5,4k | Explicit | satoshoko ao3 link or read below“You need to cut your hair.” 

5,4k | Explicit | satoshoko ao3 link or read below“You need to cut your hair.”  “I know,” he says.  Shoko stands at the floor-to-ceiling window. Watching the twinkling of city life at night she takes a hearty drag of her cigarette. The silk robe has begun to slip off of one shoulder but she can’t be bothered to fix it. She’s had too much wine. Feels like she hasn’t quite gotten her sea legs yet and god damnit why hasn’t Satoru got any ashtrays around?  “Here,” he comes up from behind her with a familiar small bowl, kisses the exposed skin of her shoulder and it makes her skin prickle.  “Thanks,” she flicks her ashes into it.  “When are you going to quit?” He asks.  “When I feel like it.” She says, cigarette in her teeth. She’s in no mood to have this conversation with him. “When are you going to start eating?”  “I do eat,” he says.  Lies. His kisses move up to the crook of her neck. Like a distraction. And she hates how much it’s working.  “Not enough. You look thin.”  They lock eyes through the reflection in the clean glass. She lulls her head back at the feel of his teeth.  “So do you.”  Touché.  “I’ve had a lot of work recently,” Shoko says, butting her cigarette into the bowl for Satoru to place to the side. It’s not untrue. She’s tired. Even her fingers ache.   “Then let me help you relax.”  He slips the robe clean from her shoulders. It’s the only thing she’s wearing and now that she’s exposed to the night air she recoils on instinct. Gojo is there to grab her by the wrists, unwind her limbs like vines from where she is wrapped around her own bare chest and place her hands on the glass in front of them.  She should be used to this by now. His kind of love. The kind that makes you open yourself up, sharp scalpel rip from pharynx to navel, exposing all of those nasty things you’ve gone through so much evolution to hide—to protect. Somehow he’d managed to dig his hands inside of her. She could feel him. Feel him squeeze and wrench and grab at all her viscera until it ached. Until there was no space inside her hollow cavity left unaccosted.  He penetrated.  Gojo left her vulnerable. Left her to seek out his warmth, an act that—she had to admit—felt more than comforting after an endless ennui of contact with cold corpses. Their stiffness lingered in her bones like a sickness, blue mouths and prominent veins etched into her minds eye like a map of death itself. He withdrew the chill from her, pressing her against his warm skin and enticing her to touch his pink flesh until she forgot it all.  He wastes no time, lips leaving a trail of kisses down her spine and its not until his forceful hands press her chest against the large window that she realizes the position she’s in. That anyone with a sharp eye or basic telescope can see her—and them—and what they do under cover of moonlight.  But she can’t seem to care. Not when he grips her hips, pulling her backside toward his face. Not when his warm mouth moves between her thighs. Despite the way her head drunkenly spins when she closes her eyes she can manage to focus on the swipe of his tongue and the way his name sounds as it leaves her lips. No longer the mirthful trill of friendship. It’s smoky and lubricious, carried on a whisper that begs for more despite herself.  “You love the way I taste?” She says breathlessly, though she knows the answer already.  “I do. You taste so fucking good,” he hums.  His breathing is heavy against her folds. She can feel every languid lap as he eats her out from behind. Every calculated flick of tongue and the way the tip teases in circles at her most desperate spots. His head shakes into her, bringing her spine to a charming curve. And when he tongues her clit the city lights blur, like stars against a black abyss. They dance in her vision as if she were spinning.  Shoko doesn’t need him to tell her that she tastes good. She knows it. But she enjoys his adoration all the same. The way he does his best to please her. Her hands push his face into where she needs him most, and she loves how he doesn’t fight her on it.  “Keep going. Make me cum,” she whines.  He’s voracious. His tongue wriggles inside of her and his hands rub in circles at her clit until her knees begin to buckle. He’s no stranger to eating her out, knowing exactly how she likes it and where she likes it.  Her hips press back into his face when she cums. She ruts herself against his mouth and chin and the ringing in her ears is almost deafening when she reaches the height of release.  He kisses her thighs, her ass, the small of her back.  “Relaxed?” He asks.  The way he looks up at her, gaze like a puppy waiting for a treat, has her melting in a way that only he can bring about. She cradles his face in her hands. His mouth is wet with her and she swipes at the swell of his bottom lip with her thumb.  “Not quite yet,” she smiles. ___ It smells like rain. Her boot skids on a tiny rock on the sidewalk, the sound all the more loud given the unusual hush draped over the city this evening. She needed cigarettes, he needed something sweet to drink. Under the yellow glow of street lights she opens her new pack, slender fingers pulling a cigarette from the bunch.  “You need to quit,” Gojo harps for what may be the millionth time.  “What I need is a beer,” Shoko lights her cig.  “I have some,” he says, “at my place.”  It’s an invitation for a lot more than beer. She knows this. Knows she should say no. Go home, not muddle their boundaries any more than they already have been. But her place is lonely and cold, and her fridge was empty.  “Okay,” she says.  “Okay then.”  That’s when he does it. The unthinkable. His warm hand reaches out and grabs hold of hers like they had done it a million times before. Like they’re a real couple, not just two lonely people fucking around to fill the emptiness, if only for a little while.  Reflexively, she pulls her hand back.  “Don’t,” she warns. Partially to herself.  He doesn’t say anything. She brushes stray hair behind her ear as they continue to walk in silence. Footsteps echoing, they seemed to get louder and louder. She wants to tell him she’s sorry. That she just doesn’t want anything to get confused.  “Fuck it, fine,” she mutters, grabbing his hand.  She can see the corners of his mouth perk up, and as she watches her feet take one step after another she allows herself a small smile, too. ___ She hates the the chirping of birds. She hates the lemon glow of sunlight pouring in from the windows and the way it warms the bedsheets. She hates the sound of someone rattling around in the kitchen to make breakfast. Shoko hates a lot of things about mornings when she’s hungover.  “Coffee?” Satoru asks.  Just the thought of it alone makes her stomach turn in the most nauseating cyclone. “I’d rather die, thanks.”  She wants to roll onto her side, throw the covers over her head and call it a day. Of course, Gojo would be a morning person, whereas she would sleep until noon if given the chance.  “You can’t sleep all day.”  “Watch me,” she replies, rolling over and away from him.  He slides into the bed. Pulls her onto her back and climbs on top of her.  “Cut it out,” she moves to hit him playfully but he pins her hands above her head.  “You’re so pretty, Shoko,” he says.  It’s so out of nowhere that it leaves her mouth hung open for a moment and she doesn’t know how to react.  Deflect.  “So are you,” she replies.  “I’m serious,” he laughs for a moment. “You are.”  She can hardly take him seriously. Her eyes must be extra dark this morning, her hair a mess about the pillow and she’s only wearing one of his old sweaters—not quite a vision of beauty.  “You are pretty,” he kisses her eyes. “You are pretty,” he kisses her nose. “Pretty,” he kisses her waiting mouth.  She leans into him when he deepens the kiss. Lets him place his weight on top of her and she threads her fingers into his soft hair. Yes, there are a lot of things Shoko hates about mornings, but this isn’t one of them. ___ Sometimes she spots him across the street. A glimpse of long black hair between the moving bodies of the crowd and her feet plant like lead into the sidewalk until she remembers. Until something snaps her back to reality.  “Can I bum a smoke?” A voice startles her from behind.  She turns. “Creep.”  “Sorry I’m late.”  “You could have texted.”  “Then I wouldn’t have been able to scare you,” Gojo smirks.  “Such a child.” Shoko can’t even find it in her to sigh.  “You okay?”  She tucks her hair behind her ear, dragging her eyes off of the crowd and back onto him.  “I’m fine. I just don’t feel much like going out tonight, after all. Can we just go back to my place?”  She’s thankful that although he looks like he wants to ask more, he doesn’t press. And besides, there’s nothing left to gain from chasing old ghosts. ___ Those first sips of cheap red wine set a blaze that rolls from her belly like wildfire, consuming every inch of her. By the fourth glass she’s forgotten all her troubles. Like a phoenix she arises from a pile of her own ashes, shedding her tired body for something new.  “Why here?” She asks, crossing her legs in her seat.  “He liked it,” Gojo replies listlessly.  “There’s nothing but lonely old men in here,” she takes another sip of her drink.  “Should we get dessert?” Gojo asks from behind a menu.  “I don’t care.”  “I think I want dessert. Maybe cheesecake.”  “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little…unhinged.”  “Maybe the castella.” Another lonely soul wanders in from the snow, taking refuge in the warmth and jazzy Christmas music playing overhead. She downs her glass, leaving a lipstick stain on the rim.  “Can I smoke in here?”  “I don’t think so.”  “I’m going to the ladies room.” She slips her pack into her bra.  There’s no way she’s going to go through the trouble of grabbing her coat from the coat check to stand outside in the cold for a smoke. With any luck, the bathroom will have a window. Ducking around waiters and down a hall, the chatter of the main room growing faint, Shoko pushes into the bathroom, her mouth longing for the feel of a cigarette.  There’s a chill on her back as the door slams behind her. A click of the lock as she turns around and although her mind registers that it’s just Gojo, her heart still hammers in her chest.  “You lost?” She asks as she lights a cigarette between her lips.  Gojo shakes his head.  “What if I had to piss?”  He takes a step toward her. Slowly pulls the smoking cigarette from her mouth and tosses it onto the floor. She’s between him and the wall now and his warm hands feel so good as they slide her dress up her hips before slipping her panties down, just enough so that his fingers can find her.  “Here? Now?”  “Why not?” He answers. His lips kiss her neck until she melts.  Try as she might, her brain can’t come up with a reason to protest. Not when his fingers feel so good inside of her. Not when her hips start to grind on his large palm. His free hand gropes at her breasts and his lips tease down the low cut to her cleavage where he begins to suck at her soft skin.  “Don’t leave marks,” she winces at the feel of his teeth. Uses her hands to grab at his hair and strain to pull him away from her.  “But you like it. It makes you so fucking wet,” he mewls into her tits.  She hates how well he knows her. But she knows him, too. And when she slides his zipper down his cock jumps out, so easy for her to grab hold of. And she can feel him flinch at her touch, so desperate for her hands, her anything.  They breathe heavily into one another, eyes locked as they jerk each other off. His fingers move at lightening speed and when they curl inside of her she shudders, unable to stop herself from moaning out his name. Her own hand moves faster, hammering into the base of his cock until he grunts low and steady.  “You get off from doing this in a public place? Perv.” Shoko pants.  “You’re the one about to cum all over my fingers. You’re soaking wet. Hear how wet you are?”  She could. Every wet squelch of her arousal. There was no denying she was close to orgasm. Or that her body wished it was his cock and not his fingers inside of her right then.  “Never said I wasn’t a perv,” Shoko smiles through her whines.  His palm against her clit has her clenching around his fingers in waves, the slow moan of her orgasm making his cock bounce and his hips stutter until he’s shooting strings of cum against her bare pussy and thigh.  There’s never a knock on the bathroom door. Not even as they get cleaned up. Shoko blows a thin stream of smoke out of the cracked window as snowflakes fall to the ground. The chilly air a bit welcoming to her skin. She butts on the sill before closing it up,  “Let’s go get you your dessert.” ___ Her breathing is as shallow as his love. A maelstrom of memories have done their best to keep them from this point of no return. They flash before her now, the laughter of three friends and spring flowers and late nights when the world is quiet except for whispered secrets.  She’s on the couch, fingers pressed into herself in an act that only she has witnessed until this moment. She closes her eyes but she can still hear him next to her. His groans make her nerves electric and without realizing it, she moves her fingers to the sound of his hand.  One eye peeks open. He’s watching her. The look on his face so achingly sensuous that she has to remember herself.  “No looking,” she scolds him.  “Remind me why I can’t look, again?”  “Because those are the rules. We’re just doing this as—ahh—friends.” “And friends can’t look?” Gojo pants.  “Friends can’t look.”  “Then don’t look at me, either.”  “I wasn’t going to.” She circles her clit, her hips rolling in pleasure.  “Hnn—you were looking.” Gojo strokes himself faster.  “Only to make sure you weren’t.”  In the corner of her eye she can see him. How long and hard he is. How quickly his hand moves and how strong the muscles of his arms are. How his veins stick out with the strain of what he’s doing and she wonders what it would be like to ride him before shaking the thoughts from her head.  “Yeah right. You want to look, admit it.”  “I…d-don’t.” Shoko clenches around her fingers, lets out a languid mewl.  “Fuck,” Gojo moans, “yes you do.”  “That’s not how this works.”  Their naked bodies grow slick with sweat. She can feel beads of perspiration crawl down the nape of her neck. Her fingers dig until they find the spot that has her toes curling and she pinches a nipple with her free hand. “Fuck it, I’m looking,” he says.  When they meet eyes she can’t look away. His cheeks are flush, his lips parted for his quick pants and his fist is stroking himself faster and faster as he watches her play with herself. She pretends the fingers are his as she matches his pace. Pretends she’s on top of him, her hands roaming around the tight muscles of his chest and abs and playfully ghosting over his hard nipples until he shivers. She wants to feel his hip bones cut into her thighs. She wants to feel the head of his cock push toward her cervix.  “Ahh, ah,” Gojo jerks himself unabashedly, rubbing a thumb over his swollen head. “You’re so fucking sexy, Shoko.”  Despite herself she lets out a high pitched whine, her orgasm ripping through her in a rush of waves. She can see his eyes roam from her chest to where her hand meets her pussy and she can only wonder what he’s imagining. Her thighs clench together as she cums and it’s only a few seconds before he follows suit. His orgasm coupled with an animalistic groan that sends shivers throughout her body. She hadn’t known he could sound like that. And she knows the sound won’t leave her memory anytime soon.  “We can’t do this ever again,” she tells him.  “Right,” he says, still breathless.  “I’m serious. Let’s promise to never cross this line again. We’re friends.” “Friends,” he repeats.  “Exactly. Friends,” she replies. But for some reason the word makes her stomach feel hollow.  ___ She was drunk. Admiring the way the moonlight shines around his head like a halo and thinking it was a crime for someone to be so god damned pretty. He’s drunk, too. For the first time in a long time. Beer cans and bottles of wine litter the coffee table and the movie they were watching has lost their interest. Her head lay in his lap as she finishes the last of her cigarette.  “It’s true, you’re haunted.”  “I’m not haunted.”  “Yes you are,” Shoko slurs.  “By who’s ghost? Should I burn some sage?” Gojo jokes.  She flicks her ashes, pointing her cigarette up at his face as he looks down on her. “Not by who. By what.”  “The hell does that mean?”  “You’re haunted by a moment.”  She can tell this catches him off guard. He stirs a little in his seat.  “A moment.”  “Yeah, a moment. I think moments can have souls,”  she takes a slow drag of her cig.  “How do you know?”  “Because I know you. I can see it in your eyes, you have the weight of sadness. I’ve seen it enough times to know.” She thinks of all the loved ones she’s had to deliver bad news to. All the hope and will to live drained from their faces, the ghosts of what could have been forming inside of them like thick black smog that takes on a life of its own.  “Maybe it’s because you’re haunted by a moment, too.”  “Maybe,” she puts out her cigarette.  “So what’s the big deal?” Gojo attempts to brush it off.  “So, maybe it prevents us from having new moments.”  She doesn’t know how long he looks at her. Or why she grabs his face, running the pads of her thumbs pitifully against his cheeks. She doesn’t know when exactly they start kissing. What she does know is that being in his arms makes her feel better. Lighter. And for now, that’s enough.  “Touch me,” he whispers.  She blames it on their drunkenness. How quickly things escalate. Her head is spinning too fast to think about the consequences of their actions. All she can focus on is how incredibly hard he is and how soft his begging sounds.  Her tongue slides up the length of his cock and he immediately grabs at her hair, messing his fingers through it with a deep exhale. She teases him for a while. Lapping at the head and slapping him against her flat tongue until she can see a rose heat on his face.  It’s sexy, the way he watches her suck him off. His mouth open, sometimes biting his bottom lip enough to leave a mark. The tendons in his neck straining while his head cocks to the side to get a better view.  “You’re so good,” he repeats as she bobs up and down.  She knows she’s a little messy from being drunk, but that only seems to turn him on more. His hips thrust his cock into her mouth and every time she muffles or gags she can feel a forceful twitch as his length jumps.  She gets a good rhythm going. Taking as much of him as she can get and using her hands on his balls and base of his cock.  “Fuuuck, just like that. Take it all,” Gojo grips her hair, pushing her down onto his cock until he’s fucking her face.  She relaxes, letting him fuck into her as fast as he likes. Even when she starts to drool uncontrollably. He goes rough, but not rough enough to hurt her. And if he was, she’d use her teeth to teach him a lesson.  “Your mouth is so hot. Ugh, I’m gonna cum so much,” he moans.  She wants to touch herself but her body won’t coordinate enough. She can only focus on how good his hands feel on her head and how much pleasure she gets from hearing Gojo, the great and powerful, moan for her. How his abs flex and how he smells. How thick and sturdy his thighs feel underneath her palms.  She knows they’re a mess, but in this moment she doesn’t care. If they can find some comfort, even for a night, in each other. Well, that’s enough.  When he cums he presses deep down her throat. Makes her drink it all. His head tilts back, ethereal, and his moan vibrates from his chest so melodically that it rings in her ears like a choirs chorus.  They sleep together on the couch that night, too drunk to move to the bed. He kisses her more, his lips plush and soft as her fingers dance along the lines of his clavicles. Until they both fall into a deep sleep. ___ A drunken man buys her a drink. She buys one back. That’s how it goes. Outside, the shadow of spindly trees sprawl across dark pavement. The wind shakes the door and she startles, an unwelcome hand places itself on her thigh.  “What are your plans for tonight?” He asks.  “I’m not sure,” she says.  It rubs her knee and she wants to smack it with all her strength but instead she takes a sip of her drink, not bothering to acknowledge it.  “A hotel room?” He prompts.  “Not on your life.” She takes another deep sip of her drink. She should have ordered something to eat, she’s feeling a little too floaty.  “Come on,” he urges, crooked teeth showing themselves.  His hand moves up and she breathes silently.  “What the fuck are you smiling about,” she replies seriously, watching his face go blank.  “Yo!” A voice calls following the slide of the door.  She turns to see his figure. How he bounces with confidence each step. Ebullient. How his blue eyes peek at her over the dark rim of his glasses. The hand at her thigh disappears.  “Thought I’d find you here,” Gojo says, taking a seat next to her.  “Come for a drink?” She asks.  “Come for you,” he says.  There is something in his voice that has an edge. Dangerous. She can recognize something sharp when it’s right in front of her. His body language is stiff. Despite it all, she takes another drink, swirling the contents of her glass on the bar top.  “You’re drunk,” he says.  “So?”  She can see him appraise the bar. Watches his eyes survey the patrons with scrutiny. He’s way too fucking observant. “So it’s time to go home.”  “I’m not done yet,” she replies. It’s not like her to let someone else decide what she can and can’t do.  “Come’on. This wine is cheap, I have better at my place.”  He’s not mean. He’s not even pushy. It’s so like him.  Where have you been?  She’s asked the question so many times, now. But he is here. She wants to pull him by the sweater toward her. Wants to bury her face in him and bang her fists against his chest for leaving on a mission without telling her. Wants to hear his stupid laugh and feel whole again. He’s alive.  “Okay,” is all she can say. ___ Sometimes there are no consequences. There is only a story. A life. Only the feeling of your best friends embrace. Only his kiss and the way he touches you. Only his hand in yours and the familiar scent of his cologne.  She realizes she is staring out the window. The rain is pelting the glass when she sees a dark figure under the street lights moving forward. She puts her drink down on the counter. Unlocks and opens the door to her apartment.  “How did you know it was me?” Gojo asks. “Just did,” she says.  When he enters she asks if he needs a towel.  “You’ll catch cold.”  “I’m fine.” There’s only a breath between them before he pushes her against the wall. He pulls his shirt off. Then her night shirt. His skin is chilled and it makes her shudder at his touch. His kiss tastes sweet, his tongue like candy in her mouth and she welcomes him wholeheartedly. He moves fervently. Hungrily. He pulls and kneads at her flesh as if it’s the last time he will ever get to feel her.  “Slower,” she says.  “Not anymore.”  She’s only wearing panties and he makes short work of them, kneeling to the floor as he pulls them down and helping her out of them. He kisses up her thighs. Then her stomach. Then her breasts. She doesn’t know when he removes his own pants but he does.  He’s rough with her this time. His mouth sucking inky crescents into her skin and his hands moving her in every way he likes. He lifts her with ease, letting her legs wrap around his hips while he presses her back into the wall.  She can feel the head of his cock circle around her hole. It’s the first time she feels him here and her head lulls back at the teasing. She lets out a sharp inhale when he presses inside of her for the first time and the groan he makes has her wrapping her arms around his neck as if her life depends on his anchor.  He feels so fucking big that at first it hurts, the way he stretches her. But the more he thrusts the wetter she gets, until she can’t help but grind her hips down into him. Desperate for more. And Gojo holds her up so easily, practically bruising her with the way he slams her down onto him by her hips.  They both breathe and moan into each others mouths. His tongue laps at her lips between sucking on them as he fucks her hard, his kisses moving down her jawline and to her throat.  “You feel so good,” he confesses into her warm skin.  “So do you.”  “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”  “I know,” she says.  She should be less surprised at how easily he holds her up. As if she weighs nothing. He pushes inside of her as deeply as he can, drawing out a string of moans like pearls from her parted lips.  “You’re so good and tight for me.”  “Yeah? You wanna cum inside me?” She pants.  “I do. I’m gonna fill your tight little pussy with cum until you’re dripping with it.” “I want you…I want you to fill me up,” she whines.  His cock feels so good, the head hitting her deeply just as she likes. He drives into her with pent-up force and she can’t even find it in her to dislike the way his hip bones cut into the soft skin of her thighs. She likes the ache. Likes the sound it makes each time he rams into her. Likes the pounding of her back hitting the cold wall and the way her Hung pictures shake, waiting for the right moment to crash to the ground.  “I knew you’d feel so fucking good, Shoko.”  “Don’t stop—ahh—right there, please,” she begs.  She’s so close, and his hips are merciless. She digs her fingernails into the skin of his back but he doesn’t seem to care. Or notice. He just continues to fuck her right there in the entryway, now using his large hands to push her down on his cock until there’s nothing left for him to give. Their foreheads touch and she concentrates on his thick white lashes as he looks down on her. And the way their breath mingles in what little space is left between them.  When she cums it rolls through her like a vicious storm, hitting hard and fast and when he feels her tighten up he bounces her on his cock, rubbing a thumb into her clit until she’s shaking in his arms. Until his rough bounces push staccato whines from the depths of her chest.  “Fuck yeah,” he groans.  He’s breathless while he fucks her through her orgasm, until she goes limp in his arms and even still he continues to push her down onto his greedy cock.  “God, you’re so wet. I can’t get enough.”  The overstimulation is too much, she tries to break free from his grasp but he won’t let her. Not when he’s so close. He holds her down, grabbing her limbs that are so desperate to break free and pushing them to her sides. Kisses her mouth and holds her by the face, locking her in and she can feel his deep exhales against her skin as he kisses her senseless. She’s so slick now, she can hear it. His hips stutter when he cums. With each spurt inside of her he groans and they’re holding each other so closely that she can feel the vibrations through her chest. They’re both slick with sweat now and he stays inside of her, pumping slowly until he’s spent every last drop and even then he’s hesitant to pull away.  When he finally does let her down she can hardly walk, legs wobbling like a newborn fawn as they take her to a room she can get cleaned up in. And when they reconvene on the couch its a heavy silence that stretches between the two of them, as if it’s a strip of rubber they’re curious to see how long it can get.  She pulls her pack from the coffee table, lighting her usual cigarette and sighing at the way it makes her tired body tingle and relax.  “I thought you quit,” he says.  “I did.”  Silence. Another crackling inhale. She puts her feet up onto his lap, letting her head fall back onto the arm of the couch.  “I think I love you,” he breaks the silence.  “Oh.”  “I mean, I’ve always loved you as a friend. But I think I love you…more than that.” “I see.”  She had to know this would eventually happen. That there was no way they could continue on their path without encountering a crossroads. That at some point, some turn she failed to see, they had begun to mean more to one another than simple friendship. Than fleeting comfort on lonely nights. She doesn’t know what path they’re on now, but she knows there is no turning back. She needs a drink, her throat feels dry and her tongue feels heavy in her mouth as she looks to Gojo. His face is so boyish and pitiful as he waits for her to say something. Anything. She rubs her face with a groan, as if it may be torture to say what she is about to say. The cigarette shakes in her trembling hand.  “I think I love you, too.”  -- source link

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