Chapter Text
Chapter 1:
By the time Nia got to that side of TikTok, she should have been asleep.
Her room had that late-night look it only ever got after midnight—purple LED lights washing the walls in a lazy glow, her TV off and black across from the bed, posters and framed prints catching bits of color whenever she shifted her phone. The rest of the apartment had gone quiet a while ago. No traffic loud enough to reach her floor, no voices outside, no TV from another room. Just the faint hum of electricity, the occasional soft pop from her vent, and the sound of her thumb dragging mindlessly across her screen.
She was half buried in her bed, propped up against her headboard with pillows stacked behind her, one knee bent, bonnet slightly crooked now from lying around too long. Her anime wall stretched off to the right of the TV—posters, figures, little shelves, a mess that would probably look insane to anybody else but made perfect sense to her. It was the kind of setup people always acted surprised by until they actually stood there and looked at it. Then suddenly everybody had questions.
Right now, though, she barely cared about any of it.
She was bored.
Not cute bored. Not "I should do something productive" bored.
The other kind.
The kind where your brain starts to itch and you end up letting the algorithm drag you wherever it wants just to feel something.
So she scrolled.
A makeup video. A fight in a Walmart. A clip from an old anime she'd already seen. Somebody cooking something over-seasoned. Somebody crying. Somebody dancing. Somebody selling a waist trainer like it came with salvation.
Then her thumb slowed.
The video that came up next had almost no likes.
That was the first weird thing.
The second was the way it looked—grainy, dim, filmed too close to the person's face like they didn't really want to be seen. A girl leaned toward the camera, the lower half of her face in shadow, lips moving around words the audio kept chewing up with static. The filter on it kept glitching, warping the edges of her features like the app itself didn't know how to hold the image together.
Text flashed over the video.
this app makes your fantasies real
Nia stared at it for a beat, then let out a small breath through her nose.
"Girl, please."
Her thumb should've moved.
It didn't.
Something about it was dumb in a way that got her attention. Not convincing exactly—just specific enough to be annoying. The girl in the video kept talking, voice dropping in and out between bursts of static, and then the comments started rolling up on the side.
don't download it
i'm dead serious delete this
he won't leave
why does he remember me
this ruined my fucking life
That one made her stop.
Her eyes narrowed a little.
"…oh, y'all creative."
She tapped the comments anyway.
Half of them looked like joke replies. Half of them didn't. A few were just usernames spamming the same thing over and over: don't type more than one name.
Now that was dramatic enough to make her snort.
"That's how I know it's fake."
Still, she clicked the link.
Not because she believed it.
Because she didn't.
Because her brain worked like that sometimes—if something looked suspicious enough, curiosity started scratching at her until she gave it what it wanted. Not sweet curiosity either. Messy curiosity. The kind that had gotten her into situations before, looked around halfway through, and thought, well… too late now.
The app downloaded way too fast.
That should have been another warning sign, but once it opened, it didn't even try to pretend to be normal. No startup screen. No logo. No permissions. No friendly little intro page.
Just black.
Flat, empty black.
And one blinking cursor in the middle of the screen.
Enter a name.
Nia stared.
"That's it?"
She tapped the screen. Nothing else came up.
No instructions. No settings. No nothing.
Just that cursor blinking at her like it was waiting specifically for her to make a bad decision.
She should have deleted it.
Actually, she should have never downloaded it in the first place.
Instead, she shifted against her pillows and tilted her head, staring at the screen with the kind of skepticism that always came right before she did something anyway.
Her thoughts were already running ahead of her.
This is stupid.
Obviously fake.
But if it's not—
No, shut up.
Still…
A slow smile pulled at one corner of her mouth.
"Let me see something."
Her thumbs moved over the keyboard.
She didn't even have to think about the first name.
Satoru Gojo.
It sat there, bright against the black screen.
For a second she just looked at it, then laughed quietly to herself and backspaced once, like that somehow made it less crazy.
Then she typed it again.
Slower.
More intentional.
And now that it was there for the second time, something about it made her pause.
Not because she was scared.
Because her brain, uselessly late as always, had finally decided to try common sense.
Okay but if this did work?
No it won't.
But if it did?
Then what?
Her eyes slid toward the anime wall for half a second, landing on one of the posters.
Then back to her screen.
"…whatever."
She hit enter.
Nothing happened.
No flash. No weird sound. No glitching lights. No voice from nowhere telling her she had made a horrible mistake.
Just the same black screen.
Nia blinked once, unimpressed.
Then she laughed.
"I know that's right."
She swiped right back out of the app and reopened TikTok, settling back into her pillows like that solved it. Another video started playing immediately, some girl doing her edges while giving life advice nobody asked for.
Nia barely heard a word.
Something in the room felt off.
It was subtle enough that, at first, she thought she imagined it.
Not a sound exactly.
Not movement she could swear to.
Just a shift.
Like the room had exhaled while she was distracted.
Her thumb stopped moving.
Her gaze lifted slowly toward the TV across from her bed. The screen reflected her room back in a dull blur—the LEDs, the foot of her bed, part of the wall, shadows soft around the edges.
Nothing there.
She frowned a little.
"Okay…"
Maybe she'd been staring at her phone too long.
She looked back down.
Scrolled once.
Then froze.
Out of the corner of her eye, near the TV, something moved.
Not clearly. Not enough to make out shape or details. Just a flicker at the edge of her vision, quick and wrong enough to make her sit a little straighter.
Her eyes snapped up.
Nothing.
The screen stayed black and empty.
Her heart had started beating a little harder now, just enough for her to notice it. Not fear yet. More like her body catching onto something before her brain did.
She stared at that part of the room for another few seconds.
Silence.
Then she looked back down again, annoyed at herself now.
"Mm-mm. No."
Scroll.
Another video started.
She didn't even register what it was.
Because there it was again.
That same quick shift near the TV.
This time it was worse because she knew she saw it.
Nia lowered her phone.
Sat there for a beat.
Then pushed her covers back and swung her legs off the bed.
The floor was cool against her feet as she stood. She stayed still for a second, phone gripped in one hand, eyes trained on that same spot across the room.
The apartment stayed quiet.
The TV stayed dark.
Nothing moved.
"See now if somebody in my house—"
Her voice died the second another voice cut through the room.
Low. Smooth. Amused enough to make the hairs on her arms lift.
"You talk to yourself a lot, or am I special?"
Every part of her locked.
Not metaphorically.
Actually.
Her body went still so fast it almost hurt.
For one suspended second, all her thoughts disappeared at once.
Then they came back mean.
What the fuck.
No.
No no no.
Nope.
She turned too fast, half expecting to find somebody right behind her.
There was nobody there.
Her bed sat rumpled from where she'd just climbed out of it, pillows dented, blanket hanging halfway off the side. The corner of her room glowed purple and empty.
Nia's brows pulled tight.
Her pulse kicked harder.
"I know I just heard—"
"Well, yeah."
The same voice again, now from the other side of the room.
"Would've been rude not to answer."
Her head snapped toward it.
And there he was.
Not near the TV.
Not behind her.
Just there, like he had every right in the world to be standing in the middle of her room looking entertained.
Tall. Relaxed. Dark shades on. Hands loose. One shoulder tipped just enough to tell her he wasn't the slightest bit concerned about how impossible this should have been.
For a second she just stared at him.
Not because she didn't recognize him.
Because she did.
Immediately.
And that somehow made it worse.
"…oh, hell no."
He smiled.
Not a big smile. Just enough.
"Wow. That's how you greet people you invite over?"
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
Then opened again.
"Invite—"
Nia looked down so fast at her phone she almost dropped it. The app was still open.
The black screen had changed.
Session Active
She stared at those words until they blurred for a second, then jerked her eyes back up to him.
He was still standing there.
Still looking amused.
Still very much in her room.
And instead of acting confused—like a normal person who had just appeared in a stranger's bedroom—he glanced away from her like she was only part of what had caught his attention.
Then he started looking around.
Actually looking.
Not in a cautious way.
In a nosy way.
Like this was all infinitely more interesting than the fact that she looked two seconds away from losing her mind.
He turned his head slowly, taking in the LEDs, the TV, the shelves, her dresser, the little messes she never thought twice about because they belonged to her. His attention moved with easy confidence, like nothing in the room could surprise him.
Then he saw the wall.
Her anime wall.
And paused.
Now that got a reaction.
His head tipped slightly. He took in the posters, the figures, the collage of characters arranged in a way that made sense only if you knew exactly what you liked and refused to apologize for it.
Then he found himself.
The smile that pulled at his mouth that time had more shape to it.
"Well, that's flattering."
Nia swallowed.
She was still trying to figure out whether she needed to scream, pray, throw something, or pass out.
He lifted a hand, pointing lazily toward the wall without taking his eyes off it.
"You've got merch, a poster, and—" his head shifted slightly, finding one more thing on the shelf, "wow. You're committed."
Nia's face heated immediately.
Not because she was embarrassed exactly.
Because the whole situation was so insane that this somehow being the detail he focused on felt deeply disrespectful.
"Can you not—"
He turned his head and looked right at her.
Too pleased with himself.
"What? You're the one who typed my name."
"That does not explain why you're standing in my room!"
"It explains it perfectly."
The answer came too fast, too easy.
Like to him this was obvious.
Like she was the slow one.
And that irritated her enough to cut through some of the shock.
Nia straightened a little, even if her pulse was still going crazy.
"You know what? No. Because this could still be fake."
His brows lifted behind the shades.
"Oh?"
"Yes, oh." She gestured vaguely between the two of them with the hand holding her phone. "This could be a dream. I could be asleep right now. I could've passed out with my phone in my hand. I don't know."
He made a thoughtful noise that sounded insulting.
"That's cute."
"Excuse me?"
"You're trying very hard."
The smile in his voice was enough to make her squint at him.
He had the nerve to look entertained.
No fear. No tension. No concern. Just that same infuriating, playful confidence like he'd shown up to something mildly interesting and decided to see how long it could keep his attention.
Nia hated how much that felt like him.
And hated more that some completely feral part of her brain, still alive under all the panic, had enough room to think, of course he'd be cocky.
He shifted his weight and looked around once more before landing back on her.
"So," he said lightly, "do you always decorate for your favorites, or am I getting special treatment?"
She stared at him.
Then at the anime wall.
Then back at him.
"You are so annoying already."
"And you still called me first."
That shut her up for half a second.
Not because he was right.
Because he was right in a way that felt rude.
Nia pressed her lips together, refusing to give him that.
He noticed anyway.
Of course he did.
The tilt of his mouth changed, smug in a way that should have made her more irritated than it did.
"You know," he went on, almost conversational, "I expected a little more composure."
Her brows shot up.
"You expected composure?"
"Mm." He tipped his head. "You had all that confidence when you hit enter."
Her stomach dropped and flipped at the same time.
"How do you know I—"
"Because I felt it." He said it simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "The second you typed my name, I knew. And when you hit enter?" His smile widened just slightly. "That's when I could come through."
The casual way he said it—like interdimensional summoning was just another Tuesday—made her head spin.
"That's..." She trailed off, not even sure what word fit.
"Impossible?" he offered helpfully. "Insane? Sexy?"
"I was gonna say 'not helping.'"
He laughed at that, low and genuinely amused.
"Fair enough." He took a step closer, and Nia's heart kicked against her ribs. "But you're still standing here talking to me instead of running, so clearly some part of you believes this is real."
She wanted to argue.
Couldn't.
Because he was right, and they both knew it.
Her eyes drifted up to his shades again, and this time the curiosity was stronger than the fear. There. That was the problem. Those dark lenses kept his expression readable enough to be annoying but hid the part of him she actually wanted to see.
And the second that thought landed, it stuck.
He noticed where she was looking almost immediately.
The smile at the corner of his mouth deepened.
"Oh, you're nosy too."
Nia rolled her eyes, but her heart kicked a little harder.
"You've already walked around my room like you pay rent here."
"Fair point."
He said it without shame.
Her gaze stayed on the shades.
Everything in her was a mess now—shock, irritation, curiosity, that wild part of her brain still whispering things at the worst possible time. She knew what his eyes were supposed to be. At least, she knew what she'd seen in an anime.
But knowing and seeing weren't the same thing.
And now that he was here, standing in front of her in all this impossible, smug, breathing detail, curiosity started clawing harder than common sense.
"If you want to see," he said, voice dropping lower, "you could just ask."
The offer hung there between them.
Nia's pulse thudded in her throat.
"And if I don't ask?"
His smile turned sharp.
"Then I'll assume you're scared."
That did it.
She lifted her hand toward his face without another word.
Fast enough to commit.
Slow enough to give herself a chance to stop.
She didn't use it.
Her fingers nearly reached the edge of his shades before his hand caught her wrist.
It happened so quickly her brain almost missed it.
One second she was reaching.
The next, her wrist was wrapped in warmth and steady pressure.
Not rough.
Not painful.
Just stopped.
The breath in her lungs snagged.
He looked down at her hand, then back at her face, smile lazy and mean in the prettiest way possible.
"That's bold."
Nia swallowed.
He didn't let go.
His thumb shifted once against the inside of her wrist, and the simple reality of that—of being touched, of him feeling solid and warm and unquestionably there—made something tight travel down her spine.
The fabric of his shirt looked expensive up close. Some kind of fitted material that moved with him, soft enough that she could see the definition of his shoulders and chest beneath it. Her fingers itched to touch it, to confirm the texture, but his grip on her wrist kept her exactly where he wanted her.
"Most people ask first," he said.
She forced her face not to give away the way that landed.
"…and if I don't?"
His smile sharpened.
There it was.
The playful thing. The dangerous thing. That look like he was amused first, interested second, and only serious if the moment really earned it.
He tilted his head.
"Then I get curious."
That was somehow worse.
Nia's pulse thudded harder. Her thoughts started talking over one another again.
He stopped me.
But he didn't move away.
So what does that mean?
Why is he looking at me like that?
Why am I still doing this?
Because she wanted to.
That was the ugly little truth of it.
Even now. Even with every alarm in her head going off, with the app still open in her hand, with all of reality feeling one wrong sentence away from splitting in half.
She wanted to see.
And maybe he saw that in her face, because his expression changed just slightly.
Not softer.
Just sharper around the edges.
Like he'd found the point where curiosity stopped being harmless.
Instead of pulling back, Nia stepped into it.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Enough that her other hand could rise between them, slower this time, more deliberate.
His fingers stayed around her wrist, but they didn't tighten.
He watched her.
Waited.
And when she touched the frame of his shades again, he didn't stop her.
That almost unsettled her more than if he had.
Her fingers slid under the edge and pushed them down.
The world did not stop.
Nothing exploded. No hidden force threw her back. No dramatic music swelled in the background to tell her she'd made a terrible and sexy mistake.
But when his eyes met hers, everything in her went silent anyway.
They were too bright.
That was the first thing.
Not glowing, not in some cheap, obvious way. Worse than that. Clear in a way human eyes weren't supposed to be. Blue so pale and vivid at the same time it looked impossible, like light had been trapped there and never found a way out.
The second thing was depth.
There was too much of it.
They didn't sit flat in his face the way normal eyes did. They gave the awful, disorienting impression of going farther than they should, of holding more than she could take in at once. Looking at them felt like standing too close to the edge of something vast and realizing too late that you had no way of measuring it.
And the third thing—the worst thing—was the feeling of being seen.
Not looked at.
Seen.
Completely.
Like every fast, filthy, panicked, curious thought she'd had since downloading that app was laid out in front of him and he could sort through all of them without even trying.
Her breath caught hard.
Not a cute little gasp.
A real one.
Sharp and immediate enough to hurt a little.
Her fingers froze on the frame of his shades.
The room around them blurred for half a second, not because anything changed, but because her body had finally stopped letting her pretend this was manageable.
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't her imagination.
This wasn't her being sleepy and bored and just a little too willing to entertain nonsense from the internet.
This was happening.
And somehow—some insane, deeply questionable way—she had made it happen.
Her pulse went from fast to reckless.
Thoughts slammed into each other in all directions.
Oh my God.
Oh my God.
No, because what the fuck—
This is real.
This is real.
What did I do?
What did I actually bring in my house?
Why are his eyes like that?
Why is he so calm?
Why am I still standing here?
She realized vaguely that her mouth had fallen open.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
No words came out.
Gojo watched the exact second it all hit her.
And for once, he didn't interrupt.
Didn't joke.
Didn't smooth it over.
He just looked at her with a kind of attention that felt almost patient, like he knew better than to break the moment too early.
Her hand finally dropped from his shades.
His hand was still around her wrist.
Still warm. Still there.
Still the only solid thing she could really anchor to while her brain did a perfect, silent backflip.
Nia swallowed.
Then swallowed again because the first one didn't work.
Her thoughts had gone so loud they almost folded back into blank.
This was where a normal person would freak out.
A smart person too.
Maybe scream. Maybe run. Maybe call somebody and sound insane for the rest of their life.
Instead she stood there with her heart trying to punch its way out of her chest, staring at him like if she looked away he might disappear, or worse, stay.
That was when his thumb moved again against her wrist.
A tiny motion.
Slow.
Intentional.
And somehow that pulled her out of the spin faster than anything else could have.
His voice, when it came, was quieter.
Not gentle.
Just closer to serious than he'd been so far.
"There it is."
The words settled right into the center of her chest.
Nia looked up at him fully again.
He had pushed the shades back up, but it didn't matter now. She'd seen enough. More than enough.
Her jaw tightened. Not because she was angry.
Because she was trying not to show exactly how hard that had hit her.
Gojo noticed anyway.
Obviously.
His mouth tipped at one corner like he almost wanted to laugh at her for trying.
"Got a little quiet on me."
The tease was back, lighter now, but still there.
And weirdly, that helped.
It irritated her enough to drag her a little farther out of the internal spiral.
Nia exhaled through her nose.
"Maybe because this is insane."
He shrugged one shoulder, completely unbothered.
"It's only insane because you didn't think it would work."
"That does not make it better."
"It makes it funny."
She stared at him.
He grinned.
A quick, bright flash of something younger and more childish crossed his face then—too pleased with himself, too entertained by her reaction, almost like he enjoyed getting to watch people catch up to him.
"You should've seen your face."
That made her glare.
"You should shut up."
He laughed then, low and bright and entirely too pleased with himself.
"There she is."
His fingers tightened just slightly around hers—not enough to trap, just enough to make the contact undeniable. The LED hum seemed louder now, or maybe she was just more aware of every sound in the room. Her own heartbeat. The soft rustle of fabric when he shifted his weight. The faint creak of the floorboards.
The room felt smaller now, not because anything had changed, but because neither of them were pretending there was anywhere else to look.
Anywhere else to be.
Gojo tipped his head, smile still there, but his attention had sharpened into something she could feel.
"So," he said, voice smooth again, dropping just slightly, "are you gonna keep glaring at me like that, or are we gonna talk about what happens next?"
Nia's breath caught.
She knew what he was asking.
Knew what he was offering.
And the wildest part was—she wasn't sure she wanted to stop it.
Her voice came out quieter than she intended.
"What do you think happens next?"
His smile changed.
Deepened.
Became something that made her stomach flip and her pulse kick into overdrive.
"I think," he said slowly, deliberately, "you already know."
He was right.
She did.
And that should have scared her more than it did.
Instead, her free hand reached up—slower this time, more certain—and curled around the back of his neck. The skin there was warm, almost hot, and she felt him react to the touch. Just barely. A slight intake of breath. A fractional shift in his posture.
It was a small movement, barely anything, but the second she did it, something shifted in his expression. Just for a moment. Just enough.
The smugness flickered.
Replaced by something sharper. More focused. Like she'd just confirmed something he'd been waiting to see.
"Careful," he murmured, voice dropping even lower. "You're making promises your body better be ready to keep."
Nia's pulse thundered. She didn't pull back.
"Maybe I am."
The words came out breathier than she intended, but she didn't have time to regret them because Gojo's free hand rose to her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone with a gentleness that felt almost cruel given the intensity in his eyes.
"Yeah?" he asked softly, and there was a definite smirk in his voice because they both knew she couldn't say no even if she wanted to. "You sure about that?"
Her answer came as a tilt of her head, bringing her closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him. Close enough that the impossible realness of it—the heat, the solid presence of him, the steady control in every motion—made her stomach clench.
She caught a scent then—clean, faintly sharp, something that reminded her of winter air and expensive cologne. It shouldn't have been as intoxicating as it was.
He let her come to him. Didn't rush it. Just watched with that terrifying patience as she bridged the gap between them until she could feel his breath against her skin.
"Last chance," he said, and there was something almost gentle in the warning, which somehow made it worse.
Nia's answer was to close the final distance.
Their kiss was nothing like she'd imagined it would be—not that she'd let herself imagine it too much, not while he was standing in her room like he owned it. But if she had, she would've been wrong.
It wasn't soft.
Wasn't romantic in any traditional sense.
It was immediate and thorough and carried the weight of someone who'd been holding back and had just been given permission to stop. His hand tightened in hers, and his other slid into her hair, angling her face so he could deepen the kiss without hesitation.
There was skill in it. Confidence. The clear sense that he'd done this before and knew exactly how to make her forget why she'd ever thought resisting was an option.
Nia's free hand fisted in his shirt—the fabric was as soft as it looked, some kind of expensive material that felt like silk under her fingers—and she was drowning and it had only been seconds.
When he pulled back, it was just far enough to speak, his voice rougher now, less controlled.
"Your bed or mine?"
The question should've been funny. It wasn't.
"M-mine," she managed, gesturing vaguely toward it with the hand she'd wrapped around his neck.
Gojo followed her gaze, then looked back at her with something that looked almost like amusement, except it was threaded through with want in a way that made her entire nervous system go haywire.
"Good choice."
He kissed her again—deeper this time, meaner, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her knees genuinely weak. She felt the heat of him through his shirt, felt the controlled strength in the way he held her, and somewhere in the back of her mind a voice whispered that she was in way over her head.
She ignored it.
Her shirt came off somewhere in the shuffle toward the bed, and she registered the cool air of the room against her skin for maybe half a second before his mouth was on her throat, mapping the line of her neck with deliberate precision.
Her head tipped back. A sound escaped her that she'd never make voluntarily.
"Sensitive," he noted against her skin, almost conversational, except his voice had gone low and dark. "Good to know."
"You're—" she started, but whatever comeback she'd been building died when his teeth grazed the junction of her neck and shoulder.
"I'm what?" he asked, pulling back just enough to look at her, and the smugness was back in full force.
She glared at him, even though her pulse was racing and her thoughts were scattered.
"Annoying."
He laughed, bright and genuine.
"And you're still here."
"Unfortunately."
"Liar."
He was right, and they both knew it.
He backed her toward the bed until the mattress hit the back of her legs, and she sank down, pulling him with her. He came down over her with controlled ease, one knee settling between her thighs, his forearms bracing on either side of her head.
For a moment he just looked at her—really looked, with those too-bright eyes now visible again, studying her face like she was something worth understanding—and Nia felt suddenly, intensely exposed. Not in a bad way. In the kind of way that made her hyperaware of every place their bodies touched.
The weight of him. The heat. The way her heart was beating so hard she was sure he could feel it.
"Still good?" he asked, and there was something almost tender in the question, which felt like a trap.
She nodded because words had become impossible.
"Words," he said softly, but there was steel underneath it. "I need words."
"Y-yes," she managed. "I'm... yes."
Something in his expression shifted into satisfaction.
"That's my girl," he murmured, and the casual possessiveness in those words made her stomach flip.
Then his mouth was moving down her body with methodical intent—across her collarbone, down the center of her chest, leaving heat in its wake. He took his time undressing her the rest of the way, peeling off her shorts and underwear with a patience that felt like its own kind of torture.
When she was finally bare in front of him, the urge to cover herself flickered, but he didn't give her the chance. His eyes dragged across her body with blatant appreciation, and for a moment his composure cracked just slightly—his jaw tightened, his breath came a little faster.
"Fuck," he breathed, and it was the first time she'd heard him sound genuinely affected. "You're..."
He didn't finish. Instead, he settled between her thighs, and when his mouth found her center, Nia's entire body went rigid.
Oh god. Oh god, oh god—
He was methodical about it. Unhurried. His mouth worked her with the same focused intensity he brought to everything else, his tongue stroking across her clit in deliberate patterns, his hands anchoring her hips when she tried to squirm away from the intensity.
"Don't," he said against her, his voice vibrating through her. "Stay with me."
The command made her hyperaware of every sensation—the wet warmth of his mouth, the precision of his tongue, the absolutely inescapable reality that he had her pinned down and was taking his time learning exactly what made her respond.
A high moan escaped her throat, involuntary and needy.
"That's it," he murmured against her slick skin. "Let me hear you."
His tongue circled her clit, then pressed in firm strokes, and she felt her legs start to shake. The pleasure was building too fast, coiling tight in her belly, and she could feel herself getting close already.
"No, wait—" she gasped, not wanting it to end yet, but he didn't relent.
"Mm-mm," he said, the sound vibrating against her. "You're gonna come. Now."
His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked, his tongue flicking against her, and the dual sensation shattered her completely. She came with a raw wail, her back arching off the bed, her thighs clamping around his head as pleasure radiated through her entire body.
Gojo didn't stop. Didn't pull away. Just kept going, drawing it out, his tongue continuing to work her through the waves of her orgasm, and she found herself making sounds she didn't recognize—broken moans and whimpers that seemed to come from somewhere deep and animal inside her.
When the orgasm finally subsided and she went limp against the mattress, gasping for breath, Gojo pulled back. His lips were wet, his eyes darker than before, and there was a smug satisfaction painted across his features that told her he was absolutely not done with her yet.
But before he could move, Nia pushed herself up on shaky arms.
"My turn," she said, her voice hoarse but determined.
His eyebrows rose behind his shades.
"Oh?"
"Yeah." She reached for the waistband of his pants, and this time when she looked up at him, there was challenge in her eyes. "Unless you're scared."
He laughed at that—a real laugh, surprised and delighted.
"Using my own words against me. I like that."
But he didn't stop her when she undid his pants and pushed them down along with his underwear.
Oh.
She had expected... something. But the reality of him was different. Bigger. The head flushed dark and already leaking, the shaft thick and hard, absolutely everything about it designed to make her suddenly understand why he'd been so confident.
"Second thoughts?" he asked, amusement back in his voice as he watched her stare, his hand coming up to brush her cheek almost tenderly.
"No," she said automatically, and meant it.
Her hand wrapped around him—couldn't quite fit all the way—and she gave an experimental stroke. His breath hissed out between his teeth, his hips pushing forward slightly into her grip, and a low groan rumbled from deep in his chest.
For just a second, his expression shifted. The control flickered. His jaw clenched and his eyes closed briefly, like he was trying to hold onto his composure.
"Mmm," he said roughly, and when he opened his eyes again, they were darker. "Just like that."
She lowered her head and took him into her mouth.
Gojo's reaction was immediate and visceral. His hand came up to her hair, his hips pressing forward slightly, and a much longer, deeper groan tore from his chest—a sound of pure pleasure that made her core clench again.
"Fuck, just like that," he breathed, his composure definitely cracking now, a slight tremor in his voice that made her feel powerful, made her want to push him further.
She worked him with focused attention, letting her tongue explore the underside of his shaft, finding the sensitive spot where the head met the shaft and flicking her tongue there deliberately. His thighs tensed beneath her hands, and she heard his breath catch.
When she hollowed her cheeks and took him deeper, his grip in her hair tightened.
"Oh fuck," he groaned, his voice strained now. "Where did you learn to—" He cut himself off, unable to form the full sentence, just pushing into her mouth instead, his hips moving in shallow thrusts. "So good. You're so good."
The salty taste of him, the way he thickened even further on her tongue, the little sounds he made when she did something that clearly felt incredible—it was all intoxicating in a way she hadn't anticipated. She found herself pushing deeper, wanting to hear more of those sounds, wanting to feel him lose control, wanting to know she was the one doing that to him.
His hand tightened in her hair, and for a moment she thought he might stop her, but instead he just held her there, his breathing ragged.
"Okay, okay," he finally managed, his voice strained and breathy. "Stop. Stop or I'm gonna—"
She pulled back, looking up at him with swollen lips and dark eyes.
For a moment they just looked at each other, both breathing hard.
Then he was moving, reaching for his discarded pants and pulling out a condom from his wallet like he'd known—or maybe he was just that prepared for everything. He rolled it on with efficient movements, one-handed, like even this simple task was beneath his full attention.
Then he was positioning himself over her again, one hand braced beside her head, the other guiding himself to her entrance. His eyes locked on hers, and his expression had shifted into something darker now, all that playful teasing burned away to reveal the pure intensity underneath.
But he paused.
Didn't push forward.
Just looked at her with an expression that was almost serious.
"Last chance to change your mind," he said quietly. "Once I start, I'm not stopping until you're completely satisfied. So I need to know—" his thumb brushed across her lower lip, "—are you absolutely sure this is what you want?"
The question hung there between them.
Not because he doubted her answer.
Because he was confident enough to give her the space to confirm it.
Nia's heart hammered against her ribs. Her body was already aching for him, already trembling with anticipation, but something about the way he asked—the control in it, the certainty that she'd say yes but the respect to let her say it anyway—made her want him even more.
"Yes," she said, her voice steady despite everything. "I'm sure."
His smile was slow and devastating.
"Good girl."
Then he pushed into her in one smooth, relentless stroke.
The breath left her lungs entirely. He was big enough that there was a moment of resistance, of her body struggling to accommodate him, but he didn't pause, didn't give her time to adjust. Just buried himself to the hilt with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how good he felt.
A high, shocked sound escaped her—half gasp, half moan.
"Sh-shit—"
"Yeah," he breathed against her ear, his voice rough and satisfied. "Feel that?"
He pulled nearly all the way out and thrust back in with deliberate force, a deep stroke that pressed against her cervix and sent a jolt of sensation up her spine. His hips snapped against hers in a steady, relentless rhythm, and every movement was controlled—he wasn't chasing his own pleasure. He was orchestrating hers.
"Oh god—" Her hands scrambled for purchase on his back, nails digging in, leaving marks.
"Mmm," he hummed against her neck, approving. "I like that. Do it again."
She did, her nails dragging down his shoulders as another thrust knocked the air from her lungs. A wail tore from her throat—involuntary, desperate—and she felt him smile against her skin.
"Loud too," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at her, still moving inside her with that infuriating control. "Good. I want to hear you."
His pace shifted, angling deeper, hitting that spot that made her vision blur.
"Right there?" he asked, and when she sobbed out a yes, his smile turned absolutely predatory. "That's your spot, huh? Perfect."
He adjusted his angle and started hitting it with mechanical precision, and Nia felt her first orgasm building fast—too fast, embarrassingly fast—but she couldn't stop it. Couldn't do anything except cling to him and make increasingly incoherent sounds.
"Oh—oh god, yes—" she gasped, her voice pitched high with pleasure.
"Come on," he coaxed, his voice dropping low and dark. "I want to feel it. Come for me, Nia."
The way he said her name—like an order, like a promise, like he owned the word now—pushed her right over the edge. She came hard, her entire body locking down around him, a wail tearing from her throat that she barely recognized as her own voice. Her inner walls spasmed around him, pulling him deeper.
Gojo groaned low and deep, a sound of satisfaction rumbling from his chest, and for just a moment his control slipped. His eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenched, like the sensation of her coming around him was almost too much.
"There we go. Fuck, that's perfect."
He didn't let up. Kept moving her through the orgasm, wringing out every last tremor, every last spasm of pleasure, his hips continuing their relentless pace. When she thought she might break from the overstimulation, her whole body oversensitive, he finally slowed.
"Too much?" he asked, not like he really cared, more like he was curious about her limits.
"Y-yes—" she gasped, her breath coming in short pants.
"Good," he said, and that single word told her he had absolutely no intention of stopping. "Just getting started."
He pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach with surprising ease, his hands gripping her hips and hauling her back against him. The new angle was different—deeper, more intense, more vulnerable. Her face pressed into the pillows, her ass up, completely at his mercy. She felt the cool air of the room against her exposed skin for only a moment before he was inside her again.
"This okay?" he asked, and there was a definite smirk in his voice because they both knew she couldn't say no even if she wanted to.
He didn't wait for an answer. Just pushed back into her with a groan that sounded almost relieved, burying himself deep. He stayed still for a moment, letting her adjust to this angle, then started moving.
His thrusts were harder now, less controlled, more primal. His hips snapped against her ass with wet, heavy sounds, and he held absolutely nothing back. Each thrust pressed deep, and she felt something building again already—her body responding to the raw intensity of him.
"You take it so well," he said, his hand sliding up her spine, pressing her down into the mattress, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Look at you. Didn't think you'd be like this."
A sob escaped her, half-pleasure, half-desperation.
"What, can't talk?" he asked, his voice rough and teasing. "That's okay. Let me do the talking."
He thrust deep, punctuating each word. "You're—mine—right now. You understand that? You called me here. You wanted this."
"Yes—" she cried out, the word muffled by the pillow, her body convulsing as another orgasm crashed through her.
Gojo's groan was almost feral, and she felt his rhythm falter for just a second—genuine reaction breaking through his control.
"Again? Fuck, you're—" He didn't finish, just kept moving, riding her through it, his grip on her hips bruising, pulling her back onto him over and over. His pace was relentless now, chasing his own pleasure while prolonging hers, and the wet sounds of him moving inside her filled the room along with their heavy breathing and her broken moans.
"That's it," he growled. "Take it. Take all of it."
When she went limp, shaking and oversensitive, he pulled out. For a second she thought he was done, but then he was moving again, flipping her back onto her back with shocking gentleness, his expression darkly satisfied.
"Look at me," he commanded, and she forced her eyes open to find him hovering over her, his shades gone now, those impossible blue eyes boring into hers with intense focus. "I want to see your face when you come again."
He guided himself back into her, and this angle was different again—shallower, more intimate, his body pressed close enough that she could feel every muscle, every breath. His forearm braced beside her head, his other hand cupping her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone.
"How many is that?" he asked conversationally, like they weren't mid-sex, like his hips weren't moving in slow, deliberate circles that felt almost torturous.
"I—I don't—" she couldn't even count, her mind completely overwhelmed.
"That's okay. We've got time," he said, and the confidence in his voice made it clear he could do this all night. "You're not going anywhere."
He shifted his angle again, sitting back on his heels and pulling her hips up, and suddenly he could see everything—see his shaft disappearing inside her, see the way she clenched around him, see the wetness between her thighs that proved how affected she was by him. A groan rumbled from deep in his chest, raw and uninhibited, and his control visibly wavered.
"Goddamn," he breathed, his voice strained. "You're so fucking perfect. Look at you taking my cock like that."
His pace picked up, and his free hand reached down to find her clit, his thumb circling it with the same focused intensity he brought to everything else. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, and she felt tears prick her eyes from the intensity of it all.
"No, no—" she whimpered, trying to pull away, but he held her exactly where he wanted her.
"Yes," he said firmly, his voice dropping to a commanding tone. "You're gonna come again. I want to see it."
"I can't—it's too—"
"You can. You will," he said, and his voice had taken on that tone that made her understand he wasn't really giving her an option. "Come on, Nia. Give me one more. I know you've got one more in you."
She felt tears prick her eyes from the intensity of it, from the overwhelming sensation of him moving inside her, his thumb relentless on her clit, his voice low and commanding.
"That's it. I can feel you getting close. Don't you dare hold back."
The orgasm that hit her was different from the others—deeper, more total, something that seemed to originate from her very core and radiate outward. She came with a raw wail, her entire body arching, her inner walls clamping down so hard around him that she heard him groan her name.
"Fuck—" he gasped, his own control visibly slipping, his jaw clenching hard. "Nia, I'm—"
He thrust deep one final time, and she felt him come hard inside her, his body going rigid, a long groan tearing from his chest that sounded almost like her name. His hips pressed flush against hers as he buried himself to the hilt, every muscle in his body going taut.
They stayed locked together for a moment, both breathing hard, the only sounds in the room their gasping breaths and the faint hum of the LEDs that seemed impossibly loud now.
Then he pulled back slowly, carefully, disposing of the condom before rolling onto his back beside her. For a moment he just lay there, chest heaving, one arm thrown over his eyes.
Then he reached for her, pulling her close against his side, her back against his chest. His arm wrapped around her waist, solid and warm, and she felt his lips press against her shoulder—a surprisingly tender gesture after everything that had just happened.
"You okay?" he asked quietly, and there was genuine concern in his voice now, the cocky edge temporarily gone.
Nia nodded, not trusting her voice yet.
His hand moved up to brush her hair back from her face, fingers gentle against her temple.
"You did so good," he murmured against her skin. "So fucking good."
The praise made something warm bloom in her chest, and she found herself relaxing back against him, letting the solid warmth of him anchor her while her heartbeat slowly returned to normal.
They lay like that for a while, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her hip, his breath warm against her neck.
Then she felt him smile against her shoulder.
"You're gonna have bruises," he said, and this time it almost sounded like an apology.
Nia turned her head slightly to look at him and found him staring at her with an expression that was softer than she'd seen yet—satisfied, yes, but also something else. Something almost vulnerable.
"I don't care," she whispered, her own voice hoarse.
His expression shifted, and for just a moment she saw something genuine there—real satisfaction, real affection, something that made her understand this wasn't just physical for him either.
Then his smug expression reasserted itself, though it was gentler now.
"Good," he said, pressing another kiss to her shoulder, then her neck, then just behind her ear. "Because I'm not done with you yet."
And judging by the way he was already hardening again against her lower back, she absolutely believed him.
But this time, when he pulled her closer, there was tenderness in it too. Possession, yes, but also care. Like he was claiming her but also promising to take care of what was his.
Nia closed her eyes and let herself sink into it, into him, into this impossible thing that had started with a stupid app and a moment of boredom and had somehow become the most intense experience of her life.
Whatever happened next, she'd deal with it in the morning.
Right now, wrapped in his arms with the purple LEDs still glowing softly around them, she was exactly where she wanted to be.