There’s Something Really Interesting About Jayce’s Word Choice Here: “While Your Best Friend Bleeds

Loser!Gojo with a long distance girlfriend he finally gets to meet and goes mad.

Loser!Satoru really can’t believe he’s managed to even get a girlfriend let alone an online relationship, he met you on an old game barely anyone plays and instantly clicked with you, you shared the same nerdy interests with things like monsters and magic.

His days with you are spent calling and texting for hours on end, he’ll spend his entire day just sitting on the phone talking about absolutely nothing with you! He loves it so much! It’s to the point where he’ll oversleep from being up all night and miss a lecture, you always scold him for not setting alarms.

Things start innocent and cute at first then you both get needy, the phone calls get nastier and nastier, with you sending him some of the raunchier photos of yourself, he fucking loves it. He’s a loaded dude so sending you some money to buy the next “it” lingerie is absolutely worth it in his opinion.

He’ll almost always in return send you videos of him pathetically jerking off his cock and whining so girlishly into the phone about what you do to him and what he’s going to do to you when he gets his hands on you.

The phone sex is downright sinful: it just exists of nasty squelching noises; you making sure Satoru can hear how wet he makes you and vise versa with him.

It gets to the point where he literally flies out to see you, he needs you in his embrace immediately and so damn badly, he’s straining in his pants thinking about your cute self.

When you see him, you figure out how really awkward he is, you have to carry the conversations but you don’t mind at all! It’s so cute seeing him stutter in your presence trying to formulate a sentence.

That night you two really can’t wait, fucking each other the same day you finally see one another is needed.

Satoru fucks you like he doesn’t even know you, his cock filts inside you so fucking nicely, he’s not big but he makes up for it with his speed and the way he’s perfectly hitting that sweet spot inside of you. You’re practically dripping and gripping his cock no not practically: you are.

As much as he tries to put on a big front while destroying you, you know he’s just a sensitive thing that’s holding his orgasm for you, it’s not long before he’s cumming into the condom with a drawn out groan before you. He gets hard again pretty quickly and after a quick pause he pushes inside your cunt again, wanting to do it all over again.

He also tries his hardest to not drool all over your neck, he doesn’t want to embarrass himself!

asking to get them off with a fleshlight

ʚ incl: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, higuruma, shiu, ino, shoko, uraume

ʚ cont: smut

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

He doesn't care at all

NOT SO INVISIBLE STRING — GOJO SATORU

synopsis: the universe has a funny way of working. gojo always knew he was destined to be with you and so did others. it just took some time for you to figure that out as well.

content warning(s): FLUFF! eventual smut so 18+ mdni, fem! reader, pining gojo (sooo cute), mutual pining, friends to lovers, unproetected sex, gojo calling you baby multiple times while going innn.

word count: 6.8k zoo wee mama... pls read anyway or i'll d—

SPRING 2008

“So, you’re not gonna miss me? Not even a little?” 

An arm was suddenly thrown across your shoulder, leaving you to bear its weight. The press of his uniform stuck to your nape, making his presence all the more difficult to ignore.

Fellow students bustled and sidestepped their way around you two, some even falter in their steps to ogle briefly at the scene unfolding before them.

“Satoru, move!” Shoko— your saviour— jabs Gojo’s side, urging him to budge, but to no avail.

He’s still tethered to your side, twirling around his diploma in his unoccupied hand despite your best efforts to create space between you two. “You’re literally blocking people’s way toward the gates,” she says.

It’s graduation day and the last day of school for the spring semester, bringing the school year to yet another successful end. It also meant that today would be the last time your upperclassmen would walk on school grounds as students.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the many trees surrounding the school, and its marvellous glow cast warm hues of pink and orange that stretched across the sky. Its rays descend onto the school’s campus; setting for a brilliant, comforting atmosphere. 

Answering Gojo’s initial question about whether you’d miss him, you avert eye contact with your persistent senior. “I never said that,” your voice teeters between a grumble and a groan riddled with exasperation. 

Your eyes sweep the courtyard and you spot a few familiar faces in the crowd. Some are gathered along the steps leading up to the school taking photos to commemorate today. Others linger on campus chatting amongst themselves, and some whack each other with their diploma scrolls while others treat theirs delicately.

And not too far off from where Satoru holds you hostage stood a small crowd of his classmates—specifically, his female classmates— waiting for their chance to bid their goodbyes...

Or stumble out an unprepared confession thrown out in the heat of the moment before they may never see Gojo Satoru again.

Who knows. 

All you’re sure of is that they are most definitely throwing you shady death glares from your peripheral.

“Y’know, I’m gonna miss you,” Gojo says, arm still looped around your shoulders. He has half a mind to drag you away from standing right front and centre in the entranceway and shuffles you off to the side. “All the years we’ve spent together—”

“Two years, by force.” 

“— and now we’re being split apart,” he finishes, paying no mind to your sardonic comment. The infliction in his voice prompts you to turn to look at him, only to wind up and see a slight pout tugging at his soft, pink lips. “How ever will we manage?”

You smother down the urge to heave a loud and heavy sigh at the clingy characteristics he’s displaying today and decide to play nice.

Gojo’s always been one to be playful, perhaps even a bit pushy at times but it was all in good nature. However, for some reason, his antics have reached a whole new level today. 

Emotions were running high among staff and students alike. Some are more potent and… persistent than others.

“You’ll be fine,” you assure, patting his arm half-heartedly, “and I will certainly be fine. Everything will be just fine.”

In the middle of your sentence from the corner of your eye, you spot another one of your seniors— Geto Suguru. You watch him step out from a conversation with two classmates of yours (Haibara and Nanami) and is now trekking his way over to where you and Gojo occupy the front steps.

“Geto-senpai!” 

Geto greets you warmly by placing a comforting hand on your head and gives you a reassuring pat once, then twice. The action leaves your hairstyle a little dishevelled, nonetheless, there’s a small smile tugging at your lips.

You’ve only interacted with Geto a sparse number of times outside of class or at the end of the school day. Whenever you both would cross paths you appreciated how he would regard your presence with temperance. It always left you feeling at ease. You’ll miss him. 

You’ll especially miss how he was so quick to offer you and Haibara snacks from the vending machines on campus.

Gojo emits a pathetic squawk at the special name drop.

Pale, white brows are pinched tightly together with faux betrayal. “How come he gets honorifics but I don’t?!” he complains once Geto’s within earshot. 

“I see that Satoru's already started…”

Though Geto was talking to no one in particular, Shoko chips in given that she bore witness to Gojo’s incessant pestering toward you ever since the home bell rang. “You missed the part where he blocked her from getting to the lockers for a good several minutes.” Unzipping her bag, she carelessly shoves her diploma into it. 

“Anyway, I’m gonna head out for a smoke. I’ll catch you guys later.” Before departing, Shoko stretches her hand towards you and gives your arm an affectionate squeeze. “Get home safe, ‘kay? Don’t let these guys keep you out too long.”

Which reminded you…

“Gojo, this has been fun and all…” Being rag-dolled around by your upperclassman across campus has been anything but fun. “But I really should start heading home now.”

You wanted to beat the rush hour of students and working-class alike trying to go home on a late Thursday afternoon. Looking for empty seats on the 4:25 PM train was brutal and you did not have the energy to stand the entire ride home.

Sensing your air of urgency, he eventually relents. Heaving a dramatic sigh, Gojo steps back a few and gives you some space.  

“Gimme a second, yeah?” He rummages around in his uniform pocket, searching for something. It only lasts about a second before he pulls out his flip phone.

“Suguru!” A curt upward nod of Gojo’s head is the only warning Geto gets before he tosses his cell toward his best friend to catch. You’re appalled that he catches it so easily with the little to no notice that was given. “Take a picture of us.”

…Huh?

Your brows drew close-knit together with confusion. “What are y—?!” Before you can even finish your question, you’re pulled tightly into Gojo’s side. 

His arms circle your neck once more, but this time, he uses the opportunity of your close proximity to tip his head to the side and knock it against your own. 

“Smile,” Gojo murmurs into your ear, his slender fingers pinching at your cheek prodding for you to plaster on a sugary smile for the picture.

You don’t have enough time to register, let alone recover from how his lips faintly brushed against your skin, Gojo’s already obnoxiously yelling “Cheese!” towards the awaiting camera.  

Snapping the photo Geto sports a lazy grin admiring his work. “Looks good,” he says before he tosses the phone back to its owner. 

You’re still reeling over the gentle graze of Gojo’s lips against your cheek, too dazed to digest what’s going on around you. What. In. The hell. Just happened??? 

Sputtering out a laugh, Gojo grins down at the image on his phone. “What’s with that face you’re making, huh?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you look up at Gojo curiously. Whatever was in that picture that made him smile that wide couldn’t have been good. “What do you mean?” You question, stepping closer to see what he was referring to on his screen.

Gojo tips his cell over and shows you the photo Geto took. There you both are in grain, Gojo looking the most lively out of you two. Despite the quality of the camera, you can see the proud and happy smile he wears compared to your frazzled and confused expression.

If anything, it looked like you were the one who was graduating and he so happened to snag a photo with you before your big send-off.

“I wasn’t ready…” you grumbled, looking away from his phone.

There’s a faint smile lingering on his face, blue eyes still trained on the screen. His voice's cadence grows warm and carries a small hint of affection.

“That face of yours is what I’m gonna miss the most.”

SUMMER 2009 

To no one’s surprise, you and Gojo kept in close contact, even after graduating high school. 

Well… More so Gojo kept in contact with you. Consistently. 

Whenever he can.

He was there during your spring graduation (shocker), much to the elation of the entire female population from your graduating class. Looking back, the number of times he stopped to pose with random students around the school when he came to greet you was absurd.

You’ll also never forget how loud he cheered when your name was called despite Principal Yaga telling the audience to hold their applause and hollers until after the ceremony.

Fast forward to the summer of ‘09 where Gojo consistently seeks your presence to go and hang out with him now that you have a freed-up schedule. Whether it's with him alone or with Geto and Shoko, you can always rely on him to shoot you a ‘u busy?’ text an hour before dragging you out for the rest of the day.

“Sooo,” you start slowly.

Your eyes skim across the playground, watching the few children who were there amble and climb on the jungle gym before you. The sun was beginning to descend below the skyline, and hues of warm orange press onto your features casting you and your surroundings in a soft glow. 

“You’re a… guardian now,” you state, eyeing how Gojo stretches his legs out beside you. 

You both sit at a park bench, the chorus of laughter and playful shrieks surround you as you watch Megumi— a kid Gojo now supposedly looks after— poke mindlessly at something buried beneath the playground’s sand.

“Yup!” he chirps, but then it’s swiftly followed by a hesitant, “Well, sorta kinda…”

There’s a mental warfare going on in his mind as he combs through the various explanations he can give you, searching for one that would be both concise and easy for you to digest.

“To put it simply, from here on out I’m going to be a constant in Megumi and Tsumiki’s life.”

You think of the step-sibling duo. They’re the sweetest pair of children you’ve had the delight of coming across, and now…

“They’re doomed,” you say with pity, your gaze still focused on the youngest Fushiguro. 

Gojo gasps in disbelief at your bold accusation with his hand flying to his chest, clearly having taken offence. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” he asks.

But before you could give him a smart alec answer, the cheerful exclamation of your name pulls your attention elsewhere. The soft thump of Tsumiki’s shoes approaching prompts you to smile brightly. With open arms, the girl practically throws herself at you and giggles.

You give her cheek an affectionate squeeze. Despite her being in the second grade, you couldn’t help but coddle her. “Why hello, Tsumiki!” 

It takes her a few moments to finally release you from the hug, backing up a bit she glances up at you. “Where were you? I missed you on Tuesday, the swings weren’t fun without you!” she says, pouting.

“I wasn’t feeling the best, so I had to turn down Gojo’s invite to meet you guys at the park that day.”

Upon hearing all the commotion, Megumi spots Tsumiki talking to you a few steps from the play area. It prompts the young boy to walk over and join you three at the bench. He nods his head over at his step-sister and says, “She thought you guys broke up.”

Huh?

You blink rapidly. “Broke— Broke up!?” You squawk, the inflection of your voice rising at the ‘up’ part.

Where could she have possibly gotten that idea from? You and Gojo weren’t even dating!

Gathering your composure you plaster on a sweet smile, ready to explain to the young pair that you and Gojo weren’t together like that before a heavy arm comes hunkering down onto your shoulders. “Even if she tried, she can’t get rid of me that easily,” Gojo comments.

Christ.

Tsumiki claps her hands together in glee at this revelation. “Yay! ‘Cause I like you!” she confesses. “I thought I’d have to deal with Gojo and his friend with the big ears pushing me on the swings forever.” And with that, she’s already off running to the big yellow slide, pulling Megumi along in her wake.

The sweet smile you wear grows more and more strained the longer you two sit there on that damned bench with Gojo’s arm still lodged around you like it belonged there. 

Long delicate fingers drum themselves along your bare shoulder which leaves a tingling sensation that lingers against your skin.

“Gojo Satoru…” you hiss between clenched teeth.

Your hand creeps up to give his knee a mean pinch, but as always, Gojo reads your movements like a damn book and catches your hand in his before that could happen. “Hm?”

“What do you mean ‘Hm’?” You gesture in the general direction of where the kids are playing. You feel your brows start to pinch together. “Why would you tell them that?!”

“It’s true though, no?” Snowy white wisps of hair fall in front of his eyes shaded by his signature round sunglasses. “We haven’t ‘broken up’ and we’re still together. Just not in their understanding of it.”

“You—! That’s not—” You flounder for words, trying to spit out why he can’t go around inadvertently feeding into the imagination of whatever relationship Tsumiki and Megumi thought you two had. But you come up blank.

“You’re irritating, you know that?” you say, as you try (and fail) at removing his arm which still rests comfortably around your shoulders, pressing you tight against him. “You’ll wind up confusing them.”

An easy smile slips onto his lips as he observes Tsumiki and Megumi scramble up the slides. “Relax,” he responds. “They’re smart kids.”

And until it was time for the Fushiguros to go home, there you two sat underneath the thinning ochre sky. Stuck under the guise of an unspoken relationship.

WINTER 2011

Being the “middleman” between two people who are so obviously into each other but cannot figure out how to hang around each other normally was all too common for Shoko.

It’s a shame that Geto wasn’t available to come down and hang out with the three of you tonight, he would’ve revelled in getting a kick out of this expected yet unexpected… turn of events.

Brought in as a buffer between you two, with an unlit cigarette dangling loosely from her lips Shoko leaned back in her chair and watched the buzzing scene before her unfold with bemused eyes. 

Underneath the comforting golden glow of the restaurant’s hanging table light, Gojo picks at the cookie dough chunks that litter your plate to which you turn a blind eye. Now, Shoko could’ve easily brushed this occurrence off, seeing that friends often eat from each other's share of food all the time.

But something was... different.

With Gojo seated to your left inside the booth, he neatly cuts up a piece of his soft, creamy cheesecake and leverages the small serving on his spoon. “Here, try some of mine,” he says.

Harmful, right? 

So, you reach for your own spoon to retrieve the sample of dessert that he was offering you. But without any hesitation, Gojo lifts his cutlery to your lips and prods the food toward your mouth.

There was no way that he intended on doing this right here, right now. In front of Shoko especially.

“Say, ‘Ahhh’!”

Concern creases your brow when Gojo continues to press the spoon against your lips, idly humming as he waits for you to open your mouth so he can spoon feed you as if he were your mother. A delicate, yet sure hand cupping your chin and everything.

He was being serious.

From your peripheral, you catch the slow spread of a Cheshire-like grin creeping onto Shoko’s face.

You press your fingers onto Gojo’s wrist and frown. Trying to retreat from his hand, a peal of nervous laughter bubbles out from you at his display of reckless affection at the table. “Give me a br—”

Gojo uses the opportunity of your uncertain state to slip his sharing of the  Japanese cheesecake into your mouth in the middle of your sentence. Your eyes widen a small fraction at its creamy taste, prompting him to comment, “It’s good, right?”

The cigarette threatens to slip from Shoko’s mouth, as her lips slightly gape at what just happened before they curve into a soft smile. Her brown eyes are warm with… something. It’s as if she knew something that you didn’t.  

“Ehhh…” Is all she says before you’re already jumping down her throat to clear up any misunderstandings.

“It’s nothing!” you supply in a rushed manner. Your main objective was to simply imply that this was nothing for her to lose her head over. Hell, even the friendliest of friends feed each other all the time! Right?

But at your remark, Gojo’s mouth downturns into a cute little pout. “What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” From the corner of your eye you glance at how he’s fixed another spoonful of the dessert, and it's hovering in your direction.

“Sato—” Fuck.

You quickly correct yourself on your mistake, and school your voice to have a bit more edge to it. Despite that, you don’t overlook how hard Gojo’s beaming at you. “Gojo, not now.”

“Ehhh?” Shoko exclaims once again, but this time the cadence of her voice has changed. It’s gained an amused note to its tune. “You call him Satoru now? Since when?”

“I’ve been begging her to use it for the longest time ever,” Gojo answers on your behalf, and he ignores your mutter for him to please stop talking in favour of jabbing an accusatory finger at you. “You know how painful it was to see you be all chummy and on a first-name basis with everyone but me?”

Lord. You’ve forgotten how dramatic he could be. 

There’s a teasing glint in Shoko’s eye that you quite don’t like, and her lips purse heavy with consideration at his comment. “You make him beg?”

Groaning, you cross your arms against the table and bury your face. You can’t with them. Your two former upperclassmen were the bane of your existence right about now. 

“I’ll kill you both,” you mutter, your speech muffled by the fabric of your sweater.

A FEW YEARS LATER

A calming blue nightly glow ripples through your curtains, casting your room in nothing but moonlight. Amidst the serene silence, you idly stare at your screen and read the text Satoru sent you right as the clock struck midnight.

Satoru: Are you home?

What an ominous question. Your eyes skim over his message again. And then again. 

…And again.

Thumbing through your phone, you glance at the time displayed on the top of your screen. It’s been five minutes since you’ve opened his text. You should probably send something back soon before he quintuple texts you.

As you’re about to respond right when Satoru immediately shoots you another.

Satoru: I KNOW you see this!!! ( `ε´ )

Satoru: Hurry hurry hurry

You: yes... why?

Now it’s his turn to take a while to respond. First, it takes a couple of minutes for you to receive that pinging chime; indicating that he’s texted you back— which isn’t too bad because you like to consider yourself a pretty patient person. 

But then five minutes slowly turn into ten, and that ten becomes a whopping fifteen until finally he answers.

Satoru: Open your door.

What the fuck.

Satoru: Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepl

So that’s why he took so long to reply. The man was coming all the way down from his place to come and visit you!

You: you're actually insane.

You: hold on!

Rising from your seated position on your bed, you stalk over to your bedroom door and are about to exit when you spot yourself in a nearby mirror.

“Oh!” you exclaim to no one in particular. You can’t open the door for him looking like… this.

Wait, why do you care about what Satoru thinks of your clothes?!

 He’s seen you wearing much worse. Like that one instance in first-year, when you had to borrow Geto’s spare parachute pants because Haibara accidentally spilt his soda all over your lap during an informal outing with everyone.

Yeesh.

Shaking your head, you slip out of your room and pad down your apartment hallway wearing your discoloured oversized band tee and shorts. Upon reaching your door, your hand hesitates on the doorknob. 

It stays like that for a few seconds until the doorknob is rattled in a fashion that’s all too persistent, annoying, and all from—

“Satoru!” you hiss, swinging the door open. You’re ready to chew him out on how much of a nuisance he may be for your sleeping neighbours a few doors down. But your looming reprimand falls short on your tongue once your eyes take in the man facing you.

“Happy birthday!” 

In the darkness, the soft glow of sparklers illuminates your features and highlights the exquisite details of a beautifully decorated cake held in Satoru’s hands.

Wordlessly, your hand aimlessly searches for the light switch to brighten up your hallway so that you may get a better look at what’s on the cake. 

Something trembles in your chest and it hurts a little to breathe. But not in the way that you detest.

He’s cute.

Gojo Satoru is so heartbreakingly cute.

On the cake, you see that damn grainy photo you two took on his graduation day back in ‘08. The photo you love to hate.

Wetness springs to your eyes from the entire gesture, from the fact that he ensured he was the first one through text and physically to wish you a happy birthday, and from the fact that he’s here right now.

“Hey…” There’s concern creasing Satoru’s expression as he pokes his head down a little to get a better read on you. “Are you crying?”

You sniff back your tears and grunt out a watery, “No… Shut up and come in already.”

Ushering him inside, Satoru hands you your cake, toes off his shoes and heads straight to your living room. Good to see that he’s already making himself at home.

Plopping himself down onto your couch you hesitantly follow behind him, suddenly feeling like a stranger in your own home. “Come, come!” He waves a welcoming hand at you and pats the seat beside him, insinuating that you should sit.

With immediate interest, you do as he says and take a seat beside him after you position your cake in the middle of your coffee table. The couch feels so small now, with him spread out like that.

Pulling out something from his pocket with one hand and tugging off the party hat from his head with the other— had he been wearing that the whole time?— Satoru clears his throat. “Before you cry again, I gotta make sure you’re able to see your present first.”

He takes your head in his hands, and you realize his fingertips are a little cold as they press on your warm cheeks. Stretching the string down from the party hat a bit, he places it under your chin and snaps the cardboard cone into place on your head.

Breathing a noise of satisfaction seemingly content with how you look, a cheeky grin dances across Satoru’s face. “Perfect. You can now go ahead and open your gift,” he says, handing you a small black velvet box with the company logo HW scrawled across it.

“Wait, what,” you deadpan.

This can’t be what you think it is.

“It’s not a ring!” Satoru blurts. But composes himself seconds later with a quip of, “Unless you want it to be?”

Har. Har. Very funny.

You disregard what he’s said and peel open the box with caring hands.

Inside was the most extravagant necklace you’ve ever laid eyes on. A diamond pendant laid bare inside the box in the shape of a forget-me-not with your birthstone at the flower's centre. 

That could’ve easily cost him a little over one million yen if you think about it deeply.

“Satoru!” you squeal.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around his neck and squeeze your longtime friend into your loving embrace. Satoru’s gift to you almost topples and sinks into the crevice of your couch had it not been for his quick hand to catch the necklace.

Your heart’s racing, and initially, his body goes rigid until he gradually relaxes under your hold. “You’re crazy, ’s too expensive!” you sparingly chastise him. 

Satoru swallows hard and brings a careful arm up to reciprocate the hug. You feel the warm press of his arm against the thin material of your shirt. 

“Nothing’s too expensive if you’re involved,” you hear him murmur into your ear. “So, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

You give him one last bone-crushing squeeze, hoping that your rare show of physical touch does not go unnoticed and exemplifies how grateful you are. Pulling away from him you look him dead in the eyes. “Thank you, seriously.”

Shrugging you off like it was no big deal as if he didn’t blow double, maybe even triple the money the average Japanese businessman earns on a singular paycheque toward your necklace, Satoru casts you a gentle smile and changes the subject. 

There would be no need to dwell on it any longer with what’s to come.

“Now…” He gives your lower back a soft pat. Once, and twice. “A birthday kiss from the birthday girl.” Satoru puckers out his lips and shuts his eyes real tight, making a huge show out of it.

For extra effect, he even hums a prolonged Mmm-ing sound to emphasize him waiting for you to initiate it.

It’s a joke; you know he’s joking. He has a ridiculously long history of being overly affectionate with his teasings and whatnot. 

But this time, you really do lean in and take said kiss from him.

There’s something incredibly adorable about this kiss that has your heart surging in your chest. Partly because it’s the first time that you’re kissing each other, but mostly because of how frigid and careful it is. It made you feel as if you were in high school all over again, trying a plethora of new things for kicks and giggles.

The tension was almost palpable, thick enough to suffocate the air he breathed. Even when you pulled away creating space between you both, Satoru still felt a lingering lump in his throat.

Cracking your eyes open, you see that Satoru’s own are blown wide. Piercing cerulean eyes stare unblinking at you. Normally, you would’ve found that to be off putting as hell, had it not been for the slow rise of a blooming pink crawling up his neck.

“Sorry,” you offer weakly. Sensing that you may have gone too far, you make an effort to scoot off his lap. But a determined arm holds you in place.

“Again.” He swallows thickly, and your eyes follow that mesmerizing movement in his throat. “I… I didn’t do it right. Please.”

And who are you to make him beg? So, you do as he says.

Leaning in, your lips press against Satoru’s once more. And this time, he has the sense to close his eyes and bask in it, not daring to let his nerves get the best of him (though he’d never admit it). 

Slotting yourself to be more flushed against him, the tips of your noses brush and you feel Satoru’s hand smooth down your spine. The pads of his fingertips press onto your exposed skin peeking out from underneath the hem of your shirt bunched around your hips.

God, you wanted him bad.

It’s abrupt, the way you push yourself off him and force yourself to stand on your feet, breaking the kiss. The rise and fall of your chest is a bit staggered and Satoru’s is too. He’s all red-faced and his snow-white hair is a bit dishevelled, considering how many times you’ve combed your fingers through it.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Cute. 

That alone made you want to jump his bones even more.

You shake your head and get one good look at him before you leave him to head down your hallway. He looked perpetually enraptured by you, eyes hyper-focused on your every movement.  “Come to my bedroom.”

Satoru’s stunned, the implications of your remark not lost on him.

And like a keen lost puppy, of course he follows. He joins you in your bedroom seconds after you and stands in the doorway, just kind of hovering there. Not sure of what to do.

Wait. Did he come here too fast? Did that make him look overly desperate? A million and one questions rush through Satoru’s mind as his neck grows red, stained with embarrassment, want… arousal. 

Seeing how he seems to be short-wiring at your doorway, you beckon him to join you on the bed with your hand. Once he does, he sits extremely close next to you. His clothed thigh brushes against your bare one, which sends a jolt of electricity through you.

Your fingers find his nape once again and they stroke up on his fresh undercut, prompting him to shiver a bit. “Why’re you so shy all of a sudden?” you question, your voice going gentle with a provoking edge to it.

Gaining some of his personality back, Satoru pinches your cheek. “‘Cause I didn’t think you’d want to kiss me!” But his mean hand then turns soft and slides along your jaw, his thumb rubbing smooth circles into the skin just below your ear. 

“Well, I’m here,” you say, scooting impossibly closer to the man beside you, “and wanting.”

Message received.

Hauling you onto his lap, Satoru cradles your face in both hands and kisses you deeply. It’s full of emotion, expressing all the things he’s been wanting to say for the longest time. A trembled exhale escapes you, and it’s through that that Satoru uses the opportunity to slide his tongue alongside yours. 

The kiss is frenzied, but so filled with love.

“So you like me?” he asks, his breathing laboured.

“Yes,” you bite, pushing him away from you and onto the mattress. “As if swapping spit with you wasn’t enough.” You guess you’ll have to show him how much you undoubtedly like him, love him even, through other means. 

He huffs a breath of laughter and drops his back onto your bed. Underneath you, you see Satoru’s eyes sparkle as he watches you have your way with him. 

But something’s up.

His eyes climb up a little higher and this time, he barks out a real laugh.

You still have that piece of fuck sitting on your head. You probably look stupid as hell right now.

Discerning that you’re about to raise your hand to your head, Satoru holds your wrist in his palm. There’s something bright that gleams behind those alluring pools of blue, warm and tender. He bites back a smile. “The birthday hat stays on during sex.”

You scrunch your nose at him. “You’re so dumb,” you growl with artificial frustration and tear off the cone-shaped hat from your head, tossing it into the depths of your room. He whines at its loss, but you’re quick to placate him with a slow roll of your hips into his lap.

Satoru’s jaw clenches and his hands fly to your waist, gripping you tightly as you continue to grind yourself down onto his erection. Your ministrations pull a wanton whimper from his lips, one that has you grinding with more purpose— the purpose of hearing that sound again.

“Do you like that?” you ask.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak, else he’ll let out a pathetic string of moans.

“I know, me too.” Satoru’s dick lurches in the confines of his pants as he watches you dry-hump him into the mattress slowly, your eyes shining with lust. Fuck, he could get hard just off your expression alone. “It feels reeeally nice being up on you like this,” you continue.

You have a fucking dirty mouth. One that Satoru’s growing more and more addicted to the more you speak.

There’s an incessant throbbing between your legs that you can’t quite alleviate. While rolling your hips into Satoru’s lap— with his occasional thrust to match your movements— felt good, it can only do so much. You wanted and needed more.

And so did Satoru, because he’s already pulling at the waistband of his pants. His thumb loops two layers and tugs both his pants and boxers down, revealing his toned V-line. 

Fuck.

You fall victim to Satoru’s enamoured gaze from below, which makes you squirm hot with arousal. “Take it off,” he commands.

He wants you to strip him of his clothes. 

Caught taking a startled breath, you ignore the wicked, handsome smile that slinks onto his face as you slip off his lap so you may curl your fingers around his waistband and pull. Your pussy clenches when his erect dick springs into view, and the heat pumping through your veins runs a little hotter.

You shiver at how pretty and filling his dick looks. After a few seconds of openly ogling at his lap, Satoru clears his throat which successfully gets you to drag your eyes back up to his face.

“While that was nice,” he starts, leveraging himself up onto his elbows and grins at your cute error, “I meant you, baby. Take it off.”

“Oh.” 

Seriously? Just ‘Oh’?

Mentally facepalming, you shimmy your shorts down your legs along with your panties. They pool down at your ankles and you step out of them to stand between his legs.

Fully sitting up, Satoru pats his lap; encouraging you to sit on him again. “C’mere.”

You crawl onto his lap, but you don’t sit down fully. Hovering a few inches away from his cock, your knees press on each side of his thighs, trapping him in. 

There’s no way in hell you were gonna sit down right now, knowing that if you do, you’d be pressing your bare pussy onto his naked thigh and he’d feel everything. Exposing how wet you are.

Humming, Satoru lifts the hem of your oversized top to your breasts and sighs. “Pretty,” he murmurs before he leans forward and captures your nipple into his mouth.

You gasp harshly at the titillating feeling. Your hands balance on his shoulders for support, as he rolls your nipple on his tongue.

“Sa— Ah!” You cry out. The hand between your legs startles you and has you whimpering in the open air.

“You’re wet,” he comments, slipping a finger against your slick pussy.

“Shut up about it…”

But he doesn’t. Another finger joins the first and delves down between your lips, gradually easing them inside you. They push against your walls, curling in a way that has you gasping into his neck. “You got wet from grinding alone, huh?” 

A breath stutters out of your mouth and you rock yourself against his hand. You can’t take this anymore. You want more. “Do you have a condom?” you ask.

“I—” he groans when your hand slides between you two, your fingers curl around his dick and stroke his tip along your leaking slit. “I didn’t bring one, because I didn’t think we’d—”

Oh.

Biting your bottom lip, you sling a heavy arm across Satoru’s shoulders. You meet his hungry gaze with one of your own and inch closer toward his dick that rests against his stomach. What you’re about to do could be risky, but at this given moment you couldn’t find it in you to be overly stressed about it.

“No worries,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, “I trust you enough to pull out in time.” And like that, you push down on him and ease Satoru’s cock into your aching cunt, making him bottom out inside you completely.

You’re so wet and slippery that it took little to no effort for him to slide inside. The noise of your slick sticking to where you two meet at the hips has you two moaning softly in unison.

The harsh mutter of your name echoes off your bedroom walls and goes straight to your cunt. “So tight,” he grits out behind clenched, white teeth.

Each time you slide up and down on his cock, Satoru grows more unrestrained with his vocal appreciation of how well you take him. Desperate little moans escape him each time your sweet cunt squeezes him of all he’s worth.

You were no better. Choppy, broken whimpers can be heard from you, loving how he stretches your walks with your length. He fits perfectly inside you like your cunt was destined for this moment, for him alone. 

“Let me fuck you,” Satoru blurts out. He was losing it, and he could feel him tipping closer and closer to the edge of release.

“You are— Ugn!” you say weakly when his hands grab your ass and he stands, lifting you with him as if it were nothing. Kicking off his bottoms, Satoru props you on your back against your mattress.

 Crawling between your legs, he positions the crown of his cock to press against your opening. “No,” he drawls, with one hand on the base of his shaft and the other propped beside your head. “Let me fuck you.”

He pushes in and you swear you see stars. 

Satoru pistons himself faster and faster inside of you, rocking your bodies against the mattress which makes your wooden headboard tap noisily against your drywall.

You fear your neighbours may have some… less than pleasant words to share with you about the noise tomorrow morning. 

“Ah! Fuuucking— shit!” You wail. Euphoric tears start prickling at the corner of your eyes. “Don’t stop, please!”

The pleasure melts through you when Satoru presses down harder into you, his hand finding the back of your right knee and hikes your leg around his waist so that he can fill you at a new angle.

“Baby,” he murmurs into your neck. He says it like you’ve been his for years. “Say my name.”

“S—Satoru!”

Laughing a little, probably too fucked out of his mind, Satoru removes his face from your neck and presses a hot, searing kiss onto your lips.

You yelp when he drives his cock more harshly into you, growing more desperate with the urgency to come inside you.

Riding his high, Satoru says the first thing that comes to mind, which is a long drawn-out, “Haaa…”

What Satoru meant to accomplish was to wish you another ‘Happy Birthday’, but of course, it all gets garbled up in his throat due to his approaching orgasm and comes out sounding fucking obscene.

That’s what gets you.

You come hard, your back bowing off the bed. Satoru, remembering your initial statement about how you trust him to pull out, does exactly that. Albeit, he did it at the very last second, but you avoided a pregnancy scare. So you can’t be mad.

Thick ropes of his cum splash across your bare belly and some get on your top. You’re hyperaware of how it trickles down your abdomen, some dipping into your belly button.

Wow.

Breathing hard and heavy, both coated in sweat among… other sensual fluids, Satoru rolls onto his back.

“Stuck with me for life, huh?” he asks, delicate fingers intertwined with yours. 

You hum. “Seems so…” you agree quietly. 

Now that you think about it, there hasn’t ever been a moment where Gojo Satoru hadn’t been present in your life, ever since meeting him during your high school days.

You two lay like that for some time, soaking in each other’s company until the early traces of morning light ripple through your curtains.

You’re about ready to shut your eyes until your thoughts are accosted by something you offhandedly forgot. 

“Satoru?” you begin, tone nice and sweet.

“Hm?”

You sit up slowly so you can peer down at his blissed-out face. “By chance, was the cake you got for me made out of ice cream?”

You know how deep his love for sweets goes. You just pray and hope to whatever higher power that he chose the safe route and chose a normal ca—

“…Yeah, why?”

Jumping out of bed, you rush to the living room where the cake is probably spilling its guts out all over your expensive, mahogany coffee table. “You IDIOT!” 

A string of curses follows you out into the hallway, as Satoru sits on your bed confused.

“What’d I do?!”

Whether you liked it or not, you were stuck with this bumbling idiot if he had any say in the matter, an invisible string keeping you two bound.

And maybe it wasn’t that bad.

Even if it’s at the cost of your ¥20,000 table.

if you read this far, we're fucking making out.

OMG, HES SO JAWHHRFUE

THEY ALSO MADE ONE WITH LUTE

GOD GOD GOD GOD

foaming at the mouth creaming my pants rolling around the ground

HELLOOOO NURSE 😍😍

THANK YOU for absolutely BLESSING my inbox today

beneath the mistletoe — satoru gojo

having a crush on your brother's best friend is bad enough. having that best friend look better at every family dinner is just cruel. but worst of all? he's noticed your not-so-subtle staring.

It should be illegal how Satoru Gojo manages to look better every goddamn single Christmas dinner.

You watch him over the rim of your glass as he throws his head back laughing at something your aunt just said, the sound rich and warm like honey. And it doesn't help that he's rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, giving you a perfect view of his unfairly handsome forearms.

Your grip tightens on your glass as he runs a hand through those perfect white strands of his, and you catch yourself wondering, not for the first time, if they're as soft as they look.

It's been like this for years now — ever since your brother Suguru first brought his college roommate home for the holidays, Satoru's own family being overseas.

Now he's practically part of the family, showing up to every gathering with that infuriating smile and those stupidly blue eyes that seem to find you no matter where you are in the room.

You deliberately focus on your plate, stabbing a potato with perhaps more force than necessary. But your eyes, the traitors, keep drifting back to him of their own accord. It's frustrating, really.

Almost impossible not to notice the way his white hair falls just so over his forehead, or how his jaw flexes when he's deep in thought, or the way his throat moves when he takes a sip of wine.

Not that you're looking at his throat.

You're not.

(You totally are.)

And then, because the universe hates you, he catches you staring.

Those blue eyes lock with yours across the table, and his lips curl into a faint smile that makes your stomach flip. You nearly choke on your wine, quickly averting your gaze to study the tablecloth like it's the most fascinating thing you've ever seen.

"Stop staring at my best friend," Suguru whispers as he passes behind your chair.

Shit. Was it that obvious?

After dinner, you escape to the back porch, needing some air that isn't thick with the scent of cinnamon and Satoru's cologne. The winter night is crisp and clear, your breath forming little clouds in the darkness.

You're not surprised when you hear the door open behind you, or when the familiar scent of cigarette smoke wafts your way.

"Those things will kill you, Suguru," you say without turning around.

"That's what I keep telling him," Satoru's voice chimes in, and you turn to find them both strolling onto the porch, your stomach dropping. Suguru takes another deliberate drag of his cigarette, maybe just to spite you both, while Satoru wrinkles his nose.

"Speaking of things that might kill you," Satoru says, "how's that final year of college treating you?"

You try to focus on the question, but it's difficult when the porch light is hitting his eyes just right, making them look impossibly bluer and you have to resist the urge to melt under his gaze.

"It's fine," you manage, aiming for nonchalant. "Just trying to survive my thesis."

"Ah, your thesis." His lips quirk up in that stupidly attractive way of his. "What was your topic again? Something about modern interpretations of folklore?"

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You mentioned it exactly once, months ago, during summer break. You hadn't expected him to remember.

"Japanese urban legends and their evolution through social media," you correct him, trying not to read too much into the fact that he remembered at all. "Though at this point, it's more like about my own evolution into madness."

Suguru snorts, flicking ash off his cigarette. "Please, you're the only person I know who actually enjoys research. I've seen your color-coded spreadsheets."

"Some of us like being organized," you shoot back.

As if on cue, your aunt's voice carries from inside. "Suguru! Can you come help your father with something?"

Suguru sighs, crushing his cigarette under his heel before heading inside, leaving you alone with Satoru. And suddenly the porch feels much smaller than it did a moment ago.

Great.

"So," Satoru says, shifting closer until his arm brushes yours. "Going to tell me why you've been watching me all night?"

Heat floods your cheeks. "I haven't—"

"You're not as subtle as you think," he interrupts. "I can feel you glaring holes into the back of my head whenever I'm around."

"I don't glare," you protest weakly.

"No?" His voice drops lower as he steps closer, backing you against the porch railing. "Then what would you call it?"

You swallow hard, trying to ignore how good he smells up close. "Curious observation?"

He laughs, the sound sending warmth spreading through your chest despite the cold. "Is that what we're calling it now?" Then his eyes flick up. "Would you look at that?"

You follow his gaze to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the porch ceiling, definitely not there earlier today. You're going to kill your mother. Or your aunt. Or your cousin.

Maybe all of them.

"We don't have to—" you start to say, but Satoru's already leaning in, moving into your space with that casualness he's always had, like being this close to you is the most natural thing in the world.

"I've been waiting for an excuse to kiss you since sophomore year," he murmurs. "Please don't ruin this for me."

Oh.

Oh.

His lips meet yours before you can process that confession, soft and warm and tasting faintly of the mulled wine from dinner. Your hands find their way to his chest as he cups your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he kisses you like he's been thinking about it for years.

And the truth is, he has.

When you finally break apart, his forehead resting against yours, you say, "Suguru's never going to let us live this down."

"Worth it." Satoru smiles, stealing another quick kiss. "Though I should probably thank him for the mistletoe."

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew. Who do you think helped him put it up?"

You smack his chest, but he just catches your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Merry Christmas to me," he says with a wink.

And despite yourself, you can't help but smile back. "Merry Christmas, you idiot."

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

"I don't condone hitting women, but I never said anything about strangling bitches." -Lucifer (probably)

blitzø x succubus!reader. you're dragged along by a friend to verosika mayday's anti-blitzø party and find yourself drawn to a certain imp as the night progresses. after blitzø's heart to heart with the hostess, he's left stewing in his own mind. when you approach him and offer to keep him company there on the balcony, he may just see you as a sorely needed reprieve from his traitorous thoughts.

anon request. 3.2k

featuring: hurt/comfort, smut, an emotionally wrought blitzø, some stolitz feels.

Hugging a plastic cup to your chest, you watch the party move around you with wide eyes. You weren’t at all surprised by the level of debauchery – hell, by Lust Ring standards this was actually pretty tame – but by the strange kind of… catharsis you were witnessing amongst some of the other guests. Sure, not all of it was exactly healthy – you were pretty sure playing pin-the-dagger-on-the-dickhead wasn’t therapist approved – but people seemed to be…

Well.

Maybe ‘moving on’ weren’t the right words for it.

But, hey, you weren’t here to judge. You’d been invited by a friend to a Verosika Mayday party, and even among fellow Succubi that was huge deal. So, that had been enough for you to put together a poor attempt at a Halloween costume and tag along for the night.

You hadn’t realized that the dress code had a different theme until you had opened your apartment door to see you friend wearing a shirt emblazoned with a crudely written “Fuck You Blitzo”. Now it was easy to tell the two groups apart by their wardrobes – those invited by Verosika herself, and their guests all dolled up in their Halloween best.

Still, decent booze, better music, and the intoxicating energy that always radiated off a group of Lust demons this large has your head spinning pleasantly, even if this isn’t exactly what you’d been expecting. You’d grilled your friend on how they’d scored themselves an invite, and honestly, it felt as though you only needed to be tangentially involved with this ‘Blitzø’ guy to score yourself an invite from Mayday.

You weren’t complaining. It beat sitting at home.

The hours pass in a blur of booze and bodies, and you’ve long since surrendered yourself to the fun. An incubus you’ve already forgotten the name of has you pressed against the wall, his tongue in your mouth and his hips flush against yours. You can feel him hard against you, the energy swirling through the party spurring you on. You hook one hand in his belt, the other slung over his shoulder, still holding your half-full cup. He doesn’t seem to be worried about wearing the contents, and his lips move to the side of your throat, his stubble teasing over your skin.

You hum happily at the sensation, rolling your hips into his. An incubus isn’t going to feed you those happy-vibes as much as a human soul could, but even without the power rush your own excitement is an addictive sensation. The incubus grazes his teeth over your collarbone and you gasp, eyes opening lazily.

You cast your gaze across the throng of dancing bodies and upward, following the line of the stairs to the balcony above. A figure wrapped in what looks like a stained tablecloth sits up there alone, feet dangling over the edge. You find yourself staring up at them for a long moment before you feel yourself pushing the other demon away.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve gotta go,” you tell him, only semi-apologetic. “Sorry.”

He shrugs, taking it in stride the way only an incubus can, and you step past him to wander up the stairs. Coming to a stop beside the figure… an imp, you realize… you hesitate for a moment.

“Mind if I join you?”

You can barely make out the shrug of his shoulder and you take a seat beside him, swinging your legs out over the edge of the balcony. Discontent is just radiating off of him, and you bite your lip.

“Y’know… you might be the only person here who out even less thought into dressing for the theme than me,” you joke gently. You’re wearing a barely-there dress made of thick black threads woven together to emulate a spiderweb. It left the matching set of black lingerie clearly visible underneath, the hem ending a few inches above your thigh-high boots. “Are you supposed to be a… ghost or something?”

The imp doesn’t answer, and you bit your lip against the sheer awkwardness. You could just take him blowing you off in stride and leave, but there was something so… magnetic about the guy. You take a sip of your drink, holding out the cup in offer.

“You want some?”

There’s a pause, then he reaches out from under the tablecloth to take the cup, his claws brushing against your fingers as he does. He throws back the rest of it, sighing and letting the cup drop from his hand to the floor below, heedless of anyone it might hit. “…Thanks.”

“Sure,” you say, tucking hair behind your ear. “You, uh… don’t seem to be having fun. Did… you know this Blitzo guy?”

The imp is silent for a few moments, his voice barely audible. “He ruined my fucking life.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

The imp glances your way, stiffening for a second as he studies your face. “I don’t… did Blitz fuck you over, too?”

He has nice eyes.

You shake your head. “Got invited by a friend. And I don’t think they really knew the guy either. Hell, half the people here are like that from what I can tell. Honestly, this whole thing feels kinda… fucked up.”

The imp stares at you for a few more moments, and there’s something weighted about his gaze. You swallow, fingers tangling in the webbing covering your stomach. Then, he casts his eyes down over the crowd, and he tenses.

“What’s wrong?”

He seems to struggle to decide whether he wants to tell you. You follow his gaze and spot the Goetian Prince you’d heard sing earlier in the night, currently being spun around the dancefloor by an Incubus you’ve seen at parties in the past.

“Ah.” you say. “An ex?”

He nods, almost pitifully. Still, his fists clench against his thighs, an outward show of irritation. Possessiveness.

The two of you watch the couple laugh and dance for a while, and you fight the urge to reach a hand over to him as he growls quietly when the incubus kisses the prince’s neck.

Instead, you swallow, raising your voice over the crowd again. “Hey… did you drive?”

“What?”

“Did you drive tonight?”

He nods, eyes still glued to the Owl Prince.

“…D’you think you could give me a ride home?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The two of you ride in silence, all the way back into Hell and down into the Lust Ring; you only speak up long enough to give him directions to your apartment. His claws are wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, hard enough that his knuckles are pale. His jaw clenches and unclenches, and after a while you reach out over the messy seat of his van to touch a calming hand to his knee.

The imp glances down at it, almost surprised, but his jaw stops tightening.

He comes to an abrupt stop outside your apartment building, mounting the curb and narrowly missing the bench bolted to the footpath. You unbuckle your seatbelt, the awkward feeling hanging between the two of you like so much smoke.

You should end it here, let him take himself home and drink away his troubles or smash shit or send his ex a barrage of texts over what he saw tonight. It’s not your business and you don’t owe the guy anything. So, why instead do you hear yourself say: “Hey, um… d’you want to come inside?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On any other day, Blitzø might have scoffed at the idea of a shy succubus, one that treads lightly around his feelings rather than just asking or seducing him into a rough fuck, but tonight he just follows you into your apartment quietly. He still wears the tablecloth like a security blanket, but you don’t comment on it.

Instead, he takes a seat on the couch as you pour the two of you a drink of Asmodean whiskey. It’s not as strong as Beelzejuice but it’s marketed as a nightcap, and it feels more suitable in this moment than a party drink. It burns his throat when he downs half of it, his fingers wrapped almost too tightly around the glass.

You try to make conversation, voice stilted and quiet, and he offers you brief responses that float away like debris in water. All he can see in his mind is Stolas’ happy, carefree smile as that incubus had held him in his fucking arms, and Blitzø just needed his brain to stop.

“You wanna fuck?”

You stop midsentence, caught off-guard.

“I…” you give a surprised, breathless laugh. “I’m… you want to…?”

“Fuck,” he nods decisively. He feels like he should be leaning into you, fixing you with bedroom-eyes or at the very least be speaking in a huskier tone but instead he just sits there, a matter-of-fact. “Now.”

You seem to consider him for a moment before you reach up, and he stiffens as you touch the edge of the tablecloth.

“Depends,” you say, pushing the cloth back away from his face. “Do I have to fuck a ghost?”

He chokes on a laugh despite himself before you lean down to kiss him. He meets your lips almost hesitantly, and it isn’t until later that he realizes that this is the first time he’s kissed someone other than Stolas in months. Your kiss is different, softer and more tentative… there’s no urgency behind it, none of the desperation that’s usually tied to a scheduled fuck. It leaves him cold for a moment, uncertain, but then you cup his cheek gently and slide your tongue into his mouth and he feels warmth bloom in his gut.

He kisses you back, claws curling in the threads barely covering your thigh as the tablecloth falls off him completely. The feel of it sliding over his back makes him shiver, and he wraps his other hand around the back of your neck, tugging you closer and deepening the embrace.

You taste of the sweet nectar of Beelzejuice and something tart like cherries, and he groans, low and reedy into your mouth. The sound thrills you, sends a shudder through the very middle of you, and you scratch your nails over the base of one his horns.

Blitzø almost purrs at the sensation. “Fuck…”

He inhales sharply as you trail your hand down from his face and over his chest and further… you urge his jacket down off his arms and he shrugs it off, taking your face in his hands. His teeth catch your lip and he tastes the metallic hint of blood, his cock stirring as you whimper needily in response. His eyes roll back behind the lids as you finally palm his cock, squeezing the bulge in his pants as you break apart to catch your breath, forehead bumping against his.

He barely gives you a chance to steady yourself before he’s pulling you in again, because as long as he’s feeling this, feeling you, those whispers in his brain can’t be heard. You’re a balm against the poison of his mind, and Blitzø finds himself torn between the idea of laying you out and pounding your ass into the mattress or splitting you open over his lap.

Blitzø grabs at you, clutching at your hips, your breasts. “Fuckin’ piece of—”

You giggle as his claws tangle in your dress, pulling away to tug it off over your head. Tossing it aside, your breath catches as the imp buries his face against your chest, licking and nipping at the swell of your breasts. He sucks at a nipple through the cup of your bra, and you dust kisses over his horns and his forehead as his fangs graze the hardened point through the silk. He reaches up to tug the cup down, his claws drawing lines against the soft swell of your breast, dark red against the cotton candy color of your skin. He seems to admire the marks for a moment before he brings his mouth to your breast again, curling his forked tongue around your nipple and sucking hard.

The way you arch against him is the closest Blitzø will ever understand as poetry, and he decides right there he needs more of it, pulling you into his lap. You straddle his thighs obediently, grinding yourself once, hard over his crotch. He snarls at the feeling of it, wrapping your hair around his hand and dragging you back down into another kiss, his other claws clutching at a handful of your ass.

The imp’s touch is hot and rough and amazing, so good you’re almost surprised you’re not sucking up a supernova worth of soul energy from the demon. He encourages you to ride your thigh with a tight grip on your thigh and your ass, his tongue sliding almost languidly into your mouth.

You unbuckle his belt with practiced ease, lowering his zipper and wrapping your fingers around his erection. The imp groans into your mouth, bucking into the warmth of your hand. You squeeze the base of him with every downstroke of his cock, bending down further to dust kisses over his cheek and the side of his throat. Your teeth graze his collarbone and he curses, claws flexing so hard on your ass that you feel them prick your skin.

“Fuck me…” he groans, and you kiss him again, bracing an arm against the back of the couch beside his horns.

“That’s the idea,” you say breathily and he swats your ass with the spade of his tail. He begins to roll his eyes at the joke but the gesture melts away as you take hold of his wrist and lead his hand between your legs. The imp takes the hint immediately, and you moan quietly as he tugs your underwear aside and slides his fingers against your clit.

“Oh, shit…” you murmur, riding his hand slowly. The imp presses kisses to your chest, reaching behind you unclip your bra. You shrug it off, letting out a drawn-out, broken moan as he guides his cock into you. “Fuck…”

“Fuckin’ Christ…” he agrees, head falling back against the couch. Bracing both hands against the couch on either side of him you corkscrew your hips slowly over his until he bottoms out inside you. He surprises you by leaning up to kiss you again, and you let that linger as you begin to move against him.

You ride the imp’s lap slowly, reveling in the way every inch feels inside you. He thrusts up into you every time you lower yourself again, claws claiming your thighs, just above the top of your boots.

He watches you with wide eyes, his gaze dropping down over your near-naked body before always returning to your face. You shudder with the way he feels filling, stretching your cunt, pushing your hair out of your face so you can press a kiss between his horns.

The way he’s watching you is more intoxicating than anything else you’ve sampled tonight, and when slips a hand between your legs to play with your clit you keen, head falling back.

Blitzø stares at the column of your neck as you tighten around him, your cum dripping down over the base of his cock. He feels your tail wrap around his calf, feels your cunt squeeze around him, and he closes his eyes tight.

The flash of feather and glowing red in his memory makes his brow crease, and he runs his hand over your waist, your thigh, reminding himself of the soft, smooth expanse of your skin. He thrusts up harder into you, retaking your hips to encourage you into a more brutal pace.

You let out an ‘uh’ every time he hits that spot inside you, and he’s cursing and groaning and you palm your breast and squeeze. There’s a furrow between his brows and you can tell he’s trying to hold out, to make this last. His hands are so tight on your hips you’re sure that you’ll bruise, but you don’t care, circling your clit with hurried fingers as you bounce on his dick.

“Yes…” you moan, sparks igniting up along your spine as he angles his hips just right. “Oh, fuck, yes, Blitz!”

“Kiss me,” the imp says just as your second orgasm crests. “Please… fuck. Kiss me.”

You take his face in your hands and bring his lips back to yours and he moans into your mouth as he cums inside you, hands gripping roughly at your shoulders. You keep kissing him until you feel him relax, breaking away to dust soft, slow kisses to his cheek and between his eyes. His hips bump up into yours a few more times as he finally comes down, his chest heaving.

He freezes as you bump your forehead against his and pulls back to meet your eye. “You… how the fuck did you know I’m…”

You raise an eyebrow, the beginnings of an amused smirk playing on your lips. “Your ex is the Goetian Prince and they were kinda burning you in effigy at that party… I took a gamble.”

Blitzø chuckles, the sound half torn between amusement and self-deprecation. “Fuck…”

“Well, hey,” you shrug. “Maybe I’ll have earned an invite of my own to next year’s big Halloween bash.”

He groans, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I’m kidding!” you laugh, taking hold of his wrists and dragging his hands away from his face. “I’m only kidding, I swear!”

He raises an eyebrow at you disbelievingly, and you smile softly, reassuringly.

“Seriously, Blitz. I mean, I don’t really know you, besides the whole…” you gesture down to where you’re still straddling his lap. Your thighs ache slightly with him still inside you. “… y’know… but I didn’t bring you home with me thinking I was going to ‘fix the asshole of honour’.”

“You didn’t?”

“Nope.” you shake your head at his skepticism. “I learned a long time ago that no one expects monogamy from a succubus. And I’m fine with that. I do better without the strings attached. But,” you continue, grinding your hips slowly over his once and making the over-sensitized imp groan in the back of his throat. “I also know you looked like you could use a break from the self-hate for a little while.”

His gaze drops, and you skim a finger down his cheek and under his chin to tilt his face back up to yours.

“Seriously. We’re good here.”

Blitzø sighs, letting his head drop back against the couch. “So, I don’t have to worry about you bitchin’ about me to your friends after this?”

“With dick that good, nah.” you joke, grinning when he snickers despite himself. “Look, I think you clearly need to figure out what’s going on between you and the Prince that’s got you all… how you are. But I also think that if you wanna stay the night, that’s fine too.”

“I don’t…”

You dip your head down to kiss his cheek before he can formulate an answer.

“Maybe don’t answer that offer while you’re still inside me.” you tease, and he smirks weakly, his hands squeezing your hips. You climb gracefully off his lap, unabashed by your disheveled appearance – mussed hair and smeared lipstick, wearing only latex boots and underwear stained in both your cum. “I’m going to shower. And I promise, I won’t be offended if you’re gone by the time I get out.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To your surprise, he isn't.

"That fucker is back!"

"You still pissed he almost beat you that time~?"

That time: