Chapter Text
Chapter 8
After getting food and just wandering around town, it was already dusk by the time you returned to the hotel. You let Gojo shower first since you got it the last time. While he showered, you analyzed the new markings on your neck. They were just starting to materialize on your skin. You chastise yourself for letting that man get the better of you. It was almost impossible for you to sense him. Even regular people have some bit of cursed energy, but he was void of it ultimately. Gojo is quick in the shower, changing into a loose t-shirt and boxers. You rush in after he gets out, hoping to avoid him seeing your new bruises. The bathroom was already steamy, enveloping you in its warmth. You let the water cascade down your body. Your hand grazes over the new bruises on your neck. It was almost impossible to place him like he didn't exist, like he was a ghost, a demon. That scar. It was engraved in your brain, resurfacing long-forgotten memories.
When you were seven years old, your relatives brought you to the Zenin Clan, Dressing you in your finest kimono. They told you you needed to be introduced to the major three clans. It had been some time since the Suneya clan had produced someone of substance, so they were eager to show you off. The Zenins and Kamos were the only two of the three clans to respond and extend an invitation back to your family. The Gojo clan remained elusive to you. You sat there with your head bowed on the tatami mat, fighting the urge to fidget under their gaze. Sitting beside the head of your household, Keito Suneya and his wife, Akemi Suneya. On their other side sat their eldest son, Riku Suneya.
You assumed the meeting was for Riku, who was still searching for a wife. The head of the Zenin clan, Naobito Zenin, sat across from the four of you, along with his wife, younger brother, Ougi Zenin, and his youngest son, Naoya Zenin. His son seemed to be the same age as you. To your surprise, they didn't interact with Riku; instead, their eyes were trained solely on you. The room was silent; you felt like a microorganism under a magnifying glass. After they were sure they had gotten a good look at you and had the opportunity to sense your cursed energy for themselves, they agreed to further the conversation, dismissing Naoya and you from the room. You were glad to be out of there. But now you sat awkwardly outside the room, fighting the urge to eavesdrop. Naoya didn't even have to speak for you to tell you he was spoiled. You could see it in how he carried himself and held his chin high. He looked over at you as if he just noticed your presence. "Let's play!" He says, grabbing you by your sleeve and dragging you with him. There weren't any other children your age on the compound, so it's been a while since you've been able to play with another child.
Desperately trying to not trip over your feet as he dragged you with him. He brings you to one of the many courtyards, running his mouth about how fantastic he is and how he is the future of the Zenin clan. Abruptly, he turned around, a mischievous smile creeping onto his lips. "Do you want to see the Zenin clan's monster?" He beams. "What do you mean?" you say, stepping back. "A monster. With razor-sharp teeth, claws, freakishly strong, and a big large ugly scar running down its face." He says, trying to scare you. "Ehh, monsters don't really exist," You say, rubbing your neck. "Only curses." You try to reason. "Don't believe me? I'll show you." He tugs you along like a ragdoll. "He should be somewhere around here." He says, taking you throughout the compound. It's a stunning estate with well-manicured grounds. It was much bigger than your family's home. Suddenly, the two of you stop in the hall, running into his now still figure. "There he is!" Pointing his finger like he was at a zoo. The monster he was referring to looked like just a man. Without noticing the two of you, the man entered a room off the hallway. "Let's follow him." He whispers, shoving you forward, causing you to stumble a little.
You wanted to tell him to stop, but you didn't want to risk offending him in his house and, in return, getting punished by your relatives. Reaching the door, you both stood. "Open it up," Noaya said demandingly. "B-but I don't want to be rude." He laughed at your excuse, "He's a nobody. Now open the door." Nudging you closer to the door. You hesitantly slid the door open, peeking in. Before you could look around the room, Naoya shoved you in, slamming the door behind you. You immediately whipped around, trying to pull the door open, banging on it. "Please let me out!" You beg. Naoya taunts you from the other side of the door, still holding it shut. "Watch out for the monster!" You can hear him snickering on the other side, obviously amused by his little prank.
You hear a creak in the floorboards, reminding you of the other person in the room. You spin around to the towering figure. Seeing him face to face, you begrudgingly understand why Naoya calls him a monster. He was sheer muscle, with predatory eyes and thick black hair that hung over his eyes. A scar ran through the corner of his lip, adding to his intimidating appearance. Yet you didn't sense any cursed energy. Realizing how rude you must appear, just standing there, gawking at him. Immediately, you drop to your knees, bowing. "I am sorry! Excuse me for barging in." He doesn't respond; instead, he just steps closer. You kept your head down, scared of the wrath you might face if you insult him anyway. What if he really was a monster? But you let your curiosity get the better of you, slightly raising your head to peek at him. He barely acknowledged you, giving you a quick glance before stepping over you to the door and slamming it open. Naoya, still holding the door, fell back from the force with which the man opened it. "Move." His voice perforated the already tense air.
Was he talking to you or Naoya? Naoya doesn't bother to respond. He just gets up from the ground, brushing himself off. He smirks at the way you are positioned, bowing, before he runs off without you. You go to stand up, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be disrespectful." Scared of the man's wrath. He doesn't turn back to you and just continues to stand in the door frame. "You want some advice?" You raise your brows, shocked that he is addressing you. He takes your silence as a yes and continues. "If you're smart, you'd avoid the Zenin clan." And like that, he leaves you alone in the room. It's not like you really had a choice in what was happening; you were seven and low on the totem pole in your family. You were entirely at the mercy of your relatives. Even if you could comprehend his warning, it was pointless.
Pulling you out of your trance, you hear banging on the door. Shit! How long were you zoned out for? "What are you doing in there? I need to take a leak!" yells Gojo outside the door. Can this guy learn some damn patience? You can hear him jiggling the door handle impatiently. "Hold on!" You yell, getting ticked off. You rush to finish in the shower and get out. You go to grab a towel, but there are none left. The cleaner must have taken the old ones and not replaced them.
You crack the door open slightly, popping your head out. "Goj- Oh! "He startled you, still waiting in front of the bathroom door. You instinctively close the door more, shielding your bare body behind it. "Are there any towels out there?" You ask him. He doesn't respond right away, seemingly zoned out. He shakes his head as if to wake himself from his trance. "Yeah, let me get one." He saunters towards the bedroom and quickly returns with a new folded towel. He hands you the towel, his eyes trained on yours like he's forcing himself to maintain eye contact. "Thank you." You say before snagging the towel and swiftly shutting the door. Cursing yourself, you realize, in your haste to avoid Gojo seeing the marks on your neck, you forgot to grab a change of clothes. You pop your head back out to call for Gojo again. "Hey, do you think you could grab me my pajamas?" "Sure. Where are they?" You hear him call from the room. "They should be in my bag." "Okay," You shut the door while you wait, drying yourself off more. After a minute, he knocks on the door, and you crack it open, grabbing the clothes and saying a quick thanks before shutting it again.
He handed you your shorts, but the T-shirt was not yours. Through the door, you say, "Hey, this isn't my shirt. It should be in my bag." "I couldn't find it, so I just gave you one of mine." He yells from the room. You were hesitant to put it on. "Are you sure it wasn't there? Could you look again?" You hear him groan. "I swear it's not there now. I really gotta pee, so can you just put on the t-shirt." You give in and shut the door. Putting on the oversized shirt. You were swimming in the fabric, realizing how much bigger Gojo was compared to you. You open the door, with Gojo impatiently waiting outside the door. "Sorry." You say awkwardly, smiling. His eyes trace you from your legs all the way up to your still dripping wet hair, a smirk threatening to dance on his face. "Well, go in." You say, raising your brow. "Right." He moves in before you can escape the door frame, squeezing past you. His eyes never leave you until he passes you and shuts the door.
You try to dry your hair out some more so your pillow won't be sopping wet. Once satisfied with your damp hair, you go to bed, curling up in the comforter. After today, the hotel bed felt heavenly. You weren't sure if you were physically or just mentally exhausted. Being around Gojo was just about as mentally taxing as any difficult mission. You nuzzle into the soft bedding, catching a whiff of the shirt you are now wearing. Gojo's shirt smells faintly like him, like bergamot, sage, and maybe mint? You can't help but bury your face into the hem of the neck, breathing in the pleasant smell. Nothing like what you'd expect him to smell like, like some exuberantly expensive cologne that assaulted and nauseated anyone within a 10-foot radius. The scent was refreshing and weirdly calming.
Now, thinking about him. Gojo is taking an odd amount of time in the bathroom; at this rate, you would fall asleep before he came back out. You let the heaviness of your eyes take hold, seducing you to sleep. You could faintly hear the bathroom door open again in your peaceful state. His footsteps are soft and muffled as they come closer and closer until stopping. There is a pause of silence, no sound of rustling sheets or anything like that. Just pure silence. If you weren't basically half asleep, it might have unnerved you. Gently, you feel his fingertips brush some stray hairs out of your face, pushing them back. His soft touch tickled your skin, causing you to jerk slightly. But to your own surprise, you don't open your eyes. His fingers slowly trace the side of your face, like he is noting any blemish, imperfection, or the smallest feature in memory. And suddenly, his fingers stop in their tracks, freezing until he removes them and replants them on the bruises on your neck.
Your breath hitches, realizing he has now seen them. Your face remains unchanged, but your mind is now fully awake, racing. What were you going to tell him? Should you tell him about the man? But if you did, he will be suspicious of why you didn't say anything earlier. Why didn't you just tell him in the first place? You wanted to tell him, so why didn't you. It's not like you'd ever see the man again. "Kyouka?" Gojo says softly, his hand still resting upon the bruises. You remain still. Maybe if you pretended to still be asleep, he'd drop it, at least for now.
"Kyouka." His voice raised an octave. You pretend to stir in your sleep, trying to make it seem believable before opening your eyes. "What?" your voice sounding sleepy. "What happened to your neck?" His words sound sullen as they leave his lips. Should you lie? "Oh," You bring your hands up to where he sits. "It's nothing. I just ran into some sorcerer." It wasn't entirely the truth. That man was not a sorcerer. You knew that much, but at least you were telling him something. His brows knit together. It was hard reading him with his glasses back on. You couldn't know if he was confused or angry. "Well, what happened? Why didn't you say anything?" His voice was strained. "It must have slipped my mind. It's really nothing. I was distracted by these two women hiding, and he snuck up on me. But he got away before I could do anything." You felt guilty for lying and are unsure why you even felt compelled to lie. It's not like you're trying to protect the man. His silence only worsens your guilt. You know he's not buying your story. "Let me get you some ice." His hand leaves its spot on your neck as he gets up to leave the room. You just nod in response to him.
He returns a couple of minutes later with the ice bucket filled up. Watching him, he takes a small towel from the bathroom and some ice to make a makeshift ice pack. He comes closer and sits on the side of your bed, pressing it against your neck. You go to grab the ice from him, but he doesn't budge. "No, let me." His voice is firm with you, but you know he is just trying to help. A stark contrast from his usual tone. "Thank you." You say meekly, down casting your eyes. He doesn't respond, just moving the ice along your neck. He swipes a strand of your hair off your shoulder, moving it out of the way.
You crane your neck to the side, allowing him access to more of your skin. The ice leaves goosebumps along your skin, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You shift your eyes to get a glimpse of him. His expression is focused and trained on the task at hand. He catches you looking; his eyes are endless, magnetically pulling you in. He softly grabs your chin with his free hand, turning your head towards him. Your breath hitches, but you relax once you realize he's just trying to ice the other side of your neck. But now that you're face to face with him, you can't hide your blushing cheeks. You close your eyes so you don't have to look at him so closely. Praying that without seeing him, your pestering blush would go away. Why does your body always have to betray you? It has become ridiculous how easily you blush now. Making it harder and harder to be near him.
He removes the ice, and you open your eyes at the lack of the cold sensation. "Okay, I think that's all I can do for now. Are you sure nothing else hurts?" He says, leaning in closer and searching your eyes. "Yeah, I'm good. Thank you." He nods and starts to sit up from the bed. Instinctively, you grab his hand, anchoring him in place. "Yeah?" His voice is just above a whisper. You were started by your actions, unsure why your body acted independently. But you didn't want him to leave you.
"Oh, umm." You swallowed your embarrassment. Putting on a tough act. "Gojo. What I'm about to ask you, you can't laugh at. And I don't want you to think anything of it either." His brow cocks at your words, confused and intrigued by what you were about to request. You softened your voice, ironically all your bravado leaving your body when you were finally going to ask. "Can you just lay next to me tonight?" In all honesty, you were a bit shaken up from everything earlier. Although minor, and you've faced much worse, something about that man unsettled something deep within you. You had a bad premonition about him. A foreboding storm sitting just on the horizon. Gojo didn't say anything in response, instead opting to just crawl into the bed next to you. For once, you were thankful for Gojo. He didn't make a joke or crack a cocky smile. You scooted over so as not to crowd him. He took his glasses off and turned the light off, leaving you both in the comfortable darkness of the room. Shrouding your shame and embarrassment. You wish you could just see him and him not see you.
Hoping there was just enough light to get a glimpse of him, you slowly shift in the bed, turning to your side to face him. He was also lying on his side facing you; you couldn't see much except his hair, which seemed to catch the little light that persisted in the dark room. Almost glowing from the moonlight. You wanted to run your fingers through it to see if it looked like it. Feeling bold or not thinking, you outstretch your hand towards his locks. Maybe if you're careful enough, he wouldn't notice. "What are you doing?" He mumbles. You freeze with your hand still in the air. Thinking on your feet, you go to lie, "I thought I saw something in your hair." You start retracting your hand, but he's quick and softly grabs your wrist. Halting you in place.
"Well, are you going to get it out?" He says, pulling your hand back to his hair. You run your fingers through it hesitantly, brushing it back from his face. It's fluffy and soft after his shower. As you brush through it, the light dances on the strands as if they were threads spindled from moonlight. You realize you've just been petting his head instead of pretending to pick out "the something" you allegedly saw. You pretend to pick something out of his hair. "It was just a fuzz." You whisper. "Mmm. I'm sure it was." You go to turn around, but he speaks again.
"Don't stop. It feels nice." There is a beat of silence. You contemplated whether you should keep going or not. But, now, without the guise of "just picking something out," it would have been obvious what your real intention was. You wanted nothing more than to continue touching the soft locks, but you knew it exceeded the clear boundaries you'd made. You'd only be blurring the line if you continued. "No," you spurted out. "Do it yourself." Masking the uneasiness in your voice. You shift around to your other side, with your back facing him. Feeling some relief now that you were no longer face to face with him.
You begin to feel his arm snake around your waist, triggering you to snatch him by the wrist. "What are you doing?!" You can't hide the tremble in your voice, not with the annoying lump that has developed in your throat. "I'm cold." He whines like a child. You don't give in, though, still gripping his wrist, halting his advances. "Please," He pleas in a much softer tone than before. Your grip loosens a little but remains glued to him. That simple word makes your chest tighten, striking you with guilt. You take his hand and bring it down over you, relinquishing your pride and stubbornness. "Fine." You huff, letting out the breath you were holding. He simultaneously pulls you closer and moves himself in until his chest is flushed against your back. Your muscles tense at his action. He continues placing his head at the crook of your neck, nuzzling his face into your hair. Your grip on his wrist remains, unsure whether you should tear away or fall into this puzzling comfort.
Your heart is restless, ceasing to calm down. If it hadn't been for the cover of darkness, Gojo would have seen how deep red your neck and face were. Radiating so much heat, maybe he already knew. You move your hand from his wrist to cover his. Interlacing your fingers with his. He begins to softly stroke your fingers comfortingly. He takes a calming, deep breath, feeling his chest expanding behind you, and lets it out. His breath tickled your neck. Causing a goosebumps along your skin. You bring his hand up to the core of your chest, cradling where your hands are melded together. "Your heart is pounding." He says, slightly muffled, but the amusement laced in his tone is unmistakable. You ignore his comment, focusing on trying to steady your racing heart. Expecting you to make a quick remark, he was a little confused by your silence. He shifts behind you, propping himself up in his elbow to look over you.
He looks over your expression; your eyes are squeezed shut, and you're nibbling on your bottom lip. Even though you thought you were in the clear. Thanks to his astute vision, he can, in fact, see just how red your face is. For a second, he considers poking fun at you, but he doesn't want you to know he can see you. It's one of the few times he gets to see you like this. He contemplates breaking the connection with your hand to seek something more. He hesitates at first, thinking, what if you reject him? In his mind, it was worth the risk. His hand leaves the warmth of yours, causing you to finally open your eyes back up. His hand comes up to your face, stroking the stray hairs away. Painting your skin with feathery touches. You stare up at him, not wanting to speak and ruin whatever is happening. His face held a soft smile as he admired you. You turn onto your back, unable to break away from his gaze. Craving a better view of him. His hand continues to stroke your hair and cheek.
Your heart finally calmed, falling for the comfort of his soft smile and soft touches. No words are uttered, the only sound being each other's breathing. Calm and steady. You bring your hand up, mimicking his touches. You start by running your hands through his hair, twirling the ends of a lock right above his right eye. You can make out the shadows of his face with the bit of light filtered in the room through the curtains. You wish you could see more, but you settle to stare deep into his eyes. No matter how light or dark it was, they always caught yours. You bring your hand further down, your thumb brushing his cheek until you're following the curve of his jaw. Reaching his chin, you bring your pointer finger to trace his bottom lip. His lips are soft and plump.
Your eyes flicker up to his, only to find his are trained on your lips. You subconsciously wet and bite your bottom lip. His eyes flicker up, meeting yours as if he was pleading. His eyes are soft but hold an intensity you've never seen within them. Maintaining each other's gazes, his lips press against the tip of your finger before taking it in. Giving a tentative swipe of his tongue along the bottom of your finger, methodically sucking at your finger like it was a piece of candy. Your eyes widen at his action, fixated on the movement of his mouth. Unsure of the heat rushing down to your core. You still hate him. You hate him. He still hates you. He hates you? Maybe... no. But perhaps you could? He's not winning if you're just using him, too, right? It could be a mutual understanding. No feelings. No emotions. Purely physical! And no one needs to know.
You pull your finger out of his mouth slowly until it finally is out with a satisfying pop. His lips part as if he's going to say something, but you cut him off. "Kiss me." You state, looking at his lips. He doesn't say anything, causing you to tear your gaze from his lips and back to his eyes. Now, feeling sheepish, you regret the words that left your mouth. I mean, you rejected him the other day, and now you're telling him to kiss you. Maybe he was just trying to get you to initiate it this time so he could turn you down? Give you a taste of your own medicine. Before you could spiral any further, he finally speaks up. "Are you sure?" His face and voice sound genuinely concerned. You nod hesitantly before backing it up with a "yes." He wastes no time, almost not letting you finish the one and only syllable of the three-letter word. His lips are colliding with yours, melding with them. It's passionate and wet initially until he decides to take his time. Savoring the kiss rather than trying to devour you. You're unsure which one you prefer, as both are dizzily overwhelming. You willingly follow his lead, seeing as he's not giving you any other options.
You run your hands through the hair at the base of his neck, tugging on it. Pulling him closer to you. He follows your action, shifting himself so he is on top of you, not breaking away. Caging you in between his arms and placing one leg between yours, forcing your legs apart. He lowers himself down so that you are chest to chest. But not entirely putting his weight on top of you. He brings one of his hands to your face, cupping your cheek. He eagerly bites your bottom lip, asking to be let in. You gasp a little, his bite being a little too hard. This was all he needed, though. Seizing the opportunity to explore your mouth. His patience was beginning to unravel along with your own. Clouded with your own desires, you began to fight for dominance. Lifting your head off the bed to meet him. He helped by snaking his arms under you, one positioned at your waist and the other nuzzled between your shoulder blades.
You begin to fight his tongue with your own, forcing it back until you're in his territory. He was initially unrelenting and adamant about staying in control, but he gave in after a while. Letting you take the lead. You've never taken the lead before, but with Gojo, you felt entitled to, like it was your duty to knock him down a peg. To make him bend to your will. You bring one of your hands from his hair down to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt. Pulling him even closer. You search his mouth, mapping it out with your tongue. He tasted naturally sweet, almost intoxicating. All the while, he is coercing and pulling you further into his mouth. Even when you took the lead, he somehow remained in control. His neediness and want were making it hard for you to keep up. It was getting harder and harder for you to breathe, but you didn't want to be the one to break away first.
Feeling your lungs begin to constrict from the lack of oxygen, you have no other option but to break away. Gasping for air as you do. Gojo wastes no time in reclaiming his control, moving to nip at your jaw and neck. It doesn't take him long to find that one sweet spot, drawing out a stifled gasp from you. Hearing your sound, Gojo's grip on you tightens, focusing even more on the spot. His tongue and breath were hot against your skin, sending your thoughts into a frenzy. You wanted his touch, his mouth, everywhere. He moved further, pulling the collar of the t-shirt down and placing chaste kisses along your collarbone. His hands began to move, creeping up from the hem of your shirt up your torso. Running his hands against every inch of your skin.
You retreated your hands from his hair, bringing them over your head so he could easily discard the shirt. He was quick to reattach himself to your skin. One hand going straight for your tit. His mouth latched onto the other, nipping at the sensitive bud and surrounding skin. You choke back a moan, it barely slipping out before you cut it off. You could feel him smirking against your skin before he raises his head. His eyes looking at you through his lashes. "Come on now. I want to hear those sweet noises you make." His tone was teasing, but you could hear a bit of earnestness in his request. You press your lips together and shake your head. The idea of him making you feel this way? He, of all people, was making you produce those sounds. No. You wouldn't give in, not to just spite him but to save yourself from embarrassment.
His smirk darkens, taking your response as a challenge. Maintaining eye contact with you, he goes back to lapping and nipping at your pebbled nipple. His other hand squeezes and twists the other. Taking you by surprise, another choked-up moan escapes you. Firing him up even more, becoming rougher with his actions if only to push you into submission and hear you cry out for him. Even with the little he was doing, he was making it extremely difficult for you to fight back your body's involuntary reactions. Touching you with a way of expertise that could only come from practice, you thought. Your chest tightens at the thought of him getting around. Were you jealous or something? You had no right to be. Hell, you didn't even like him as a friend. He pulls you out of your thoughts as he bites down harder than before, making you cry out. Was he trying to draw blood? He gives it a soft kiss to chase the pain away.
You can't help but try and move your legs together to subdue your growing need, but his damn leg was in the way. Despite how good he was already making you feel, you try to urge him to move on by placing your hands at the waistband of his boxers. Teasingly slip your pointer between the elastic band. Hoping just your touch will drag him out of his current fixation and find a new one. But you couldn't lie. You were eager to take back control and have him be the one struggling to hold in their gasps. He doesn't entirely take your bait, but he moves on from your breasts, leaving them wet and cold from his tongue and sloppy kisses.
He grabs the hand fiddling with his waistband and brings it to his hair. Threading your fingers through his locks, he moves further down, leaving tender kisses in his wake. He reaches the waistband of your shorts, inching them down slightly before pausing. He stops and looks up at you. "May I?" He asks in a flirtatious tone while simultaneously cocking an eyebrow. Thinking of nothing more than the growing need in between your legs and the urge to satiate it. You eagerly nod your head. He smirks at you before he grabs the inside of your thigh, gently opening your legs. He hooks his hand under your knee, lifting your leg up. He places feathery kisses down your leg, from your calf to your inner thigh. He halts right where your thigh meets your pelvis. You look down expectantly, annoyed he had stopped. You watch as he hooks both his hands into the band of your underwear, pulling them down slowly. His leisurely pace with everything was beginning to drive you mad. You took an unsteady breath, hoping to calm your frantic heartbeat. You didn't realize how hard your heart was beating until now. He pulls your panties fully off, discarding them to the side. You watch as they disappear into the darkness of the room.
Your attention snaps back to where he is seated. He looks so engrossed at the sight of you. "You're already so wet. So wet…" He dips down, bringing himself close to examine your heat, "Just for me." Feeling his breath against your core, his finger gives a leisured swipe against your slit, flicking your clit at the end. You watch as he pushes one of his fingers inside you, pressing his thumb firmly against your bud. Causing you to jolt a little at the sudden intrusion. Clenching around his finger, he pumps it in and out, slightly curling it when it reaches its full depth. He quickly found the spongy sweet spot after you released a hitched breath and shot your hand to his, locking him in place.
You whimper at the pressure beginning to build within you. Gojo continues to work your clit, tantalizing you. The lewd sounds of his fingers inside you envelop the room, sending a shiver of embarrassment through you. You clench your eyes shut, focusing on your breath. Trying to suppress the sounds creeping out of you. You feel his other hand come up to your face, cupping your cheek, and you open your eyes. He rubs his thumb along your cheekbone as you lock eyes with him. "Are you still good?" He whispers to you. His question almost makes you forget about what his other hand is doing. You raise your eyebrows, nodding your head. "y-yes." You manage to croak out, feeling the coil in yourself winding tighter and tighter. "Good." He gives you a soft smile, removing his hand from your face and bringing it down to your knee, pulling you closer. He props your leg on his shoulder, lifting you slightly off the bed. You mirror his action, slightly placing your other leg up, unsure whether to place it on the opposite shoulder.
He latches his mouth to your core, replacing his thumb with his tongue. His fingers continue their rhythm, bringing you closer and closer. You can feel your peak approaching, tears beginning to prickle at your yes. Your breathing has become deeper, heavier, and exasperated. He's started pumping harder and faster. His tongue follows his finger's actions on your clit. The new tempo causes you to lose the little control you still have. You felt the urge to ground yourself, grabbing him by his hair. Trying your best to suppress your moans, only whimpers, and shaky breaths escape. He groans at the taste of you, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your muscles tense as the pressure inside you begins to summit. And just like that, almost catching you off guard, you finally snap. Your legs shake, and you unconsciously buck your hips. Gojo removes his hand from inside you. Taking both hands to firmly grip you by your hips, holding you in place as you ride out your high on his tongue. He continues to lap at your slit until you regain some clarity. Your clit feels spent from the ghosting effects of your orgasm. You squeeze your eyes shut, allowing the tears that have been welling in your eyes to run down.
He lowers your legs and returns to your face, cupping your cheek. You lock eyes with him, and his eyes are blown up as you stare into them. His bangs hang down and around his face. His cheeks are slightly flushed, and his lips glisten and are slightly swollen. You couldn't deny it; it was impossible to do. He was the depiction of beauty, far greater than you or anyone else. You wanted to feel jealous of it, of him, but all you could muster was awe. It was unfair. You lift your head up, placing a soft kiss on his lips. Subconsciously wanting to be closer, to feel his touch. Scanning his face, you let your head drop back down onto the mattress. He stares back, a glint of a smile adjourning his face. He dips back down and places soft kisses, first at the corner of your mouth, then on your lips, cheek, jaw, temple of your head, and finally back to your lips. You burned under his touch, never feeling this attended to. Unsure of whether you liked his attention or not. You wanted him to peel away your layers, displaying yourself entirely to him. But simultaneously, wanting to curl into yourself and hide.
His actions are so sweet, conflicting you even more. This isn't the Gojo you knew; this isn't the Gojo you've built in your head. He was like a completely different person in this room. No. For the past few weeks, he's been acting different. Had something changed that day in the woods? He wipes the tear that trickled down your cheek with his lips. For tonight, you're not you, and he's not him. The first orgasm wasn't enough. You needed more, to drown in him and the pleasure. As he continues to litter soft kisses on your face and the expanse of your neck, your hand travels down to his waist. Tentatively, at first, you graze the taut fabric of his boxers. He is undoubtedly hard, and you barely touched it. "I need you." You rasp out. He falters mid-kiss until he props himself up to examine your expression. He is met with a look of need and desire. You stroke him once again if to spur him on. His eyes squeeze shut, and his breath hitches at your touch. "A-are you sure? I know you haven't done it before, so we don't have to." He was content with whatever you were willing to give him. I never expected to have even gotten this far and savor your sweet, inebriating taste. But God, is he wishing you'd just let him be inside you, to feel you squeeze around him.
"Yes." Your hand strokes him even harder this time, feeling him twitch below the thin, tight fabric. "I need you right now." Quickly, he gets off you, and at first, a wave of fear washes over you. Was he done? Is he rejecting you? Did he just want to leave you all needy and wanting? He goes to his bag, sifting through its belongings. He finds what he is looking for and turns back toward you. His next action quickly puts you at ease, and he strips himself of his boxers. You've seen him before, but the site of his length still strikes you with fearful anticipation. He saunters back over to the bed and cages you between his arms. Looking up at him, you can't help but feel small under his intimidating stature and stare. His eyes swirling with a combination of indiscernible emotions. You can't read him, but that has always been the case. It's rare to see him without his glasses, but he is still puzzling even without them.
You outstretch your hand, stroking his cheek, unsure why you felt you needed to commit such a tender act. He leans into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand, which rests upon his cheek. Your chest tightens at him, reciprocating your thoughtless blunder. He moves past your soft touch, placing tender kisses up along your arm and upon your lips, which only deepens with desire. Both threaten to consume one another. Your core clenches at realizing how close he was to your burning desire. Unconsciously, you press your hips to his. Not breaking the kiss, his hands reach down, spreading your legs enough for him to position himself right before your entrance. He returns, revealing what he grabbed from his bag and tearing the little plastic wrapper. You are about to offer help, but he slips the condom on with ease. He returns and glides his tip through your folds, sending a shiver of anticipation through your muscles. He continues this, teasing you further. You grip his forearm, slightly digging your nails into his flesh. "Please, Gojo." Your voice pleading. His eyes flicker down to you, meeting yours. "I want you to call me by my name." His voice is stern as he says it.
You have no will to deny his request, so you comply. "Satoru," you whisper, and that is the only encouragement he needs. You felt his tip push into you, the stretch burning a little. The new sensation shoots a wave of pleasure through your body, causing your face to contort. He was slow, inching himself into you, allowing you to adjust to his size. "Shit, you're tight." He rasped, a breathy chuckle following. You wouldn't lie; it was a tad uncomfortable, and you were not used to the sensation of being filled to this extent. You were only used to the width and length of a finger or two, but his dick was a whole other thing, and he was barely halfway in. He stroked your hair as he continued to push himself in. Finally reaching the base of his dick. His hips flushed against you. You felt pleasantly full, the stretch giving a pleasurable sting.
You're not sure how long you sat like this, with him just resting inside you, waiting for you to accommodate his length and get comfortable, but it felt like forever, or perhaps time had just slowed. You gripped his bicep and rocked your hips slightly, urging him to begin moving. He started off slow, setting an easy pace. You glance up at his face, seeing his eyes squeezed shut, focusing on self-control so as not to go too fast. He didn't want to finish too quickly. He wanted to make it count, to take his time and explore all you were willing to offer. A bead of sweat was running down his temple.
His pace was driving you up a wall. Shuddered breaths escaping you, drawing out choked-up sounds. You couldn't tell if he was deliberately trying to tease you or if he was somehow afraid of hurting you? Whatever he was doing, his slow pace was maddening. Feeling all too good but not enough simultaneously. As he continues to pump in and out of you, his head dips down, catching your lips. Gliding his tongue along your bottom lip, asking to be let in. You eagerly oblige, letting his tongue explore every crevice of your mouth. Tracing the roof of your mouth, his tongue movements are fluid and drawn out.
One of his hands traces along the edge of your jaw, down your neck, until finding the curvature of your chest. He softly squeezes one of your tits. The hand glides over your hardened nipple, shooting a wave of pleasure through you and right down to your core. He begins to tweak your nipple, causing you to let a whine escape into his mouth. His pace begins to quicken, causing you to shoot your eyes open. His free hand has grabbed under your hip, lifting you a little. The new angle rubs right against your clit. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him as close as possible. Every time he pumped into you, he would hit the base of his cock, sitting flush against your hips. His new pace made it impossible to even think straight. Your words came out as a jumbled mess. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer. Teetering right on the edge of ecstasy. You can tell he is getting closer, too.
The knot in your stomach winding tighter and tighter. As if he knew you were close, his hand reached down, his finger beginning to rub circles on your clit. Your legs clenched at the overwhelming combination. "Satoru. I'm gonna-" Your words were cut short when you unexpectedly moaned. He continues his unrelenting pace and dips his head down to catch your lips. "I know." He whispers as he barely breaks the kiss, swallowing the sounds that leave your mouth. Within a few seconds, the coil finally snaps. You grip his bicep and back, digging your nails into his soft flesh while your back arches into his chest. He slows down a bit, letting you ride out your high, but before you can fully relax, he begins to chase his own release. He's plunging deeper than you thought possible, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust, making your head dizzy. It's all too much in your already sensitive state. He speeds up, his pace becoming sloppier and erratic as his composure begins to slip. "Fuck. It's like you're sucking me in." He rasps.
"You're made just for me." His words come off as a desperate question rather than a demand. You rock your hips with his tempo to the best of your abilities. You could feel another wave of euphoria washing over you, summiting fast and unexpectedly. Your walls clenching down on him, twitching from exhaustion. You needed him closer to bury himself in you, to watch him let go for once. This is probably the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. He comes off as carefree and laidback, but that's only because he is always in control. Right here? Right now? He doesn't seem to care about anything else.
His face is so close to yours you can feel his strained breaths on your face. The soft noises he's trying to hold back are clear to you with him this close. Tracing his features with your eyes, you bring him into a fervid kiss, not very graceful, but you don't care. All you wanted was to feel his lips on yours as he got closer and closer. He breaks the kiss to breathe, but just barely. Your lips are practically still touching as he rests his forehead on yours. It felt too intimate, but you didn't want to push him away. Enjoying the gentle shared moment between you, even if it was spawned out of unbridled despise and lust. You can feel him twitching inside you as he buries himself deep inside before finally letting go. His hands grip your hips with a bruising strength, sure to leave marks. Your muscles clench around him as he rides out, his high twitching inside of you as the last bit seeps out of him. Once finished, his muscles relax, and his grip loosens. While still inside of you, he crawls on top of you, lying on your chest. Occasionally giving soft kisses on your tingly skin. Finally reclaiming your breath, you look down at him and brush his hair back. He looks so peaceful. His eyes are gently shut, his skin is a soft flush color, and it has a light sheen of sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. You absentmindedly begin playing with his hair, and he opens his eyes from the contact. Those big cerulean pools look up at you, melting any resilience within you.
"We should probably clean up." He says as he gives you another chaste kiss on your collarbone. He finally gets up and pulls out of you, making you feel empty. Embarrassment begins to set in, and you're unable to respond, so you just nod your head at him. He takes the condom off and pulls his boxers back on before walking to the bathroom. You can hear the faucet running and turn off. Soon, he comes back out with a wet washcloth. He sits on the bed beside you and wipes your skin off. Your eyes shoot wide, and you go to grab the cloth.
"I-I can do that!" You say as you try to snatch it from his hand, but he pulls away. He looks you in the eyes and gives you a knowing smile. "It's alright. I want to." If you weren't flustered, this sends you over the edge, but you give in. A little too embarrassed to argue. The warmth of the wet cloth relaxes you as he slowly wipes away your and his fluids. He takes his time like he is worshipping your skin, memorizing every inch as he drags the cloth along your heated skin. The warm, damp cloth soothes you, making your eyes increasingly heavy. He finishes and settles in the spot next to you, pulling the covers back over you both. You lean into his warmth, and his arm naturally drapes around your waist, pulling you closer.
You know this isn't right. Cuddling afterward, it's all too domestic. You'd tell him to get out, but you're tired, and it feels relieving to be held by someone. His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck. The ache in your muscles beginning to settle in, along with the fatigue from what you had just done, washes over you. Before you know it, you're embracing his warmth, seeking it as you fall into a peaceful slumber.