâfuckâtoo muchââ you sob.
he only slaps your thigh, sharp and stinging, and leans in, his lips grazing your ear. âtoo much? nah, princess, you can take it. wanna feel you squirt for me.â
he angles his hips, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, and youâre gone, your body locking up as you cum, a gush of wet heat soaking his cock, dripping down your thighs, pooling on the floor. he groans, loud and broken, his hips jerking as he cums again, another hot rush filling you, spilling out around him.
âfuckâlook at that mess,â he pants, his hand smearing the slick between your legs, rubbing it into your skin. âall for me.â
but heâs not done. he pulls you back to the bed, laying you on your side, one leg hooked over his arm as he slides back in, his cock still hard, slick with your cum and his. âone more,â he begs, his voice cracking, his glasses crooked. âgimme one more, baby. need to feel you again.â
he thrusts slow, deep, his hand slipping between your legs to tease your oversensitive clit, and youâre crying, tears streaming, your body shaking from the intensity. he bites your neck, leaving marks, and whispers, âlove it when you cry for me. so fuckinâ loud, just how i like it.â
he shifts, rolling you onto your stomach, keeping you pinned as he fucks you into the mattress, his hand pressing your face into the sheets. âgonna cum all over you,â he growls, his thrusts turning sloppy, desperate. âgonna fill you up till youâre leaking me for days.â
you cum again, a shuddering, broken mess, your sobs muffled against the pillow, your body convulsing as you squirt again, weaker but still enough to soak the sheets. he cums with you, a third time, his groan hoarse, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, the mess dripping out, pooling under you.
âfuckâbabyââ he gasps, his voice wrecked, his body shaking as he collapses against you, his glasses falling off completely, clattering to the floor.
âmine now,â he whispers, hoarse and ruined, his forehead pressed to your back, his breath hot and uneven. âyouâre mine now.â
you nod, too spent to speak, your body limp, your reflection in the mirror a blur of tears and gloss and him, the phone still recording every ragged breath, every whispered âfuckâ as he pulls you closer, not letting go.
but then silence swells, heavy and slow, filling the room like a fog. the airâs thick with the aftermathâsweat, cum, and the lingering sweetness of your perfume, still clinging to the sheets, to him.
satoruâs hands tremble where they hold you, one slipping down to fumble with his phone, stopping the recording with a clumsy tap, the other pressing flat against your stomach, grounding him, grounding you. your breaths are too loud, ragged and uneven, syncing in the quiet like a metronome.
he leans away slightly, just enough to grab a towel from the edge of your bed, awkward in the afterglow like he just realized he desecrated a temple. his glasses are gone, lost somewhere in the mess of sheets, and his hairâs a disaster, sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat.
âshit,â he mutters, voice barely above a whisper, too quiet for the boy who was growling filth ten minutes ago. âdid iâi mean. that wasnât too much, right?â thereâs a crack in his tone, a flicker of panic, like heâs replaying every thrust, every slap, every sobbed moan he pulled from you.
you donât answer at first, too dazed, too wrung out, your body still humming from the overstimulation, your thighs sticky and trembling.
your silence makes him spiral.
âfuck, i knew it. i pushed too hard. i got carried awayâi was recordingâfuckâi didnât even askââ his words tumble out, frantic, his hand raking through his hair as he sits up, eyes wide, searching your face for any sign of regret.
you turn to face him, slow and sore, your cheek pillowed against your arm, the motion making your body ache in the best way. your eyes are still wet, lashes clumped with tears, lips kiss-bruised and sticky with half-worn gloss, swollen from his teeth. you stare at himâthis boy, this dork, with his mussed-up hair and the panicked look of someone who just lived out a lifelong fantasy and now doesnât know what to do with it.
âiâm okay,â you say, your voice shredded, raw from screaming his name. âjesus, iâm so okay.â
he exhales, a shaky rush of air, like heâs been holding it in for hours. he collapses back against you, burying his face in your neck, his lips brushing the bite mark he left earlier. âfuck, you scared me,â he mumbles, his voice muffled, warm against your skin. then, quieter, almost unhinged: âwe just speedran my entire hentai folder.â
you laugh, a weak, breathy sound that bubbles up despite the ache in your ribs. âi know.â
âi didnât even know i could,â he says, his voice small, like heâs confessing a sin. âi havenât even done that in vr.â
you snort, the sound catching in your throat. ânerd.â
he groans, but itâs not annoyedâitâs mortified, the kind of sound that comes from knowing heâs exposed himself completely. âiâm never gonna recover from this. i glossed you like a fuckinâ bratz doll. i glossed you.â his hand gestures vaguely at your lips, still shiny and smeared, and you laugh again, the sound softer now, your body too tired for anything more.
you roll over fully, tugging him down into the blankets with you, the pastel sheets tangling around your legs. he follows like a kicked puppy, his head resting on your chest, his breath warm against your skin. you can feel his heart still racing, his body still trembling from the high.
âi just,â you mumble, your voice barely audible, âwanted you to notice me. back during the group project, you never looked at me. just your laptop. even when i wore that stupid short skirt.â
he goes silent, his fingers pausing where theyâre tracing lazy circles on your hip. then, in a voice so small it barely carries: ââŠyou wore that for me?â
you nod, your cheek brushing his hair.
he lets out the tiniest, most violated gasp, like youâve just rewritten his entire reality. âi thought you were just one of those girls who always looked hot. like, default setting.â his voice cracks on the last word, and you canât help the teasing smile that tugs at your lips.
âno,â you say, your tone playful despite the exhaustion. âi was trying to seduce the dumbass with the mecha desktop background.â
he muffles a sob into your chest, half-laugh, half-groan, his arms tightening around you. âi love mechaâŠâ he says, like itâs the most tragic thing in the world, and you hum, stroking his hair, your fingers catching in the sweaty strands.
âi know.â
a long pause settles over you, the kind that feels like it could stretch forever. the fairy lights twinkle softly, casting shadows across the room, and your perfume lingers, mixing with the musk of sex. his breathing slows, but he doesnât let go, his body still pressed to yours like heâs afraid youâll vanish.
then he lifts his head, his eyes serious, stripped of the wild edge they had before. âcan i⊠hold you properly? not likeâyâknowâbreeding press. like, real holding.â his cheeks flush, like heâs embarrassed to admit he wants something soft after all that.
âyou already folded me in half like a love letter,â you whisper, but you shift into his arms anyway, letting him pull you close. he wraps around you, tight, needy, his hands trembling like heâs still processing youâre real, not just pixels on a screen. his hold is desperate, like heâs trying to memorize the shape of you, every curve, every soft inch, in case this never happens again.
âdonât make fun of me,â he says, his voice muffled against your shoulder. âi think my crush on you just speedran into obsession.â thereâs a rawness to it, a confession that feels too big for the quiet, but it lands soft, like heâs finally letting it out.
âyouâre the one who begged for one more while crying into my shoulder,â you tease, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
âstop,â he groans, burying his face deeper, his arms tightening like he could squeeze the embarrassment out of himself. âiâm gonna die.â
you press a kiss to his forehead, slow and deliberate, your lips lingering on his sweaty skin. âyouâre not gonna die,â you say, your tone soft but firm. âyouâre gonna eat me out on friday and wear your glasses while you do it.â
he whimpers, a pathetic, needy sound, his hips twitching involuntarily against your thigh. âsay less,â he mumbles, his voice wrecked, but thereâs a spark in it, like youâve just lit something in him again. you giggle, wrapping your leg around his waist, pulling him closer, your skin sticking to his in the humid air.
and in the quiet, as youâre both drifting offâsore, sticky, still catching your breathâhe says it again. not ruined this time, not even possessive. just low. certain. like heâs already planning his next sin.
âmine.â
you donât answer. just smile into the pillow, heart pounding. because maybe you are. and maybe youâll let him prove it again.
especially once he finds out what cosplay you ordered last week.
fridayâs going to be filthy.
HUH!!???
When they're both voiced by Landon McDonald>>
Now I'm imagining Hoshina being a househusband and Kazuki slaying kaiju.
[ID: Left picture: a screenshot of Hoshina Soshiro from Kaiju no. 8. Right picture: a screenshot of Kazuki Kurusu from Buddy Daddies. ED.]
â I JUST WANNA HEAR YOU (S)CREAMMM ! â
᥎êȘ« sum. whatâs your favorite scary movie? is it carrie? psycho? or maybe nightmare on elm street? perhaps picking up the phone was a bad idea, but you donât scare easily! or do you?
wc. 6.0k
warnings. fem! reader, ghostface geto & ghostface nanami, college au, threesĆmes, unprotected, brief phone sÄx, roleplay, dirty talk, praise, overstim, implied multiple Ćrgasms, spit, manhandling, brÄeding, hair pulling, oral (f & m receiving), cowgirl dp.
an. from this ask!
âhello.â
âhello?â
âwhatâs your favorite scary movie?â
you deadpan, almost as if youâve seen this movie before. it was around close to midnight. you were the only one sober at some random frat party you got dragged to. everyone besides you were probably wasted or shoving tongues into mouths. sitting up on a cushioned bed, you hold the landline up to your ear. âmean girls two. bye.â
ââŠ.girl what? thatâs not aââ
you hang up, averting your eyes back towards the tv screen that displayed some cheesy soap opera. about precisely thirteen seconds pass before the landline screeches a loud deafening ring again.
sighing, you answer it. âstop calling this number. prank calls arenât funny.â
âno.â the voice replies, and itâs very deepâyou swear youâve heard something like it before. a best way to describe it was that it had a gruff pitch to it, baritone running all underneath it. his voice was also a bit sly too. âi just wanna talk to you.â
âbother some other girl. bye.â
âdonât hang up on me.â
for whatever reason, you donât hang up. his voice sounded a bit sternâyou sit up before growing quiet. youâre fully alert now.
âgood girl. now, iâll ask again. whatâs your favorite scary movie?â
pressing your back against the comforter, your thighs squeeze together. with another vexed sigh, you say the most random movie that comes immediately to mind. âhalloween.â
âpft. basic.â
âwhaâ youâre the one who asked.â
âoh, doll iâm just joking. but anyway, you like slasher movies, yeah?â
for whatever reason, the more you talked to this total stranger, you start to feel a sudden uncanny stir delve around your stomach. you werenât scared, yet at least, but it was oddly peculiar. his voice sounds a bit familiar the more you listen to it. with how teasing the caller on the other line appeared, it was strangely intriguing. you kind of didnât wanna hang up anymore, besides this party you were at was quite ⊠not the best.
ânot really. i am a jamie lee curtis fan though, i only watched because i make fun of the deaths.â you mumble.
âhmmm,â the voice hums through the other end. itâs as if heâs pondering what his next choice of words will be to you. âsoâŠyou got a boyfriend?â
you were taken aback by how abrupt the change of subject was. the man on the other end laughs at your awkward silence before you finally speak.
âno, and itâs not like itâs any of your business.â
âeasy, girl. iâm just curious. besides, what if i wanna ask ya out?â
you grow quiet again before rubbing your neck, you were growing a bit hot.
âwhatever. no, i donât have a ⊠boyfriend.â
âooh. you hesitated there.â
you grumble. âshut up. iâm hanging up.â
the man immediately replies with a chortle.
âwait, wait. heh, serious though. you never told me your name, doll face.â
with an eye roll, you utter, âwhy do you wanna know my name?â
âbecause i wanna know who iâm looking at.â
âwhat?â
âwhat?â
each word he spoke breaks through the phone due the deep mess of his voice. a few rough sparks from his dialogue punctures through the soundbox of the device. again, he did sound oddly familiar. you just couldnât put your foot on it.
the man chuckles before responding in a more sly toneâchanging the subject again.
âyou know doll, you sound kind of out of breath. call me crazy, but before i called you, were you playing with yourself?â
your legs suddenly squeeze shut, you were wearing one of your borrowed hoodies and shorts underneath. any sane person would have hung up eons ago, but for whatever reasonâyou felt your heartbeat start to race. the more you listened to the deep voice on the other end, the more you started to grow more curious. whatâs wrong with playing around for a little bit? besides, whatâs the worst thing that could happenâyou dying?
you scoff, thinking this was nothing more than a dumb prank callâyou decided that playing along wouldnât hurt. you had nothing else to do anyway.
âso what if i was playing with myself?â
âi bet you didnât even make yourself finish, doll.â
his voice, the more it spoke in that rough pitched toneâyou couldnât help but press the landline up to your ear just a bit further. you furrow your curled up brows, lowering your guard a bit. probably foolish, maybe youâd regret this later, but alas, reality wasnât on your mind at the moment.
âare you saying you can make me finish?â you mutter, growing amused now.
âoh i know i can. i can make you get off from just from my voice alone.â
he was toying with you, but it was too late to back down. you intake a honed breath before humming.
âokay, prove it then.â
he chuckles.
âmhm. take those panties off first. actually no, slide them to the side for me.â
you really felt like you were in a movie, shamelessly at this random guyâs beck and call. as the show played in the background, you press the middle part of your thumb against the volume button to turn it down four notches. the room was practically silent now, the only noises heard were from the blaring beat drops of edm music downstairs. sprawling your legs out, you creep a shaking hand between your thighs.
the voice grows quiet, you finally move your panties toward the side before slouching back against the pillow.
âyou must be really bored. talking to a random girl at the m-midnight.â you exhale.
âheh, m-maybe,â he mocks your falter. âbut iâm sure youâll keep me entertained with that cute voice of yours.â
he was so smooth. smooth as if he was prepared for every word that flew out of your mouth. as your fingers glide against your now exposed entrance, you let off a shaky breath.
he was right, out of boredom you tried to play with yourselfâ yet, that didnât work out because you could never make yourself finish. your attempt was basically useless. with a frowning pout, you reply. ânow what?â
âfinger yourself, silly. and i wanna hear, put the phone up against that pussy for me, doll.â
he was filthy.
you felt yourself start to throb before removing the landline from against your ear and placing it right against your doused entrance.
with heavy jagged breaths becoming more irregular, the person on the other line hears the wet sloshes of your cunt up against the phone. again, he grows quietâitâs almost like you can make out his deep attractive breaths and it makes you pulse even more.
âbet youâre so nice ân soaked. sounds so sloppy.â
gnawing on the softness of your bottom lip, your thumb briefly skims past the nub of your clit and you whine. you were already a bit sensitive from before, starting to stroke your fingers against it. bringing the phone back up to your ear, you ease a single finger inside. it feels warmâyou were slick, coating your own finger with a nice amount of your obscene arousal. it doesnât take long for you to start to pant, slithering another finger inside of your cunt before moaning. it fits nicely, nice and snug.
âyou sound so pretty. i want you to imagine those are my fingers, pretty girl. can ya do that?â
ây-yeah,â you start to stammer, feeling a sudden spongey texture inside of youâyou gasp, not expecting to reach your sweetened g-spot so soon. it was a mere bumpy texture, gloopy gummy walls involuntarily accepting your two slender fingers with an open gesture. âfuck, âm still a bit sensitive.â
he guffaws lowly.
âyeah, i bet you are. poor baby canât even make herself cum.â
you swallow, the playfulness in his voice making your thighs start to tremble a bit. with relaxed fingers stretching throughout your walls, you focus on your breathing. each pant that came out of your hot breaths seemed like it was gonna be your last. after a while, your toes start to curl up in pure pleasureâyou moan, feeling a sudden rush of weightlessness nirvana overtake you.
âfind your g-spot for me. tell me when you do.â
âi- i already found it,â you whine, a sheaf of nerves that store inside of your pussy pulsating at a rapid speed. your head throws itself back as youâre just moaning melodically. âfuck, why donât you just come over ân finish for me already.â
the voice laughs again.
âyeah? you want me to come over instead? maybe i should use my tongue since your fingers are so useless, dollface.â
at this point, you didnât really care. maybe making simple rational decisions today just wasnât in your favor. the eerie voice, each second you spent listening to it the more aroused you became. maybe getting off to a pure strangerâs voice was embarrassing but you were feening. the air felt suddenly thick. so thick you could cut it with a knife. with your bottom lip being chewed on like gum, you briskly shiver. cold, wintry air wafts against your skin and you moan for the nth time. an unforeseen chill runs down your spine before you hold back yet another whine.
âf-fuck, just come ân finish for me. i canât do it. please.â
he grows quiet for a solid good four seconds before replying in a cheeky tone.
âokay. turn around.â
your panting stops and instantly, you turn your head the other wayâof course, no one was there. figures, the only things your eyes were met with was the wooden headboard. with a disappointed grimace, pulling your occupied fingers out of your cunt, you turn back around. as youâre about to speak into the phone again, you open your mouth before pausing.
there, youâre met face first with what appears to be some guy in an infamous ghostface costume. he was tall, staggering inches on him before you donât see one but two. they both had the same getup, ghoulish ghost mask, a long black robe, and the same spectral, tilting head-stance.
one of them takes off a mask and itâs suguru geto, your roommate.
your eyes concisely widen. once he yanks off the mask, his silky well-kept black strands fly loose. no wonder the voice sounded a tad bit familiar. the other removes his mask and it was nanami, two of themânow you really felt like you were in a movie. âyou always did say how much you liked scream,â and then you glance at nanami who had a sheepish expression. âdonât be shy now, someoneâs gotta help ya finish.â
âo-oh,â you remember, sitting up against the bed. now you were embarrassed. just a few seconds ago, you were getting off to your roommateâs voice. suddenly, you felt even more hot. you did end up talking their ear off about your adoration for the beloved franchise, ranting about your cute little ghostface obsession.
truth be told though, you didnât know theyâd make it a sheer reality for you. the two of them get on the bed towards you before nanami brings a gloved hand to your chin. he strokes your chin softly, and geto moves underneath.
âsorry princess,â he whispers. âsuguru wanted to scare you but i told him we should just show ourselves,â and as heâs speaking, you get lost in his soft, honeydew eyes. such gentle compared to geto who was a bit moreâcrazed. âhe didnât scare you too bad, did he?â
you moan once you feel geto run a thumb against your already exposed cunt. with a firm head shake, you huff. âno, n-not really.â
âaw what. i thought i was pretty scary,â and you whimper out once he blows against your folds. for a concise moment, geto stares up at youâdark eyes keeping a strong gaze on you. âtell us what you want, pretty girl. you want us to help you finish?â
you nod, feeling geto spread your legs apart further.
nanami, with a gloved hand purses your lips together, forming them into a tight squeeze before humming. âwords, princess. use them, okay?â
the more you feel getoâs breath fan against your clit, teasing youâyou were about to go feral. you stare up at nanami before letting off a sweet whine. âi- i want you both to help me finish,â you stutter out, stumbling over your pathetic words like youâd stumble with an untied shoe. âmake me cum, please kento.â
he leans in to kiss your forehead and you hear geto scoff underneath. âiâm the one between your legs but whatever,â and you feel his soft lips kiss against your pussy. âkento, keep her distracted for me, will ya?â
âyouâre so pretty,â he mutters, lightly lifting up your chin. as he wore black glovesâthe fabric gently brushes against your lip, popping a thumb into your mouth. he doesnât expect for you to happily take it in his mouth, sucking on it. âoh,â he breathes, a bit speechless. you stare into nanamiâs eyes, swirling your tongue around his thumb in such an erotic way. lowly hooded eyes stare at him the entire time, you moan once you feel the flatness of getoâs tongue run against your sweet clitoral hood. his tongueâthe texture of it was so cold, the moment he digs in he makes you know the pure definition of sloppy. all with his tongue, he slowly flicks it against your nub before delving his tongue deeper between your soddened folds. nanami pulls your chin to face him again before softly purring, âdonât look at him, look at me pretty girl.â
as your eyes focus back towards nanami, you could already feel your legs quavering. you felt hot, the lewd way geto drags his tongue against your pussy makes you gasp out three strained second puffs of air.
âk-kento,â you moan, pawing your hands at the low part of his robe. he watches, lowering his head at you before you reach there. nanamiâs bulge, he has an abashed expression as he realizes what you were fondling at. âtake it off.â
âah, ask nicely,â he coos. your lips were now glossed with your own spit he smears against you as he pulls his gloved thumb out of your mouth. even though nanami was more tame than geto, his voice had a bit more dominance in it. he grabs your chin gently, cocking his head toward the side. âtell me what you want ân iâll give it to you.â
your legs felt like they were standing on its last few hingesâgetoâs tongue runs down your slit, taking a moment to depart his lips and spit on it, only to then lap it up again. a few annoyed grunts escape out of him partially due to his long strands of hair getting in the way. âso sweet,â he mutters, you whimper once he prods two fingers against your outer entrance. every few seconds heâd kiss near your thighs, leaving a few bite bite marks before focusing back towards your folds. âmhm.â
barely even able to keep focus, you gaze back up at nanami whoâs standing near the edge of the bedâyouâre laid back against the pillows with geto between your thighs. finally, a sweet mewl of words leave your glazed lips. âi- i wanna taste, âken. wanna suck you off,â and he gives you a playful eyebrow raise, prying his pink lips open a few inches apart before you correct yourself. âpretty please.â
âbetter,â he murmurs, a hand of his reaching towards your head to give it a good pat. âgood girl. go ahead, lift it up ân enjoy the meal.â
with a soft slackened sigh, you lift up the obsidian black robe. youâre met with ripped jeans, for some reason you just figured heâd already be sprung out for you. as getoâs still lapping up every drop of your taste, you unzip his fly before yanking down his pants. you were so impatientâ and with getoâs demented pace, you were getting close. he chuckles, watching you struggle with the zipper for a bit before finally reaching near his boxers. they were a cerulean blueish color, his bulge was just appetizing. the entire shape of it, you felt yourself starting to drool the longer your eyes made direct contact against it. so rounded and full. with clammy hands, you tug them down before his thick cock springs out.
âitâs okay,â he whispers with a nod, watching you glance up himâa silent gesture as a way of asking if you could go further. nanami brings a hand towards the crown of your head, gingerly massaging his fingers through the crevices of your scalp. âyou can be a little messy for me.â
a wretched whine that was raw rips from your throat once you feel getoâs tongue latch against your cunt. by now, he was sucking against your folds. the squelches were so sloppy, a hand of yours grab onto his hair for leverage and he shoots you a sly smile.
âdonât be shy girl, yank on it.â
dark pooled irises linger into yours for a long time before you get a good grip of getoâs hair, dragging him closer towards your entrance. over and over and over.
he giggles, hot breath ghosting against your folds and you throb even more. with dilated irises staring back towards nanami, you wrap your free hand around his lengthâhe was so thick, such full balls that you just wanted to run your tongue all across it. he had a few veins skim down his beige, weighty cock. you could make out a few drops of lustrous pre-cum that decorates near his very tip. âu-ugh,â he shakes, the warmth that your tongue provides has him smothering his lips together. nanami watches, youâre slow but deadly.
pursing your lips together, you gradually start to sink him into your mouth.
getoâs still between your thighs, shoving two fingers in and out of you nowâhe surrounds your clit with his mouth, the suction he creates with just his lips was brutal. youâre moaning, even whilst your noises were pretty much muffled due to nanamiâs fat cock. âeasy,â he whispers, tapping a thumb against your cheek. âno teeth, okay? youâre doing s-so good.â
nanami groans, goading the same thumb against your cheek before you inch yourself further and further down. he has a shy smile at the way your hair forms in musses due to his tight grip. within no time, your throatâs already stuffed and few droplets of your own saliva trickles down the sides of your mouth. getoâs still making sure to thrust his gloved digits in and out of your soaked cunt and you donât know which roommate to focus on.
âm-mphm,â was all you could manage out, your legs in a swift spread-eagle position. as youâre outstretched, you feel yourself about to cum. youâd recognize that feeling anywhereâthe feeling when a swelling pool of heat residing inside your stomach tickles throughout your entire abdomen. that same feeling of nirvana courses through your veins as youâre now leisurely bobbing your head. every time you pull on getoâs long hair, he gruntsâspanking your clit in response and that only causes you to whine for more. nanami strokes your face as he starts to feel his dick prod against the roof of your mouth. for a split second as youâre breathing through each nostrilâyou gag, long lashes fluttering in sync together.
your legs couldnât hold still, getoâs continuously pushing you towards your limit before you whimper out. your tongue lathers over the splotches of pre-cum that paints nanamiâs tip a pretty shade of snowy white.
he just couldnât keep his eyes off of you, especially not with a face like that.
low eyes, sheepish smile, furrowed eyebrows. youâre convulsing profusely all in getoâs mouth, the sides of your thighs occasionally hitting against his face and he titters. âsuch a sloppy m-mouth,â nanami inhales deeply, and he starts to gently drag your head against his cock. heâs got your mouth filled with so many inchesâyour cheeks were all puffed up from his immense length, sheeny slobber emanating all down the sides of your mouth before he pants. âgonna make such a mess ân your mouth, princess. âs that what you want?â
you nod, feeling the vein that runs down his girthy cock twitch in your mouth. you moan, heâs feeling weightlessâyouâve got his knees trembling, a handâs still attached to your head like velcro before gyrating your tongue all over the crownhead of his shaft. âsuch a pretty face,â he gruffs lowly, swiftly pulling your hair side to side to take every inch. âs-shame i gotta ruin it a little.â
even nanamiâs dirty talk was tameâ it was cute to witness, the way his blond brows would tug into a furrow. heâs so pent up, and out of nowhereâyou feel a sudden rush erupt within your cunt. before you could even react, you end up cumming hard. it shoots out of you like a rough wave, itâs such pure bliss that it takes you a few seconds to realize. getoâs making out with your pussy, slowly sliding his two protected fingers in and out of your sopping wet entrance and you shudder. âwhat a fuckinâ mess,â he hums, taking sight at how saturated you were. as geto laps his tongue against your folds once more, he stares back up at you and nanami. âaw. look at you two,â and he leans down to kiss your forehead. âslobbinâ everywhere, messy girl you are.â
your eyes go back up towards nanami, heâs sweating.
he felt as if the fabric of his robe stuck against his skin. while heâs holding it up with one hand, you sneak a stare at his abs, perfect washboard abs that looked quintessentially sculpted against his body. âg-gonna cum,â and he stares at geto, growing a bit flustered once all attentionâs on him. âsuguru, donât just stand there. pâŠpraise her.â
geto scoffs, kneeling beside you on the bed before moving a few strands from your face. âso bossy,â he grits before giving you your second head pat. he leans up close to your ear, grabbing the voice changer again and brings it up to his lips. âcâmon, doll. make âken cum, yeah. doinâ so good for us. youâre gonna make him whine for you, heh.â
nanamiâs legs felt like mush, he throws his head back, his long black robe syncing with his movements before heâs gently pulling your head against his thick cock. he shudders, welts of twinges close in on the undersides of his thighs before he finally finishes. it builds up gradually before you find him pouring into your mouth with a nice amount of parching hot cum. itâs hot, a good mass of satiny ropes coat the flat middle part of your tongue and you moan. âf-fuuuck,â he heaves through heavy lungs, itâs still trickling, you savor the taste. itâs bitterly sweet. he pulls out of your mouth before letting off a tremulous sigh. âgood girl, f-fuck.â
âaw. donât hog her, give me attention too,â geto sneers, softly grabbing you by the neck, making you face him. with his right hand, he squeezes your lips together with a rigid grip. âah, donât swallow yet. câmere.â
with half-lidded eyes, you doâleaning into his touch before geto plants his warm lips onto yours. youâre caught by surprise for the umpteenth time today, prying your mouth open for him and he lolls his tongue down your throat. you let off a whine, feeling his gloved hands rub against every inch of your body. immediately, he tastes the candied flavor of nanamiâs cum and it makes him groan. he didnât even bat an eyeâyou return the kiss, feeling getoâs hand slither further down towards your ass. he caresses it, giving it a mean spank to make you moan out in ecstasy.
after a while, he pulls away, humming at nanami. âken ken, donât be so shy. you want a taste too?â
âyeah,â he mutters, needy eyes staring at your lips that were lubricated with your own sheeny spit. âcan i?â
you nod, and heâs so gentle with you. a hand nimbly wraps around your throat before he brings you into a deeper kiss. getoâs still for his hands on you, strumming his fingers near your pulled to the side panties. you let off a soft pant, feeling the spiral of nanamiâs tongue go against yours. he tastes sweet â savory even, his flavor was purely mouthwatering. a thumb drags down the passageway of your throat before he pulls away. itâs slow, a polished concoction of saliva departs from each mouth and you whimper. you were throbbing, desperate for more and they both knew that. if thisâ whatever this was was some sort of movie, you never wanted it to end. you never wanted the credits to roll because you felt like you were floating on cloud nine.
with the two of them, you were stretched in every way possible. if you could compare who was bigger, actually you couldnât. throughout multiple positions, you felt as if you were gonna snap in half. they had you so stupid. pink tongue rolled out, full lungs of oxygen departing out such hot breaths of air, you were the definition of stupid.
cockdrunk at its finest. each orgasm that got ruthlessly snatched out of you had your head spinning, heart racing entirely.
you felt like something was creeping up behind your shoulder, chills. whenever youâd coax out yet another teeth-shattering orgasm, all you felt was stone cold chills. time after time, it felt like pure blissâyou thought you were in a whole new world, barely even able to move your thighs an inch. being sandwiched between the two of them, perhaps you were a little greedy but you just couldnât get enough. getoâs degrading you whilst nanamiâs whispering sweet pleasures into your ear, youâve never felt more soaked.
you didnât wanna stopâ
currently, youâre straddling nanami. heâs got two rough hands gripping your waist, intaking every inch of your pretty physique. his stare sends you butterflies, his shaft was underneath you and only then pulls out. with a cute, âphew,â he swipes a sheet of sweat that expands across his forehead. you rode him so good that he couldnât even figure out what to say. he was so flustered, tips of his ears a reddish hot before he watches geto creep behind you. âthink she wants more, suguru.â
âbet she does,â he whispers, bringing a few sweet kisses near the inner corners of your neck.
youâre promptly sat up straight. the brief sounds of booming speakers roar from downstairs as you wrap your arms around nanami. geto licks near your collarbone before purring seductively. âsay, doll. how âbout you try to take us both? would ya like that?â and with a gloved hand he gives your ass a squeeze. âwanna be the final girl ân prove your worth? our final girl?â
without an inkling of hesitationâyou nod, mewling out a sweet, âyes, yes jusâ hurry up, sugu. âm still câŠclose.â
âso wet, so impatient,â he whispers once more, and with two hands he makes you sit up from nanami. you gulpâswallowing whatever sanity you had left, preparing to be quite literally double stuffed with your roommates. you arenât so sure why, but the fact that they both still had on their ghoulish costumes made you pulsate a bit more. getoâs helping you slide back down onto nanamiâs length before slowly making his way into you also. âgod, youâre so hot in here. gonna fuckinâ swallow me whole.â
you moan, everything goes so slowâyour cunt was a ticking time bomb. you clamp down on each before slumping into nanamiâs chest. youâre met with kind eyes, he strokes your forehead before kissing the bridge of your nose, panting in a hushed voice. âeyes on me, princess. just relax.â
you wriggle a bit at the positioningâbeing on nanamiâs lap, geto directly behind you, youâre quite literally being filled in every orifice by thick inches of cock. nanamiâs words were soothing, filling up your tummy with a pool of fluttering butterflies. you keep your eyes on him, clenching down on geto a bit before you hear him hiss in response. âugh. doll open up for me a little m-more, yeah.â
his voice was deepened heavilyâyou let off a cute gasp once theyâre both finally in and a few shaky breaths exit past your lips. âhold my hand, i got you,â nanami coos, and thatâs when geto starts to rock. he had more control between the two of you, the grip on your hips was firm and you let off a sweet babble. each individual entrance was stuffed, you swallow the invisible lump in your throat as you start to feel the sweltering friction of your thighs slap against nanami. âyouâre so pretty like this,â and he kisses the temple of your cheek.
every kiss presented from nanami makes your heart raceâbeing sandwiched between nanami and geto, you really did feel like the main character.
your lip tremors, grinding back and forth between each of them, you feel geto wrap his thick fingers around your neck.
whilst youâre still straddling nanamiâyou moan again and again, feeling a free hand of getoâs spank your ass. the stretch that you continuously felt had your mouth watering. you heard the harmonic pap pap papâs until it rang throughout your ears. âfuck, ya like being stuffed donât you, pretty girl? feel full enough?â geto rasps, pressing his body right up against you. you felt his hot temperature go against your skin. making you feel every amount of his heat. your brainâs swelling up with fog. giving him an inert nod, you hear him click his tongue. âdidnât say to nod your head, doll. i wanna hear that sweet voice.â
whenever geto lowers his voice a bit, you feel the abrupt tension arise between your legs. leaning against nanami, you whine out a, âhngh y-yesss, âm so full, sugu. want more, stuff me more.â
âlet me stuff your mouth too then.â
and before you could come up with a reply, geto removes his gloveâshoving your mouth with two fat digits. he grunts, watching as youâre so compliant with your throat being filled with his fingers. nanami stares at the entire scene in front of him, his dick idly twitching inside of you. your tongue runs down his fingers before your own spit starts to seep down the corners of your lips. it was messyâyou were messy. your hips jitter and judder and you knew with having both holes stuffed you werenât gonna last that much longer. it was probably the dozenth orgasm your pussyâs been introduced with and you could feel the creeping pleasure brew up inside your abdomen.
âsuguru, âm gonna cum.â nanami groans, bringing his own hands to wrap around your waist. you lessen your tense from his touch before gagging a bit from the prodding of getoâs fingers way back into your throat. âsheâs s-squeezing me so good.â
geto snickers, making eye contact with nanami. âare you? âken, youâre more whinier than usual today.â
âshut up.â he grumbles, slapping a hand over his face in embarrassment â nanami wasnât so known to be all flustered and abashed, but whenever he was, it was so cute.
youâve still got a mouthful of getoâs fingers before he pulls them out only to shove them into his own mouth. he hums, sharp hips snapping into you repeatedly as his other free hand tightens its secured grasp around your hip. âmhm,â he groans, feeling himself reaching his peak also. âyou taste like a final girl. so sweet like candy.â
with the piston of getoâs vigorous hips, youâre so loose that you feel the fleeting sensation of your cunt gaping.
its cavernous, you jerk forward against nanami before seconds later â geto groans, abruptly finishing two seconds early. even his moans were pretty, he tugs his fingers out of your mouth to wrap them around your neck. strands of black hair glue to his forehead and he puffs out a single breath. licking a stripe near your neck, he feels thick volumes of his cum ooze into your hole. itâs so sticky, you bring your hips to a slowing halt before nanami shoots inside you too.
âf-fuck, sugu,â nanami grunts, feeling his thighs stick underneath you. he was panting heavily, each breath that ran from his lips sounding more and more wearied. âdamn, so m-much.â
everything spurts into you at once. they mirror each other inside of you perfectly. callused stubby fingertips of getoâs squeeze your neck softly, watching as youâre just being filled with bulky strings of cum, it floods your cunt until it drizzles further into your womb. youâre drooling, it feels so hot, sweltering hot. it sticks against your entrance before your arms wrap around nanami. âso f-full,â you whimper, and he returns the gesture by brushing his thumb against your waist. droopy eyes hang low before nanami pulls you into another deep kiss. you decidedâthis was far better than some dumb party. the cottony fabric of the ghostface robe pricks against your skin as you lean into his heinous touch.
you shift your weight against nanamiâs lap, feeling geto pull out before he leans down between your legs. âspread your legs,â he mutters, and in the midst of your tongue roaming down nanamiâs throat, you part your thighsâgasping once you feel getoâs own tongue lap against the freshly created mess. he makes little tiny licks, tasting the ropes of crisp cum thatâs sloppily easing out of every entranceâyou pulsate before he chortles, warm breath ventilating against your sobbing pussy. âso messy. donât want any spillinâ out. gotta push it back in.â
youâre moaning, after a while you break away from nanamiâs lips before he strokes your cheek lovingly, a cute drowsy look before he huffs, âdid you hear me, pretty?â and he gently pokes your cheek. âyou always do this..â
confusion hits you before your eyes suddenly openâyou jolt up, both of your roommates beside you, gawking at you with a look of deadpan. youâre leaning against geto, the third movie of scream playing in the backgroundâit was near the ending where the killer was being revealed. you sit up, staring down at your legs and you were fully clothedâthere was no geto eating between your legs, no being stuffed with nanami, nothing.
âhellooo, earth to roomie,â geto waves his hand in your face, you stare at him before furrowing your brows. âyou okay? you fell asleep on me again. whatâs got ya so spooked? looks like ya seen a ghost.â
so it was a dream?
a mere glimpse of your lewd imaginationâ?
you have a sudden sheepish look, running your fingers near the nape of your neck. âhuh. oh, iâm fine. i thought the movie would be over by now.â
nanami rubs your back. âwe still have like twenty minutes left,â and then he looks at you with a concerned look. so gentleâso tender. âare you sure youâre okay? we can watch a rom-com if you want.â
âiâm okay,â you insist, slumping your head back against geto.
that was weird, out of all the dreams youâve had throughout your lifeânone of them ever felt as surreal as that one. for some reason, you were still aroused though. you were a bit out of breath and felt chills run all over your body.
abruptly, your phone rings,
âsugu, can you pass me my phone?â you sigh, trying to relax. you were pretty bummed you werenât at that party getting stuffed with your two roommates but insteadâin your generic dorm watching a scary movie.
he hands you the phone, grabbing the remote to turn it down a few notches.
once you take it, succinctly, your eyes scan across the screenâit reads that itâs from an unknown number. not really thinking much, you decide to answer, swiping the green button to answer. âum, hello?â
âhello.â
âhi,â you rub your eyes. âcan i help y-â
âwhatâs your favorite scary movie?â
rolling your eyes, you peer at your two roommates beside you, nudging them and peeling the phone away from your ear for a moment. âvery funny, suguru.â
geto gives you a look of confusion and nanami mimics the same. he shrugs, averting his eyes back toward the movie. âvery funny what.â
and suddenly youâre laid back, an unbelieving expression was expressed on your face as you were left with a weird feeling. if it wasnât them then whoâ
that same chill eerily creeps up your spine before you put the phone back near your ear. itâs that same low voice you heard from before, each word it speaks pitches deeper before you grow quiet at its final haunting response,
âoh baby, iâm not suguru or nanami..â
âTightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? Iâll make you feel good. Just lemmeâ have it nice nâ deep, and Iâll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum tillâ youâre cryin.â
WARNINGS - smut smut smut mdni, porn with some plot, forced proximity, feral!joel, risky/secret sex, brutal sex, size!kink, dubcon if you squint but mostly a mutual want situation, reader and joel have an unspoken relationship, copious amounts of dirty talk, piv, creampie, daddy dom joel.
The world ended in disaster.
Youâve lived with that knowledge for years now, and you think youâve finally come to terms with the kind of things youâll get from it. Pain. Loss. Destruction. The same chaos, day in day out, just in different forms.
You know that at this point youâll be lucky if you survive until tomorrow; so you take it in stride.
And itâs with that thought that you find yourself following Joel into the city, your steps just as reluctant as he was to agree to this. You donât particularly want to be out here â and neither does he â but youâve been wanting to look for more medical supplies for a while now and Joel wasnât about to let you go alone. Despite how much bitchinâ he did beforehand.
You canât tell which is more depressing; the streets covered in broken glass and littered with remnants of a life long gone, or the buildings that are nearly crumbling to the ground. Neither are very pleasant to look at, but not many things are these days, so you keep moving. You have a job to do, and you donât have too much time to do it â the sun wonât be up much longer, and you want to get the fuck out of here before the real dangerous kinds of people come out lookinâ for their next meal.
Or, whatever Joel had said earlier. Mostly just in attempt to scare you.
Minutes feel like hours as you keep your gaze pointed forward, and when you pass a shattered window belonging to some old broken down building, you donât dare look inside.
Youâd rather not know what lingers inside death eaten walls.
But itâs while youâre doing that, keeping your gaze ahead, that you miss the fact that Joel has stopped walking. When it finally registers that the world around you has gotten quieter - and when you finally do turn around - youâre surprised for two reasons.
The first being that he even stopped at all, and the second being the fucking look on his face.
âYou alright?â You ask as you edge closer, glancing at the abandoned building thatâs in front of him. It doesnât look like anything remarkable, but thereâs definitely something in the way he stares at it. âJoel, you still with me?â
He isnât saying anything, his expression is rather blank â but you know him well enough to know that heâs not just seeing whatâs right in front of him. Heâs seeing something else entirely. He snaps back to attention faster than you would have expected at the sound of your voice, and when his eyes land down on yours - thereâs something inside them that makes your heart sink.
âSomethinâs wrong.â Is all he says before heâs grabbing your wrist, and yanking you inside.
Your heart starts pounding faster, but you try your best to stay calm. He isnât the kind of man who would panic without cause, so you know he must have seen something - or heard something - and youâre doing your best not to let that scare you.
âJoelâshitâwhat the hellââ you stumble over rubble and pieces of broken furniture. âWhatâre youââ
Heâs pulling you deeper into the building, not giving you a chance to stand still long enough to say more. When you get to a staircase he yanks you down a few steps, waiting for the sound of the door shutting behind you before shoving your shoulders back against the wall.
âYou listen to meââ heâs panting, words spat through grit teeth. âYouâre gonnaâ shut up, and youâre gonnaâ stay quiet. Can you do that for me?â
The tone of his voice alone forces you to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from talking. Itâs been a long, long time since youâve seen him this serious. Youâd almost forgotten that he was capable of producing this kind of tension - the kind thatâs so palpable it could be cut with a knife.
So, you just nod, lips pressed into a thin line, and you hope that itâs enough.
âAlright.â He doesnât seem certain of your answer, but he nods anyway, reaching for your wrist again and dragging you down the remaining stairs.
When you get to the bottom, he opens the door slowly, eyes darting around until they land on a nearby closet - and itâs only after the first step you take towards it that you hear noises on the floor above you.
Footsteps.
And way too fucking many for you to be comfortable.
The kind of heavy, laden-boot marching youâd dread to hear on good days - nevermind while youâre out in dangerous territory, trying your damnest to flee unseen. Itâs only seconds before the steps grow louder, and you can feel your heart rate speeding up again - while Joel is staring at the ceiling with such intensity you think that he might just be able to will it to break if he so much as blinked at it.
Then, in a flash, he snaps out of it - dragging you toward the closet and shoving you inside before you can even think about protesting.
And god, is it fucking cramped.
The closet is small. Small enough that you have to force yourself closer to the wall so that he has space to squeeze inside behind you. And itâs within the first second that he shuts the door, and the darkness swallows you both whole - in which you realize you have a new problem altogether.
âJoelââ you choke out as a heavy palm snakes around your waist, pressing tight against your belly. Heâs a solid wall behind you, his front flush against your back, and all you can fucking feel is his hot breath against your ear - his stubble tickling your cheek. âWhatâsââ
âNo talking.â And then he brings his free hand up to cover your mouth, and you have to stifle a noise that threatens to explode in your chest. âNot a fuckinâ word.â
You take solace in the fact that he canât see how flushed your face becomes, but your stupid brain is working overtime - overanalyzing the feeling of his calloused palm against your lips, the heat of his mouth way too fucking close to your ear, his free hand that seems to be sliding lower down your abdomenâ
âStop squirming.â He whispers, all heat as his fingers press a little harder against your lower stomach.
You long to bark at him. I canât control it.
But you canât. So instead you try to focus on the sounds of the people upstairs. You try to pay more attention to the way your heart is threatening to break free through your sternum. Anything to try and take your mind off of the way heâs touching you - but he makes it so, so hard.
Youâre certain you would have a better fighting chance if you were to try and move mountains.
Without even thinking, your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, and itâs then that his lips curve into a smile against your ear. And when the realization comes crashing down - the realization that heâs fully aware of whatâs happening to you - you think you may just collapse.
Oh, god, this is torture.
If it were anyone else, youâd think this was a joke. Youâd think that perhaps the way heâs touching you was some kind of attempt at making the terrifying just a little more tolerable, a little more exhilarating for different reasons - but this isnât just anyone. This is Joel. And you know his mind never works like what. Instead, he simply acts on instinct - in ways that usually leave you reeling and your thoughts in a whirlwind.
Youâve been through this a million times with him.
Unsurprisingly, this time is no different.
And as you try to focus on the footsteps above you - desperately searching for a thought, a train of any kind to follow - his hand moves again, fingertips tracing the waistband of your dirt covered cargos - barely dipping between fabric and skin.
Itâs slow, teasing, but itâs enough. And you donât currently have enough control over yourself to stop your back from arching, pressing directly against the bulge in his jeans thatâs growing impatiently despite himself.
And itâs the way he exhales in your ear, the way you hear him inhale right after before his nose brushes the shell of your ear â before his hand dips lower to trace the zipper of your fly â that you find yourself fighting for your life to swallow the moan that threatens to spill because the people on the second floor are now shouting and hollering, and the whole floor seems to quake under the force of their heavy boots.
A second passes. Then two, and then ten â thereâs silence. Youâre pretty sure the steps are now heading away from where youâre hiding, and you think Joel must agree because he slips his hand from your mouth, sliding it down your jaw.
âJoelââ you choke out, the last syllables of his name sounding desperate. âI-weââ
And yet again, you arenât able to finish, because he has a habit of taking the words you think you want to say straight from your chest. You arenât able to process it until a moment later - when his mouth finds your neck, fingers slipping into your now unzipped cargo pants.
This isnât what you meant.
You donât have the chance to tell him that. You donât have the cognitive ability to push the idea that this isnât the time. You donât even have enough room in your head to acknowledge how this could go so badly, so quickly. Youâre too drunk on the high of his touch to think straight.
And when his fingers drag the lace of your underwear to the side - all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray to a God youâre sure youâve never actually believed in that youâll survive this without the shame over how fucking soaked you are eating you alive first.
His fingers find your clit, making slow, small circles. Just enough to make you keen. Just enough to make you forget who you are, and what youâre doing. You think if he keeps it up for any longer, the sounds trapped behind your teeth are going to jailbreak before you can get a handle on them. He knows it too - because itâs only a split second after that thought enters your mind, that he whispers gravel in your ear again.
âIf yâcanât stay quiet, Iâll make you.â And itâs said with enough sternness to let you know that it isnât a threat, itâs a promise. âBe good fâme.â
You donât know if you can. You donât know if you can possibly keep yourself silent. Not when his lips are teasing your burning flesh, not when his fingers are rolling your clit, not when heâs whispering promises of heaven in your ear.
But itâs then, that you hear the floorboards creak, and you know then, that you have no choice.
Either find a way to stay silent, or throw yourself headfirst into danger.
âMm.â He hums as his fingers slip lower, sliding along your slit until they find your embarrassingly wet heat - to which you find yourself widening your feet despite yourself.
And this time, the noise that slips isnât audible. Not to him anyway. But you can feel the sound vibrate the back of your throat. You can feel the way it glides over your tongue - and when you have the wherewithal, you bite down on your bottom lip, hard enough that itâs almost painful. He doesnât seem to notice, and youâre glad because you know heâd only find it funny.
He pushes a finger into you, and holy fuckâ
âOhââ the sound gets out of your mouth before you can stop it, involuntarily defying his direct order to shut the fuck up.
You hope, foolishly, it was quiet enough for him to not hear.
It isnât, and as a result the hand that had been sitting lazily around your jaw slips firm over your mouth again, yanking your head back against his shoulder. You feel his fingers tighten as if to let you know that itâll only get harder as his finger pushes deeper, and then retreats, pumping into you slow and steady.
âF-fuckââ your whine is smothered against his palm, and you somehow have half the mind to realize the footsteps have stopped. Vanished. âJ-joel.â
Youâre expecting some type of response, some biting be quiet â but instead, all you get is a deep grunt in your ear and a roll of his hips against your ass as he slides another finger into your cunt, thumb brushing your clit.
And thereâs almost no fight in you left to resist this - to resist the pleasure heâs pouring into your veins. Youâd curse him if you could, if you could put more than four coherent words together to do it - but all there seems to be left in your mind is his name, which heâs using against you like he always does.
âGood girl.â He praises between slow, steady thrusts and you have to wonder what kind of game heâs playing to get you like this - to get you so undone you donât even remember your own goddamn name.
Then again, you know better than to think thereâs a game, at all. There are no games with Joel. He does what he wants and youâre either the benefit of it, or youâre the object of his ire.
But when a third finger slips into you, stretching and stuffing your cunt wider than you were mentally prepared for - you forget about any of that as you bite down on his hand as hard as you dare because itâs just too fucking much.
âJ-joelââ you try again, shaking your head. The footsteps havenât returned. You have to believe theyâre gone. You know Joel knows it too. âP-pleaseââ
And like someone struck a match in a room full of gasoline, he seems to have decided that youâve waited long enough. In the blink of an eye, you feel his palm leave your mouth, and move to the limited space between you. Heâs unbuckling his belt.
âWhatâs the matter, huh?â He all but growls in your ear, still pumping his fingers deep. âThree too much for you? How dâya think youâre gonnaâ take my cock if you canât even take my fuckinâ fingers.â
God. His voice is deep, dripping like sin. It goes straight to the center of your chest and you feel like the walls of your rib cage are cracking open. You have no idea how youâre going to be able to take him like this - especially when heâs so far gone itâs like heâs forgotten himself.
âI-I donât knowââ and itâs the truth. You have no concept of how youâll take a single drop of him in this state. But heâs already shifted himself free, pulling his fingers out to yank your pants down and slide his throbbing shaft into the slick space between your thighs. âF-fuck. Youâre crazy.â
âWorse.â And you already know what heâs going to tell you just by the way the word drips into your ear. âMâinsane.â
Truer words.
You never imagined that youâd ever find the thought of Joel Miller going insane so enticing. You imagine all kinds of ways you would have pictured it if someone had told you back when you first met - but somehow, this was never one of the things that came to mind.
âWhat does that make me?â You hiss as his fingers find your clit again, as he kicks your legs a little wider to slide his leaking tip against your slit.
âA goddamned fool.â He answers as he sinks into you, and thereâs never been a more divine connection in the world. He groans into your ear, and you have to bite your lip again until youâre sure you might draw blood. âBut you already knew that.â
And somehow, even still - you do.
Yeah. You do. He isnât the type of man someone can ever know fully. Heâs got walls and barriers built high - a fortress, impenetrable and vast - but somehow, you still manage to squeeze your way through it. It isnât lost on you that youâre the only one who has.
âJ-joelâgo fuckinâ easy, pleaseââ youâre grabbing at the wall infront of you as he splits you open without so much as giving you a chance for breath. âItâsâbeen a whileââ
And that stops him for a beat - but not for long, and not long enough. He still doesnât go easy, still thrusts right to the hilt with the kind of power youâd associate with a man half his age - a man who (if the world hadnât gone to hell) would be so close to retiring that he could taste the future on the back of his tongue - but you wouldnât want him to anyway.
âI know, babygirl. I know. Just take it nice nâ deep, fâme. Just take it.â
And then he grabs a handful of your hair, pulling you back so he can get even deeper, your spine arching just enough.
Fucking hell.
The sound thatâs almost impossible not to make threatens to rip from the pit of your chest, but you bite down in time and it turns into something between a strangled cry and an elongated whimper. You know youâre going to be walking funny tomorrow - but right now, thereâs no such thing as being able to imagine tomorrow.
âYouâfuck.â Itâs a whisper so pained someone might think youâre actually being impaled. In some ways you are. âOh, god, Joel. Ohmygod youâre deepââ
âThere she is.â He all but growls into your ear. âThereâs the tough woman I know.â If he wasnât holding you so tightly you mightâd fall at the way he suddenly slams into you. âTightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? Iâll make you feel good. Just lemmeâ have it nice nâ deep, and Iâll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum tillâ youâre cryin.â
You almost bite your tongue in half at the very thought of him doing that. Your mind is a wasteland of icoherent thought - and itâs then that you know with all the certainty in the world that youâd been done for the moment he came into your life. He always had a rough edge to him - but back then, when you first met, you thought it was just the product of a shitty life. But now, you know better - now, you know heâs just a good-natured person with an innate drive to protect - and youâd go to your grave knowing that youâd go there loving him for it.
Even though, right now, it feels a lot more like heâs trying to kill you rather than protect you.
âOhhh, fuckââ you hiss through grit teeth as he pulls out, dragging slow at tight, wet walls. âMâclose to cryinâ now.â
âMmm.â He all but purrs. âThatâll mean Iâm doinâ my job right.â Thereâs heat in the way he speaks that you swear would burn even the toughest person. But then again, thatâs always been something youâd only ever been able to say about Joel. âMânot gonnaâ be gentle. You know you ainât deserving of it right now.â
Another time, youâd tell him he was wrong. Another time, you would have argued that you hadnât done a single thing wrong - but right now, your thoughts are just as lost as your voice.
Still, you try your best. âW-why? Because Iâmmfâdragged you outtaâ bed?â
âWrong.â You canât see it, but youâre sure thereâs a smirk on his face. âYou really wanna get into it? Wannaâ make a list?â
You donât, but you have the horrible feeling that this is going to happen either way.
âDo I have a choice?â You ask with what little breath you can find.
âNo.â The word sounds so simple - but in that moment, it might as well have been a dagger. âYou donât.â
He pulls out just so he can drive back into you harder, hand sliding from your hair and back over your mouth.
âFirst, you dragged me outtaâ bed. That right there? Shoulda been spanked for it. Next, you got yourself pinned in a goddamn closet with me after raiders chased us down. Almost got us killed.â Another painfully slow draw out, followed by a hard drive back in - smacking your cervix. âAnâ for what? Causeâ you donât wannaâ listen when I say itâs too dangerous to be out here.â
There are a million retorts you could have - most of them have something to do with you being able to take care of yourself - but none of them even find the beginning of your tongue.
Heâll take that win. Just like he takes everything else.
âNot tâmention youâve kept this perfect ass from me for far too long.â Heâs fucking you hard now, head kissing your cervix with each long thrust and youâre crying out under his palm but the sound doesnât escape. He makes sure of it. âMmm, yeah. Far. Too. Long.â
You want to tell him to shut up - that heâs being an ass - but youâre two broken breaths from wailing at the sting on your cervix and the pressure heâs now swirling on your clit. The only thing thatâs left for you to do is the only thing you can do.
Take it.
You roll your hips, shoving back against him with every thrust just to have him hit that much deeper - and if he has something to say about it, he doesnât say it. But he seems satisfied with just that, and suddenly, you think heâs just as close as you are.
âThatâs it.â His voice is tight. âGood girl. Just like that.â
His hips snap against your ass so hard you think you might end up bruised tomorrow, but the thought only adds to the haze in your mind.
âFfffffuckâJoelââ you mewl, pathetic desperate and needy as a whore, against his palm. His fingers speed up against your clit. âOh!â
âTake it, baby. Make me fuckinâ proud.â He hisses in your ear, a groan slipping out between it. âSo good. Pussy feels so good.â
âGonnaâ make me cum.â You try to speak - maybe another time youâd be embarrassed by how desperate you sound, but this isnât that time and itâs not the time to be anything other than truthful. âMmmâgonna cum J-joelââ
âYeah you are.â He grunts, the rhythm of his thrusts stuttering just a little. âSqueezing my cock so goddamn tight. Fuckinâ cum on it, babygirl. Wannaâ feel you.â
The sound that pushes past his palm at just the last moment doesnât sound like you - but you know it is. It's the sound of the kind of pleasure that youâve never experienced before that makes your entire body feel like a rubber band thatâs too tight, and you have the vaguest sense of your walls squeezing the life out of him but thereâs nothing you can do to stop it from happening at all - becuase your climax hits you like a goddamn freight train and its run you over hard.
You think heâs saying something - you know he is - but you canât hear anything aside from the blood racing in your ears. Even still, you know exactly what happens next, because youâve experienced it so many times. The way he loses himself, like he forgets every bit of control he prides himself for having and the need to empty himself inside you takes over.
He spills into you hard - and you love every second of it for the simplicity of the comedown.
Itâs the kind of feeling that washes you in warmth. Itâs the kind of feeling that tells you that the world is going to be okay, so long as youâve got him and heâs got you. He groans and his hands come out to brace against the wall infront of you to hold himself up as he shoots hot jets of cum deep inside your cunt - and you canât remember the last time youâd heard him breathe this hard. Though, truth be told, you canât remember the last time you heard yourself breathe this hard, either.
Your mouth feels dry, your mind feels hazy, and your legs feel weak - and as he leans over you, he can surely tell all three - but he doesnât say anything.
Instead, he drags his mouth over your ear with an inhale.
âMmhmm.â He grumbles as he presses a kiss to your jaw. âLook what you made me to do ya.â Your cheek gets the same treatment, and a breath later as he turns your head slightly, your lips do too. âGonnaâ have my cum leakinâ out of ya all the way back to camp.â
The sound you make doesnât even seem human, but itâs muffled before it even comes - because heâs kissing you. And it isnât a hard kiss like youâd expect - itâs slow and steady, and you know heâs doing it in a way to say sorry, as if he realizes he mightâve gone a little too far.
You smile into it, and he does too.
âYou really are insane.â You whisper as he pulls back slightly. âMy cervix gonnaâ need a week vacation after that.â
âMânot a good man, darlin'. If I was, Iâd say sorry for that.â He whispers with a small kiss against your lips. âBut I ainât. So, Iâll just tell you Iâll take care of you later as much as you like. That good enough for now?â
Thereâs only one answer for you. Only one thatâs ever been the answer with him.
âAlways.â There is a beat of silence, and you smile in the dark. âI love you.â
He pulls out of you, finally, leaving the part of himself behind that tells you how much he loves you too without verbalizing it. Soon as he fixes his jeans, he helps you fix yours.
âAnd I love you.â He whispers, calloused palm finding your own. âLetâs get outtaâ here. The sooner weâre back, the better.â
And that, you canât agree more with.
Idk what to caption
10k words saving...
STUCK WITH YOU - GOJO SATORU
summary. Gojo Satoruâstrongest, cockiest, and, according to him, the hottest man aliveâbows to no one. Until you came along and suddenly, heâs on his knees.
word count. 10.6k (i..dont know)
content. mdni fem! reader, zombie apocalypse au, violence, blood, pet names, satoru is a certified tease, cute banter because we love that here, they're so down bad for each other, smut, oral (fem rec.), p in v, loss of virginity (reader), praise, breeding, creampie, overstim, soft satoru <3
author's note. i miss my man
The sky had been burning when the world ended.
You were fifteenâjust a kid with scraped knees and a heart too big for the horrors it was about to witness.Â
Sirens wailed through the streets, helicopters thundered above, and the sharp stench of smoke and decay clung to the air like death itself. One moment, your parents were urging you to run, voices trembling with fear. The next, everything shattered. A scream. Blood. The gurgled breath of something that wasnât quite human anymore.
You had survived. Somehow. Alone.
But the cost of survival was everything.
-
The woods are silent, save for the crunch of your boots over frostbitten leaves. The moon hangs high above, pale and cold, casting everything in an unforgiving glow. You keep your knife gripped tight in one hand, the other cradling your growling stomach. Itâs been three days since you last found anything remotely edible.
Every snap of a branch, every whisper of wind feels like a threat. Years alone have trained you to expect the worst.
Then you pause.
Smoke. Just a wisp of it in the air. You sniff again, slower this time. It's faint, but definitely there.
You move like a shadow, quiet and cautious, weaving through trees toward the scent. And then you see it:
A flickering campfire nestled in a hollow clearing, throwing gold and orange light onto the figures beside it. Two men. Asleepâat least, you hope they are. One is lying flat on the ground, the other propped against a log, limbs long and sprawled, a blindfold covering his eyes.
Thereâs food by the fire. Real food. Bread. Cans. Water.
You inch closer, heart hammering. Itâs been years since youâve seen other people. You donât know if that makes this moment safer⊠or far more dangerous.
You creep into the circle of warmth, fingers itching toward the supplies. Just one thing. Thatâs all you need.
You barely breathe as you crouch beside the campfire, the heat brushing against your frozen skin like a long-forgotten comfort. Your fingers tremble as you reach for a loaf of breadâreal breadâbut just as your hand closes around it, your boot nudges something metallic.
CLANG.
The tin can hits the ground, and for a moment, silence swallows everything.
Thenâmovement.
You whip your head toward the two figures by the fire. One shoots upright in an instant, long-limbed and alarmingly fast. The other groans awake, slower, disoriented. You donât even have time to run.
"Don't move," the taller one saysâvoice low, commanding. You meet his gaze andâholy hell.
Snow-white hair, cerulean eyes. He stands like someone whoâs fought the world and won. His blindfold hangs around his neck, exposing everything. It's himâthe one with the voice that makes your skin prickle and a face that doesnât belong in this nightmare world.
"Well, well," he drawls, taking a step forward. "And here I thought we were the only pretty faces left."
You swallow, frozen. His companion grabs a weapon, steps forward too, more cautious.
"Who are you?" the second man demands.
The white-haired manâs eyes never leave yours. He smirks.
"Sheâs hungry. Look at her. Poor thing."
You clench your fists. Youâve survived too long to be pitied.
"Touch me and I swear to godâ"
The man raises his hands, mockingly innocent.
"Easy, sweetheart. No oneâs touching you⊠unless you want us to."
You scrunch up your face, disgusted and his grin widens just a little.
You lift your knife. âI donât want trouble. I just need food.â
âIâd say knocking over our supplies in the middle of the night is kinda trouble,â the dark-haired one says. His hair is tied back, strands falling loose around his face, his grip on his weapon steady. âWho are you?â
You swallow thickly. Itâs been so long since anyoneâs asked you that. Your voice is hoarse. âJust someone trying to survive.â
The white-haired one takes a lazy step forward, hands raised in mock surrender.
âChill, Suguru. Sheâs not here to kill us,â he says, and then turns back to you. âYou got a name, mystery girl?â
You eye him warily. ââŠWhy do you care?â
He grins. âBecause mineâs Gojo Satoru. And this grumpy one is Suguru.â
Suguru rolls his eyes. âDonât tell her our names, dumbass.â
But GojoâSatoru, apparentlyâjust shrugs, looking far too amused for someone who just woke up to a stranger trying to rob him.
Your fingers tighten on your knife. But something about him⊠those eyes⊠that voiceâŠ
âYou really gonna stab the guy who might be your best chance at staying alive?â he asks, cocking his head. âCome sit. Eat. Or run. Up to you.â
Your stomach growls loudly.
Satoru grins wider. âThatâs what I thought.â
You slowly lower your knife, but donât put it awayânot yet. Your eyes stay locked on them as you inch closer to the fire. The warmth should be a comfort, but your muscles are still taut, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
Satoru sprawls back onto a log like heâs done this a hundred times. Heâs still smilingâlazy, smug, like heâs enjoying this little show. Suguru doesnât relax. He stays seated, but his eyes follow your every move, knife still held tight in his hand.
You kneel beside the fire, close enough to reach the food, far enough to lunge away if you need to. Thereâs a dented pot with some kind of stew, still warm, and a few pieces of bread wrapped in cloth.
âHelp yourself,â Satoru says, waving a hand like heâs offering a royal feast. âWe even warmed it up for you.â
You shoot him a glare but reach out cautiously, taking just a little. You sniff the stew first. Watch them.
âDonât worry, itâs not poisoned,â Suguru says dryly.
âThatâs what someone who poisoned it would say,â you mutter, tearing off a bite of bread.
Satoru snorts. âSheâs got a mouth on her. I like her.â
You ignore that. Instead, you eat slowly, eyes flicking between them. They donât move. Suguru keeps watch. Satoru lounges like this is the most interesting thing thatâs happened all week.
âHow long have you two been out here?â you ask finally.
âLong enough,â Suguru says, tone clipped.
"Too long," Satoru says, tossing a pebble into the fire like this is just another lazy night for him. "We move around, but we've got a base. Old prison, about twenty miles from here. You?"
You donât answer right away.
âAlone,â you say after a beat. âIâve been alone.â
The fire crackles between you.
Suguruâs gaze softensâjust for a second. But Satoruâs smile stays.
âWell,â he says, stretching out his long legs, âyouâre not alone anymore.â
You narrow your eyes. âIâm not staying.â
âDidnât say you had to.â He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. âBut something tells me you might not leave either.â
Heâs not threatening. Heâs just⊠certain.
Youâre crouched by the fire, still tense, still not entirely trusting, when Satoru leans back on his hands, head tilted.
âYou should come with us,â he says, like itâs the simplest thing in the world. âYouâll be safer.â
Your eyes flick to Suguruâhe doesnât hide the way his jaw clenches.
âShe could be a liability,â Suguru mutters. âYou donât know her.â
âNo,â Satoru agrees, grinning at you. âBut I like her.â
Suguru sighs, deep and disapproving, but you see itâthat soft flicker in his eyes that means heâs already given in.
Satoru turns back to you. âWeâre heading out at first light. If youâre in, pack whatever youâve got.â
You nod, hesitant. But, maybe⊠maybe this is the start of something.
-
A gentle nudge to your shoulder. Then a voice, light and annoyingly cheerful.
âWake up, sleepyhead. Big day today.â
You blink awake to Satoru crouching beside you, white hair a wild halo against the rising sun. He grins.
âYou snore, by the way.â
âI do not.â
âYou do. It was cute.â
You groan, dragging a hand over your face. âRemind me why I agreed to come with you again?â
âBecause Iâm charming,â he beams. âNow come on. We've got a long way to goâand Suguruâs already in a mood.â
You raise an eyebrow. âMaybe he wouldnât be if you stopped talking.â
âOhhh, savage!â he clutches his chest, stumbling back like you just stabbed him. âYou wound me, stranger.â
You roll your eyes and sling your bag over your shoulder. âNot a stranger anymore, remember? You practically adopted me last night.â
Satoru grins, falling into step beside you. âTrue. Youâre my problem now.â
âJoy,â you mutter, but your lips twitch despite yourself.
Suguruâs already waiting up ahead, arms crossed, brow arched like heâs already tired of this nonsense. âYou two done flirting or should I keep walking?â
You open your mouth to protest, but Satoru gets there first.
âJealousy doesnât suit you, Suguru.â
âI will leave you in the woods,â Suguru replies flatly.
âYouâd miss me in an hour.â
âYou wish.â
You stifle a laugh and glance between the two. âAre you always like this?â
Satoru flashes you a grin. âBuckle up, sweetheart. You havenât seen anything yet.â
-
The trek through the forest had been relatively quietâbirds rustled above, trees whispering overhead, and Satoru talking your ear off. But midway through the journey, something shifts.
Suguruâs head tilts first, eyes narrowing at the faint crunch in the distance. Not a squirrel. Not a rabbit.
You hear it next.
Low. Guttural.
A hiss.
Then another.
They come from the trees. Slow at firstâone stumbles into view, then two, then more. Rotting limbs. Glazed-over eyes. That sickening gurgle of hunger.
âAw, shit,â Satoru grins like itâs a party. âLooks like weâve got company.â
Suguru already has his blade drawn, calm as ever. âDonât play around, Satoru.â
âNo promises.â He rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck with a sharp tilt. âTime to impress the new girl.â
The first zombie lungesâand Satoru moves. A blur of motion, too fast to follow. The undeadâs head twists unnaturally before it even hits the ground.
Suguru moves more fluidlyâclean, precise slashes. No theatrics. Just deadly efficiency. His blade slices through two more, not even a drop of blood on him.
But they just keep coming.
Your heart pounds in your ears. Adrenaline surges. Youâd been careful to avoid confrontation all these years, but this is different. You're not alone anymore. And you wonât be dead weight.
You draw your bladeâsharpened scrap metal turned makeshift macheteâand steady your breath.
One charges. You duck, spin, and drive the blade clean through its skull. Another reaches for you. You kick it back hard, burying your weapon in its chest before pulling it free with a grunt.
Satoru whistles low. âWell damn.â
âFocus,â Suguru mutters, cutting another down.
You move together now, three separate forces of destruction.
Satoruâs grinning like a madman, whirling and laughing with every kill. âYou seeing this? Sheâs got bite!â
Suguru flicks blood off his blade. âYou could take a lesson from her.â
Zombies litter the ground within minutes. The forest falls silent againâexcept for your panting breaths.
Satoru walks over, brushing blood off his cheek. âWell, that was fun. You good?â
You nod, chest still heaving. âPeachy.â
âOkay, badass,â he says with a grin, then nudges your shoulder playfully. âI take it back. Youâre not just some lost little stray. Youâve got some claws.â
Suguru simply gives you a once-over, silent approval in his gaze.
You sheath your blade. âTold you I could handle myself.â
Satoru grins wider. âYeah, and it was hot.â
-
The journey's been long, your legs aching from the endless trek, your guard never once loweredânot even with Satoruâs ridiculous jokes or Suguruâs unnervingly sharp eyes on you.
But when the trees begin to thin and the rusted silhouette of a massive abandoned prison looms aheadâwalls towering, fences lined with jagged barbed wire, and lookout towers standing tall like watchful sentinelsâyou feel something you haven't in years:
Hope.
Gojo stretches lazily, like the walk didnât faze him at all. "Home sweet hellhole," he grins. "Bet you werenât expecting this kind of palace."
Suguru doesnât say much, just gestures for you to follow. The guards on the watchtower whistle low when they see the trio approaching, and the gates creak open. Inside, the prison yard is aliveâpeople bustling, fires burning in steel barrels, children laughing (actual children), and survivors moving with purpose.
You're stunned. You didnât think this kind of order still existed.
A kid runs up to Gojo. âSatoru! Youâre back!â
âObviously,â he winks, tossing his jacket at the kid. âMiss me?â
You stare, wide-eyed.
âYouâre like⊠respected here?â
âTerrifying, isnât it?â Gojo deadpans. âStick with me, newbie. Iâll show you the ropes. Maybe even let you survive.â
Suguru glances back, quiet for a moment. âDonât get too comfortable. Itâs safe, but itâs not paradise.â
Gojo leans closer to you as you're led through the gates.
âDonât worry. If anything tries to eat youâaside from meâIâll kill it.â
Your face burns and he just smirks like heâs got you all figured out.
âAww, donât get all shy, now. Whereâd all that bite from earlier go?â he teases, voice low and entirely too smug.
You shove him with a scowl, cheeks still flaming. âShut up, lecher.â
He stumbles back with a dramatic gasp, hand clutching his chest. âLecher? Ouch. You wound me, sweetheart.â
Suguru sighs ahead of you. âIgnore him. He gets like this when heâs not punched often enough.â
Gojo just throws an arm around your shoulders, unbothered and still grinning. âAdmit it, you missed human interaction.â
You glare up at him. âI missed silence.â
âToo bad,â he chirps, âyouâre stuck with me now.â
You follow Gojo through the looming gates of the old prison turned fortress, the creak of rusted metal echoing off cold concrete walls. The place is⊠intimidating, but secure. High fences, makeshift watchtowers, guards with weapons patrolling like hawks. Survivors glance your wayâcurious, cautiousâbut no one approaches just yet.
âWell,â Gojo grins, throwing his arms out dramatically, âwelcome to paradise, sweetheart.â
You shoot him a glare, but before you can answer, a voice calls out.
âDonât call new recruits that, Gojo.â
A tall woman leans against the infirmary doorway, cigarette dangling between her fingers, lab coat stained with faded blood. She looks you up and down, then flicks ash to the ground with a sigh.
âIeiri Shoko. Iâm the doctor over here,â she says. âYou look like hell.â
ââŠThanks?â
âShe means âyouâll fit right in,ââ Gojo says brightly, nudging your shoulder. âSheâs got a warm heart under all that⊠nicotine.â
Before you can respond, another figure approachesâsharp, calculating, blond hair swept neatly back and a stern face that reads no nonsense allowed.
âNanami Kento,â he introduces himself. âI hope you know how to follow rules.â
You stiffen slightly. âDepends on the rules.â
Gojo chuckles. âPlay nice, Nanamin. Sheâs new.â
âAnd sheâll stay alive longer if she learns structure.â
You barely have time to absorb that before someone barrels into the conversation like a human golden retriever.
âGojo-sensei! Youâre back!â
A pink-haired young man skids to a stop beside you, eyes wide with excitement. âWhoaânew person?! Hi! Iâm Itadori Yuji!â
You blink, overwhelmed by the sudden burst of energy.
âYuji,â Gojo sighs fondly. âTone it down a little, yeah? Sheâs been through it.â
Yujiâs smile softens. âRight, sorry. Stillâwelcome. You hungry? Weâve got canned peaches! Theyâre not that bad if you hold your breath.â
A scoff cuts through the chaos.
âThatâs how you welcome someone? âPeaches if you hold your breathâ?â
You turn to see a girl with sharp eyes, short auburn hair, and a confident stance stroll up like she owns the place.
âKugisaki Nobara,â she says, hand on her hip. âDonât let the dumb smiles fool youâYujiâs annoying, but heâs not dangerous. Usually.â
Yuji pouts. âRude.â
And last, from the shadows near the barracks, a low voice.
âDonât overwhelm her.â
A tall boy steps forward, dark hair, brooding expression. Cold eyes meet yours briefly before shifting away like heâs already bored of this interaction.
âFushiguro Megumi.â
You blink. âNice to meet you⊠all.â
âYouâll get used to the chaos,â Nobara says. âEventually.â
Gojoâs grin widens, like a proud dad watching his weird little family.
âSee? Told you youâd like it here.â
Youâre not sure yet. But for the first time in years, youâre not alone.
-
The base is a repurposed prison, all concrete walls and rusted bars, but the way Gojo walks its halls, it might as well be a palace.
âWelcome to paradise,â he grins, pushing open a barred door that creaks like itâs complaining. âDonât let the charming dĂ©cor fool you. The rats love it here.â
You roll your eyes but follow him in. He gestures with a dramatic sweep of his arm. âYour very own cellâer, suite.â
The room is small, but clean. A bed shoved into one corner, a patched-up mattress, and even a chipped mirror on the wall. You nod, impressed despite yourself.
He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. âI gave you the one with a window. You can thank me later.â
You smirk and step back out into the hallway. âTrying to impress me, Gojo?â
âOh, absolutely. Iâm a peacock in the apocalypse, baby.â
You laugh under your breath and follow him down a narrow hall. Thereâs a dip in the concrete, a crack in the floor you donât notice until your boot catchesâyour heart jumps as you pitch forward, but Gojoâs arms are immediately around you.
Strong. Steady. Warm.
âCareful now,â he murmurs, voice all silk and smugness. âYou fell for me already?â
Youâre pressed against his chest, your breath caught in your throat, face heating up. He doesnât move right awayâhis hands settle on your waist, casual and intimate in a way that makes your stomach flip.
You shove him off with a flustered glare. âShut up, lecher.â
He grins, wide and infuriating. âThatâs more like it.â
The rest of the tour is quieter. You pass rooms where others sleep, the mess hall, the infirmary where Shokoâs set up shop. You even glimpse Yuji hauling supplies with Nobara snapping at him in the distance.
But then Gojo stops in front of a heavy iron doorâno windows, no markings. His face changes. The joking fades.
âWhatever you do,â he says, voice low, âdonât go into the commissary. Not alone. Not ever.â
You blink, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness.
âWhy?â
He doesnât answer immediately. His blue eyes sharpen beneath his snowy lashes.
âBecause even monsters like us keep our secrets somewhere,â he says softly. âAnd some doors are locked for a reason.â
You stare at him, heart knocking against your ribs.
Gojo Satoru, unshakable, untouchable⊠looking haunted?
Your skin prickles.
But he flashes you that lazy grin again, like nothing happened. âNow come on. You havenât seen the courtyard. Yuji likes to wrestle people out thereâitâs horrible. Youâll love it.â
And just like that, the moment passes⊠but the warning stays.
-
The rooftopâs quiet late at night.
The chaos of the base fades into a hush, just the distant hum of wind brushing over cracked cement and rusted fences. You lie back against the cool surface, arms behind your head, eyes fixed on the sky above. For once, itâs clear. A spatter of stars gleam like glass shards across a velvet sky.
You let yourself breathe.
No infected. No screaming. No fear.
Just the stars.
Footsteps approachâlight, familiar, cocky.
âI knew you were a stargazer,â Gojo says, easing himself down beside you with a dramatic sigh. âYouâve got that dreamy, melancholic look. So poetic.â
You donât look at him. âYouâve got that annoying, uninvited energy. So parasitic.â
He barks out a laugh. âOw. You wound me, sweetheart.â
A beat passes. Then another.
You can feel him watching you, but for once, he doesnât speak.
And somehow, thatâs more unsettling.
ââŠYou alright?â you ask, finally glancing his way.
Heâs leaning back on his elbows, white hair messy from the wind, blue eyes locked on the starsâbut theyâre distant. Quiet. A far cry from their usual teasing glint.
âIâm heading out tomorrow,â he says casually. âScouting mission. Few days tops.â
You blink. âOh.â
Something flickers in your chest. It shouldnât. Not like this.
âOh,â you repeat, softer. âRight.â
A part of you wants to ask why heâs going. Another part wants to pretend it doesnât matter. You settle for neither, chewing your lip, trying to ignore the weight settling in your gut.
Satoru glances at you then, his smirk lazy but his voice just a touch softer.
âTry not to miss me, yeah?â
You scoff. âIâll throw a party the second you leave.â
âThatâs what they all say,â he murmurs, leaning just a little closer. âThen they realize how boring life is without me.â
His smile is all mischiefâbut behind it, thereâs something warmer. Something real.
And for once⊠you donât fire back. You just look at him.
Maybe youâll miss him a little. Just a little.
-
You donât expect his absence to linger. But it does.
You feel it in the small silencesâthe way the mess hall feels quieter without his dumb jokes echoing through it, how sparring sessions feel colder without him barging in with some smug, offhanded comment about your form.
At night, you find yourself back on the rooftop. The stars are still there, but they donât sparkle like they used to. Itâs stupid, you tell yourself, because what kind of person starts depending on a man like that?
Heâs loud. Heâs infuriating. He teases you relentlessly.
But⊠he saw you. When you thought no one ever would again.
Shoko notices the way youâve been spacing out more. She doesnât say anything until the third night.
âYou okay?â
You nod. Too quickly. âFine.â
She squints at you. âYouâre not fine. Youâre moping.â
âIâm not moping.â
She clicks her tongue. âActing like someoneâs girlfriend.â
You nearly knock your cup over. âIâm notâ!â
But you donât finish that sentence. Because the words feel too close to something youâve been avoiding.
You try to bury itâtell yourself itâs just concern. Youâre just⊠grateful. Itâs not like that. You donât miss his stupid smirk or the way he always stands too close just to fluster you. You donât care about how his hair always looks so damn soft, or how his voice drops a little when heâs serious with you.
You donât.
You donât.
Then the whispers start.
âNo signal from the scouting team.â
âThey were supposed to be back by now.â
A cold chill snakes down your spine.
You start going to the gate more. Just to check. You pretend itâs coincidence.
Itâs not.
You catch yourself gripping the straps of your bag harder than usual. Youâve never hated waiting so much in your life.
Until one eveningâ
The gates finally creak open.
Your breath catches in your throat as the guards call out a name. Several figures walk through the archway, dust and blood clinging to their clothes.
And there he is.
White hair, blue eyes. One sleeve ripped off, a gash on his collarbone, dried blood staining his neckâbut heâs alive.
âSatoru,â you whisper, already walking forward.
His eyes find yours instantly. That grin pulls at his lips like it never left.
âAww, did you miss me?â
You donât answer. You just hit his shoulder. âIdiot.â
But then your hands linger, and before you can stop yourself, youâre pulling him into a tight hug.
He stiffens, just for a second. Then his arms slide around you, strong and warm.
âTry not to cry too hard,â he mutters, voice lightâbut thereâs something tight beneath it.
âI hate you,â you mumble into his shirt.
âSure you do,â he chuckles, and when you pull back, his smile softens.
You donât know what this feeling is. Or maybe you do. You just donât want to name it yet.
But you know this: Youâre glad he came back.
And for now, thatâs enough.
-
You wander the halls of the prison alone, the hum of fluorescent lights above your head flickering inconsistently. Satoru had taken the kids out back for training, and with nothing to do and no one to bother you, you figured youâd finally explore the rest of the base.
The place was massiveâtoo massive. Each cell block looked like the next, corridors looping endlessly into each other until your curiosity outweighs your sense of direction. One door, rusted and slightly ajar, catches your eye.
You shouldâve turned around.
You push it open.
Inside is dark, dusty. Shelves line the walls, broken crates and old rations tossed everywhere. You wander deeper, hesitant but unaware. That isâŠuntil it hits.
The smell.
Rotting flesh, stagnant air, the thick, unmistakable stench of death.
And thenâmovement.
Shuffling. A low groan. Shadows twitch. A hand smacks against a shelf and knocks it over with a crash.
They're here.
Your eyes snap wide and panic sets in instantly. There are so many.
You run.
You shove a metal shelf in their path, throw an old stool, anything you can get your hands on to slow them down. Your breaths are shallow, desperate. But just as you near the exitâ
Your ankle gives out.
A sick snap, searing pain, and you crash to the floor with a cry. You scramble backward, pressing yourself against the wall, using your good leg to kick anything that comes close.
This is it. This is it.
You squeeze your eyes shut, heart pounding.
Gunshots.
The sound like thunder crashing right next to your ear.
You blink up, barely processing the white blur tearing through the undead like paper.
âI told you not to go in here!â he shouts, voice slicing through the chaos.
âSatoruâ!â
The zombies turn just in time for Satoru to drive his fist into the nearest oneâs chest, cracking bone and sending it flying back into the others like bowling pins.
âSeriously?â he growls, stepping in front of you, his broad back shielding your crumpled form. âI leave you alone for five minutes.â
One lunges from the side. Gojo ducks effortlessly, grabs it by the throat, and slams it into the ground so hard its skull splits open on impact. Another claws at his shoulder, but he just grabs its wrist, twists, and kicks out its knee in one brutal motion. It collapses, and he doesnât even look as he drives a sharp piece of wood through its head.
And thenâyou're in his arms. Just like that.
Lifted effortlessly, pressed against his chest as he strides out of the hellhole.
You cling to him, trembling.
âI didnât know it was the commissary,â you whisper between sobs. âI didnât mean toâI didnât knowâI justâGod, Iâm so sorry, Gojo, Iââ
His voice is low, firm, but gentle. âHey. Breathe. Iâve got you.â
You look up at him, lip quivering. âIâI made you worryâŠâ
âYeah, you did,â he says with a wry little smirk, but his eyes are too soft, too relieved to match it. âDonât ever do that again, got it?â
You nod.
âGood,â he murmurs, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your face. âBecause if I lost you... Iâd have to kill the rest of the world just for pissing me off.â
Your breath hitches.
You stare up at him, heart pounding, face flushed from more than just the sprint for your life.
âW-What kind of psycho logic is that?â you mutter, trying to deflect, your voice barely steady.
Satoru smirks down at you, still holding you effortlessly in his arms like you weigh nothing. âCâmon, donât act so surprised. Iâm dramatic, havenât you noticed?â
âYouâre insane,â you whisper, trying not to combust under his gaze.
âAnd youâre blushing,â he points out smugly, nose nearly brushing yours. âKinda cute, actually.â
You twist in his hold, hiding your face against his shoulder. âShut up,â you mumble, voice muffled.
He laughs softly, the sound vibrating through your chest. âCanât. Teasing you is the only thing keeping me sane these days.â
You can feel the tension slipping away, replaced by something heavier, warmer. He lowers you gently onto a nearby bench just outside the danger zone, kneeling before you like itâs second nature, hands skimming your calves as he examines your ankle again.
When he looks up this time, his expression is different. Less playful. More raw.
âI meant it, you know,â he says quietly. âYou scared the hell out of me in there.â
You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. âI didnât mean toââ
âI know,â he cuts in, hand brushing yours. âBut next time, brat, wait for me. No solo adventures.â
Your lips twitch. âYouâre calling me a brat now?â
âBorrowing the title. Think I earned it after saving your ass.â
You huff a laugh, cheeks still warm. ââŠThanks.â
His grin softens. âAnytime.â
And just like that, you both sit thereâhis fingers still wrapped gently around your hand, his thumb rubbing absent circles over your knucklesâas the adrenaline fades and something else takes its place. Something quieter. Heavier. Charged.
-
Satoru insists on carrying you the whole way to the infirmary, ignoring your every protest.
âThis is unnecessary,â you mutter, burying your face in his shoulder to avoid every curious glance.
âYou twisted your ankle and almost got mauled. Humor me,â he says, smug but gentle, like the two can coexist in him with ease.
He kicks open the infirmary door with his foot.
âDelivery for one idiot who wandered into a no-go zone,â he calls out casually.
Shoko looks up from her desk, raising a brow at the sight of you both. âWell, well. If it isnât the baseâs golden boy and his damsel in distress.â
âI wasnât distressed,â you blurt out instantly, wiggling in Gojoâs hold.
âOh?â she hums, amused. âYou sure? Because I couldâve sworn I heard âGojo! Help!â from all the way down the hall.â
You splutter. âThatâs notâ I meanââ
âLoudly,â she adds with a pointed smirk.
Satoru just laughs and sets you down on one of the cots, his hand lingering a little longer than necessary on your back before stepping aside.
âSheâs fine. Just the ankle,â he says. âBut maybe check if she sprained anything else. She fell pretty hard.â
Shoko moves closer, completely ignoring the medical part for now, because sheâs too focused on watching the both of you squirm.
âOhhh,â she teases, eyes sparkling. âLook at the two of you. Cute. Almost like a couple.â
You and Satoru freeze at the exact same time.
âNope!â
âNot a couple!â
âDefinitely not!â
You shoot each other a panicked glance and then immediately look away, flustered messes in stereo.
Shoko snorts. âUh-huh. Sure.â
You glare. âCan we just focus on my ankle now?â
âFine, fine,â she drawls, clearly enjoying herself. âJust sayinâ. Wouldnât be the worst match. You get saved, he gets to play hero. Very fairytale.â
âI hate all of this,â you mutter under your breath, while Satoru just smiles to himself, unbothered but definitely pleased.
When Shoko starts wrapping your ankle, he leans against the wall with his arms crossed, watching.
And you swear you see itâthat tiny, knowing glint in his eyes.
Like he wants her to say it again.
Because maybe, just maybe⊠he doesnât mind the idea.
-
Itâs later that night when thereâs a knock at your door. Youâve barely had time to settle in, still awkwardly hobbling around on one foot with your bandaged ankle.
âWho is it?â you call.
âItâs your favorite,â comes the unmistakable voice from the other side.
You roll your eyes but canât stop the tiny smile tugging at your lips. âDidnât know Nanami suddenly got chatty.â
A muffled chuckle. âHa. Hilarious. Open up.â
You limp to the door and unlock it. Satoru is standing there, a little disheveled, hands full.
âBrought you dinner,â he says casually, holding out a tray with two mismatched bowls, steam still curling from the soup. âFigured you might be tired of Shokoâs painkillers and snark.â
You blink, caught off guard. âYou didnât have to.â
âI know,â he says dramatically, stepping in without being invited. âThatâs what makes me so noble.â
You laugh despite yourself, and he grins like that was the goal all along. He sets the tray down on your little desk, then gestures toward your bed.
âCome on, sit. Canât have you falling over again. One near-death experience per day is my limit.â
You sit, trying not to look too charmed when he settles next to youâclose, but not too closeâjust enough for your knees to brush.
âI still feel terrible about earlier,â you say after a moment, poking at the edge of your bowl. âI didnât mean to worry you.â
âYou didnât worry me,â he says too quickly, too nonchalantly.
You glance up. âLiar.â
He sighs and leans back on his hands, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
âFine. Maybe I panicked a little. Sue me.â
A silence lingers, not uncomfortable. Just⊠warm.
Then, softer: âDonât do that again, okay?â
You look at him, really look at himâthe shadows under his eyes, the slight dip in his brow, the way his voice softens when itâs just you and him.
And something in your chest stirs. Something thatâs been creeping in, slow and steady, ever since he offered you food by a fire that first night.
You nod. âI wonât.â
He glances over, catches your gazeâand doesnât look away this time.
Thereâs something unspoken passing between you. Familiar. Intense. Safe.
âYouâre really something, yâknow that?â he murmurs.
You raise a brow. âThat supposed to be a compliment?â
He smirks. âDepends. You gonna fall harder for me if it is?â
You flush instantly. âSatoruââ
He laughs and nudges your bowl toward you. âEat before it gets cold, princess.â
You grumble under your breath but dig in.
And Satoru?
He watches you with that same lopsided grin, heart doing something stupid in his chest.
Because yeahâmaybe you fell.
But maybe heâs been falling, too.
-
Itâs past midnight when you stir.
The pain in your ankle has dulled to a throb, but it isnât what wakes you. Itâs⊠something else. A presence. Warm. Close.
You blink against the low glow of the hallway light seeping under your door, and when your eyes adjustâ
You see him.
Satoru.
Slouched in the chair by your bed, long legs awkwardly folded, head tipped to the side, snowy hair falling across his face in soft, messy tufts. His mouth is slightly parted, breathing slow and even. His arms are crossed, like he hadnât meant to fall asleep there.
Like he was just keeping watch.
Just in case.
Your heart does a little flip.
You shift quietly, trying not to make a sound. But even with all your care, the mattress creaksâbarely. His eyes snap open immediately, hand twitching toward a weapon that isnât there. Pure instinct.
Then he sees you. And relaxes.
âOh,â he breathes, voice gravelly with sleep. âYouâre awake.â
You sit up slowly. âWere you⊠here all night?â
He rubs the back of his neck. âNot all night. Just since⊠yâknow. Evening.â
You squint at him. âSatoru.â
He sighs. âFine. Yeah. All night.â
You stare at him. âWhy?â
He shrugs, suddenly sheepish. âWanted to make sure you didnât wander off again and get yourself eaten.â
You frown. âYou shouldâve slept in your room.â
He smirks. âWhat, and miss out on babysitting you?â
You chuck a pillow at him.
He catches it easily and grins. But when he sees you holding his gaze, that grin softens.
âI just wanted to make sure you were okay,â he admits, quieter now.
Something gentle settles in your chest. You pull your blanket up and scoot slightly to the side.
ââŠThereâs space. If youâre tired.â
He blinks at you. âAre you asking me to cuddle, orrrrâŠâ
You glare. âIâm offering you a more comfortable sleeping arrangement.â
He doesnât hesitate.
He slides in beside you carefully, so carefully, like youâll break if he jostles you too much. And then you feel the warmth of him next to you, his presence steady and solid and safe.
ââŠThis okay?â he murmurs, his voice a whisper in the dark.
You nod.
And slowly, slowly, you feel his fingers brush yours under the blanket. He doesn't hold your handânot yet. Just touches.
Testing the waters.
You donât pull away.
And in the silence that follows, you hear his breathing even out again.
But yours?
Yours is all over the place.
-
Morning sunlight filters through the barred window, casting soft stripes across your face.
You're warm. So warm.
Your cheek is pressed against something solid. Something that rises and falls gently beneath you. And thereâs a hand resting at the small of your back, pulling you closer, keeping you there.
Your heart skips.
Your eyes blink openâand there he is.
Gojo Satoru. Asleep. Face relaxed and serene, messy white hair haloed in gold light. His other arm is curled under your pillow, supporting your head like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And you're lying on top of him.
Your breath catches in your throat.
You should move. You need to move.
But just as you're about to untangle yourselfâ
Click.
The door creaks open.
You freeze.
âOh my god,â comes Shokoâs voice, casual, amused, and way too smug. âWell, wellâwhat do we have here?â
You nearly leap out of bed, scrambling to sit upâonly for your body to protest painfully, and you wince with a hiss.
Satoru wakes with a start, blinking up at Shoko in confusion before slowly realizing the position you're in.
âOh,â he says blankly. âMorning, doc.â
You swat his shoulder. âSay something useful?!â
Shoko just leans against the doorway, arms crossed, grinning like sheâs discovered the worldâs juiciest secret. âNo no, donât let me interrupt. I was just checking on the patient, but clearly, sheâs in very good hands.â
Youâre burning. âItâs not what it looks like!â
Shoko raises a brow. âOh, so you werenât cuddled up like two lovebirds all night? Should I tell Nanami youâve finally found someone willing to put up with your nonsense, Satoru?â
He stretches lazily and pulls the blanket back over himself with a smirk. âActually, yeah. Tell him. Maybe then heâll finally stop lecturing me about responsibility.â
You groan and bury your face in your hands. âIâm never going to live this down.â
Shoko chuckles, walking away. âNope. Iâm telling everyone.â
The door clicks shut behind her.
Silence.
You glare at Satoru through your fingers. âThis is your fault.â
He grins. âYou offered me a spot on the bed, your majesty.â
You shove a pillow at him. He catches itâagain.
And then he smiles, soft and teasing, voice still a little raspy from sleep.
â...So. Want me to sleep over again tonight?â
âGet out.â
-
The first few days are rough.
You try to walk without limping. Try to reach for things on your own. Try not to feel like a burden.
But then thereâs him.
You wake up to warm food at your bedside, Satoru leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin. âBrought you breakfast in bed, sweetheart. Donât get used to itâIâm not always this nice.â
He very much is.
He offers his arm without asking when you need support. Doesnât mention it when you wince or grit your teeth. Just lets you lean on him, like youâve always belonged there.
You try to carry something heavy across the hallâhe appears out of nowhere, snatching it from your hands. âTsk. You trying to die or what?â
You try to help in the kitchen. He catches you wobbling and swoops in with a hand around your waist. âWhoa there, Bambi. What happened to âtaking it easyâ?â
You try to sneak off to explore the base again. He corners you in the hallway with a look that says absolutely not. âYouâre still healing, brat. Unless you want me to carry you everywhere again?â
Cue your entire face combusting.
Heâs annoying. Cocky. Ridiculously persistent.
ButâŠ
He adjusts your blanket when youâre asleep on the couch. Tucks a water bottle by your side without saying anything. Teaches you how to balance properly on one foot so your ankle can recover without straining the other.
And at night, when you think everyoneâs asleep, you catch him checking on youâquietly, carefully. Making sure youâre okay.
You pretend not to notice.
But your heart notices. It notices everything.
-
You stand in the middle of your room, shifting your weight onto your healed ankle, then back again. No pain. No tightness. Just a deep breath and the quiet realization:
Youâre better. Finally.
The door creaks open without warningâbecause Satoru never knocksâand in he strolls with his usual swagger and two mugs in hand. âMorning, sweetheart. Brought youâ"
He stops in his tracks.
Youâre standing. Not limping. Not clutching the edge of the bed for balance.
Just⊠standing.
He squints, slowly lowering one mug. â...Why arenât you in bed?â
You raise a brow. âBecause Iâm not dying?â
âOh no. Absolutely not.â He sets the mugs down and points a very offended finger at you. âYou donât just get to get better without warning me. I was emotionally invested in this arc.â
You laugh. âSorry to ruin your Florence Nightingale fantasy.â
âRuin? Excuse you, I was thriving. Whoâs gonna let me spoon-feed you now?â
You roll your eyes, limping toward him just to mess with him. âI could pretend, if it makes you feel better.â
âDonât tempt me.â
He walks over before you can say anything elseâhis hands hover, cautious at first, then one slides to your waist. âYou really okay?â
You nod. âIâm good. Really.â
Satoru lets out a breath he didnât realize he was holding. Then he grins. âAlright. Guess that means I can stop being your personal nurse and go back to being your favorite nuisance.â
Youâre smiling. Heâs back to teasing. But thereâs a softness in his eyes that lingers a little too long, a thumb that brushes your hip before falling away.
He missed taking care of you.
And maybe, just maybe, you kind of miss being taken care of.
-
Youâre jogging laps around the edge of the prison yard, the early morning chill nipping at your cheeks. Itâs peacefulâquiet enough that your footsteps and the rhythmic beat of your breath are the only sounds you hear.
Until a familiar voice breaks through the silence.
âWell, well, if it isnât my favorite brat, back in action.â
You slow down, a smirk tugging at your lips as you turn toward the voiceâand promptly choke on air.
Satoru.
Stretching.
Shirtless.
His snowy hair tousled from whatever ungodly workout heâs been doing, sweat gleaming on the hard lines of his chest and abs like the universe conspired to craft a Renaissance painting just to spite you. His sweats hang low on his hips, revealing that infuriating V-line that should not be legal in a post-apocalyptic society.
You blink. Once. Twice.
He grins, catching the way your eyes are very not subtly stuck on him.
âLike what you see?â
You scowl, instantly turning your gaze to a very fascinating patch of dirt on the ground. âPlease. Iâve seen better.â
âMmhm.â He takes a deliberate step forward, arms crossing over his annoyingly perfect chest. âName one.â
â...â
âThatâs what I thought.â
You huff and start jogging again, forcing your eyes to stay forward. But then he jogs up beside youâshirtless and smug, of courseâand easily matches your pace.
âYou sure youâre fully healed? What if you, I dunno⊠trip and fall again?â he says, tone mockingly sweet. âNeed me to catch you, princess?â
âIâd rather faceplant into a zombie.â
He laughs, low and lazy. âI dunno, that sounds painful. Better to land on something soft. Like me.â
You glare at him, cheeks burning. âYouâre the worst.â
âAnd yet,â he nudges you playfully with his elbow, âyouâre still jogging next to me. Whoâs really winning here?â
You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth crawling up your neck. But deep down, you know.
Heâs definitely winning.
-
After the jog, Satoru insists you âcool downâ with some light sparring. You roll your eyes, but follow him to the training mats anyway. Heâs already bouncing on his heels when you step in front of him, still shirtless, still smug.
âYou sure youâre up for this?â he teases. âWouldnât want to break you again.â
âIâm more worried about bruising your ego,â you shoot back, taking your stance.
He whistles low. âFeisty. I like it.â
The sparring beginsâlight jabs, easy dodges. Youâre nimble, focused, but he is... effortless. Every time you swipe at him, he ducks with a grin. When you go in for a kick, he sidesteps and lets out an exaggerated yawn.
âYou done yet, sweetheart?â he asks, still dancing around you. âAt this rate, I could do this blindfolded.â
âShut up and hold still!â you lunge at him againâthis time faster, bolderâbut he grabs your wrist mid-swing and spins you around so fast the world tilts. Before you know itâ
Youâre pinned.
Back hits the wall. His hand holds your wrists above your head, other arm braced beside you. His body is dangerously close, breath fanning your cheek. His tone shifts, deeper. Rougher.
âYou keep mouthing off like that,â he murmurs, eyes gleaming, âI might start thinking you want me to put you in your place.â
Your breath catches. âIââ
âHmm?â he leans in, lips ghosting your jaw. âNo witty comeback now?â
You try to move, but his grip tightens just slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you that this isnât a game anymore.
âI could kiss you right now,â he whispers, âand thereâs nothing you could do about it.â
Your heart hammers in your chest. âYou wouldnât.â
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.
âWanna bet?â
Your breathing is shallow, heat rising to your cheeks. Youâre acutely aware of how close he is, the way his chest brushes against yours with every breath, the sharp glint in his eye, the smirk thatâs far too smug for your sanity.
And thenâ
His lips graze your neck. Barely there. A soft brush of heat against your skin. You flinchânot out of fear, but from the jolt that shoots down your spine. Goosebumps bloom instantly. His breath tickles your skin.
âSensitive,â he hums, lips ghosting up toward your jaw, â...cute.â
âSatoruââ you whisper, voice barely audible.
He pulls back just enough to look at you. His gaze drops to your lips, heavy and unblinking. And he leans in, slower this time, like he wants you to feel the anticipation. You can feel your heartbeat in your throatâ
And thenâ
âAM I INTERRUPTING SOMETHING?â
You both jolt like youâve been electrocuted.
Satoru spins around with a groan, still caging you against the wall. âShoko. Seriously?â
She stands a few feet away, arms crossed, one brow cocked and a wicked smirk playing at her lips. âWow. Could cut the tension with a scalpel. Should I come back later or just pass you a condom now?â
âShoko,â you squeak, face on fire, squirming to escape Gojoâs hold.
He lets you go reluctantly, chuckling under his breath. âYou wish you caught the good part.â
âI did catch the part where your face was buried in her neck like a starving vampire,â Shoko deadpans.
You bury your face in your hands.
Satoru just laughs. âYou jealous?â
âPlease. I'd rather not watch my coworkers dry hump in public,â she says, already turning on her heel. âAnyway. You two lovebirds done? I need one of you to help with supplies.â
âYeah, yeah,â Gojo waves her off. Then he glances back at you, still all flushed and flustered, and leans down one last time to whisper in your ear:
âTo be continued, princess.â
And just like that, he strolls off like nothing happened.
You're left against the wall, heart pounding, neck tingling, completely and utterly undone.
-
Itâs quiet for once.
Most of the clan is out on a supply run or patrolling the perimeter. Youâd offered to stay behind, helping Shoko reorganize her medical supplies before wandering off with a basket of laundryâwarm clothes folded under your arm as you pace the empty corridors of the prison, barefoot, relaxed.
You finally set the basket down in the communal quarters, humming under your breath while sorting through what belongs to who. Itâs⊠peaceful. The late afternoon sun slants in through the high windows, bathing everything in warm light.
Untilâ
âPicking up where we left off?â
You jolt, nearly dropping the shirt in your hands.
Gojo.
Leaning against the doorframe, casual as ever, sleeves pushed up, hair a bit messy like he just woke from a nap. His eyes are glinting beneath the lazy droop of his lashes, and that smirkâthat godforsaken smirkâis unmistakable.
He saunters in before you can get a word in.
âGeez, you sneak up on people like a damn ghost,â you mumble, cheeks already burning as you turn back to the laundry.
âAw, donât be shy now,â he teases, coming closer. âYou werenât so shy when I had you pinned against the wall.â
You stiffen. âYou got interrupted. Big difference.â
âOh? So you wanted me to kiss you?â
You glare at him over your shoulder, but heâs already behind you, arms slipping around your waistâloosely at first, giving you a chance to push him away.
You donât.
âI was thinking about you,â he murmurs against your ear. âAll damn day. Thought Iâd come see how you were holding up without me.â
âI was fine,â you huff, but itâs so breathless it betrays you instantly.
He chuckles. âThat right?â
His hands glide up your sides, slow and sure, fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt. âCâmon, sweetheart. Just admit itâyou missed me.â
You turn in his arms, glaringâbut itâs weak at best. âYouâre so full of yourself.â
âMaybe,â he leans in, forehead brushing yours, voice dropping, âbut I still remember how fast your heart was beating last time.â
You swallow.
And this time? Thereâs no Shoko to walk in. No patrols due back. No reason to stop.
You hesitate for a beat.
And then you pull him in by the collar.
The kiss is feral. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. Weeksâmonthsâof tension snapping all at once. His hands find your waist, gripping tight as he hoists you up like you weigh nothing.
âFuckââ he groans against your lips. âYouâve been killing me, yâknow that?â
You wrap your legs around his waist and tug him closer. âGood.â
He pulls back, grinning. âOh, you wanna play it like that?â
You donât get a chance to answer before heâs kissing down your jaw, your neck, dragging that maddening tongue of his down your collarbone. His hands are everywhereâpalming your hips, your thighs, sliding under your shirt like he owns you.
Which, at this point, maybe he does.
âTell me to stop,â he pants, hovering over your lips again. âTell me now, and I will.â
You look him dead in the eyes, tug his shirt over his head, and whisper:
âDonât you fucking dare.â
Your back hits the nearest wall with a muffled gasp, Satoruâs mouth already on yours, hungry and hot. His hands roam your body like heâs memorizing it with touch alone, fingers tugging at fabric with a frustrated groan.
âOff,â he growls into the kiss, already pulling your shirt over your head like it's offended him. He sets you down to pull your pants down along with your panties. And the moment youâre bare before him, he stands back, breath catching in his throat. His eyesâicy blue and blown wide with lustâroam your figure, landing on your chest like heâs just been given the meaning of life.
ââŠCan I motorboat your tits?â
You blink.
You laugh, startled and breathless. âAre youâare you serious right now?â
His lips curve into a wolfish grin, and heâs already surging forward to kiss you again. âMaybe next time,â he mumbles between kisses. âI donât think I can wait to taste you now.â
You arch a brow, teasing, breath catching when he trails his mouth down your jaw. âNext time?â
He chuckles, low and dark. âYou think Iâm letting you off the hook after this?â His hands slide down your waist, thumbs stroking your hips. âNah, sweetheart. Iâm gonna ruin you.â
Then he sinks to his knees.
The grin fades into something hungrier, more reverent as he kisses the inside of your thigh, dragging his teeth gently across soft skin. âSpread âem for me,â he says, voice a whisper but firm. And when you do, he groans like heâs just tasted something forbidden.
You cry out the second his tongue touches you, hands flying to grip his hair. He doesnât stop. Doesnât want to. Itâs slow, torturousâhis pace deliberate as he works you open, devouring like a man starved. His moans vibrate against your skin, and when your legs tremble, he just pins them open wider, groaning, âThatâs it⊠let me hear you, baby.â
Your back arches as Satoru licks another slow, devastating stripe up your core, tongue curling at your entrance before he moves to suck gently on your clit. Your fingers tighten in his hair, thighs instinctively trying to close around his headâbut his arms loop under your knees, spreading you wider, holding you open like he owns you.
âYou're not going anywhere,â he mutters, eyes flicking up, glazed over with lust and something dangerous. âTold you. Iâm gonna ruin you.â
Then heâs back at itâslower this time, tongue flattening against you, then circling, dragging soft groans out of you as the tension coils tight in your belly. He eats you out like heâs trying to memorize the taste of you, savoring every movement, every moan he draws. He alternates between deep, dragging strokes and sharp, teasing flicks, lips closing around your clit to suck just hard enough to make your breath hitch.
You cry out, hips bucking up into his mouth, and he growlsâlow and throatyâas if turned on by how wrecked you already are.
"Fuckâso sweet," he groans, voice muffled against you. âCould stay down here all night.â
And he means it. He shifts slightly, tongue plunging into you now, slow and shallow, nose nudging your clit as he drinks in every sound you make like it fuels him. Every little tremble, every whimperâhe devours it.
He doesnât stop. Not when you start trembling, not when you whine his name in warning. He keeps going, lips slick and relentless, untilâ
Your vision whites out. Your body tightens, back bowing, mouth falling open on a silent scream as you fall over the edge, pleasure shattering through you like a storm.
Only then does he pull back, lips and chin glistening. He breathes hard, eyes dark and blown, grinning like he just won a war.
âThatâs the sound I wanted to hear.â
He stands up again to pick you up, carrying you to the nearby table, settling you on it, completely bare under the low light, legs parted slightly, chest heaving. Youâre flushed, tremblingânot from fear, but anticipation. Nerves. Heat. Itâs all crashing together in your head, and he sees it.
His hands move to his waistband, fingers curling beneath the fabric of his pants. He tugs them down with practiced ease, freeing himselfâand your breath catches.
Your eyes drift down instinctively, and your stomach tightens at the sight of him. Heâs big. Thick, flushed, already hard and aching.
Your pulse stutters, nerves flickering to the surface. âOhâŠâ
âHey,â he says gently, fingers brushing your cheek. âYou okay?â
You hesitate, biting your lip. âItâs just⊠Iâve never done this before.â
Satoru freezes for a moment. His expression doesnât shift muchâbut his eyes, bright and blue, soften in an instant.
ââŠYou havenât?â he asks quietly, tone a stark contrast to the sinful smirk he wore earlier. You shake your head.
He exhales slowly, like heâs grounding himself. Then he leans in and kisses youâslow, patient, loving.
âWell, fuck,â he murmurs against your lips. âNow I really have to behave.â
You blink up at him. âYou? Behave?â
He chuckles, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. âOkay, maybe not completely. But Iâll go slow. Make it good for you. You trust me, right?â
You nod.
âGood.â His voice drops a little. âThen let me take care of you, yeah?â
Heâs gentleâso gentle it almost breaks you. His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, to your chest. He pauses there, kissing over your breasts, fingers caressing your sides as though you might disappear if heâs not careful.
âYouâre so fucking beautiful,â he breathes. âGonna remember this forever.â
When he finally lines himself up, he doesnât rush. He keeps kissing you, whispering into your skin.
âBreathe with me,â he says. âNice and easy, baby. Just relax.â
The stretch burns, but his voice never leaves you. His hands never stop movingâstroking your sides, brushing your hair from your face, thumbing away the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes.
âYouâre doing so good,â he murmurs. âSo tight, fuckâsqueezing me like you were made for me.â
Your breath catches, eyes fluttering shut.
âLook at me,â he says softly, âI wanna see your face.â
You meet his eyesâblown wide with emotion, affection, reverence. And thatâs when he starts to move. Slowly, so slowly you can feel everything. Every drag, every pull.
âFeels good?â he asks, and when you nod, he smiles like youâve just handed him the universe.
âYouâre perfect,â he groans, picking up pace just a little. âTakinâ me so well, sweetheart. My pretty girl, lettinâ me be her first.â
You moanâpart embarrassment, part blissâand he kisses the sound from your mouth.
âCanât believe no oneâs touched you like this before,â he mutters against your skin. âBut Iâm glad. Glad itâs me. Glad I get to show you.â
He starts rolling his hips deeper, each thrust slow and purposeful, coaxing pleasure out of you bit by bit.
âLet go, baby. Iâve got you.â
Youâre already gaspingâyour body burning, overstimulated from the build-up and the way he moves inside you. Every drag of him is a stretch, a delicious ache, and youâre trying so hard to keep up, to breathe, to hold yourself togetherâbut itâs too much.
And then it hits.
Your climax crashes over you like a tidal waveâlouder, sharper, more intense than the lastâand your body tightens instinctively, your walls fluttering around him like they donât want to let him go.
âFuckââ Satoruâs voice breaks, a guttural groan tumbling from his throat as he stills, trembling above you. âYouâre gonna ruin me, babyâŠâ
His grip tightens on your waist, jaw clenched as he tries to hold backâbut youâre squeezing him so tight, so perfect, and his restraint shatters.
âYouâre killinâ me,â he grits out, starting to move againâdeeper, slower, more intentionalâbut thereâs an edge of desperation now. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. âFeels so goodâfuck, I donât wanna hurt you.â
You shake your head, nails digging into his shoulders. âDonât stop,â you whimper, barely able to form the words. âPleaseâŠâ
He kisses you hardâlike he canât help himself, like youâre the only thing keeping him grounded. âYouâre doinâ so good for me, sweetheart. So, so goodâŠâ
ââToru-â you whimper.
That breaks him.
He groans, slamming into you harder, mouth finding your neck as he nips and kisses down to your collarbone. âFuck. Say it again.â
You whimper again, brain hazy. ââToruâŠâ
He kisses you slow then, deeper. Rough pace never faltering, but his hands gentler nowâone wrapping around your waist, the other brushing the hair from your face.
âMine,â he murmurs against your lips. âYouâre mine now, yeah?â
You nod desperately, legs locking around his hips. âYours.â
âDamn right,â he grits, driving into you harder, chasing both your highs with everything he has.
The overstimulation has tears stinging your eyes, your legs trembling, voice catching on every moan. And when that next orgasm builds too fast, too hardâit snaps through you like a live wire. Your body arches off the table, clamping down around him againâ
âand Satoru snaps.
âShitâtake it, baby. Let me fill you up, yeah? Gonna make you mine, fuck, you already areâlook at you...â he chokes out, thrusting deep one last time before he comes, spilling into you with a long, breathless groan. His arms wrap around you as if to anchor himself, holding you so close, like he needs to feel every inch of you, inside and out.
âLook at you,â he murmurs between pants, pressing kisses across your face. âTakinâ me so well⊠Youâre mine now, yeah? All mine.â
You nod, dazed and boneless, wrapped in his warmth.
And he stays like that, inside you, forehead resting against yours as he murmurs soft, reverent praisesâlike this wasnât just your first time.
Like it was everything.
Your bodyâs still tremblingânerves fried, skin flushed, heart thudding against your chest as if itâs trying to burst free. Youâre barely aware of anything except the warm, strong arms pulling you into a careful embrace, the kiss he presses to your temple like itâs the most sacred thing he could ever do.
âHeyâŠâ Satoru murmurs, voice all honey and rasp, rough around the edges but impossibly gentle. âYou okay?â
You nod, chest rising and falling against his, cheeks still hot, but thereâs a smile on your lips.
âYeah,â you breathe. âJust⊠wow.â
He laughs softly, the sound low and breathy as his fingers brush along your spine in lazy, soothing strokes. âYou were incredible,â he says, and he means it. Every word. âSo good for me. So perfect.â
Your face scrunches with a flustered noise, burying it into his shoulder. âStopâŠâ
âNever,â he grins, nosing into your hair. âYou donât get to be all pretty and sweet and make those sounds and expect me to stay quiet about it.â
You groan. âSatoruââ
âShhh.âÂ
His palm rests on your back as he holds you close, thumb drawing lazy circles. You can still feel the dull, pleasant ache of him inside you, the heat he left behind. His breath is warm against your cheek. Safe. Comforting.
âYou did so good, baby,â he murmurs again, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw. âFirst time and you still managed to rock my fucking world.â
Your heart stutters. âWasnât just the sex,â you say quietly.
He stills for half a secondâand then he smiles, soft and genuine.
âI know,â he whispers.
Youâre still breathless, body flushed and boneless in his arms when Satoru gathers you close, lips pressed gently to your temple. The air between you is warm, quiet save for the distant hum of life around the base. He shifts a little, glancing down at the table beneath you both, and you catch that flicker in his eyesâguilt, soft and creeping.
âI shouldâveâŠâ he starts, voice low, almost sheepish. âShit, I shouldâve taken you somewhere better. A bed, a blanket, something that wasnât a hardass table. It was your first time and I justââ He pauses, brows pinching like the regretâs eating at him now. âI got selfish.â
You lift your hand to his cheek, thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth. âHey,â you whisper, leaning in until your lips ghost over his, shutting him up with a kiss so soft, so full of emotion it makes his heart stutter.
When you pull back, your smile is small but sure. âIt was more than okay. Because it was with you.â
Satoru blinks, breath caught in his throat. And for once, the man with a mouth like a wildfire doesnât have anything to say.
Until he pulls you tighter into his chest and mutters, âYouâre gonna be the death of me, you know that?â
You just grin into his skin. âGuess weâll go down together then.â
Then silence. Not awkward, not tenseâjust full of warmth. Full of everything. His arms around you. Your fingers laced with his.
You donât say it. Not yet. But maybe one day soon.
For now, the way he holds you like youâre something to be cherished?
Itâs more than enough.
author's note. finally have time to post consistently! last month or two were BUSY so couldn't do much </3 i'm proud of how this one turned out ^^ also, shoko is such a baddie i love her
please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.
HI had acc on here but forgot the passoword Current obsession: Kuroko no basket đ Bl lover Roblox fanatic - I LOVE MM2 Mitski stan -first love late spring Writer ig k-drama lover ANIMEEE - JJK (19) add more soon â*: .ïœĄ. o(â§âœâŠ)o .ïœĄ.:*â
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