#it's such an infuriating throwaway line | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

venusiansilk · 6 months

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੭ ‧₊ TEST DRIVE.

piano lessons with satoru should have been simple, but he’s looking for a star and he thinks he just might have found one in you.

f!reader ⊹ no curses, uni au ⊹ fluff. crack. smut. fwb ⊹ 18+ rich art boy!satoru. gives grand master fuck boy aura, but he’s a romantic heathen. the secret haux life of reader. satoru can dance. dom/sub-ish dynamic. praise/corruption. educational orgasms ⊹ 15.7k ⊹ footnote. i know it’s rly long but i worked hard on this okay. (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵). archiving bc original lore it was for is being rewritten so this became a throwaway. ෆ playlist.

꒰ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ! ꒱

𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐨𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮! what you can expect to learn:

⊹ every speed pianhoe offers: largo / slow, moderato / moderate, allegro / brisk, and my personal favorite, vivace / fast and hard.⊹ code words: legato / no breaks between notes, staccato / sharp and quick, marcato / emphasis, tenuto / sustained, etc.

⊹ volume dynamics: pianissimo / quiet, mezzo forte / medium loud, forte / loud, and my favorite, fortissimo / extremely loud. ⊹ ascending to climax and descending from: crescendo and decrescendo. ⊹ pianhoe direction: da capo / the head, dc al coda / from beginning to end, front to back. ⊹ for more experienced participants, i offer a thorough lesson on triads [ set of 3 ] with my brother suguru geto. ⊹ added bonus: vocal lessons — i’ll show you how to increase your vocal range by an entire octave.

serious inquiries only — for more information: call/text: [xxx]-[xxxx]

for some ungodly reason, you had it in your mind that piano lessons with gojo satoru were a great idea and they would be easy. despite his notorious reputation for sexual deviancy, he’s a well-known musician around campus. you had the absolute audacity to think that he would be a reasonable person that would not be so brazen as to use a student community board to advertise himself in a sinful endeavor to find a girl as hedonistic as he in theory to turn out in practice. o boy, are you wrong. utterly and undoubtedly wrong. and now, you find yourself standing before his completely exposed frame, your eyes wide open and your lips parted in sheer disbelief at the situation you’ve unwittingly walked into. the sight of his naked form, accompanied by his infuriating smirk, shocks you. instinctively, you cover your eyes, unable to comprehend what you’re witnessing. “oh my god! where are your clothes?” nonchalantly, satoru replies, a tantalizing lilt in his voice, entirely unfazed by your perceivable shock. “folded up over there. why? did you want to take them off yourself?” before now, you’d never met the infamous boy, only heard very detailed and very explicit rumors about him. for some reason, he’s what everyone on campus chooses to discuss: what he’s wearing, how he cuts his hair, who he’s seeing, who he hooks up with, how he apparently has top-tier dick-down reviews with a one-hundred percent satisfaction rate, and how every girl on campus is apparently waiting in line for their turn to experience him, to indulge in his unbridled pleasures. every girl except you, that is. prior to this encounter, your opinion of him remained neutral, but seeing as to how you signed up for piano lessons and on the first session, from the moment you walk in and close the door behind you, you’re met with an unabashed libertine, your opinion changes accordingly. gojo satoru is a whore. he is, without a doubt, a debauched individual—a proud slut. “no, you moron! i’m here for fucking piano lessons with you!” you shout, peeking through your fingers to see if he’s made any move to dress himself. he has not. “i’m quite literally here to learn an instrument! did you get our session mixed up with one of the girls in your little harem? jesus christ. put some fucking clothes on!” you hear him huff, then his voice is distant when he speaks, making you feel safe to uncover your eyes. “just what did you hit me up for then? did you not read the ad? serious inquiries only. what part of “pian-hoe” did you miss? i asked you last night if you were for sure down and understood everything.” you stammer over the thickness of your disbelief, appalled by his response. “are you kidding me? i thought it was a fucking typo you were rolling with because you’re a known clown. we texted last night! i confirmed everything with you!” “yeah, i know, which is why your little act is kind of pissing me off. is this supposed to be some shitty roleplay? i only have two free hours and you’re interrupting my fuckin’ time if you’re not here to have very blatantly nasty sex with me.” he says angrily. blinking in absolute shock, your eyes narrow. “you never said a single thing about sex! can you even play the piano?” satoru snorts dismissively. “i can’t fucking believe this. were all the very sexual innuendos not at all clear?” “clearly not, satoru, if i’m here for piano lessons but you think i’m here to let you slut me out!” you say loudly. “all you did was list what we’d learn!” he stares at you, unimpressed and disappointed. “what’s confusing about it? i thought it was pretty fucking clear…unless…you’re…a virgin…or prude…”

the look he gives you is sympathetic as if the last bit of his statement was meant to be an objective attribution rather than his personal [ and incorrect ] opinion and judgment of you. you’re neither a virgin nor a prude, not that it matters or is any of his concern, but you’re not here for a casual fuck. you came to learn piano. [ you’re the only one in your family who doesn’t have a single ounce of musical inclination. your mother is a singer. your father is a musician. your brother produces music and your sister is fluent in about four instruments as it currently stands. ] you’re creative in a different way. you like fine art. you like art in print, paintings, photographs, and intricate architectural designs. “wipe that stupid fucking look off your face, satoru. i’m neither a prude nor a virgin, and i’m also not here to fuck you.” there’s a fleeting pause as he gazes at you, a hint of surprise etched across his face. his supple lips part slightly, and his azure eyes narrow with a mix of confusion and curiosity. it’s as if he’s grappling with the notion that you defy his conventional mold, as if you’re a contradiction in his eyes. how can you not be a virgin, not be a prude, and yet still show zero interest in him? it’s a combination that seems to challenge his usual encounters. “i can’t figure out how the ad wasn’t clear. and why, despite it not being clear to you…” you snort, overwhelmed by the disgust of him and his insinuation. “i don’t want to go ahead and fuck you anyway? you’re a fucking pig.” “no! nuh-uh,” he protests immediately, eyes wide and wounded as he inches closer to you, watching in perceivable horror as you step back. “i am not a pig. i am not a womanizer. i take care of the women i spend time with! i know all of their names! they’re people to me! women with lives outside of our shared experience! some of them are even good friends! i just…haven’t ever run into this predicament. i was…really excited someone responded to my ad so quickly…” oddly, you feel a tiny sliver of guilt for calling him a pig. he appears genuinely distressed by the notion that he sees women as disposable objects. it seems you strike a nerve by assuming he doesn’t care for them and just runs through them for fun.

i’ve never met a romantic slut.

“you seriously thought it was a real piano lessons ad? none of them are clear?” he asks and you don’t answer, looking from side to side. “i can’t accept that. we go to a fucking art school. let me set the scene for you, y/n. we were going to fuck at various different speeds, try out long strings of sex with no breaks and quickies. we were definitely gonna get really kinky and that was going to be a very sustained activity. we were gonna practice fucking at different volumes. you might be too quiet for me so i’ll teach you how to scream the way i like. or if you’re too loud, i’ll have to pipe you down. regarding the bit about climaxes…eh…i’ll admit that one was a hit or miss, but what i meant was we would engage in a lot of foreplay and a lot of aftercare. some men don’t emphasize the importance of aftercare as a part of the sexual experience, but i do…so if you hadn’t had that before, i would have shown you what it looks like. if you had, then you were in luck. i could go on but you’re not here to fuck and i’m wasting my breath by explaining my work.” you feel a lump forming in your throat as you listen intently to his every word. each syllable enters your ear, penetrates your consciousness, and sends a surge of electricity through your brain, leaving it in a state of temporary dysfunction. the weight of his words lingers in your mind like an unshakable echo. you’re far from being a virgin or a prude, and gojo satoru’s meticulous attention to detail fills you with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. you make a valiant effort to conceal the physical reactions his words provoke. your breath quickens involuntarily, betrayed by the growing intensity of your desire, while a series of gulps and swallowed saliva serve as your feeble attempts to regain composure.

and then there’s the mention of aftercare—a topic often overlooked by most men. however, for gojo satoru, it’s essential to his sexual repertoire, an aspect he deems worthy of inclusion in his personal curriculum. the significance he places on nurturing and tending to the emotional and physical well-being of his partner after an intimate encounter is both unexpected and slightly intriguing. as it stands, you have to get out of here before you do something absolutely hellish. “i should go.” you state quietly, face feeling hot. “it was, uh, nice meeting you…i guess.” as you turn and walk towards the door, you hear a small squeak. “you’re really rejecting me?”

in an ideal world, no. in all reality, yes.

you don’t bother responding to him as you soundlessly slip out of his apartment. this is arguably the most embarrassing experience of your life. how can you have seriously just written off his repeated use of “pianhoe” as a simple mistake he made a quirky, ironic moniker? gojo satoru is seriously something else. you’ve never met a man who seems to take this kind of pride in their sexual nature. he’s so confident that it makes you ache, but you can’t say it’s arrogance. it’s more so his obvious shamelessness that gets you. your mind is reeling from his avid protests and partial breakdown of his god-awful, criminal, bombastic ad that you now can’t get out of your mind. you have far too much pride and far too much pre-existing humiliation to turn back now and shift your tune. you can’t make a fool of yourself twice in one sitting; you won’t. but god, you must admit, at least to yourself, you’d have called if you did just so happen to understand what all of it actually meant. and that seems to be the most sickening part to you.

ragged breaths and broken whimpers fill the entire room. you can’t believe you gave into him, that you showed up at his door and told him to caress your curves, that you let him slip his talented tongue between your lips and then between your parted folds, but when he flips you onto your stomach, grips your hips, yanks your body forward, ass taut to him, and starts mercilessly grinding himself into you from behind with only his unyielding grip and a pleasured grunt, you understand quite thoroughly why you wanted to be here. it��s more than what you thought it would be, and it’s been far too long since you felt anything as intense as this. “goddamn, you’re so fucking wet.” satoru pants out as his nails dig into your hips. “i can’t believe you almost kept pussy like this from me.” the sound of a hard slap echoes throughout the room, a greedy palm meeting flesh; your surprised yelp that descends into a moan follows. eyes shut tight, fragile moans escaping in airy whimpers as you feel his unhinged rutting begin to slow for a moment, his hips rolling with meticulous motion, you completely sink into hysterics. you’ve learned from how he shuffles through positions like a playlist that he gets bored quickly. it’s once again confirmed in how he flips you back over right then, pulls one of your legs over his shoulder and slides back into you with ease; one arm is wrapped around your thigh, the other clutching your hip to steady himself. when his hand leaves your thigh and moves to take hold of the opposite side of your hips, lifting you ever so slightly and supporting you while he continues rocking, the tip of his thick length pleasurably rubbing against the sensitive space hidden in your walls, you can’t help the way the sounds emitting from you sound like singing.

he groans, pumping into you. “so fucking wet. keep sliding right out of you, fuck. i love shit like that.” he doesn’t seem to be aware that he’s found the perfect angle to destroy you. or maybe he is and it’s so typical for him that it’s insignificant. either way, the knot in your stomach and the pressure building in your pelvis tell you tonight was a good idea. the trembling in your legs congratulates you for the result of your bravery. the pleasure that courses through you is rapidly consuming you with glee.

and any shame that may linger is quickly eradicated by the orgasm that barrels into your body with little warning. “fuck, baby girl, you’re fucking clenching.” he whimpers. “this is what you feel like cumming all over this dick? fuck,”

the disappointment of waking up to the empty slot on the other side of your bed shouldn’t eat you alive like this, especially not about gojo satoru. still, here you are, third sex dream of him under your belt, worrying that if you don’t respond to the text message he sent you six days ago soon, these dreams would never end, worrying if you don’t get the image of his thick cock fucking you dumb out of your mind, you might just dissolve into nothingness.

gojo satoru. six days ago: so uh hey. i know the other night was not received well by any means. i apologize. and i feel terrible about how freaked out you were and how mad i got. let me buy you dinner? nothing shady, just an “i’m sorry we had a massive misunderstanding and that you had to unwillingly see my dick” kind of dinner.

i did see your dick. thick. long. pouty head.

of course, you’ve yet to respond to his awkward inquiry. oddly, it’s not a sense of repulsion that keeps you from accepting his apology and letting him grant you a free meal. no, on the contrary, it’s the direct opposite. you want nothing more than to match his inquiry with one of your own.

sure, but is the initial offer still open?

that’s how you want to respond, and any other time it would have taken nothing for your adventurous fingers to betray your better judgment, but this time, your hesitance starts at your feet and fills up to your lungs. yes, you teem with apprehension about responding and being who you know you are. it’s not as though you’re some unhinged sexual deviant, but you absolutely don’t mind a casual fuck, and you like to have them frequently. regarding satoru, you absolutely would rather have sex that’s guaranteed to be immaculate than bother with guys who leave the fate of your orgasm just dangling in the air above you. it’s always a fifty-fifty chance you won’t cum. still, even so, the brief stimulation is nice; and the intimacy, though purely shallow and artificial, seems to satisfy an inner need you have for physical affection. there are myriads of discourse around love languages these days, but they don’t often talk about how being the only one servicing your personal language’s desires is exhausting and incredibly lonely, just that you should find other kindred spirits that can and want to meet the need. and for someone like you who thrives on physical and verbal attention, it’s damn near impossible to satisfy that need yourself. not fully, anyway. then, resting right on top of that is the fact that you have no interest in being in a committed relationship. your tuition would not pay itself, and your family lacks the disposable income to help you. with managing your living situation, job, and coursework, the last thing you need [ or want ] is to worry about what a man is up to in his spare time. you also don’t need one breathing down your neck wondering what you’re up to in yours. you don’t want to make time for someone. you don’t want to worry about how your choices impact them. you can hardly come to terms with how your choices impact you. your plate is more than full. there’s already only small fragments of time for your sexual excursions involving near strangers with your current schedule to begin with, let alone making time to participate in a full-blown relationship involving a slew of erratic and complex emotions, a flurry and plethora of instances of humanity to dissect at all times; there’s always emotional labor to be done, and it’s fair to ask that of your partner, but you’re not willing to do it. also, you’re not the type of girl to do anything half-assed, even develop a romantic dynamic with someone. when you do decide to affiliate yourself with someone in a monogamous and exclusive sense, you’ll want to give it your all. you don’t want it to feel like a burden and you don’t want to treat anyone as such. there’s a deep understanding of your general emotional unavailability. therefore, you don’t set expectations and never ask for more than you’re willing to share yourself. besides, boyfriends come-and-go, but an endless stream of fuck buddies can [ probably ] be forever.

and i’m not trying to act married with a vanilla wafer who only likes missionary and touching softly while exchanging ‘i love yous’ back and forth like it’s fucking verbal love ping-pong.

it’s all to say that casual sex is much more suited to your tastes. some people like long-term love; some people like sporadic flings. there’re no hurt feelings when you don’t want to hook up again. there’s no messy breakup for not enjoying the sex. there’s no consequence for ghosting and not looking back. by every perceivable margin, it’s much easier than a long-term relationship. therefore, gojo satoru is right up your alley, so why do you feel such a deep level of shame at the prospect of doing what you’re habituated to doing? normally, the equation is as easy as ariana grande’s 7 rings: you see him. you like him. you want him. you get him. this time, though, your hesitance is nearly nauseating. why? o, perhaps because upon your initial encounter, you blatantly rejected him out of frustration and left him standing there as you made a quiet but melodramatic exit, ignoring his attempt to call after you, scurrying out without even a word. so now, after all that, you’ll look insane to come knocking on his door pretending it didn’t happen and ask him if he wants to run through his peculiar little ad with you.

i probably made him feel bad about himself. only to turn around and say, ‘sike, let’s do it!’ over a week later? yeah, good luck. it just sounds cruel. isn’t it also cruel to ignore his attempts to remedy the situation? just respond and tell him you’re interested.

shaking the thoughts away, you rise and decide to focus your efforts on preparing yourself for the day rather than how badly you want to know if sex with satoru in real life is as disgustingly delicious as it is in your dreams.

the day passes on as it usually does. you meander through campus, attending the two classes you have. you manage to squeeze in a quick lunch at the student cafe between them, and you even grab yourself a treat. you did some light reading before your first class. you respond to nanami’s gentle suggestions for you to do more than come over to his and have meaningless sex with yet another round of gentle rejections. everything seems to be following its frequented axis. after some time, you finally feel level-headed, like you can breathe again, like you aren’t basically foaming at the mouth to jump at an opportunity to get satoru alone again and re-discuss the arrangement he was trying to establish. this time, you wouldn’t fill up with arousal, frustration, and embarrassment so fully that you have to be anywhere else but near him. you rest comfortably on a small couch in a nook within the library. as architecture is one of the university’s most renowned and revered departments, it’s no surprise the structure of the library is undoubtedly gorgeous, with intricate carvings all along the trimmings and exterior of the building, obviously inspired by architecture in barcelona. the library was large, spacious, filled to its brim with books and a series of random little reading nooks like this sprawled throughout it. the librarians say there are approximately twenty nooks within the library building. you’ve made it your irrelevant but personal mission to visit each nook and find your preferred one. considering you spend your free time on campus here, it’s only natural. thus far, you’ve discovered eleven of twenty. “well, look who it is, the girl who’s ignoring and likely avoiding me.” you freeze, the deep baritone of his voice startling and paralyzing you for a moment. it seems like all he manages to do is catch you off guard, make a chill run down your spine, and cause shock to fill your belly. despite the depth of your unease, your head lifts to face him, eyes moving to the side to avoid direct eye contact. but you catch a glimpse of him, his smug smile, that single chanel pendant dangling from his left ear, and his intentionally tousled, snowy hair.

he looks gorgeous today.

you know that for your next words to land how you want them to and be perceived as believable, you have to show more confidence than this. you’ll have to dig your heels in the dirt a little further to root.

god, what is it with you? you catch a glimpse of a guy’s dick without expecting it one time, and now you don’t know how to act?

you meet his eyes in the most self-indulgent fashion possible. your gaze starts from the floor to his black dress shoes, up his black slacks [ perfectly pressed and creased ]; the leather black gucci belt secured around his waist [ adorned with its ostentatious silver buckle ]. your eyes travel up to take in the epitome of romantic high fashion: the silky black blouse gracing his torso with a neckline that treats his collarbones like royalty, an open cut, and a glimpse of his smooth chest. true to his seemingly gaudy nature, a matching scarf was tied around his neck; you gulp at the sight, at the thought of him untying it from himself and using it to knot a leash around you. lastly, that deliciously dangerous smirk of his; his supple lips curled into a cheeky and self-congratulating grin. “i’m not avoiding you.” you say, finally looking directly at him, using every fragment of willpower you harbor within to keep your face blank, stoic, flat, and disinterested. his brows lift, surprised but his amusement returns quickly. you hate the cocky look in his eyes, so evidently self-assured. you want to fuck it right off of his face. “but you are ignoring me, got it.” you shrug, returning your attention to the book before you. “i’m not trying to.” right now, all you have is feigning disinterest as an excuse to remove your fixation on the visual experience his presence provides. you swear to all the mythological gods that your heart is beating so loud even he can hear the need pounding against your prison cell of a chest, pleading for freedom. satoru sighs, sitting in a chair adjacent to you, positioning himself in your peripheral vision. “look. i’m really sorry for making you uncomfortable. that really wasn’t my intention, and it was a genuine misunderstanding. regardless, i shouldn’t have just had my dick out like that, even if you were there to hook up with me. it’s…it’s indecent exposure. i’m more controlled than that, so i’m sorry.” you’ll be telling a very blatant lie if you say the sincerity in his voice as he spoke doesn’t riddle you with surprise. despite his long list of sexual partners and his very obvious willingness to display his hedonistic side, satoru seems to strive to be respectful, truly, and he seems deeply concerned by the notion that he may be receiving this reaction from you because you feel disrespected. and in some regard, you do, but considering your personal tastes, you let it go to submerge into your fantasies. you understand it as a misunderstanding [ although still inappropriate ]; he seems to think since his ad is founded on freak nasty intent, freak nasty execution is realistically not off the table. and in some regard, he is correct, much to everyone’s dismay. “thank you for that.” your response is genuine, and you offer him an accepting smile. when he seems pleased by your reaction, you nervously press on. “i have to ask, though. why exactly would you place an ad like that on the student community board, satoru? i don’t think anyone would automatically assume a sex ad would be posted there.” and in every regard, you are correct; everyone uninvolved would agree. you continue scanning the book’s pages mindlessly, soaking in words and watching them wither away, not a single syllable retained. you hear him huff, perhaps from the removal of your attention. he seems a little histrionic, the type that indulges in attention. there’s nothing wrong with it, per se, but you can see him behaving like an absolute brat about it. and superficially judging by his lavish attire, being a brat doesn’t seem too far away from a realm of possibilities. “well, i’m part of the student community.” he reasons. “and i placed an ad on the board just like anyone else would have; that’s what it’s for.”

you pause, looking back at him to gauge his face for signs of jesting because he truly had to be. when you see that he’s being quite serious, your eyes shut in a momentary dizziness of disbelief his absurdity causes. “no, satoru,” you protest, shaking your head. “it’s absolutely solely for things like tutoring or piano lessons, but certainly not for promiscuous sex arrangements.” when you say it, the look on his face is suddenly giddy. “promiscuous? you really think i am?” “why do you sound thrilled about that?” an inquiry that’s posed with bunched brows and a curious, slightly apprehensive lilt. satoru chuckles. “of all the things i’m accused of perpetuating, promiscuity is, by far, the most likely to be true about me.” you blink, taking in his oddities with curiosity. “and that’s a good thing to you?” “it’s not a good or bad thing.” a statement coupled with a head nodding side-to-side in a contemplative rhythm. “it’s a true thing, which does thrill me. i appreciate attributions of me being accurate. besides, i’ll accept any and all slut-shaming; it sounds like praise to me.” a gentle hum as you take in his answer. “interesting,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “i like to sleep around, and i’m not ashamed of it. like anything or anyone with a hobby or passion, i want to be proud of what i do. i’ve dedicated many hours toward my craft to hone it. i like what i do, and i would say i’m pretty talented with the amount of time i’ve invested into mastery. hence, my ad. an ode to eros and an expression of my own masteries.”

great googly-moogly.

he sees pristine sexual experiences as a craft, an art he’s spent time expanding and continues to improve. his ad is his displayed attempt/desire to grow as a sexual partner, to up the ante on his own sexual comforts, and to push his own boundaries. god, he talks about sex like it’s a sacred, treasured act. your heart is thumping, and your body feels hot, but it’s not fear. it’s not nervousness, you being coy, or your shame making you bashful. it’s need pulsing through you. before you can stop yourself, you stare at him and blurt, “i wanna hook up.” his eyes widen, and his lips part in surprise. “oh?” you offer a soundless but blaringly needy gaze and a confident commitment to light the candle now that the match is struck. “like soon,” you breathe. smirking, satoru’s body loosens, sinking comfortably in his seat. his brilliant eyes look you over as his arms fold arrogantly across his chest. “well, then. i’m listening.” he goads you to continue with a gesturing hand. you notice his jewel-endowed fingers then, staring at them as you speak. “i…want to try out your ad.” “i see.” he hums pleasantly. “the day’s turning out better than i expected. alright, y/n, i’ll let you take me for a little test drive if that’s what you want.” for a moment, you both stare at each other. you aren’t sure if it’s tension building up steadily between the two of you, or perhaps satoru enjoys wading on the surface of an open proposition, but you feel he’s waiting for you to follow up your direct request with direct confirmation. “fine,” you grumble. he whistles in a down tune. “i definitely didn’t expect this; it’s a pleasant surprise. here i was with my bruised ego thinking you didn’t like what you saw, but you were just playing coy.” “i wasn’t ‘playing coy’ with you. i genuinely could not believe what was happening was a real event i was expected to endure.” you correct him. satoru smirks, reaching out to place a grip on your knee. “would it have been endurance or indulgence?” your face remains blank, lips straight as you stare at his perfect features and pray to every god you can keep your resolve intact and remain perceivably unbothered. “it was legally considered harassment.” you point out. “no, it was objectively considered a misunderstanding.” he retorts, giving you a hard look. you roll your eyes. “don’t you have a consistent stream of women you can easily call for a casual hook-up? why are you leaving ads to find a sex partner like some heathen with no home training?” he sighs wistfully, hand falling from your knee. “well, if you must know, i’m looking for a star.” “a star?” he leans back into his seat, legs crossed, taking in your question. a distant look takes his eyes, and they begin to gleam at the thought, shimmering as his ideal sexual partner enters his mind. “yes, a star. but not just any star, i want the biggest one of all. i want the sun.”

the sun is not the biggest star of all, but i’ll let you have it.

his voice sounds lost in the sheer depths of a daydream as he speaks, and you’ll never admit it out loud, but if he’s as good as you’re presuming he is, you want to make an astronomer out of him and become the greatest star he ever discovers, the brightest one he can find in his sky and pull down to keep in his pocket, all for himself. your voice is weak, but he doesn’t notice your breathiness. “you sound insane.” “you just don’t understand me or my art.” he contests with a sigh. “sex is an art?” “yes, an undervalued art. a fine art, if you will. i want a star. one whose light will go the distance with me and be the center of all my muses.” he sighs woefully. “there are so many incredible ways to have sex, y/n. so many avenues of pleasure to explore. this isn’t a path you traverse alone or with a series of random individuals you have to keep setting the scene for to make them understand the beauty of it all. i want a girl down to be kinky, freaky, and unashamedly nasty with me. a star. a flexible girl but a little bit innocent and willing to learn.”

“an odd man you are.” a shuddery mumble. you look down at your open book again, searching the page for an anchor to keep your feral nature at bay and reign you in, trying your damndest to feign an unfazed, unbothered attitude so it’s not terribly obvious that you want him so bad you’re feeling lightheaded and nauseous. “i tend to warrant that response.” he agrees easily, with not a hint of shame or offense taken. “so, you really want to do this? try out my ad?” there’s an elated tone in his voice, now filled with anticipation. you don’t look up, but you hope he doesn’t notice the shakiness in the base of your voice. “i don’t know if i’m the star you’re looking for or what have you, but i’m…admittedly curious to know what all the hype is about and if the response is warranted.” sighing, you give up on your bravado and shut the book with impatient hands. you hear satoru snicker, and you glance at him, feeling your core tighten. he looks like old money, fast times, expensive thrills, and designer indulgences. satoru is dripping with sex appeal, and he knows it. “it probably is, but for the sake of attempting humility, i’ll let you decide for yourself.” he winks at you, the sight making you clench around nothing. “so be honest with me here. are you a prude? i’ll accept your claim about virginity because that isn’t my business, but are you sex-shy? it won’t change my willingness to hook up. i just need to know what i’m working with here.” and you aren’t entirely sure why you decide to lie at that moment. you don’t have any personal shame about how you choose to spend your free time. it’s not as if an abundance of experience would have suddenly made him want to fuck less, but you decidedly want to have fun, too. satoru seems like the type that enjoys kitten-licking power, savoring small bites of it and consuming it slowly but never swallowing it whole, and you’re willing to give him something to control. you have an interest in your own kinds of thrill. panic at the disco wasn’t lying when they said lying was the most fun a girl could have without taking her clothes off. “i…uh…yes, okay?” when you answer, satoru's face appears to be thoroughly amused, leaving you laden with agitation and defensiveness. “why are you making that fucking face, satoru? don’t you dare make fun of me. i’ll kick your ass in this library.”

and that’s a promise, dick.

“i could be into that.” he muses playfully. “but i’m not making fun of you; the furthest from it, actually.” “then what?” you grumble with slightly narrowed eyes. his smirk widens, the twinkle in his eyes out on display again, shimmering elatedly. “corruption kink is on my list.” your mouth feels dry. you absolutely are not a fair subject for him to indulge in a corruption kink with, but considering he’s not entirely aware of it, you think this could be of great benefit to you as well. he wants someone to show the ropes, and you want someone to be impressed by you. [ your inability to relate to your family shows again how you orchestrate a dynamic to feed your gluttonous praise kink. ] “your list?” you question. an amused nod. “my list of kinks i hope to try out with my star.” you feel unbearably hot, thighs squeezing together discreetly as you grumble. “you’re an awful, terrible man.” your reply seems to only make him smirk more, reaching again to place a gentle hand on your leg, this time rubbing across your thigh. internally, you’re praising your intuition, thanking yourself for wearing a skirt for the day. “degradation kink is also on my list. i told you. nasty. freaky. unashamed.” “a-alright, you can go at any time.” he nods. “i will as soon as we’re done with our little chat. so, if you’re into me and you want to see what all the hype is about, i’ll show you. if you happen to find an unusual amount of enjoyment in the evening, which i’m confident you will, you can stick around to see what else i’ll have in store for you. deal?” for a moment, you chase silence as you stare him over. he already knows you want him, already knows you agree, but he wants you to solidify that if you like the flavor of what you taste, you’ll continue coming back for more, and he would happily provide. it’s something about the promise you find buried between his suggestions.

“…deal…” his hand caresses your thigh while you battle the moan that’s ready to pounce from the base of your throat. “are you clean?” you ask him suddenly. “you fuck a lot, don’t you? do you get tested as often?” a light chuckle. “i am, and i do. my body is a temple.” “i’m sure.” you grumble. “are you free tonight, say around seven?” he asks softly, ignoring the lingers of your attitude.

i’m not, but i will be.

“yeah,” a breathy response. “come to my place around then. do you still have the address?” all you can do in response is nod, earning a final squeeze before he stands. “good. see you tonight then, y/n. thrilled we had this chat.” as he stands, he pats your head and continues on with whatever he was doing before he stumbled upon you. once his back is to you, you watch as he leaves, sauntering away confidently. he walks languidly with a swagger in his step like penciling you in for the evening was just another portion of his day. and for both of you, it truly is. you’re only nervous because this isn’t your typical formula, and gojo satoru has never been in your realm of interest, but the outcome? familiar. it’s not that you aren’t disgustingly aware he’s attractive, but you’ve also come to find overhyped sexual encounters are usually just that: overhyped and unfulfilling. but you catch a glimpse of the tools he’s working with below the belt, and you hear all that passion in his voice when he speaks about displaying a master-level of skill in what he deems an art. you don’t think they’re lying at all. in fact, you have a good feeling that by the time the night ends, you’ll be kicking yourself for not making a move on this one sooner.

you spend your entire afternoon preparing for the evening. you’re especially excited about this one. if not this, your night’s alternative would be spent with nanami kento. and it isn’t anything against him, he’s gorgeous, and he has the personality of a well-oiled machine, but he’s got what you refer to as ‘corporate dick.’ it’s not an insult, merely a categorization of his sexual capabilities and approach. nanami's bedroom style can be described as a reliable employee. he has a decent enough work ethic. he shows up when he’s scheduled. he gives adequate forewarning if he can’t make it in. he clocks in, does what he’s been tasked to do, works through to completion even if he slips into overtime, and clocks out. he doesn’t take work home with him, and he doesn’t bring home with him to work. he’s productive, functional, and has the capacity to rise in the ranks with the proper attention to detail and execution. alas, along the corporate ladder, kento is comfortable. he gets the job done, but it’s evident that he enjoys his position, having no real ambition to grow by showing displays of competency beyond expectation. you can’t fault him for it, and you can still see the great benefit of his commitment to his habitual nature and his displays of reliability. still, when you’re thinking of someone to put in a position of true power, you want someone who isn’t afraid to show a little teeth and a love for innovation. with that in mind, as you stand outside of satoru's front door, this is the moment where you decide to pick the new guy instead of the one with longevity and loyalty under his belt. yes, nanami's been around longer and always followed through, but if something can take you higher, you inevitably want that. pleasure principle things.

satoru opens the door, fully clothed this time, with a pleasant smile on his face. he’s still in the same blouse from earlier, just the scarf missing, exposing his chest more. he cracks the door, leaning against the frame, eyes scanning you over. “you actually came.” he coos sweetly, stepping to the side and widening the door for you to enter. “you look delectable, too.” his eyes are on your thighs as he offers the compliment, watching how the hem of your skirt sways around them. you roll your eyes, passing the threshold while mimicking his tone with a twinge of the degradation he enjoys so much. “satoru, you’re actually wearing clothes, good boy.” he snorts, closing the door behind you. “yes, well, my previous approach wasn’t received very well.” “fast learner,” you note, admittedly amused. you walk in, taking in the sight of his apartment. an unfortunate misunderstanding sullied your previous visit, so you couldn’t fully take in its beauty, but satoru's flat is gorgeous. the external portions of the building embrace modern, minimalist architecture: neutral colors, square and boxy in build, sleek and large. the inside has a much more complex and regal feel with ornate wall and baseboard trimmings and intricate patterns carved into gold. he has pure white marble floors with light swirls of grey. everything about this place screams wealth. “your apartment is…incredible.” you say in awe, looking around at all the lavish decor and abstract structures he has displayed throughout. “it looks like a museum.” he smiles cutely, cerulean eyes twinkling at your words. “that’s exactly what i was going for. you see the vision.” and a vision it is. satoru has all kinds of art on display around his home. it’s as if you can tour his home and leave with a stack of art history under your skull by the end of it. it makes sense why he’s amongst the top ten students in the university right along with you. you can feel all the knowledge he’s collecting packed together and intricately placed around his home. it feels like an amassment of things that required heavy guarding and deep protection. if something were to ever happen to his home, this would truly be knowledge and history lost from the world.

he shouldn’t even have art this valuable.

“how did you get all of this stuff?” you ask in awe. satoru shrugs. “i collect art. my dad runs in auctioning circles and loves to take trips to ‘waste money on my hobbies,’ he says, but my hobbies only appreciate in value. my living room will be twice his net worth in five years’ time.” “feels a little dangerous to have this much valuable work in here, right?” you ask with a small lilt of worry. you love art. you would never want to see it at risk or in danger of destruction, especially not such works that have managed to travel through this much time. a reckless, promiscuous university student should not be building a vault in his apartment like this. “hey,” satoru breathes, facing you and touching your shoulders. “i promise my apartment will not suffer the same fate as the library of alexandria.” he grins as he says it and you shove him softly. “that’s not funny. that was a tragedy. imagine the amount of innovation and advancement we lost over that.” satoru says nothing and only offers an airy laugh. “stop laughing at me!” “i’m not! you’re…” he pauses and flicks your nose gently. “you’re honestly really cute worrying about things like that. i’m sure the library of alexandria appreciates how prepared you are to defend its honor and untimely ruin.” your eyes narrow. “are you being a dick right now?” “nope,” he says shaking his head with a grin. “but, as a fellow lover of art and the library of alexandria, let me assure you that this is not their permanent residence. i’m currently transitioning homes, but their forever storage will be protected, proofed, and secured.” this might be the first time you offer gojo satoru a full and legitimate smile, hearing that he has a plan to keep them all secure and ensure that his ownership of them will not lead them to a heartbreaking demise warms you. “that’s…really good to hear. i was worried for a minute, not gonna lie. a young student shouldn’t have this many valuable pieces shoved into this fire hazard of a building like this. your aesthetic may emulate a museum, but this is not one.” his amusement does not go unnoticed. “i’ll have fun peeling back every layer of you, y/n.” before you can request that he elaborate on what exactly he means by that statement, he turns his back to you and guides you through the front area and into his fairly spacious kitchen. in the center of the room was a large island; the surface of which was covered in fresh produce, cutting boards, knives, and an entire arrangement of ingredients. your brows shoot up, taking in the sight of it all. satoru moseys to a nearby wall where a set of four aprons rest on individual hooks. he grabs one and pulls it over his head, securing the tie around his waist. he looks at you with all his expectations on display. you avoid his gaze, gesturing at all of it. “what’s all this?” “i thought we could do something a little more intimate as an icebreaker and make a meal together.” he says with a casual shrug. with that, he grabs an additional apron, grips it in one hand, and uses the other to gesture your approach toward him. if he was expecting this to make you feel less apprehensive, it wasn’t working. you can’t cook well and shouldn’t be allowed to handle knives freely.

not only that, but this activity was a far distance from what you were there for. “um, not that i don’t think it’s a nice gesture, but why all of this for casual sex? i already agreed, didn’t i?” your face appears perplexed as you reduce the distance between the two of you. satoru chuckles, placing the apron over your head when he realizes you won’t take it alone. “you did, but that isn’t to say i want you to feel nervous and spend the entire time second-guessing. you’re much more timid than some of my previous guests. so, i thought easing you into the night would make you feel comfortable.” for some reason, gojo satoru can’t stop catching you by surprise, can’t stop making your brows go up and your eyes soften. “that’s…actually very sweet.”

he nods, taking you by the shoulders and slowly spinning you around to tie the apron around your back. once secure, he leans forward, both hands resting on your waist. “yes, this is my own kind of foreplay.” he murmurs. it makes you snort, giving your best efforts to maintain your composure as you stand before him. you turn to face him again, forcing a grimace to reshape your lips. “foreplay? this is not foreplay.” a pointed retort. his eyes roll, and a challenging look follows. “yes, foreplay. don’t give me that look, prudy patootie. what do you know about foreplay?” inwardly, you want to laugh. you know plenty and this isn’t it. this isn’t foreplay; it’s pure, genuine romance. for a fleeting moment, you wonder if there’s even a difference where he’s concerned or if it’s all bundled up as components that create a singular sexual experience. “not a lot,” you lie. “but i know enough to know this isn’t it.” “then you know nothing at all.” he huffs a laugh, amusedly shaking his head. “it is. give the night a chance.” you exaggerate a sigh, defeated. as long as he makes you cum as hard as you know he can, you’ll agree to any of his shenanigans. whatever makes him feel better, whatever makes him make you shudder in his hold. “fine, what are we making?” “pizza,” he answers with a grin. immediately, you groan. “satoru, i swear to fucking god…” “y/n, relax.” he pleads, again taking your shoulders and maneuvering you towards the island. “this is exactly why we’re making pizza. you’re so goddamn uptight, and it’s very perceivable, sweetheart. very exhausting to navigate.” “fuck you,” you grouse. you hear him laugh as his chin suddenly rests on your shoulder, and an arm wraps around you from behind, tugging you into him securely. his breath tickles your neck when he speaks, shivers slinking down your spine and heat consumes every inch of your skin. heart thumping arrhythmically, you swallow down hard. “that’s the plan.” soft lips press against your neck. “so help me make this good for you; turn down your temper just a little, not all the way because it’s a little bit of a turn-on, and let’s get started, shall we?” a quiet nod. a silent submission.

he says this is supposed to be intimate and comforting. thus far you’re only annoyed at how difficult everything is and how picky satoru is about everything. it’s maddening. you want him to make a mess of you, but he wants to criticize how you hold a knife. “why would you buy fresh vegetables to cut up? why not just get an oven-ready pizza, satoru?” satoru's fists and knuckles diligently knead dough in soft but determined circles. you often find yourself staring at how his triceps flex when he applies force and pressure to the dough. it’s hard to ignore how his tongue pokes out between his lips as he focuses, but as he takes in your statement, he comes to a hard stop. the look on his face is nothing short of pure disgust. “ew, y/n.” “you don’t like oven-ready pizza?” a skeptical glance. his shameless display of revulsion persists. “no one does, and that’s a hill i’ll die on. so slice that pepperoni, baby. this isn’t a game; i’m hungry.” satoru pauses his kneading and wipes his hands on the towel he has draped over his shoulder. he moves across the room then, closer in proximity to you. “i’m not your baby.” you grumble as he passes behind you. he scoffs. “oh, i’m sorry, peach.” your glare is immediate, staring him down with unimpressed eyes. “peach? really?” that awful smirk you’ve grown both irritated and disturbingly aroused by presents itself shamelessly again. satoru grabs the rolling pin on the corner of the island nearest to you. he could have asked you to pass it, but as he passes by again to return to his station, you become quickly aware of his own personal mischief. he smacks your ass hard under your skirt, palm gripping your cheek tightly, earning a squeal from you and an amused laugh from himself. “really, really,” there your heart goes wanting to rip its way out of your chest because you simply can’t take it anymore. the room is hot. he’s hot. everything he does is hot. he knows he’s hot and it’s both infuriating and so outlandishly attractive that you’re borderline on your knees for a man who’s barely even touched you. he’s got you in his kitchen chopping vegetables with him like some newlywed couple, having playful banter while he takes every opportunity to sneak a feel of you.

it feels like i’m spending time at home with my partner. so this is what he does.

it’s entirely intentional; you realize that. he’s curating a very specific point of view for you to indulge in while you’re here. there’s no question in your mind about doing so either; this is exactly what you came for. debauchery. pleasure. fantasy. gluttony. satisfaction. indulgence. you want a long taste of him, a decadent bite of his fruit. you maintain your unbothered demeanor in response to his advances. “are you going to help me at all?” “i’m making a homemade sauce and preparing the dough!” he protests, abandoning his rolling pin and pulling you back into his body by your hips. “i’d argue i’ve been doing the most helping.” “o, really? because it seems like you’re just fuckin’ around and getting on my nerves on purpose.” a sing-song retort that earns you arms sliding around your waist to hold you. “or maybe brat taming is on my list and i just want to rile you up a little bit.” even you can’t conceal or control the breathiness of your own voice. “you’re a monster.” “god i know it.” he breathes. a moment passes where nothing is vocalized; silence fills the air, and it feels pronounced but in no way threatening. you continue cutting this thick link of pepperoni tasked to you, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you. there was something very soft and domestic that felt comforting about this. despite all the trouble you gave him in the form of quips and a stubborn willingness to experience, you felt like you enjoyed being there, enjoyed just hanging out with him and doing something as random and impromptu as making a homemade pizza. but then he drops his arms and squeaks. “y/n, what the hell are you doing?” “…slicing pepperoni?” your answer is laced with all your confusion. satoru laughs, shaking his head in refusal. “there’s no way in hell you think that’s how you’re supposed to slice pepperoni. y/n, you’re cutting it into thick chunks. how is that supposed to go on a pizza? what?” you drop the knife on the counter’s surface and huff, feeling embarrassed by the harshness of his critique. “do i look like fucking mr. pizza to you?” “peach,” he laughs softly, a hand resting on your head as he stands beside you. “if you needed help, why didn’t you just ask?” “i thought i was coming here to get fucked not slice up deli meat.” the grumble of a girl who thrives on praise but is only receiving criticism that sounds dangerously close to rejection. “you came here for both, now hush. let me help you. watch me. you have to slice it thinly. and you need to be careful. these are brand-new knives, and the last thing i want is for you to hurt yourself. you can’t make random cuts. you need precision and intention. see?” beside you, he takes your knife and cutting board, sliding them in front of himself to demonstrate how to slice the pepperoni thinly. you watch him closely, not his busy hands but his side profile, the angle of his jaw, the shape of his chin, and the fullness of his lips. “o,” you fabricate a hum of understanding. you have no idea what he’s shown you or what he wants you to do. all you know is everything about him seems to warrant your desire. everything about him warrants your acknowledgment. he laughs, nodding as he pushes the tools back toward you. “yeah, just like i’m sure you’ve seen on any pizza ever. take your time. i’m not afraid to make you start over. try it.” you make a dramatic show of slowly slicing the pepperoni into dangerously thin pieces. you glance at him with a look of sheer displeasure as you do. “is this good enough for you?” your question comes in the form of an exasperated grumble. beside you, satoru graces you with a smile, his hand gently tousling your hair. “that’s perfect, peach. good girl. surprisingly, you can listen pretty well. keep that up, and we’ll have dinner in no time.”

as his gaze meets yours, an inescapable cascade of timidity descends upon you at the point of contact, enveloping and blanketing your entire being. the intensity reveals a palpable longing, his words of praise striking you without any warning in your core. “what’s this look?” he asks softly, poking your cheek. you shake your head, quickly looking away. “nothing,” “continue then,” he urges, humming as he observes you carefully. “there you go. you see? you do so well when you close that mouth and follow directions. those are practically perfect.” and it shouldn’t leave you as flustered as it does. it shouldn’t leave your skin hot and make your heart feel like it’s suddenly competing to discover how fast it would need to rattle your entire rib cage to shatter every barrier that kept it confined. it shouldn’t leave you ready to abandon it all and slut him out in his own kitchen. “i…uh…thanks,” your hushed tone and deliberate avoidance of his ever-persisting stare. “oh,” he murmurs after a moment, his voice much softer and reflective. “peach,” “w-what?” you stammer, still refusing to meet his eyes. he’s too close again, and you’re grateful. the root of your nervousness is need. you’re doing everything you can not to turn into someone filthy, someone undoubtedly already corrupted. you’re committed to your role, but you want to make one right back every time he makes a move. satoru chuckles. “a praise kink isn’t on my list, but i think it might be on yours.” and it is. it’s nearly at the very top. “very fundamental information to know being a good girl matters to even a little brat like you.” his knuckles caress your cheek as you stare ahead, fighting the demons on both your shoulders that are begging you to show him your pandora’s box and goad him straight into opening it. it’s taking every ounce of you not to turn this man into a fan. you can feel it thrumming in the tips of your fingers, the absolute desire you have to show him exactly what you can do, to show him that you’re the last great star he’ll ever find. but, for the sake of your enjoyment and the sake of his precious corruption kink, you bite your tongue just as hard as you can see him biting his lip in your peripheral vision.

everything feels disgustingly romantic. although you’re well aware that this was only partially likely to become a regular event in your schedule, you understand why so many girls want to try him on for size, why so many girls want to be the one he wants to stick around, why they’re all jumping for even just a night spent with him, why they all got a taste and are borderline rabid to devour. everything about satoru's persona is romantic, an aphrodite sauntering around, taunting everyone with the loveliness in his smile and the gentleness that drives his spirit, the endless oceans he calls eyes being a focal point of adoration. satoru is quick-witted and hedonistic, sure, but compassionate, kind, and intimacy-inducing. he seems to have a phenomenal handle on creating closeness and utilizes it to his full advantage. your comfort is his gain in the end, after all. dinner proceeds with minimal errors and maximal instances of satoru engaging in physical affection toward you: a roaming hand grazing your backside in passing, the sporadic moments of pure proximity when his breath was right there on an exposed patch of your skin, and the kisses pressed to your forehead. you had watched him ease into your comfort zone, gaining so much of your trust so quickly it was almost unfair. “for the next portion of our evening…” he begins as he guides you back into his living room. a questioning and suspicious gaze. “do you just have a series of activities organized?” “so what if i do.” he responds easily. “have a seat.” you can’t bite back the apprehension that fills you. thus far, satoru has made a sworn duty of surprising you, out of keeping you guessing his next move. you can’t anticipate a single thing he chooses to do. where gojo satoru is concerned, the dissonance between his demeanor and his personality is the only thing you can expect. you expect him to leave you reeling; you expect him to do the unexpected thing you’d never guess. “why?” you ask with narrow eyes. satoru meets your inquiry with annoyance, sighing. “y/n, you’re going to have to work with me here and open up a little to have fun. toss the bravado and let me get you a vibrator.” you can’t help it; you snort a laugh at his comment, trying your hardest to mentally swat away the playful smile that becomes of your lips. “fine,” you gripe, glancing at him and noticing the enjoyment that was right there shimmering and pirouetting in his eyes. “i’ll be good.” although smiling, satoru's eyes give away his doubt. “you keep saying that only to continue being a temperamental brat.” defensive palms show themselves in an effort to surrender, to embrace the scene he was setting. “i’ll be nice. i’ll be open.” you promise sweetly. your eyes take him in, a salacious grin on your lips as your tongue flicks out to moisten them. you aren’t entirely certain what he has in mind next, but you want to be part of it. if he was preparing to take you on a long ride through the deepest caverns of what he deems as pleasure, you want him to strap you in and take you along.

“that’s the spirit. now show me how well you listen again.” his eyes are laden with expectation as he barks his command. “sit down.” and in a sickening endeavor to chase the sweetness of his praise, in a submissive effort to earn his pride, you plop down right there on his couch, eyes never leaving his as you do. you don’t shy away anymore, no longer containing the willpower to keep up this facade that you’re still apprehensive about him and this. now, you want him to tell you you’re good and decimate your body about it. “you can be a damn good girl when you want to be.” he murmurs, grinning down at you. “see? how hard was that, baby?” “peach,” you correct him softly. you watch his eyes change then; they darken ever so slightly. if you weren’t in an impromptu stare-down with him, you might not have witnessed it, but you see it clearly: satoru is ready to ruin your life in the best and worst way possible. you share an equal enthusiasm at the prospect of guiding the way and detailing the best way for him to achieve such a feat.

“you’re right, peach.” his voice is gruff and soft, aggression weaving around gentleness. “you ready?” you only nod. what happens next is truly beyond your expectations or wildest dreams. you watch satoru waltz to a set of speakers and turn the power on, scrolling through his phone next until a song starts and you watch him stand still with his back turned to you, dramatically spinning to face you as the song begins.

won’t you crawl up in this bed with me? cozy up in these sheets, girl. turn on whatever you please, yeah.

your eyes widen as you witness satoru start to dance, a series of precise and slightly sensual movements, his body slowly descending in front of you while his torso rolls throughout the movement, his hands on your thighs to settle himself. “oh. my. god.” you say in a whisper, both shocked and thrilled by this unexpected turn of events. satoru smirks, pleased by your reaction as he rises and continues his coordinated movement. “mmm is on my list.” “mmm?” your head tilts, perplexed. “magic mike moment,” he clarifies, his body reducing in proximity as he sinks into the rhythm. “oh, wow! satoru!” you giggle with a soft cheer. your eyes are locked on him, focused and stunned by him. he rolls his body just before slowly lowering himself to the floor on his back, thrusting his hips in the air with intricate swivels. satoru truly is a basket case full of surprises. when the song finally ends, you’re a mess of dramatic applause and loud cheers as you stand for him. “satoru!” you say in amazement, mouth slightly parted as you smile excitedly and watch him bow. “what?!” “you’re impressed right?” smirking, his chest rises and falls quickly. you nod enthusiastically, your hands threaded together in excitement. “i really am! i had no idea you could dance.” “peach, there’s a lot of things i can do you wouldn’t believe.” his tone is so arrogant, so smug that there’s not a trace of either there. he states it almost as an innately known fact. a given. there’s no smirk this time, no grins, and no suggestiveness. this kind of demeanor is something you love the most if only because you deeply enjoy breaking all that ego down and making it kneel, teaching it how to sit when prompted. “o? is that so? that’s big talk.” he nods. “i back up everything i say. i’m many things, but a liar isn’t on the list.” “what else is on the list?” your voice is feathery, fluttery, and soft. your question comes with a flirtatious air, making him come closer to you; it makes him tower over you, tuck his finger under your chin, and tilt your head up. “c’mere,” his gentle request that goes obliged with haste as you stand. “great kisser is on the very top of the list.” you hum skeptically. “i think i should judge for myself.” satoru nods in agreement, leaning himself down slightly so he was within reach of you. “i think you should, too. fact-checking purposes.” your lips meld together easily as if you’ve done it a thousand times before. his lips are delightfully soft; pillowy, velveteen kisses coated in the touch of sweetness on his breath that make you hum exultantly, so pleased by your discovery of him. you flick your tongue out to taste while his hands cup your face, keeping you steady while his mouth moves hot against yours. trading breaths, swapping needs, and exchanging desires, treating them all like little secrets passed between greedy lips. pulling away, you note that his breathing is heavy. his eyes are half-lidded quarter moons; his voice is dazed, heavy, and aroused. his hands move from your face and land on your hips, squeezing gently. “close your eyes for me, peach.” his request comes warm, eyes pouring into yours as he leans in again, capturing your lips tenderly before releasing you. you stare at him momentarily, feeling as though you’re short-circuiting, unable to respond. he only smiles, a soft kiss on your forehead before he pushes you back into your seat. he squats down, eyes still locked on you. “close ‘em.” this time, you follow his instructions well, placing your hands in your lap and swallowing hard. he’s not a good kisser; he’s phenomenal. the warmth of his lips, the smoothness, the tempo at which he wants them to dance, the freedom he gives your tongue to explore, the hazy look in his eyes when he pulls away that makes you only want to push him further over the edge and watch him fall right into you.

you hear his soft steps disappearing into the distance and feel his lack of presence. his absence creates an unnerving emptiness in the room, making a whimper rise in your throat. he left you like this, throbbing center and pounding heart. “satoru? where did you go? can i open my eyes?” you call out. “no, i’ll be back peach. keep ‘em shut.” he responds distantly. you sigh, displeased but obedient. you wouldn’t dare disobey him now, not when he’s finally crossing the threshold of the reason you came. you want to embrace whatever else he has planned for you. the excitement you feel, the anticipation, it’s easy to pass off as nervousness. anxiety is anxiety; although many don’t realize it, excitement is a form of such. it’s amazing how much more your other senses process stimuli more thoroughly when one sense is removed or restricted. clanking, tapping, scraping, rattles, and thumps follow as you listen closely to satoru and his movements. he’s obviously gone back to his kitchen for something, but then you take in the waft of cedar, sandalwood, and amber, his movements igniting your senses. “okay, i’m back.” he says, the excitement evident. you feel something solid and chilled press your neck for a fleeting moment, forcing a shiver out of you and a shocked yelp. “what the hell! it’s cold!” “be still for me, peach.” he murmurs, gripping your thighs. you stop all movement, sinking into the hunger for those two little words that sound like honey dripping from his lips. “good girl,” you gasp, stammering to stifle the brewing moan. it’s intentional, for the play of your character, little displays of innocence catching itself in sin for his joy of watching you come undone with vulnerability at his mercy. you hear the sound of something emitting, and then you feel something spongey and cool coating the flesh along your collarbone in a long, curved stripe. “satoru, what are yo—o!” and now his tongue is dragging along your clavicle, pleasured hums as he consumes whatever he placed on you. you know it has to be whipped cream based on the sound, the feeling, and his willingness to lap it up gleefully. the shakiness in your voice is genuine now. “s-satoru, what is…” he snickers, amused by your reaction, thriving on it, really. before you can finish your question, you feel his tongue gliding along the side of your neck, his lips pressing a small kiss right under your ear in the space where his treat ends. there his voice is again, hot in the shell of your ear, the vibrations of his dark chuckle making you bite your lip to contain your whimper. “whipped cream. you can look now.” and you do, met with the sight of satoru kneeling before you, a can of whipped cream with an abandoned top in one hand, the other now placed gently on your thigh, and the deepest expression of amusement on his face. eyeing you intently, his smirk persists as he speaks. “you have a praise kink, yeah?” “i mean…well, i suppose you could say that.” you mumble, breaking eye contact and placing your sights on your now-nervously twiddling fingers in your lap. satoru leans in slightly, his palm gripping now. “well, i have an obedience kink, and i think our kinks should play right now. so open your mouth.” the sternness in his voice that comes with his abrupt command makes you breathe a little harder. satoru doesn’t know it, but the sudden presence of his domineering demeanor excites you beyond belief and ignites an animalistic level of arousal. satoru doesn’t know it, but you’ll go absolutely stupid for a man that can tell you what to do and follow through on the threat painted in his tone. you ask if only to ensure you’re hearing him and not your wildest fantasies growing mind-numbingly loud. “what?” “open. your. mouth.” he demands, a twinge of frustration now pulsing in his tone. he huffs, gripping your jaw. “pretty girl has this mouth all ready for talking back but not for taking what i give her? open your mouth and don’t make me say it again.”

you do as you’re told then, the tone in his voice makes your pussy flutter, pressing your thighs tightly as your mouth slowly falls open. he watches you with a delighted smile. “good girl. hold your head back and keep your mouth open.” you don’t bother fighting the moan that begs to leave you this time, hearing the sound leave you and a fire explodes in his irises, light and anticipation swirling around. your head falls back, eyes on the gorgeous chandelier above you until satoru's figure obscures your vision. he fills your mouth with whipped cream and leaves the can resting on a nearby side table, grinning at the sight of you and taking in your submission. he leans down slowly, tongue slightly protruding as he begins to lick the whipped cream straight out of your open mouth, lapping up as much as he can before you feel his tongue flicking against the tip of yours. you tell yourself to have some control, to hold back on doing anything that might give away your complete lack of innocence, but you can’t help it. the sensation that fills you when his tongue grazes yours tightens your gut. and now your tongues move messily along the other’s, twisting and wrapping around as he kneels back down in front of you, your hands grabbing his face to keep his mouth attached to yours as he does. at first, he’s gripping the arm of the couch for stability, then your waist, and lastly, your thighs. it doesn’t go unnoticed by you, his love for caressing your legs. “see? we can have fun as long as you listen and open up.” he says it with a smug smile, but he’s winded, panting heavily and trying to regain his composure as his hand travels beneath your skirt. a honeyed purr. “i can tell you want to be such a perfect girl for me, don’t you?” “i-i do.” your voice is strangled. “you don’t have to be shy. i want to give you what you want just as much as you want to give me what i want. and right now, all i want is for you to show me just how well you’re willing to listen, okay?” you only nod, but that doesn’t suffice for satoru as understood by the subtle shake of his head. “use your words.” he demands gently, thumb rubbing the top of your thigh while his adoring eyes observe you carefully.

he’s watching me like i’m his most valuable prize.

“okay,” you murmur. you watch as satoru holds one hand in a downward fist, unfolds both his index and middle finger, sprays whipped cream in a thick swirl over their tips, and holds his fingers up to where your lips part. “suck,” he commands softly. your eyes don’t leave him as your mouth covers his fingers, the elation and eagerness shining brightly as he watches your lips. “perfect girl,” your praise comes with a soft kiss on your head, and if you didn’t know any better, you would think he was intentionally trying to make it so you never want to leave. and god, just seeing where this was heading right now, you already know you never want to leave. not until he’s left you in utter ruins. your eyes fall on the can of whipped cream he clutches in his grip, your tone innocent as you question him. “where else do you plan to put that?” “put your leg on my shoulder and find out.” he says it daringly, a glint in his eyes testing how wrapped around his finger he’s already got you. you can hear it in the timbre of his words; he’s inciting you, begging you to show him just how much you’re deriving pleasure from the experience he’s synthesizing all for you. you’re here for the night of your life and now feels like a good time to submerge yourself completely within the submission he wanted so badly to take for himself, to concede in the form of obedience you wanted so badly for him to be worthy of. and thus far, he is. your leg goes over his shoulder in front of you. as if you were waiting for the drop, you watch something in his eyes snap. you know quite certainly that all attempts at easing you into this time with him were over. you see him grin just before taking his whipped cream and lining the inner thigh of your now hiked leg, little cloudy dots trail all the way up to your panties. there are no shorts under your skirt, as you figured there would be no use. usually, you likely would have shown up with no underwear either, but your role is inexperienced and sexually innocent. innocent girls don’t show up to their dick appointment with their pussy out. he rests the can on the floor next to him, using both his hands to grip your waist and yank you closer to the edge of the couch, but he’s careful not to make a mess of what he’d already placed on you for his enjoyment. he kisses up your thigh, gobbling up the little spots as his head disappears under the fabric of your skirt. you feel his hand rub over the fabric covering your pussy before you feel his lips pressing a kiss there, the vibrations of his soft laugh against you making you squeak. his head pops back from under your skirt, your leg still hooked over his shoulder as your breathing grows thick and heavy. “peach, you’re soaked. i haven’t even touched you.” he says, shaking his head. “you protested this whole time, but your poor pussy was throbbing, wasn’t it?” you don’t respond, fearful of the things that might come out. instead, you offer him a soft nod. “peach is speechless? i’m floored.” he feigns a dramatic gasp, his hands traveling up your thighs again. “don’t worry. i’ll take good care of you. i need you to trust me and listen well, okay?” who you’re becoming before him is unusual to even you, a timid thing, likely too abashed to formulate a response that’s appropriate by his perception. you opt for multiple instances of silence because your thoughts of him are downright filthy. again, you only nod at his request for hard faith and compliance. “good. now that i have your attention, let’s talk about da capo al coda.” he begins. “this is more about repetition from the start until the end of a selected portion.” as he’s speaking, he unhooks your leg from his shoulder, and his hands travel up your skirt, tugging down your underwear until they’re merely a bundle of fabric tossed at your feet. once removed, his fingers work their way to your sodden center, teasing your entrance, eliciting the smallest whimper from you.

“the heart of an adequately built orgasm is within the repetition of movement and the amendments we apply to give that movement weight, pressure, and throttle.” two fingers slip inside you, a soft sigh following. “you can think of it as that part in a song that’s really meant to hook you, and it does, so rather than continuing on right away, it falls back to the beginning of that specific part and carries through the pleasure of it again.” satoru leans forward then, grabbing your leg and resuming its initial position right before tousled hair disappears under a pleated skirt, his tongue licking slowly and lazily at your clit, lapping the nub repeatedly, your moan unashamedly loud. a pang of heavy arousal ignites in your core, but you keep still as he moves his fingers languidly, softly exploring your walls, not pausing until he finds the tender spot deep within and grazing against it with an uncanny expertise that makes pleasure erupt inside you. you have no idea how much control you have left now; your hips rock with the steadiness of his movements. “so, i just have to find the spot on your body with a movement that really hooks you and repeat it. dc al coda.” he knows exactly what he’s doing, this arrogant boy. he pushes a third finger into you, stretching you wide as his tongue circles over your clit again, licking and playing with it like some forbidden fruit, teasing it before sucking on it firmly, taking it between his lips, making you cry out. the warmth of his hands, now coated in all your arousal, makes you tremble uncontrollably. your muscles tighten, clenching his fingers tight. you don’t want him to stop. you don’t think it’s humane if he does. but instead, he pulls his fingers out just slightly, allowing your heat to release and seep onto your skin before removing them entirely. “god, peach is so wet, it’s unbelievable.” you watch him carefully as he pops each finger into his mouth individually, lapping up all your juices, moaning with pleasure around them. however, he doesn’t give you much time to catch your breath because he’s already plunging his digits back into you, slow at first but soon quickening his pace, as if he knows exactly what equation to input and receive the response that completely undoes you. “fuck, satoru,” you whimper, his tongue moving faster with more precision, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of you. “yes, fuck!” every fiber of you felt as though it were lighting to life, your chest rising and falling sharply, faster with every moment that passed and satoru's pace increased. with each thrust of his fingers, the tension of overwhelming pressure starts building up in your lower abdomen and spreading to your chest. soon enough, your breathing comes in short gasps, almost non-existent, and your toes curl tightly. “fuck, o my fucking god,” you groan, a hand reaching and raking through his hair, tugging on the tendrils there. “don’t fucking stop, o my god, i’m so close.” he does stop for a moment, much to your disappointment, almost as if he did so out of spite. he releases you from his lips and earns an elongated whine from you in his absence, breathless and throbbing for more. however, when he returns, his hands and mouth move with fervor. “ah, right there! your fucking mouth,” you whimper as he continues, his free hand pressing against your thigh. “i’m gonna cum, satoru. i’m gon—” you’re cut short by the sound of your own cries; loud, sustained moans tumbling out one after the other. your body spasms, writhing right there in the grip he has on you. your hands grab and pull at the locks of his disheveled hair, feeling him groan against your pussy. when he pulls back, his nose is wet, and he immediately places his fingers right back in his mouth. you close your eyes, your broken breathing a series of small whines. “what the fuck, satoru,” your arms cover your head, still struggling to catch your own breath. “o my god?” he’s undoubtedly enjoying witnessing the aftermath of your deconstruction. “i hope you don’t think we’re done.”

you eat pussy so well, but i’d be o so disappointed if this were it.

“i’m not ready to be done.” you say with a shake of your head, too enchanted to maintain an act. “i need you to ruin my fucking life first.” “gladly,” a greedy boy and his gluttonous smirk. “all you had to do was say so.” “this is me saying so.” “my, my, my, peach is a prude, but she’s eager.” he mumbles, his warm hands caressing your thighs. “eager for me to turn her into a plaything? truly astounding,” “i am, but not here. this couch isn’t going to cut it.” satoru pauses and eyes you oddly, perhaps it’s aggression you pick up. “this couch is perfectly fine. turn over and get on all fours.” “bu—” he cuts you off. his gaze is stern and uncaring. “all. fours.” understanding that he’s no longer willing to be patient, you scurry to your knees, ass in the air, facing him with a showcase under your skirt. you use your arms to keep propped up. “thank you for listening, peach.” he murmurs, a soft palm rubbing against your ass before squeezing and clutching. “don’t make me repeat myself again, do you understand?” you just came, and you can feel the need coiling around you again, aching for him, thriving on his harsh demeanor and balmy praises. “i understand.” his voice is heavy with lust as he speaks as if he’s right on the cusps of an involuntary moan. “good fucking girl. tell me, do you use birth control or do i need to wrap up to enjoy you?”

“you don’t.”

satoru sighs contentedly. “you’re perfect.” roaming hands touch as much of your exposed flesh as they can reach at that moment before they disappear momentarily. you hear his belt buckle jingle, indicating that he’s mere seconds away from giving you everything you came for in one go. your pussy pulses with anticipation, ready to swallow all that thick girth straight inside you. “now, one of the most important parts of music, what makes it all so distinguishable is arrangement, tempo, and delivery. this is the same thing that distinguishes different types of sex. we could cover so many today, baby, but it’s already getting so late, i’ll have to stick to our main objectives.” you feel his hands grip your hips. “w-what’s our main objectives?” “well first, the importance of largo and marcato.” you feel him teasing your entrance with the thick head of his cock, the same plump, pouty cock that’s kept your mind in a deep haze for the last week, slowly pushing in only the tip. “fuck,” he groans. “effortless, almost fucking immediately.”

his voice is breathy and whimpery as he guides himself inside your heat slowly, audibly surprised by the simplicity of easing himself all the way in until your ass is taut against his pelvis, the thickness of his cock stuffing and stretching your walls while he sighs the softest mewls you’ve ever heard. you teem with pleasure and elation at the simple sensation of feeling full. “l-largo,” he whimpers, slowly sliding back out. “…is a slow tempo. the beauty of largo is the intimacy it cultivates; largo begs the listener to feel every inch of what the sound offers. it’s a thorough kind of tempo that wants to feel everything and be felt everywhere.” his slow, leisurely thrusts garner these soft, elongated moans that seem to overlap. after a moment, his slow rocking is accompanied by a heavy snap of his hips as he sinks all the way back inside, shy sounds now becoming incoherent babbles. “now this is where marcato comes in.” he grunts, the plunge of his hips flush against you as he speaks. “marcato is about emphasis, adding that little mmph to all that slowness is always such a nice touch. it’s almost like it’s thorough and seeping through you right before it all instantly crashes into you.” he persists like this momentarily, hips rocking into you with painstaking precision. you feel his foot rise up onto the cushion of the couch and the angle he meets you at then makes you feel weak in the limbs, arms threatening to give out underneath you. slow strokes and soft pants, gripping fingers and needy sighs, a melody of broken moans and murmured pleas.

“i love the way you sound, peach, but this isn’t enough for me. the worst part of largo is it’s so sensual…” he pauses and releases a shuddered moan before continuing. “…it almost always garners a weak response. pianissimo is far too quiet for my tastes, baby.” you almost can’t take it. between his nails digging into the flesh of your hips, his phrases fragmented by his own rounds of pleasure, and the way he’s talking you through this experience with his dulcet voice like a tour guide, you know that all you need is a little bit more and he’ll easily have your second orgasm out of the way. “satoru, please. fuck, more. i need you so fucki—” you’re cut off by the feeling of satoru pumping himself into you with a heavy force behind his movements, an uncontrolled and unhinged pace. his pants become aggressive grunts. and his grip on you tightens. you hear the relief in his groan when your needy whines become indulged wails. “fuuuck,” he sighs. “how can this pussy still be so fucking tight even after getting stretched out so well, hm? good-fucking-god,” his voice is gravelly, a guttural sound emitting from his throat as he rams into you, his cock disappearing into your heat. “o god, o my god, satoru, please. please,” he seems unfazed by your pleading. “this is vivace, peach. fast and hard. this tempo is meant for moments of intensity or excitement. it’s meant to make your heart jump into your throat. vivace, to me, is the epitome of movement. my favorite is this…” his heavy, quickened pace persists, but how he pushes into you changes. he drills his cock fast, but each thrust is a hard snap of his hips against you and a focused, determined series of grunts. “fucking hell, turn over.” he demands, pulling out suddenly and gripping your waist in an effort to make you move faster. “there you go, baby. good girl.” when he’s got you on your back, he kneels on the couch between your parted thighs, grabs your ankles and puts your legs on either side of his shoulders, realigns himself with your entrance, and buries right into you with a lengthy groan. there you rest on the edge of unraveling yet again; your warm, unyielding shouts filling the entire room, a chorus in tandem with skin slapping wetly against skin. “this is staccato, baby. sharp and quick. remember marcato? emphasis? think of staccato as repeated emphasis adjusted for top speed. and when we match that form with that tempo?” you scream, clenching all around his length, an explosion of sheer bliss powered by the feeling of his arms clutching around your thighs to keep you securely attached to him so that he could maintain the ease of fucking into you. “that’s fucking right.” he grunts darkly. “cumming all over my fucking cock like it belongs to you.” but satoru doesn’t stop; your orgasm is a nonfactor in his unbridled pleasure game. if anything, it was merely a foundation for him. at least, that’s how it seemed as he abandoned staccato and rolled his hips with hot pants. “fuck, peach. you have perfect fucking pussy. perfect pussy. you look so fucking hot like this.” he continues to pump himself at full force, his moan full of adoration as he watches himself be swallowed by your heat, cock sinking into you easily like it was only coming home. when you whimper, he leans his head against your leg, lost in his own whirlwind of euphoria. “see? vivace is arguably the best speed, baby, but god it can make you so fucking loud, so fortissimo.” he groans, slowing his pace slightly and rolling his hips in and out of you with fluidity. you watch him in your half-dazed, blurry, entranced state. your body still hasn’t had a chance to calm down from your previous orgasm. he never let up, never let you rest and catch your breath, just continued sinking into you, softly speaking over your long mewls. “satoru, i’m so…so fucking full,”

“fucking full of this thick cock, aren’t you? look at you. you’re losing your mind.” satoru can feel your body trembling with each of his movements, seeing the little spots of light in his own vision. “fucking cock dumb for me, aren’t you?” your back arches as a knot builds in your body, threatening to burst again at any moment. “yeah, yeah,” soft pants of your agreement are all you can manage at that moment as satoru's speed increases again, this time with no rhyme, rhythm, or reason, only the carnality in his growls and the sharpness of his nails pressing deeper into your skin. “oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hisses, his movements stilling and hands fumbling to pull himself out of you. his cock slips out of you with a soft, wet noise. head lulling back as he wraps his hand around his shaft and jerks himself until you feel hot ropes of his cum spilling down between your legs, moans of his relief following. when he’s done, he’s staring down at you, chest heaving as he struggles to regain his breath. he offers you a lazy smile before falling back into a sitting position, squeezing himself into the limited space between your body and the couch. silver strands cling to his flushed flesh, wispy lashes fluttering as he blinks and regains his breathing. taking a deep breath, he stands, all of him still standing tall. and that evening, satoru catches you off guard once again. “let me get you cleaned up. we’re taking a well-earned shower and then trying this sorbet i got imported from sicily. it’s incredible, best of its kind.” then satoru sighs woefully, looking at you with what you can only regard as dreaminess. “you know, i really want more of you, but i’ll settle for cuddling and dessert tonight.” “cuddling?” you question; your brows bunch in confusion. “you don’t want me just to head home? i really don’t mind.” he’s already done a lot for you this evening. there’s no reason for him to continue shelling out more of his time on this. even if you want to feign innocence, you don’t want him to think he’s obligated to give more than what was agreed upon. between dinner, his dancing, the oral, and the two wonderful orgasms he gifted you without ever even taking your clothes off, gojo satoru has done more than enough. he’s satisfied you, lived up to your expectations, and perhaps even a little more. “what?” he asks, his voice perplexed. “peach, i don’t know how often we’ll have to go over this, but i’m not a fuck boy. i sleep around, yes, but this is not a ‘hit it and quit it’ situation. in fact, i think we should get breakfast when we wake up and talk like super normal people.” “uh…not to be rude, but why?” you don’t mean for it to sound as if you’re repulsed. you’re just morbidly confused by his proclamation and his suggestion. “why would you want me to stay the night just for sorbet and cuddling, or get breakfast with you?” satoru sighs as if he’s tired of repeating himself. “i told you. i’m looking for a star, peach. and i think i may have found one.”

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